Requite (12 page)

With our assigned screens, he started the video. After numerous stops that weren’t what we sought, Hank yelled out stop at 3:58 a.m. Ken rewound the footage another two minutes and hit play. We stared at the screen watching what we assumed was the body dump unfold. At 3:57 and nineteen seconds, a person in a large jacket with the hood pulled over their head appeared from the side of the frame pushing a shopping cart. From the video it appeared to be filled with something. They disappeared from the streetlights of the sidewalk into the park. Two minutes later, the same person that was pushing the shopping cart reappeared heading the way they came. The person wasn’t moving fast or slow, just a normal pace minus the cart. It was that simple. The person pushed Jessica’s body up in the cart, sat her on the bench, left the cart, and walked away.

“Is that the right time?” I asked.

“Our system is set to GMT minus four hours.”

A simple
yes
would have been sufficient. I let the other groups know what time to look for over the radio. I got a call back from Jones and Donner confirming they were looking at video and would head to the stated time. Officer Henry and Telwan confirmed the time but had yet to find any footage.

I pointed to the figure on the screen. “Is there any way to get a better view of that person?”

He shook his head. “This is going to be the extent of it. They’re a good sixty yards from the camera.”

“Can we see set these other two cameras for that time and see if we can get anything else?” Hank asked.

“Sure.” Ken rolled the footage on side by side screens. The camera facing our police station didn’t catch anything. The camera facing the other side caught a bit more of the person leaving the scene.

“You have a way to burn this footage to disc or something?” I asked.

“Yeah, let me just go find something to put it on.”

He had us set with a matter of minutes and Hank and I thanked him for his help. I put a call over the radio for the rest of the guys to meet us back at the park. We had the direction he came and went from. I was hoping there would be more video from the businesses heading down North Tampa street.

The van sat parked in the back of the shop. Tom double checked the glove compartment, door pockets and under the seat. The front was clean. He needed to address the back. Even though he had hosed her down, blood still leaked from her head when he laid her inside. He grabbed a couple shop towels from his workbench and scrubbed at it. A few sprays with a little bathroom cleaner, and the back was clean enough. Tom removed the magnets and tossed them in the corner. The phone in the shop rang. He walked to his office and scooped it up.

“Speedy’s Plumbing and Supply. This is Tom.”

“Hey, this is Daniel, we spoke a little bit ago. I’m out front. I tried the door, but it was locked.”

“Sure. Why don’t you come around back, the door is open.”

“Oh, OK. Be back there in a second.”

Tom hung up and went to meet his potential buyer.

We gathered back in the park. Pax worked nearer to the station. He was waist deep leaned over into a garbage can. Rob from Forensics was dusting the shopping cart.

I looked to Officer Henry and Telwan. “Did you guys get anything?”

Telwan spoke up. “We got a manager from the cantina that’s going to call us back as soon as the owner gets in. I guess he’s the only one who knows how to operate their video security.”

“We didn’t have too much luck at the other places either. The one doesn’t have any video security, and the little hot dog place on the corner just has a single camera focused on the cash register,” Officer Henry said.

“Well, hang tight guys. We’ll need you some more here.”

“Sure,” Henry said.

Telwan scratched at his chin. “Yeah, no problem.”

I noticed Jones had a CD case in his hand. I flipped a finger at it. “That the footage?”

“Kind of.” He handed the disc over. “There’s about thirty seconds of it. The camera from their front door is focused straight out. You can see the other side of the street alright, but it gets pretty dark and grainy over at the park. We could kind of see the person put her on the bench, but it’s just shadows. You’d never be able to make any kind identification from it.”

“Anything of the person coming or going?” Hank asked.

Donner shook his head. “Nah. Jones pretty much nailed it. If you didn’t radio us a specific time to look for, we wouldn’t have noticed it at all.”

