Requite (18 page)

Tom’s head rang listening to the people make annoying small talk. With each painful pump of blood, his shoulder ignited in pain. The pain moved to his head next. Shoulder, then head, and again. The dance of pain was unbearable. He willed the light to flash lobby. It stopped on the next floor down to pick up two more people. Tom couldn’t deal with it for a second longer. He exited the elevator.

“This isn’t the lobby,” the old man said.

Tom ignored him and continued down the hall looking for the stairs. He found them tucked in by the ice machine. He pushed open the heavy steel door and started down. Each step jarred a thump of pain through his body. He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped. He was dizzy. Tom held the rail of the stairs until it passed. He opened the door to the lobby and stepped out.

He was across from the large gift shop near the front reception desk. Souvenirs, clothing and miscellaneous sporting goods filled the store. Tom entered and walked to the small section marked Health and Beauty.

He looked through the offerings. He picked up a Chapstick sized bottle of Ibuprofen and looked at the label—ten pills inside. The price of the bottle was $8.50. He browsed the rest of the items hanging on the rack and picked up a small roll of athletic tape. Clothing was next on his list. Tom walked past the snow globes and souvenir shot glasses to the apparel section at the back. The options were slim. He grabbed the first shirt that was his size, a beige Hawaiian button-up with pink flowers. A straw hat and a pair of khaki shorts completed the outfit. He made his way to the checkout counter.

A female employee got Tom’s attention from the cash register at the end of the counter. “I can help you down here, Sir.”

He walked over and sat his items down. He fished his wallet from his pants and opened it up. Four thousand and some change in hundred dollar bills plus a two thousand dollar pre-paid credit card. He slid one of the hundreds out.

The girl took the items and scanned each one with the laser wand. “Are you going for the stereotypical retired man in Florida look?” She smiled.

“About another twenty years until I retire. I figured I’d start on the wardrobe now.” Tom forced a smile through his pain.

“The straw golf hat is kind of cool. Are you planning on golfing at the resort?”

“No. No golf. I just liked the hat.

She smiled. “That comes to ninety-six dollars and ten cents please.”

Tom handed her the hundred.

“Is that blood?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“On your shoulder there.” She pointed.

Tom looked down and saw blood beginning to seep through the sweater he took from the judge’s place. He thought fast and pushed the pain down to respond. “Dammit, I must have pulled a stitch. The doctor warned me about over exerting myself. I’m sorry. I had shoulder surgery a few days ago. Today was the first day I didn’t need to be all bandaged up. I guess I should have kept the sling on.”

“You should be at home resting,” the girl said.

“I wanted to get away. I thought a resort would be a nice quiet place to try to heal up.”

“Well, at least you have some fancy new clothes to wear now.” She put the clothes in a bag and pulled the receipt from the printer of the register. “Receipt in the bag OK?”

“That’s fine, thank you.”

She tossed the receipt in with the clothes and handed Tom the bag by the handle. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Tom took his purchases out of the store and back to a waiting elevator. He walked in and hit floor eight. Tom pressed the door close button before anyone could get in with him. The doors opened and let him out on the eighth floor. He walked down the hall, past a maid’s cart, to the door of his room. A slide of a key card let him in. At the bed, he removed the sweater and tossed it on the floor. He ripped the tags from the clothing he just purchased and laid them out. The tape and ibuprofen in his hand, he headed to the bathroom. He unwrapped the plastic cup next to the bathroom sink and filled it with water. Tom downed the entire bottle of pills.

He tore two strips from a washcloth, doubled them up and made pads over the stitches in his shoulder. With the athletic tape, he secured the washcloth pads to his shoulder.

Tom walked back to the bed and dressed in his stereotypical Floridian retiree outfit. He stood in front of the mirror to give himself a look.

“Ugh.”

He took a seat at the desk across from the bed. The phone book was opened to letter L. His finger ran down the page and stopped at the first large ad he saw. He dialed the number. Someone picked up within a few rings.

