Exacting Justice

by TG Wolff

  “I’m out, Cruz. I’m done. If it’ll help…”

  Cruz stood firm. “There’s too much risk to you. The public doesn’t need to know your name. If the suspect wants to know it, he can ask you when he talks to you. If he is doing this alone, there’s a good chance he’s feeling the weight. I would. I’d need someone who understands the weight that’s on my shoulders. It’s crippling without help.”

  “Many hands make light work,” Chen added.

  An hour later, the real show started. The rhetoric said they were all on the same side, a cooperative effort to catch a killer. Blah blah blah. But the conference room where Francesca Pelletier interviewed Nick Kroc set up like boxing match.

  In the red corner, weighing in at one hundred nineteen pounds, wearing a cream-colored button-down blouse and grey dress slacks, from the Akron Beacon-Journal, Frankie “I Can Handle the Truth” Pelletier.

  Frankie is managed by the immortal J. Stanley Moses who credits his immortality to eating cops for breakfast.

  In the blue corner, weighing in at one hundred eighty-six pounds, wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt, the former undercover narcotics officer from the Cleveland police, Nick “Lone Survivor” Kroc.

  Kroc is backed by Commander Montoya, Detectives Cruz and Yablonski, PIO Hyatt, and the entire fucking Cleveland police force. Choke on that, Moses.

  Ding Ding

  The fighters come out of their corners.

  Frankie circles, working the corners of the ring. Jabbing lightly, testing the waters.

  Kroc is letting her lead. Protecting his body, knocking away the jabs.

  Frankie steps in with an upper cut. “Five men walked into that garage on a Friday night. Only you walked out. How did you escape the Drug Head Murderer?”

  Kroc takes the blow without batting an eye. “I didn’t escape. The suspect let me go.”

  “Why you? He’s killed nine people, mounting their heads like trophies. Why let you go?”

  “I told him I was a cop. Convinced him I was a cop. Maybe…maybe he recognized I was doing the same job he was.”

  “But why let you go? You’re a loose end. You’re a living, breathing clue to his identity. There has to be more.”

  Kroc is working up a sweat. Sticking to strategy is a bitch when she is throwing his nightmare in his face. “He’s like me. Standing for the people of the community. Maybe that’s enough.”

  Ding Ding

  In the red corner, Moses is laying into Pelletier. He doesn’t like what his woman is doing. Pussy-footing is not his calling card.

  The blue corner is rallying around Kroc. Detective Cruz is in his face, pumping him up.

  Ding Ding

  Pelletier lights out of the corner. “The Drug Head Killer had you for nearly forty hours. What did he look like? What did you see?”

  “What I saw isn’t fit for print.”

  “Can the censorship, Officer. Did you see the killer? What does he look like?”

  Kroc takes a step back, swinging with a wild upper cut. “I didn’t see him. He didn’t talk. Christ. I’m not even sure it was a guy.”

  Pelletier staggers backward under the blindside. “A woman. You think the Drug Head Killer is a woman?”

  “Why not?” Kroc jabs with the right. “Women are strong. Passionate. Protectors of children, families. If your son or daughter was hurt, in danger, what would you do to protect them?”

  Pelletier bounces off the ropes. “Anything. Everything.”

  Ding Ding

  Both corners are working their fighters over. Pain is transparent on both faces. This fight is coming down to stamina.

  Who wants it more?

  Ding Ding

  Kroc goes for the body. “I want to meet him. Her. I want to know why me.”

  Pelletier is stunned but recovers quickly, dancing out of range. “You’re not serious. He nearly killed you once. Why would you give him the chance again?”

  “Protect and serve. It’s not a motto for me, it’s a promise. I don’t agree with the methodology and absolutely condemn it. But I understand what’s behind it. I want to find another way.”

  Pelletier moves in, tying Kroc up. “I want to be there. I have a stake in this, too.”

  The unprecedented move clears the corners.

  Ding Ding

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “The suspect is a killer.”