“Alright. We’ve got footage of our guy leaving the scene on foot down North Tampa.” I pointed up the street. “You guys split up and head down the block. Jones, Donner, you guys take the east side of the street—Telwan, Henry, you guys the west. I want you guys to do the same thing as you just did, stop into the businesses and look for surveillance footage. Hit every dumpster, garbage can and alley on the way and give them a good once over. Hank, I want you to get in by Rick and get an update. I’m going to take these videos in to the guys in Tech and have them get started. Everyone, give me a ring with any news.”

The group disbanded. Hank and I headed back across the park for the station. News vans still reported from the north side of the park. We walked into the station on ground level and split up. I headed to the Tech Department at the end of the hall. Hank walked off to the Forensics lab.

Our Tech Department consisted of two to four men, shift depending. The back wall was lined with video equipment and monitors. Two men, Greenway and Westbrook were viewing video footage. The left side of the room contained a giant whiteboard with what they were working.
Park video
was written in giant red letters. The right side held Terry Murphy’s office—the lead of the department. He sat at his desk focused on his computer screen. I gave the door a rap and walked in.

“Terry, got more video for you.” I sat the two discs on his desk.

He pulled his eyes away from the monitor and scooped them up. “Good. The guys are working on what the station’s cameras captured now. So far, not much of anything.”

“Got the guy on the blue disc there entering and exiting the park. Footage is pretty decent. That second disc I haven’t looked at but the detectives told me the quality wasn’t too hot.”

“I’ll have the guys try to clean it up a little. If we can get something distinguishable, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good. Call me on my cell. I might be out of the station.”

“Will do, Lieutenant.”

I left his office and made my way over to the Forensics lab to see if Hank was having better luck. Our Forensics department had been re-designed and updated just last year, it was now one of the most advanced in the state. Through the doorway the room spread out fifty feet to the left and right—everything was either stainless steel, black or glass. Straight down the center were three rows of black topped work stations, stainless sinks and miscellaneous equipment that I couldn’t identify. Each station had an employee wearing a white lab coat plugging away at whatever they were working on. To the left sat the glass offices of the department leads. The right side of the room had four different clean rooms. The back wall held the ballistics area and blood spatter analysis center. A shop area with a garage door to the outside sat behind that if they needed to process a vehicle. Rick’s office door to my left was open. Hank sat inside. I headed in.

“Hey Lieutenant, I was just going over what we had with the sergeant here.”

“Bring me up to speed.” I sat next to Hank.

“Well, I left a message on your voicemail upstairs about the tire marks, but we can just go over it here. I just got something back on the trace that was on the victim’s clothing as well.” He slid two sheets of paper over to me. “Tires first.”

I picked it up and looked it over. The first sheet of paper had bar graphs on it. I assumed it was some kind of chemical compound results from the rubber left at the scene. The second sheet had two photos of tire tread. “What am I looking at here, Rick?”

“The chemical makeup of the tires and tread pattern match. The tires came as original equipment on a 2006 Chevy Express van. About a ninety-nine percent chance that is going to be the van you’re looking for.”

“How are you so sure of that?” I asked. “I’d think that if they were original equipment they would have been replaced two or three times by now. Maybe even more if it was used for business.”

“Who’s to say someone didn’t buy them from a tire shop for a different van?” Hank asked.

“Hold on fellas.” Rick smiled. “Original equipment sent straight to the manufacturer in 2005 to be used on the 2006 vans. They were never for sale to the public. On top of that, they had a recall half way through the production year for a manufacturer’s defect. The dealers were ordered to pull the old tires and replace. Pretty good chance you are looking for a low mileage, 2006 van. It would be built early in the model year and never had the recall performed.”

Hank looked to me. “I’m convinced.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty air tight.” I wrote down 2006 Chevy Express van in my notepad. “Give me one second here, Rick.”

I dialed up Timmons in patrol to get the BOLO for the van narrowed down. The conversation was short and to the point. I hung up and looked back to Rick. “OK, what about the trace you found?”

He flipped open a folder in front of him. “It was a dark blue paste. Here’s the chemical breakdown.” He slid the sheet over. “It’s thread sealant.”

