Requite (15 page)

I met with Rick and Pax at my unmarked cruiser out front.

“What’s the blood telling you guys?”

“We have samples. We’ll have to run a DNA match to see if it’s Jessica Casey’s,” Pax said.

“How are we thinking it played out?”

“Best guess is that she was bound to that office chair and beaten to death. Under the chair’s armrests, I found some duct tape residue. I found the same around the rolling base. I think he sprayed her and the office chair down when he was done—accounting for the wet chair and diluted blood on it. Then he probably flushed all the blood on the ground down the floor drain when he finished,” Rick said.

Pax nodded along in agreement. “It’s going to take us some time to go through the rest of the building.”

“Alright guys, I’ll let you get back to it.”

I found Hank in the building’s office with Jones and Donner. They each had removed a drawer from the file cabinet and were going through them.

“Anything?” I asked.

I got head shakes signaling
no
from each. There was a blue squishy ball on the edge of the desk. I picked it up and bounced it. “The guy isn’t here, and isn’t going to come back with all the commotion going on here.” I bounced the ball again. “He sold his house.” Another bounce. “He sold his van. The press will do their best to plaster his face all over the television.”

“He’s planning on running and now has no choice but to,” Hank said. He lifted the drawer from the ground and stretched his back. “There’s nothing but business paperwork and bills in here. You guys find any banking information?” he asked.

“Yeah, I set it to the side.” Telwan grabbed a few sheets from the floor and held it up to his eye level. He scrunched his nose. “It looks like he banks with Commemorative Union. I got papers for a personal and business account.”

“We’ll need a warrant to get his bank to give us an alert. You want to pester Faust for it?” Hank asked.

I shook my head. “I’m about four favors deep with him right now. We’ll have to put in the legwork for it. If he has six grand cash in his pocket right now, he won’t need to touch his bank account for a bit.”

Hank slid the drawer back into the file cabinet and outstretched his hand for me to toss him the ball. I did.

He squeezed it in his hand. “Stress ball. Karen bought me one of these.” He spun it around and read the writing on the side. “Rettenburg Wellness Clinic. Isn’t that the place over by the hospital?”

“I don’t know.” I let out a sigh in dismissal. “Let me go get the wheels turning for these bank records. I’m going to call over to Nick at the airport and make sure this guy hasn’t hopped a flight already. He should be able to tell me if Spearman has anything booked in the future as well.”

Tom gnawed on the end of a piece of beef jerky as he walked down the street back to his shop. He’d need to dial up a cab later to take him out to Wesley Chapel where the judge lived. The rest of the day would be spent deciding the perfect place to relocate to. He had mentioned Argentina to his shrink in case the cops ever got to her. It would provide them a place to look—a place where he wouldn’t be. As it stood, he was leaning toward Canada. They had a high percentage of English speaking citizens and enough wilderness that he could easily find a small town and disappear.

Tom approached the crosswalk to the other side of the street. His shop was still a couple blocks away. The signal light across the street flashed a red hand at him telling him not to cross, beneath it, a countdown until the signal changed. Tom leaned against the signal light on his side and pulled the prepaid cell phone from the bag he carried. He glanced over the instructions for activation.

A sound caught his ear. In the distance he heard sirens. He looked around and tried to get a bead on where they came from. The sirens grew louder. They got closer. A white outline of a man walking lit on the signal across the intersection. He tossed the cell phone back into the plastic bag and made his way across the street. He hit the other side and continued up the sidewalk. The sirens remained and continued to grow in volume. They sounded as if they were right behind him. He wouldn’t turn to look. A whoosh of air ruffled the bag he carried as a police cruiser flew by—lights and sirens at full song. Tom kept walking and watched the cruiser disappear to the right at the next intersection. Two more squad cars passed him doing at least twenty over the speed limit. They both slowed and made right hand turns, following the first cruiser.

It was concerning. Tom’s business was to the right, just a block down. He approached the intersection and glanced over. He could see his shop. Police cars were parked all around the building, lots of police cars. The ones that just passed pulled to the curb. The garage door at the back of his building had been pushed in. They found him.