“Prestige Limousine. How can I help you?”

“Hello. Yes, I was wondering if I could book a car for this morning?” Tom rested the receiver on his good shoulder and grabbed a pen and pad of paper from the desk.

“Where are you located?”

“I’m at the Saddle Creek resort in Wesley Chapel,” Tom said.

“OK. And would this be in town or out of town?”

“I’d be staying in the Tampa area—from here to the airport.” He tapped the pen back and forth on the top of the desk.

“How soon would you need to be picked up, Sir?”

“As soon as possible please,” Tom said.

“Are you looking for a limousine or town car?”

“A town car is fine.”

“One moment let me check and see what we have,” the man said.

“Sure.”

Tom’s stomach grumbled as he sat in the chair. He questioned if it was his body trying to digest the pills or hunger pains. He tried to remember the last time he ate—he couldn’t.

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“We can have a car out to you in about an hour if that works?”

“Perfect.”

“We will just need your name and a credit card number for a deposit. We will charge you for the hours used after your travels.”

“That’s fine.”

Tom rattled off the pre-paid credit card number and a fake name to the guy. He left him his room number for the driver to call when he got downstairs

I need to eat
, Tom thought.

He found the room service menu and opened it on the desk. The breakfast section caught his eye. He picked up the phone and dialed the lobby.

“Front desk,” the receptionist said.

“Can I have room service please?”

“Sure I’ll put you through.”

Tom waited on the line listening to the resort promoting its activities in his ear.

“Room service, what would you like to order this morning?” a woman asked.

“Can I get the Eggs Benedict and a side of hash browns?”

“Sure. It should be about twenty-five minutes. Anything else? Coffee or something to drink?”

As Tom thought over what to order for a drink he noticed a mini fridge under the television.

“Can you hold on one second?” he asked.

Tom sat the receiver down and rolled the desk chair over to the fridge. He popped open the door. A fully stocked mini bar. He reached in and took out two small bottles of vodka. He wheeled himself back to the phone.

“I think I’ll be fine with beverages.”

Tom cracked the seal on one of the bottles and downed it.

“OK. Your meal should be up to you shortly. Thanks for ordering.”

“Thank you,” Tom said.

He unscrewed the lid of the second vodka.

I filled Hank in on the conversation the captain and I had regarding Casey on the ride over. We pulled into the judge’s driveway right around nine thirty. We followed the brick paved sidewalk to the front door. Hank hit the doorbell, and we waited. No response or sound came from inside. Hank hit the buzzer again—nothing.

I dialed up the captain at the station.

“Captain Bostok.”

“Hey, it’s Kane. No answer at Casey’s. Santos didn’t call about him leaving?”

“No. He’s parked over at the resort facing the street. There’s only one way in and out of the subdivision. Casey would’ve had to pass him.”

“Alright, we’ll check around back. He might be in the pool or something.”

I clicked off from the captain.

We walked around the side of Casey’s house. The two story lanai over the pool was surrounded by bushes, landscaping and various palm trees. There was no sign of the judge.

“Someone could have picked him up,” Hank said.

“Let’s take a peek in the garage.”

We walked back to the front. Hank cupped his hands around the glass of the window. “I got his SUV and an old Nova inside.”

“Santos said he was drinking last night. Maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover,” I said.

We went back to the front door to give the bell a few more rings.

Hank ducked down to try to get a view into the house at the window adjacent to the door. “Shit.” He reached into his jacket and pulled his service weapon. “There’s a body in the living room.”

I pulled my gun.

Hank checked the knob on the door—locked.

I took in the massive entry doors into the house. I’d never be able to kick them in.

“Around back. Patio,” I said.

We jogged around the house and made our way into the lanai. We went to the back glass sliding doors. They were all locked.

“Watch out Hank.”

He took a step back.

With a confident strike, I hammered the glass door with my elbow. It exploded inward in a shower of falling safety glass. We pushed through the blinds and entered. “Tampa Police Department!” I shouted.