  “This is what journalism is.”

  Ding Ding

  “He’ll never go for it.”

  “He’s too smart.”

  “But if he does…”

  Ding Ding

  It’s pandemonium. Desperate times truly have led to desperate measures.

  May 21

  The angel has a story on the front page and it is filled with good news. In the battle for the city, good is winning. My heart is beating so fast, it might explode. The city is changing, people are changing. Goodness has taken root.

  Nick Kroc is the police officer who stayed with me. He slept most of the time but we had good talks those days we spent together. He had a good jaw, strong and just. I would like to see him again.

  I’ll need to think this through. Every soldier works alone. That’s the rule. I’ll need to be careful. Can’t break the rules. Can’t break the rules.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Monday, May 21

  “Drug Head Murderer…or Hero?” The headline would do what they needed—capture the suspect’s attention—but Cruz choked on it. His stomach turned. Not even coffee helped. He set down the go cup and pinned the article to his board.

  There was nothing heroic about the atrocities the suspect perpetrated. Working through the system, with all its flaws and procedures, complexities and nuances, that was heroic. It wasn’t sexy, and it wasn’t fast but why should it be? People’s lives were on the line. Mistakes here were devastating.

  A subset of the population found what the suspect did heroic, taking out the bad guys where the cops and prosecutors, judges and juries couldn’t. Frankie Pelletier’s story could be a dangerous rally cry.

  His cell rang, identifying the caller as Nick Kroc. “Cruz.”

  Heavy breathing came through the phone. “He’s at the zoo. Get here. Now.”

  “Call dispatch,” he ordered another detective. He gave him the information needed as he ran out the door, Kroc still in his ear.

  A voice in the background shouted. “Sir. Stop. You can’t enter without ID, a ticket or a pass.”

  “I’m a police officer,” Kroc said. “A suspect just came in here. Black pants with a white stripe, black running shoes, black hoodie.”

  “Lock it down.” Cruz shouted into the phone as he raced out of the station. It was a big place but their first chance to catch the suspect. “Lock the zoo down.”

  “Lock it down,” Kroc said. “Officer Nick Kroc, Cleveland police. No one in or out. Get me some help, Cruz.”

  “We’re on the way.” With lights and sirens going, Cruz joined no less than eight cruisers straddling the brick paved entrance to the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo. The SWAT truck followed him in.

  The zoo had protocols in the event of an emergency evacuation that had never before been put to a live test. Announcements over the speaker system informed people of an emergency and directed them to the nearer of the two public entrances. Armed Cleveland police searched each person before allowing them to exit.

  Kroc was inside the main gates, standing on a souvenir stand to see above the impatient crowd. SWAT members raced by in full gear, guns across their chests. Children were pushed behind parents as the crowd opened a wide path.

  Cruz climbed up next to Kroc. “What does he look like?”

  “I didn’t see his face.”

  “Wh-what?” He did a double take, certain he misheard.

  “He wore a hood and his face was shaded. I couldn’t see his features.”

  “But you’re sure it’s a him?”

  “Absolutely. Under six-foot, trim build and fast.”
<
br />   “You’re sure he’s in here?”

  “I saw him run in.”

  “Who’s head of security?”

  Kroc pointed to a man in his fifties walking back and forth along the front line. Cruz converged on the man at the same time as the SWAT team leader. The priority was to get the civilians out safely. Women and children were waved through more quickly. Bags were checked for clothing matching the description before leaving. Cleveland police scoured the parking lots, providing both a measure of safety and unrest to the families that raced to their vehicles.

  For all the resources used, all the time spent, they came up empty-handed.

  WHUMP

  Win Ramsey’s big hands slapped on his desk. “Whose idea was it to close down the zoo?”

  “Mine, sir.” Cruz stood tall, his chin lifted. There was no reason to back away, he’d do it again in a heartbeat. “Given Officer Kroc witnessing the suspect entering the zoo’s main gates, it had to be done.”