How? There’s no way they could have found me this fast?

The crosswalk light told him to walk—he didn’t. Tom stood as motionless as a statue. He stared down the block.

I haven’t even left the final message that would tie it together—the message that would reveal who this was for.

Tom continued watching the police walking around outside the shop. Other cops in suits came from inside the building. They had roped the place off.

But how? I was careful. I didn’t leave any prints. There was no evidence.

Tom’s mind raced. He shook his head.
They couldn’t have put it together without the final message, unless that piece of shit Casey talked. But he would have had to implicate himself in some way if he talked to the cops.

Tom didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t change the fact that the police were there, and in force. If they searched the shop, they’d find something. He cleaned up, but not good enough. The shop wouldn’t pass a Forensic inspection. They’d find blood somewhere. There was so much of it.

Across the street to Tom’s left was a bus stop. He walked over and sat on the bench. The cops had to have a warrant to enter, which meant they had his identity. They’d be looking for him. He had his brother’s I.D. and passport. He could leave now. Take the first flight out.

Tom kicked his leg over his knee and leaned back on the bench. He took in the cops working from a block away. There had to be at least ten police officers in uniform outside, who knew how many more inside. He spotted at least another five cops in suits.

A city bus pulled to the curb and let out a hiss from its air brakes. It lunged forward as it stopped. The door folded open. Tom was focused on the police at his building.

“You getting on?” the driver asked.

Tom looked up at the driver sitting in the seat staring down at him. “Oh, yeah I am. Sorry.” He stood and walked up the steps. After paying, he found a seat toward the back. He stared at the scene out the window as the bus pulled from the curb and entered traffic.

I spent another two hours at the scene. Forensics wrapped up a little after seven o’clock. Hank left before five to meet with his insurance adjuster. I sent Jones and Donner home a few minutes prior to Hank leaving. District Attorney Welsch fast tracked my request for a subpoena on Spearman’s bank records. We also requested an alert if the cards attached were used. The paperwork got sent over to the credit union. I expected the records on my desk by morning.

We had our guy, now we just needed to find him. He didn’t have a vehicle, home or place of business to hide out at. Our best chance was to splash Spearman’s face everywhere and hope the public spotted him and called it in. With a pocket full of cash, he could have been anywhere. That anywhere didn’t include being on an airplane though. My talk with Nick at the airport came up fruitless. Spearman didn’t have a flight booked.

It was around 7:45 p.m. when I left the station for my condo. Callie had been at my place since six o’clock. I called and apologized twice, she seemed fine with hanging around and waiting. There were no pressing plans, aside from sitting on the couch and watching television.

I cracked my front door and crouched to catch the about-to-escape cat. He didn’t come. I pushed the door open and walked inside. The smell of barbecue sauce filled the condo. Callie looked over at me from the couch and smiled. Butch slept on her lap.

“Hey, sorry,” I said.

Callie took Butch in her arms, stood and draped him over her shoulder like a baby. She wore a small green tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans. She carried him over to me, wrapped her free arm around my neck and gave me a kiss. “Perfect timing, food is almost ready. How was work?”

“Long. We got an I.D. on our suspect. Now we just need to track him down.”

“You will.”

I nodded and gave Butch a pet. “That’s dangerous.”

“What’s dangerous?”

“Carrying him like that. The one and only time I tried that, he clawed his way up my body and used my head to launch himself back to the couch.” I grabbed my earlobe and showed it to her. “He caught a chunk of my ear with one of his back claws as he kicked off.”

She laughed and gave Butch a kiss on the side of his face. It appeared as if he leaned in for it. “He wouldn’t do that to me. He loves me. We have a special bond.”

I’d argue if I could, but she was right. Somehow the wild animal I owned for the last few years was surprisingly docile with her.

She gave me another kiss, this one longer, and then rubbed the stubble on my cheek.

“Yeah, I need to shave,” I said.

“I like it.”

