Perilous (4 page)

“Yes.”

Viktor smirked with pleasure. The thought of Lieutenant Kane and Callie getting what was coming to them brought a little ray of sunshine into his now-gloomy existence. The two deserved payback for getting him locked up—they deserved payback for what they had done to his brother. “And you know what to do with this Ramon and his team once the job is completed.”

“Yes, I told them that after they’re done we’d meet back at the hotel so they could be paid. I’ll take care of them then.”

“And everything that has anything to do with us is clean? The flights, hotel, everything?”

Yury nodded.

“Good. Just make sure everything goes smooth. They got me in the SHU for I don’t know how long, so it will be hard for me to get updates. I’ll try to get one of the guards to get me some phone time. If I call, make sure you answer.”

“Of course. What got you in the SHU?”

Viktor shook his head. “Just something that needed to be done. When is your flight back?”

“Monday morning.”

“I’ll try to get us another face-to-face next week. I want those photos in my hand. They die by any means necessary. If you don’t think this hired team can get it done, I want you to take care of it.”

“I understand.”

Someone banged on the metal door. The key clanked, unlocking it. The door swung open, and the guard stuck his head in. “Time’s up.”

Yury stood, closed his briefcase, and took it from the table. He looked at Viktor. “We’ll talk soon.”

Viktor nodded, and Yury left the room.

The guard walked to Viktor—still seated. He twisted the key in the lock that held Viktor’s cuffed hands to the chain on the table. “Was it worth your five hundred bucks?” he asked.

“Every penny.”

After Callie and I finished dinner, I spoke with Hank regarding Susanne Riaola’s so-called boyfriend. The man in question claimed he’d never had any kind of relationship, other than professional, with Susanne Riaola. He was married, had two children, and had been on a church retreat at the time the homicide took place. Hank confirmed the man’s attendance with the church. Riaola was lying. Pax’s text message came in a half hour after I left the station—the smaller set of prints did belong to the deceased woman. It got us no further in our investigation.

I was up by six and in my office by seven thirty. I needed to get together everything I could before Charles Riaola arrived for our interview—I was still grasping at a sliver of hope that he’d show. I grabbed a seat at my desk and played my voice messages—the machine showed just one message left an hour prior. The message was from Nick at the airport. Riaola’s car had been rented from United Auto Rental and was returned at 5:03 a.m. at the Atlanta airport. He wasn’t driving back. The car’s mileage showed a little over a hundred miles since rental—not a tenth of the mileage that the round-trip drive from Atlanta to Tampa would be. United Car Rental did not have GPS tracking on their cars. The only flight he had booked was his original return flight, which would land around one p.m.

I tossed the desk phone on its base and leaned back in my chair. The guy trying to steer us in a different direction ate at me, plus he was in no hurry to return to the area. While the rental car’s mileage didn’t add up, his actions said he was involved. He still could have disconnected the odometer or acquired another vehicle. He could have hired the murder out. I figured I’d try calling Riaola to confirm our meeting at noon. I dialed his number, but the call went straight to his voice mail. His phone was turned off.

I let out a puff of air through my nose and dialed Waterman back—he answered within a couple rings.

“Nick Waterman.”

“Hey, it’s Kane.”

“Did you get my message?” he asked.

“I got it. So he dropped off the car he had early this morning and didn’t book anything sooner than his original flight?”

“Strikes me as weird behavior. I just checked, and he could have grabbed a couple of different flights this morning. If something like that happened to me, nothing would have stopped me from being home as soon as I could.”

“Yeah, I know. Now, the car he dropped off—”

Waterman interrupted. “Not being cleaned and not being rented until they get word.”

“Perfect. I’m going to make a few calls here and try to get someone out to it from the local area there. Even though the mileage doesn’t fit, I want someone to have a look at it anyway.”

“Sure.”

“Can you let me know if he books a different flight or boards the plane for his original?” I asked.

“Of course. I’ll put a flag on him in the system. You’ll know as soon as I do.”

“I appreciate it, Nick.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” I hung up.