  “Do you know what Mondays are at the zoo?”

  “Free admission for county residents.”

  “Do you know how many people were at the zoo? Now I have the school superintendent breathing down my neck because there were school groups there. Did it occur to you locking it down could incite our suspect?”

  He didn’t believe the suspect would turn on the general population. It didn’t fit his creed, his MO. He didn’t say this to Chief Ramsey, who said beliefs were for churches and there was no place for them in policing. Facts. Information. Intelligence. That’s what his police department acted on. Not beliefs.

  Ramsey swung his gaze to Kroc. “The suspect approached you? Report.”

  “At approximately ten hundred hours, I was hitting baseballs in Brookside Park adjacent to the zoo. I observed several other people using the park for running and walking. One runner had completed two laps around the ballfields, running across the outfield grass. I was refilling the portable pitching machine I was using when I observed the runner standing at the mid-point in the fence along the first base side. He stood back from the fence, feet planted wide, hands clasped in front of him. You already have the description of his clothing.”

  “You saw his face?”

  “I did not. The sun was behind him and his hood was up. His features were not distinct. At this point, I did not realize who the person was, still thinking it was a runner. The suspect looked at the fence. Something glinted in the sunlight. As I walked to the fence, he backed away. When I saw what hung there, I knew.”

  Ramsey grit his teeth. “What was it?”

  “A medal on a silver chain. It was Michael, the archangel.”

  “Patron saint of cops.” Cruz held the sealed bag to the chief. “It’s clean.”

  Even in the evidence bag, the pendant looked a speck of dust in Ramsey’s palm. “You didn’t call it in?”

  Kroc cleared his throat. “My phone and my keys were sitting on the third base bench. The fence was long enough that by the time I got around it, he would be gone.”

  “Did he talk to you?”

  “No. He just looked at me. I had the impression of him smiling, like he was glad to see me. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, then he backed away and ran. Not as though he were fleeing, but casually, like he was finishing his run. I went back for my keys and phone, but I could see him. He was faster than me, but I didn’t give up. I came around the curve and was looking down the road when he turned into the main gate. I am absolutely, without a doubt, certain the suspect ran into the zoo.”

  “In the report, the only person zoo staff noted entering like he was being chased was you.”

  Cruz stepped forward. “The security cameras picked him up. As Kroc said, the suspect approached a gate attendant, showed ID and jogged in. The ID wasn’t scanned, just verified for the county. The attendant didn’t think a thing of it, runners are reportedly common early in the day. The suspect kept his head down, hood up. The attendant was only able to tell us the suspect had a Cleveland address, was quote ‘lighter’ skinned, and had no facial hair. He isn’t picked up again on the security cameras. The working theory is he ran into a gift shop immediately inside the main gate, changing his clothes in some manner, and walked back out the gate. Six people exited the zoo between the time the suspect entered and Officer Kroc appeared.”

  Kroc shook his head. “I wasn’t more than a minute or two behind him.”

  Ramsey’s gaze stayed trained on Cruz. “You took a risk, Detective, the same risk I would have taken in your shoes. Be that as it may, I now have the schools, the Metroparks, and Sally Homemaker breathing down my neck. Find. Him. Dismissed.”

  Kroc walked out of the chief’s office on fast strides. Cruz jogged to catch up, grabbed his elbow to stop him.

  “There was something else, wasn’t there. Something you didn’t tell the chief.”

  Kroc looked at the scuffed floor. “It doesn’t matter. If it did, I would have said something.”

  Cruz squeezed the arm he held. “Tell me, Kroc. I need to know.”

  “I asked him ‘Why me.’” Kroc had the eyes of a haunted man.

  “Did he answer?”

  Kroc shook his head. “He made a fist and laid it over his heart. Then he left.”

  Cruz walked across the parking lot to his AA meeting with his head hanging low. The press conference gave him a throbbing headache. He stopped outside the door, watching people who carried the same burden step over the threshold. For the first time in two and a half years, he considered leaving. Just turning around and going home.