“You like having an old looking, half gray bearded boyfriend?”

“It’s sexy. Makes you look rugged.”

“That’s what you’re into? Rugged?”

She pulled herself in close and spoke quiet. “Oh yeah. Bald, rugged cops.”

She gave me a sideways smile and headed for the kitchen. “No guns at the dinner table. Go put it away.”

I obeyed and changed out of my suit. In the bathroom, I ran some cold water over my face in hopes of it doing something to wake up. I was exhausted. I looked at myself in the mirror and ran a hand over my face. “Rugged, huh?”

“Are you talking to yourself in the mirror?”

I jerked my head left to see Callie standing in the doorway smiling.

“You’re such a dork. Come on, food is on the table.”

I followed her out and grabbed her by the waist.

“What did you make? Smells like barbecue.”

She put her hands over mine.

“Ribs in the slow cooker.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I have a slow cooker?”

“Yeah, I found it under the counter.”

“Huh, who knew?”

We sat and ate with a bottle of wine she picked up. It was becoming clear that she knew how to cook. After eating TV dinners and take out for the better part of two years, I was enjoying having someone who knew how to cook around. Everything she made was fantastic.

We hit the couch and flipped on the television. I let her take ownership of the remote control. She flicked on a show about people searching for houses, followed by a show of wedding planning. I think it was some kind of attempt at a subliminal message. I couldn’t get my mind off the case long enough to think about it. There was something bugging me, like a little worm twisting its way through my brain matter.

“You’re quiet. What’s up?” she asked.

“Just thinking about work stuff, sorry. You want to go out for a little or something? Maybe it will help me get my mind off of it.”

Callie hit pause on the television. “If you want to. Where to? Lefty’s?”

“We can go somewhere else. I don’t want you to have to go to your work when you’re not working.”

“Nah, Lefty’s is fine. I don’t mind. Do you care if we walk?”

“Sure.”

We headed out. She reached to hold my hand when we hit the sidewalk. She leaned into me as we walked.

“Pool or darts?” I asked.

“I learned my lesson playing you in pool. You won’t beat me in darts though.”

I’d never played her in darts, but I liked my chances. “Confidence, huh? How about a wager?”

She laughed. “We’ll see.”

We passed the park where Jessica Casey’s body had been left—it looked normal. There was no police tape, no cops milling around. It looked as if it never happened, but the park with the station lit up behind it only fueled my thoughts on the case. I was missing something. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

The first bus took him to the mall near the airport. He made a quick stop inside to purchase a hat. It was a dangerous place if he was being sought. The police could have already distributed his name and photo to the press. He still didn’t know how they found him or what evidence they had. The one thing he knew was that he wouldn’t run—not until he finished. Everyone involved had to pay.

He waited for a connecting bus at the stop. He kept his head down and his hat low.

The bus that picked him up took him back into downtown. It dropped him just two blocks east of the police headquarters and the park where he dumped Jessica’s body. He sat amongst four other people waiting for twenty minutes. He did his best to avoid eye contact. The last bus of the day heading north to Wesley Chapel pulled to the stop. Tom boarded. The ride was over an hour and ended at a drug store a mile and a half from his destination.

He didn’t have his tire iron or anything to break into the judge’s house aside from his pocket knife. He needed to improvise. Tom walked inside the drug store and purchased a package of metal hangers. As soon as he walked out, he removed two and tossed the rest in a garbage can. He began his walk.

As he walked past the resort in the center of the neighborhood, a vehicle appeared ahead from the judge’s street. There were only three houses on Casey’s block. Tom watched the car as it came closer. The street lights reflected off the dark gray BMW sport utility as it passed. It was Casey. Tom recognized the SUV from one of the nights he spent parked out front of Casey’s house seething. He’d spent many evenings watching the judge—nights of pacing his driveway. Nights of resting his finger on the doorbell—just slight pressure away from pressing it in. Something always stopped him. The judge’s pawns needed justice as well. Tom needed to plan it out. Casey needed to be last.