In my notepad, I found the page with the name of the company Riaola worked for. I looked them up and dialed. The call went to an answering system telling me they opened at nine. I’d have to try them back in an hour.

Outside my office door, I could see the captain in the bullpen at Hank’s desk. I got up, left my office, and walked over.

“Did you guys just get in?” I asked.

Hank gnawed the end of a granola bar. The crumbs fell from his mustache and sprinkled down onto his navy-blue tie. “Just walked in.”

The captain nodded as he sipped a coffee and swallowed. “Any news on the case?”

“I just talked to Nick at the airport. Riaola returned his rental car in Atlanta a few hours ago. The mileage on the returned car isn’t enough to make a round-trip drive from Atlanta to Tampa.”

“Did the rental car have GPS?” Hank asked.

“No,” I said.

“Did he get a flight?” Bostok asked.

“Nothing new. His original flight puts him back here around one p.m.”

“I thought he was supposed to come in at noon,” Hank said.

“Yeah, so did I.”

“Did you try calling him?” Bostok asked.

“I did. It went straight to voice mail. I guess he’s not taking calls.”

“What about the prints from forensics?” the captain asked.

“I talked to Pax before I left last night. The knives were clean, and they only got two sets of prints from inside the house. The deceased woman’s prints were everywhere, along with one other set that we can’t match—the husband’s more than likely.”

“They aren’t on file?” Hank asked.

I shook my head.

“So what’s next?” Hank asked.

“The car he rented is still at the rental office at the Atlanta airport. I was going to make a call up to the local PD there and see if someone could go have a look at it. If there’s nothing questionable with the car, we can check it off the list.”

“Do we know that it’s still there for sure?” Captain Bostok asked.

“Yeah, Waterman said they aren’t cleaning it or renting it until they get word.”

“You’ll want to talk to the major at the Airport Precinct. They have a separate division that works Hartsfield-Jackson. He’ll be able to send someone out to the car.”

I nodded.

“What does your gut tell you on this Riaola?” Bostok asked.

“The way he was on the phone, the way he tried casting suspicion away from himself, him in no hurry to get back or make the agreed-upon interview time—I think he’s involved, at the minimum.”

The captain stood. “You guys let me know if you need anything. Kane, don’t burn yourself out just because you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Captain Bostok walked toward his office.

I looked at Hank, who was wadding up his granola-bar wrapper. “What’s on your plate?”

The wrapper found the trash bin at the side of his desk. “Whatever you need me to do.”

“Can you get something going on the husband’s phone records?”

“Sure.” Hank pulled his tie to his mouth and ate the remaining crumbs that had accumulated. “How was the steak joint last night?”

“Great. You’ve never been there?”

He shook his head. “I think I might try to check the place out tonight. Karen won’t eat red meat and nags me when I do. So my steak fix has to come when she isn’t around.”

I smirked. “When does she get back?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Why don’t you come over tonight? We’ll grab some steaks and grill out.”

“Yeah?” Hank perked up. “Well, you probably have to pack and all that. I don’t want to intrude on you and Callie.”

“Whatever. Just come over after work. You’re never going to intrude.”

He smiled.

I left Hank’s desk and headed back to my office. I took a seat at my desk and dialed Callie.

She picked up. “Hey.”

“Hey, babe. What’s up?” I asked.

“Nothing. Just doing laundry and getting some stuff packed. Do you want me to put a bag together for you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I can take care of it when I get home. Hey, I invited Hank over to grill out later.”

“Okay. Yeah, that will work. I was going to go out in a bit to do some girl stuff anyway. Do you want me to go grab a couple things from the store?”

“It’s up to you. Otherwise, I can do it on my way home.”

“I’ll get it—I’ll be out anyway. What do you guys want?”

“A couple of T-bones. Some potato salad.”

“Got it, babe. When do you think you’ll be done?”

“Seven at the latest.”

“See you then. Love you.”

“Love you guys too.”

“Aww. Bye, baby.”

I smiled. “See you later.”

I put the phone back on its base. No sooner did my hand come off of the receiver than it rang.

