“Why?”
"He’d hate it.”
"No, Dumdum. Why do you call him that?"
“Cause he latches on and doesn’t let go. If he’s on your ass, you’re not getting him off. Believe me, I know.”
Sean bent forward so he could see both young agents. “Right before you two came on, he worked an organized crime embezzlement case where the suspect threatened to kill his mistress if she turned witness on him, which is exactly what she did. Anyway, when the suspect heard Marshall was the case agent, he turned himself in,” Sean chuckled. “True story. Dude figured if he was going down any way he’d get a better deal if he made it easy, but man did it ever backfire. Marshall crucified him. Loves a chase, that one.”
“Is he always this…serious?”
“Yeees,” said Thad.
“Has this been moved?” Luke barked across the room. He pointed to a manila envelope on top of a cell phone, wallet and keys. Irritated that no answer came immediately, he turned and glared at Meagan. When he asked a question, the answer better be close behind. “You are heading up evidence on this, right?”
“Um, yes sir. No, it, nobody’s moved it,” stammered Meagan.
“Also, he can be a little bit of a dick,” muttered Thad out the side of his mouth.
“Photographed?” Luke had turned back to the chair.
“Yes.” Meagan looked at Sean, unsure if she made a mistake. Her partner’s shoulders shook as he laughed silently and she said nothing.
Luke picked up the envelope and opened it. He pulled two 8x10 glossy photos out. His brow furrowed as he looked at them. Without a word, he lay the pictures on the seat and walked to the bedroom door. Gazing out at the soggy carpet, he tugged on his tie to loosen it. He walked down the hall and squatted to look at the baseboard. He ran an index finger along the wall and rubbed it against his thumb.
A camera flash erupted as Sean got back to work. Thad and Meagan’s heads leaned together as they watched Luke move into the living room. Seconds later, he came back and stuck his nose next to the dead man’s head then disappeared back to the living room.
This time Thad followed. Luke had his nose next to the chair backrest, then grabbed it and tipped it toward the wall. The handcuffs clinked on metal.
“What’s the chair telling you, partner?” Thad crossed his arms. Luke flung the chair upright again. Thad jumped when he actually got an answer.
“There’s a chalky residue on the chair,” said Luke. “It lines up with that scuff on the drywall. The chair hit the wall.”
“He liked it rough….obviously.”
“Why would she put it back up?”
Thad wracked his brain trying to come up with an answer. Luke was pulling himself out of his comfort zone to share his expertise and Thad appreciated it, but he was drawing a blank.
“She?”
“He was in it.”
“How do you know that?”
“From the marks around his wrists, he had cuffs on not long before he died. And these are the only pairs here,” Luke nudged the cuff on the nearest chair leg with his foot. “Judging from the blackmail pictures he prefers women, so I doubt he was here with a man.
“Plus,” Luke tapped his forehead, “he has a small abrasion right here. Maybe from hitting the wall when the chair fell over,” Luke sat in the chair and tipped it again resting his head against the wall. “He could have hit his head when it went over.” He jumped up and started pacing next to the chair. There's a scuff in the hallway too, but who knows how that got there or old it is.”
“Maybe he wanted to clean up. It is common with suicides.”
“Maybe,” Luke stopped for a minute then resumed pacing. “But that’s not right, is it? Twomey's MO is limos and $5,000 a plate fundraisers. Why would he come here, to maybe the most dismal section of town to end his life?”
“Well, he did have a lot to hide.”
Luke pointed at Thad, “An unconventional sexual appetite explains this low rent love pad, but suicide is intensely personal. Every suicide I’ve ever investigated did it in some place that held meaning for them. Home, office, even their car.”
“Maybe this place holds some meaning we don’t know about.”
“I doubt it.” Luke turned and strode back to the bedroom where Sean and Meagan were lowering the body onto the floor. He walked past them and grabbed the photos he’d thrown on the chair and saw the smartphone underneath them. Something dawned on him.