“Thread sealant?” Hank asked.

“What kind?” I asked.

“It’s standard stuff in the plumbing industry. It could be a couple different brands though. They’re all made of the same stuff. My guess is that our guy is a plumber. It may have been transferred from the floor or a shelf in his van to her clothing.”

I wrote plumber and plumbing van down. “What about Pax out in the park. Did he come up with anything?”

“Last I talked to him, he hadn’t found anything.”

“We saw Rob dusting the shopping cart for prints on our way back. What about that? Anything?” Hank asked.

“He called over a few minutes ago. He lifted a bunch of smudges and partials. I wouldn’t hold my breath for something there. That’s all I have for you guys right now. If we come up with anything else, I’ll let you guys know.”

“Thanks Rick. Are these sheets mine?”

“Yup. Those are for you.” He slid me the folder.

I stuffed the papers back inside and headed out. I wanted to get a hold of the guys out searching for video and see what they had found.

I walked out of the lunch room when my cell buzzed in my pocket. I switched hands with the coffee and dug out my phone. The caller I.D. said it came from a restricted number. I had a pretty good hunch at who it was. I hit talk.

“Lieutenant Kane.”

“It’s Faust.”

“Hey. How are my background checks coming? Did anything pop on the Millers?”

“Well, you might say that. We have a football field sized red flag here.”

I walked through my office door and took a seat at my desk. “I’m listening. Let’s have it.”

“Well, let’s get the big one out of the way first. Do you have any clue where they came up with just under ten grand cash to deposit into their joint bank account every month?”

“I spoke with the adult son of Margaret Miller. He said that they had hit the lotto.”

“Might have been their story, but it didn’t happen. We’d have state and federal records of it. There’s nothing.”

“So where does the cash come from?”

“Good question. They were up to their eyeballs in debt before the deposits started.”

“How bad?”

“They had a combined debt of over seventy-five thousand. Lots of credit cards with a few high interest loans sprinkled in—all of which were behind on payments.”

“And now?”

“Everything got paid off in full during the same month—December of last year.”

“I’m guessing that we can rule out a rich dead uncle.”

“No inheritance. No trust.”

“So where does the cash come from? Drugs maybe? These two came up pretty clean when I looked into them though. What did you come up with?”

“Here is what I got. These two both had regular jobs. James Miller worked as a mechanic at a local garage. Margaret Miller waited tables. They both up and quit last December—no notice, no nothing, just quit. A couple days later they started depositing large sums of money in their bank accounts—yet, never enough for a form 8300. Every month since, they deposit just under ten grand cash—no more, no less. Nothing about them tells me drugs, but the dollar amount is questionable for sure. Anything over ten thousand and you have to fill out the form.”

“You have a hunch where it could come from?”

“Don’t know, but I doubt it’s legit. The phone records are still in the process. I’ll make sure they go back before the money starts rolling. You should have them soon.”

“I appreciate it. I have one more thing to ask. This one is a little out of our scope.”

“OK.”

“Is there a way to get a list of all the murdered women named Claire for the last ten years.”

“Claire? Is that state or nationwide?”

“I’d say state. All of our victims are local.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks.”

“No sweat Kane. We’ll talk soon.” He hung up.

I grabbed the Miller’s file from inside my desk and wrote
mystery money
on the cover. I flipped through my notes. A few pieces were starting to come together. The Millers had the words
justice
and
for
carved into their heads. With the words
murdering
and
Claire
coming next on Jessica and Jake, I had a feeling the money being received by the Millers had something to do with a dead woman named Claire. On top of the money trail, it appeared that our perp was driving around a 2006 Chevy van and could have worked as a plumber.

Captain Bostok knocked on my door and walked in.

“News?” he asked.

“Hey Cap. Faust got some red flags on the Miller’s bank accounts—lots of money coming in with no employment to account for it.”

“What does he think?”

“Something illegal.”