  “One of those days, Cruz?” The woman who asked was older by a decade, darker by a shade, and shorter by a head.

  “It’s been one of those weeks.”

  “Seems like every day is one of those weeks.” She stepped back and held the door open.

  Cruz walked through.

  He sat in the meeting, white Styrofoam cup of weak coffee cupped in his hands. Voices spoke in turn, testimonies to ward off the demons, stories of battles won and lost. The tones droned on, melded together until they became a monotone hum seducing him into a thoughtless state.

  His breathing slowed. His heart followed. Until, for a moment, there was just—his phone vibrating.

  Cruz raised his lids enough to read the screen. He never took a call when in the meeting. Whatever Frankie Pelletier had to say could wait a goddamn hour.

  When she called back thirty seconds later, Cruz rolled his eyes. She’d missed the press conference. Probably wanted a synopsis. It would wait.

  Cruz sat up tall, tuning in to the speaker.

  His phone buzzed again. A text.

  SOS Drug Head found me.

  Cruz snapped to his feet and sprinted out of the room. He pressed the button that rang through to Frankie’s phone.

  “She was here. Ohmygod she was here. In the bathroom.” Panic ran the words into a single sound.

  “Slow down. The suspect found you?”

  “Yes. In the bathroom of a fro-yo. I flushed and then the door wouldn’t open and then feet appeared on the other side and then she texted me.”

  “Fro-yo?”

  “A frozen yogurt parlor. It’s called Tasty Endings.”

  “Is the suspect still there?”

  “I don’t know. She told me to wait two minutes before I came out. That was when I called you. Do you think I can leave yet?”

  He debated the idea. Frankie just might recognize the suspect and give him the break he needed. The suspect would absolutely recognize Frankie, though. It was a risk—

  “I don’t see her. I would recognize her shoes.”

  Decision made. “You went out?”

  “Well, yeah. I thought maybe I could figure out who she was.”

  “Why do you keep saying ‘she’?”

  “Because she’s a she!”

  “She’s a he.”

  “The person who just locked me in the bathroom was a woman. She had on women’s shoes. Her voice was kinda gravelly, like listeni
ng to Janice Joplin.”

  “Stay where you are until the police get there. Do not take any more chances. I’m on my way.”

  It was past closing when Cruz reached the little store front business, but the lights were still on. Frankie sat at a table in the back while four of Akron’s finest worked the room.

  “You doing okay?” he asked, as he took the chair opposite her.

  “Better now. Sorry I was freaked out on the phone. She just surprised me.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “No, she didn’t. She was calm.”

  “The suspect approached Nick this morning. He is certain it was a man.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “The suspect approached me thirty minutes ago. I am certain she was a woman.”

  Both of his witnesses were credible, neither had seen the suspect outright, both had full use of their faculties, neither expressed doubt. An accomplice?

  “She spoke with you? What did she say?”

  “We mostly texted.” She pushed her phone to him. “I tried calling the number, but it just rings. No voicemail. I tried texting, but there’s no response.”

  Even as he worked the phone, his temper lashed. “What part of ‘do not take any more chances’ didn’t you get?”

  “I’m sitting in a fro-yo surrounded by cops! How is this taking a risk?”

  “The suspect knew where you were, knew your phone number. He…she…it probably knows where you live and your parents and the first boy you dated. The suspect is smart, coy, and blends in like a chameleon. You calling him, her may just make you their BFF. Did you ever think of that?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Not this way. Shit. “Tell me the conversation.”

  “She liked my article. She said she is called to do what she’s doing. Her job is to protect children. She believes that evil uses drugs to corrupt souls, rots them. She tried to, like, cure them, but it didn’t work. The only thing she could do was free the soul. She does the post thing to warn others and to send a message to evil. It’s all in the text.”

  He leafed through the conversation. “Five minutes. No one came into the bathroom.”