“Stupid,” he hissed. He darted down the hall into the kitchen. There it was, the sticky note he’d seen when he first entered. Four numbers were written in black ink and nothing else.
Zero, four, six, two.
He tapped them into the keyboard with his gloved finger and the screen sprang to life. The word text application was already open. Luke read it fast and rejoined everyone in the bedroom. He handed the phone to Thad who read it out loud.
“Why can’t they just leave me alone. I know I’m not perfect but neither are those raging faggots. They enjoy seeing giants fall so much they are probably toasting right now. I hope they’re happy. Now nothing is standing in their way. They ruined me. I am sorry to bring so much pain and suffering down on my family. If you can ever find it in your hearts to forgive me perhaps I will see you again in heaven.”
Thad whistled and looked at the photos Luke offered. The grainy photo had been taken from far away, but the Senator’s puffy face and signature thick silver hair were unmistakable. In the first photo his arm circled the waist of a young woman in cheap revealing clothing. Thaddeus recognized the distinctive brick behind them. It was taken outside the apartments they now stood in.
The second was similar except the Senator guided a girl that looked much younger than the first.
“That is not his wife,” said Thad.
“Luke,” said Sean, “Come here for a sec.”
Luke crossed to him and knelt by the body now lying face down on the floor. The stench intensified since they moved him. The rigid corpse arched off the floor in the opposite position it hung from the bar. The head and legs pointed upward in a morbid U shape.
“You want to see this,” Sean pointed to the back of the dead man’s neck. On the skin, a vivid white line cut through the purple making an upside-down V that pointed up into the dead man’s hairline. “Consistent with a self-inflicted,” Sean settled into a practiced squat. “And look at this,” he grabbed the body and rolled it over easily despite its bulk. The stomach reached into the air and the hands pushed parallel against the floor. “His left hand. You couldn’t see it when he was hanging.”
Something was written on the skin in faded blue ink. It was barely visible on the bright purple. Only an H and an A were legible.
“How do you say…the plot thickens?” Thad’s fake Italian accent earned him an eye roll from Meagan.
Luke looked down at the body. Something was rotten in this room besides the corpse. Important people with secrets have important friends. Chances of them cooperating with an investigation were not good. He was going to have to step on some powerful toes. One corner of his mouth inched upward. Been a while since he had a good fight.
Luke put his hand on his knee to stand up when something caught his eye. He reached out and poked a lump in the dead man’s right pocket. It was hard. Reaching in, he pulled out a second cell phone. He examined it as Sean pursed his lips and scowled at Meagan.
Without a word, Luke reached over and dropped the phone into an evidence bag and snapped off his gloves.
“Alright, let’s get his hands bagged asap and you guys do your thing, Aulden.”
Thad snapped from his conversation with Meagan. She stole one last glance at Luke as he started barking orders at her academy partner.
“Have APD start their canvas, I don’t want you doing it. Let everybody think this belongs to PD. Then hit up their vice unit and see if they can ID the girls in those pics. Prostitutes most likely.”
“I’m sure they’ll find all sorts of helpful
people in such a nice neighborhood,” said Thad. Luke turned back to Sean.
“What are you taking?”
Sean shrugged, “All of it.”
“Good.”
Thad looked up from his phone. “Luke.”
“Yeah.”
“You turned off your phone. Simon wants an update.” Thad held his phone out.
“I’ll brief him in the morning. I’m not doing it over the phone. Tell him to sleep well because he probably won’t after tomorrow.”
THREE
Since the attacks happened everyone left before five, if they came at all. She passed no one during her run. No bikers. No walkers. No runners. This was the most popular jogging trail in Savannah. Now nobody wanted to be here, especially after the sun went down.
“Not that they’d be out in this heat anyway,” she muttered to herself.
She had hoped for cooler temperatures, but even at dusk no breeze cut the heat. As the sun's last rays gave up, the smell of honeysuckle hung in the heavy air and the sound of croaking bullfrogs wafted from the pine trees flanking the trail. Deepening shade under the canopy made it seem cool and inviting, but she knew better. Even the faithful Georgia shade trees couldn’t ease this oppressive heat.