I lifted it back up. “Lieutenant Kane.”

“Kane, it’s Ed. I have a little something here for you guys. I actually just got off the phone with Rick. He’s going to stop back down and take a look at what I found.”

“Well, what did you find?”

“Flesh under her nail.”

“Our guys didn’t spot anything at the scene,” I said.

“I found it under her right large toenail when I was washing her down. The piece is pretty small. I had to look at it under magnification to confirm it as flesh. Rick is on his way over to get a scraping.”

“It didn’t come from her?”

“She has no scratches anywhere.”

“Good. It’s about the first real lead we have. Thanks, Ed.”

“Yup. We’ll see you.”

I hung up and fired off a text to Rick. I wanted to know as soon as he got anything from the flesh sample—he confirmed.

I looked over the notes of what I wanted to get taken care of. All that remained was calling the industrial supply company Riaola worked for and getting in contact with the guys at the Atlanta Police Department. I still had about twenty minutes before American Industrial Materials opened. I looked up the Airport Precinct’s number and found the name of my contact, Major Lance Rogan. I dialed the number.

“APD Airport,” a man answered.

“Hello, this is Lieutenant Carl Kane from the Tampa homicide division. I’m looking to speak with Major Rogan.”

“Sure. One minute, Lieutenant.”

Hold music played in my ear for a number of minutes. It broke only for announcements about the annual APD fundraiser. The music clicked off as someone picked up.

“This is Major Rogan.”

“Hello, Major. Lieutenant Kane from Tampa homicide.”

“Yeah, sorry about the wait. We were just wrapping up our morning meeting. What can I help you with?”

“Well, I have a possible suspect in a homicide that returned a rental car at your airport there this morning.”

“Are you thinking it was involved?”

“That, I’m not sure of. The mileage when the vehicle was returned doesn’t fit. I just wanted to see if you could send out someone to give it a quick look.”

“Sure. What’s the company it was rented from?”

“United Auto Rental.”

“And what should I have my guys looking for?”

I bounced my pen on my desk. “Anything that could suggest the guy was in Tampa. Also, see if there are any signs that the odometer has been tampered with.”

“Sure. What was the name of the man who rented the car?”

“Charles Riaola.”

“I’ll send someone over.”

“Thanks.”

The major and I exchanged contact numbers and hung up. With any luck, I’d be able to check the rental car off the list one way or another within the hour.

The last thing on my plate was calling Riaola’s employer. I pulled the number back up and dialed.

A woman answered immediately. “Thanks for calling American Industrial Materials. This is Lauren. How can I help you today?”

“Hi, Lauren. This is Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa Police Department. Is there someone in charge that I could speak with?”

“One minute.”

She placed me on hold.

A man came on and cleared his throat. “Ted Lang. How can I help you?”

“Hi. Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa Police Department. Are you in charge there?”

“I’m the vice president of sales.” His words were quick and short. I had a feeling he didn’t have much interest in dealing with me.

“Great.” I jotted down his name. “I was wondering if you could confirm an employee’s attendance to a trade show you just conducted in Atlanta?”

“What is this regarding?”

“I just need to confirm his attendance. The employee’s name is Charles Riaola.”

He let out a puff of air in annoyance. “Riaola was there Tuesday but missed Wednesday—food poisoning or some excuse like that.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. One of our managers called me to see if I wanted to send another rep up there. It was a small show, so I just had them work it minus Charles. Why do you need to confirm his whereabouts?”

“It’s just part of an investigation. Thanks for your time, Mr. Lang.”

I hung up and tossed my desk phone back on the base. There was too much circumstantial evidence for there to be any other conclusion than he was involved or committed the crime himself.

The major from the Atlanta Airport Precinct called me back a few minutes after ten—the car was clean. The officer he’d sent out didn’t find anything. The odometer didn’t appear to have been tampered with. The rental car was looking like a dead end.

Rick gave my door a tap and walked in.

“Hey, I just got back from the ME’s office. I got the skin processed, and it should go out for DNA testing today yet.”