There was no noise. No one ran.

We took a few steps into the kitchen. I saw the body lying on the floor of the living room.

“Watch my back.”

Hank nodded.

I crouched and made my way to the body. It was Casey. I didn’t need to check for a pulse. His skull was caved in and the lower half of his face was crushed. The word
Spearman
had been carved into his forehead. There was no doubt who did it. I pulled my phone to call it in and dialed District Two.

“Tampa Police non-emergency line. How can I direct your call?”

“This is Lieutenant Kane from District Three. We need backup to 805 Birdie Court. We have a one eighty-seven.”

“Right away, Lieutenant.”

I hung up and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. Hank and I moved through the kitchen. I headed to my right past the kitchen table and toward the garage. I stood in the laundry room. Blood was sprayed across the wall. A tire iron covered in blood lay on the ground. A revolver lay next to the washing machine. It had to be where the homicide occurred. There were drag marks coming out of the area into the kitchen. I opened the door for the garage—sticking my gun through the doorway as I flipped on the light. Aside from the judge’s cars, it was empty. I closed the door and looked through the dining room. I saw Hank sweeping the foyer and den. We met at the living room.

“I found blood coming from the laundry room into the kitchen,” I said.

“Blood and a pile of bloody clothes in the bathroom,” he said.

I nodded.

Hank pointed to the stairs leading up to the second story. Photos, broken picture frames and glass littered the marble staircase. We tried our best to avoid it as we made our way to the first landing. Our guns pointed up, we continued on. We reached the top of the stairs and split up. I searched each room. There was no one. I met Hank back at the top of the stairs.

“Anything?” he asked.

“No. Looks like whoever was here is gone. I think someone went through his stuff though. Let’s go see what we have in the living room.”

As we hit the landing of the staircase on our way down, I saw squad cars pulling in through the large window overlooking the front yard. “Our backup is here.”

We walked down the rest of the stairs to the main level. I stopped at the judge in the living room. Hank opened the door for the officers. They stood in the doorway and stared at the body.

I motioned for them to come in. Their tags said Barth and Rose.

“Guys, I’m pretty sure we’re all clear, but can you do another quick sweep of the property to double check?”

The one named Barth nodded and the two officers removed their weapons from their holsters and entered the house. I dialed the captain.

“Captain Bostok.”

“It’s Kane. Spearman killed Casey. Can you get Rick out here?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, but I could hear the captain breathing.

“Same as the rest?”

“Yeah.”

There was another pause on the phone.

“We’re on our way.”

The phone line went dead.

I stuffed the phone back in my pocket. I met Hank at the bathroom where he said he found bloody clothing.

“No one tried to clean up. There’s blood everywhere,” Hank said. He pointed to the bloody hooded sweatshirt on the ground.

I peeked into the sink. A half inch of blood covered the base. Fishing line and a fishhook lay on the edge.

“You think he tried stitching himself up?” Hank asked.

“I don’t know why else that would be there. Casey might have shot him. There’s a revolver on the floor of the laundry room. I didn’t get a good look at it, but it could have been the one that was in the judge’s waistline. Forensics should be able to tell us what transpired when they get here.”

“Did Cap say he was coming?”

“He said he was on his way.”

I walked toward the laundry room. The two officers from District Two approached.

“You want me to make the call to get our Forensics guys down here?” Rose asked.

“Hold off on that for one second.” I excused myself and pulled my phone. I dialed the number for District Two.

“Tampa Police non-emergency line.”

“Captain Clark, please.”

“One moment,” the woman said.

“This is Clark.”

“Captain, it’s Lieutenant Kane. We have a homicide over in your district here.”

“I heard it come through, was just leaving to come over there. Is it the judge?”

“It is.”

He let out a puff of air.

“It’s the same perp as our double the other day.”

“You’re positive?”

“Yes. With that, I have to ask…”

Captain Clark interrupted. “You want your team to take the scene?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine, Lieutenant. I should be down there in fifteen.”