“What’s that, Tully?” A voice came through her earphones. Sweat blurred her vision and it suddenly irritated her that music wasn’t pumping through them. Just Phil’s fat ass on the other end.
A drop of sweat dripped down her temple and caught on a deep scar by her left ear. It followed the line to its end at the apple of her cheek and broke free, dripping to her chin. She reached up and wiped it away.
“Thank goodness the operations bus has air conditioning. And cheeseburgers,” Phil said.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” she growled.
“Yes, please.”
She heard a chair scrape followed by a muffled grunt and Phil’s loud laugh. Then her partner’s voice came on the other end. “Tul, I think it’s another wash.”
“Awesome. Same time tomorrow?”
“No. You’re taking tomorrow off. You need to rest.”
“We’re staying out here until we find them.”
“Bring it in. We’ll talk about it.”
This wasn’t working. Everyone avoided these paths for almost a month now. Yet here was a woman running every day for the last two weeks, alone, down the same path where four women had been raped and beaten, one almost to death. It was hard to believe they wouldn’t see her presence for the trap it was. Maybe the bad guys weren’t as dumb as they hoped. Too bad. Idiots are easy to catch.
Then again, she volunteered for this op. She didn’t really have a plan if these shit stains decided to make an appearance, and running shorts left nowhere to carry a gun. There were two of them and her nearest backup was a mile away. Maybe she was the idiot.
She picked up her pace anxious to go home. Two straight weeks of runs had taken their toll on her hip. Lately, she hobbled around like an old woman. Tomorrow would not be fun. A rustle and a loud snap behind jerked her back to the present. She pulled up and stopped.
“Stand by. I’ve got movement.” She turned expecting to see an animal crawl onto the blacktop. Instead, what she saw made her sweat feel cold.
Two men emerged from the bramble lining the jogging path. Like the victims reported, they hid in the pines waiting. Even with pantyhose smashing their features they looked more like teenagers than men.
The chubby one wore a black Bob Marley shirt a size too small for his pudgy frame. Sweat darkened the neck and the armpits and glistened on his plump, olive arms. The metal pipe in his hand twitched and his eyes darted between Tully and the other man.
His companion showed only hunger as he raked her body with eyes. Vivid freckles stood out on his pasty skin and his dingy white t-shirt exposed the crude dragon tattoo on his right arm. He’d chosen a knife.
Here we go.
Tully bladed her body from the men. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t a description of the suspects. A brown fucktard and a white fucktard. With bad artwork,” she glanced down at the white man’s arm.
In Tully's ear, voices yelled, and chairs scraped as thirty police officers scrambled into action.
The two men froze. The chubby one looked to his companion, panicked. Tully cocked her head at him, “Savannah PD, honey. You picked the wrong bitch this time.”
Chubs stood rooted to the asphalt, his jaw slack. The white man hesitated then took off.
“One runnin’ south,” she yelled into her mic. Tully watched him for a moment, then looked back at Chubs. He moved toward her, eyes wide and the pipe cocked back. As fast as his flab allowed, he swung his hand aiming the metal piece at her head. Tully stepped aside and brought her hands up.
A stinging slap knocked his forearm across his chest and away from her face. She switched her feet and planted herself. The right cross connected with his nose, and he began to sputter as blood gushed over his mouth. But he didn’t go down.
She backed up two steps, and he staggered after her raising the pipe again. This time she caught the halfhearted attack mid-swing and sent a knee into his wobbly gut. He doubled over with a soft “oomph”.
Tully yanked the pipe to her waist and sank into a crouch throwing him off balance. As she felt him bend, she stood and again drove her knee up. It hit his broken nose with a loud crack. He let go and collapsed into a silent heap.
Forgetting to drop the pipe, Tully turned and sprinted after the runner. “Pete, we’re headed south,” she yelled.
Her partner didn’t answer. Instead, she heard Captain Timothy, the operation commander. “Easton is coming to you. Everybody is.” She heard sirens and ATV engines fire up through her earpiece and again in the distance an instant later. “Do not engage him, Tully. The park’s locked down, he’s not going anywhere.”
Her hard breathing answered him as she sprinted down the path.
“Meara? Meara? Tully, answer me,” Captain Timothy demanded.
A hundred yards ahead, the blond man darted left onto an unpaved nature trail that turned into the woods from the jogging path. Bushes and fallen trees crisscrossed a small stream providing plenty of places to hide.
Tully yelled. The man glanced back. His shoe slid on the loose gravel and he stumbled letting her close the gap. But she was still fifty yards behind, and she was spent. The suspect regained his footing and sped up.
“We’re on the path to the old mill,” Tully panted. Her lungs burned as she sucked in air, but the sirens were still far away. Dark was falling fast.
Metal.
Tully remembered the pipe in her hand. She hurled it at his sweaty back. It fell short but tangled between his ankles, making him stumble. With a manic burst, she caught him on a wooden footbridge crossing a babbling creek.
She slammed into him at full speed knocking him face first into the wooden planks. They rolled several times and a sharp pain burned down her arm. His knife skittered down the path.
She kicked out her leg and arched her back to stop their roll. The suspect stopped face down with Tully on his back cranking her forearms down on his head to drive his face down.
He writhed beneath her trying to roll her off, but she braced herself with her free leg. The other leg wrapped around his torso pinning his left arm. His free arm flailed trying to push himself up or make contact with Tully. He didn’t seem to care which.
“Stop resisting,” she yelled at him.
“Fuck you, bitch.”
“Wrong answer.” She boxed his ears then slammed his face back into the damp wood. His free hand closed around her wrist. Trying to wrench it free, she released his hair. As soon as she did, he threw his head back and bucked hard. She could feel his other hand moving around beneath him.
Grabbing his thumb, she pried her wrist loose. Then she wrenched his hand behind his back. He howled as she yanked his wrist closer to his neck. Wriggling her leg out from underneath him she put her full weight on his back. His other hand kept moving
underneath.
“Give me your hand.”
“No,” he screamed.
She slammed a palm into the back of his head bouncing his nose off the bridge, then yanked his arm until she heard his shoulder pop. He screamed and bucked again, but she hung on.
“Give me your hand,” she yelled again. She had control, for now. But she didn’t know for how long. This fight needed to be over. Ten miles and a sprint later, she was tired. Every second of this fight lasted an hour. He was stronger than her on a good day, and today was not a good day.
Sirens drew closer, but to Tully they still sounded miles away. The approaching wail infused the man with energy. He rolled enough to free the hand under his body and pulled out what he’d been fishing for. Tully saw the glint of light on metal. Even in the gathering darkness she couldn’t mistake the silver revolver as he brought it up and over his shoulder.
Gun.
“Oh,” her soft exclamation was drowned out by the report of the gun. Ringing filled her ears. She let go and threw herself into a roll away from him.
Tully did a quick check to make sure she wasn’t hit. She wasn’t, but her sore hip locked up making the spring to her feet slower than planned. She swiveled looking for cover, but she didn’t need it. Blondie was sprinting full speed down the path away from her.
Her earpiece squawked to life. "What was that?”
Tully couldn’t remember ever hearing Captain Timothy sound scared. It was unsettling. She took off after her mark frustrated that her hip slowed her down.
“Tully, answer me.” The panic disappeared. He sounded angry.
“He’s got a gun,” she said, breathless, “everybody be careful.”
“Tully, stand down. We’re almost to you,” Pete’s voice broke in.
“We’re still heading to the old mill,” she ignored him.
“Stand down,” the Captain roared.
It was so dark now she could barely make out the white t-shirt ahead of her. A wide beam of light sliced overhead then flicked ahead helping her out. The chopper had arrived and was looking for them. In the quick light, she saw her quarry through the trees where the path bent back. Her muscles burned and she couldn’t stop the limp, but she took off after him.
The Last Innocent Page 2
