Games of Guilt: A Crime Thriller (Hidden Guilt Book 3 of 3)

by Terry Keys

  I walked outside and off in a direction where I wouldn’t be overheard as I wasn’t in the sharing mood with Hill or the FBI As promised, DeLuca followed. There was a trash can right outside the door. I flung the top off. There were only a few things in it: a few wadded up pieces of paper, a pen that I assumed no longer worked, a couple Coke cans. And then I found something interesting. I carefully lifted the empty bag of umboJ sunflower seeds from the trash can. I read the brand name to DeLuca.

  “You know what this means?” I quizzed DeLuca.

  She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

  “Jumbo isn’t the most popular brand of sunflower seeds. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to bet there’s only one or two stores within a ten-mile radius of here that sell them.”

  I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Fingers, I’m down in Midtown.” I gave him the address.

  “Okay, what do you need from me? What’s in Midtown?” he said.

  “Captain Wilcrest’s dead body.”

  Fingers gasped.

  “No time to explain right now. Listen, I’m texting you a picture of a sunflower seed package. Check every store within a ten-mile radius of this address. If you don’t get a hit, go out fifteen miles, then twenty. Find the closest store that sells them.”

  “Okay. Then what?”

  “After you get a hit, check out their surveillance videos for the last week. I’m also sending you a current picture of Marci taken this morning. You already have a picture of Caleb. Caleb is a seed eater. Either he or Marci bought these. Find him and find out what he’s driving.”

  DeLuca darted back inside the building.

  “You know we’re talking about a few hundred stores and hours of video, right?”

  “Yes. I also know this brand will narrow your hundred to one or two, trust me.”

  “Well, I’m a seeder. What’s the brand again?” Fingers said.

  “Jumbo—ranch flavored.”

  “Jumbo? Never heard of them.”

  “Get on it,” I said.

  I ended the call with Fingers, and my phone chimed with a new text. It was Miranda. Someone texted her the news about Wilcrest. Bad news always traveled so quickly.

  I decided I needed to hear her voice, so I gave her a call. It was just what I needed. She told me the girls were sad that I was gone again, but they’d enjoyed our brief time together.

  “Hey!” I heard a voice call from behind me.

  I turned around to find DeLuca holding what appeared to be a bag of sunflower shells.

  “Just gotta know for certain,” she said.

  I appreciated her thoroughness but we both knew those seeds were from Caleb.

  I nodded. My skin was nearly frozen, and I’d left my jacket in my truck. I walked over to grab it, and the finality of Wilcrest being gone slammed into me like a ton of bricks. I leaned on my truck and let the tears pour from my eyes. A few patrolmen patted me on the back as they went by, which was about all I really cared for. I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about it.

  I put on my jacket and walked around the secluded building. The location couldn’t have been better. There was only one way in and out, and you could only access the entrance from the street. Still, I surveyed the area, hoping there’d be a camera or something else that could help me.

  There was an abandoned building across the street. I gave DeLuca a heads-up and headed over to check it out. I stuck my head into the building but saw no one. Then about one hundred yards away, I saw an old man pushing a shopping cart. I hurried in his direction, calling out to him along the way.

  “Excuse me, sir. My name is Detective David Porter,” I said. “There was a murder over there”—I pointed back at the building—“a few hours ago. You been around here all day? You see anything that looked suspicious?”

  “Can’t say that I seen anything out of the ordinary today. I only seen the same black kid I been seein’ the last few weeks comin’ in and out. I don’t figure him for no killer, so I guess I ain’t seen anything.”

  I shook my head. “Why don’t you figure him for a killer? I don’t understand. And can you describe what this kid looks like? It is very important.”

  “He stopped and talked to me before. Just seemed like a nice kid. He gave me some money more than once after he found out I was a veteran too.”

  “Doesn’t sound like our guy. We’re probably looking for a young white male. You seen anyone like that around here?”

  “Nope, nothing like that. Just ol’ David. Hey! You have the same name.”

  So Caleb had told this poor man his name was David.

  “Well, I may need to talk to David. Maybe see if he can tell me anything about our guy. You happen to see what he was driving?”

  The man looked down at the ground for a minute. “He always drove the same old brown minivan.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I reached for my wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Here, take this. And try to find somewhere warm tonight.”

  I stood there, watching the man shuffle away. I went back across the street to my truck and waived DeLuca over.

  As we headed back to the station, I told her about the old man and the minivan. We might be one step closer to catching Caleb, but it was already too late for Tess and Wilcrest.

  I was getting antsy about not having heard back from Paul, so I called him.

  “David, I was just about to call you, brother. False alarm on the explosives. Stall tactic. Didn’t find a damn thing. That’s the good news.”

  I didn’t need any more bad news today, but I had a feeling I knew what was coming.

  “Spill it,” I said.

  “She’s gone. They used the gas again. That Sarin is some real nasty stuff.”

  “Spare me the details for today. I’ll read the report tomorrow. Thanks for the update.”

  I hung up with Paul and banged my fist against the steering wheel.

  “We’re going to catch him, Porter,” DeLuca said. “We’re going to catch him. We just need to stay focused.”

  “Make a note to call Harry Lawrence tomorrow. He’s with the ATF. And get his email address. Send him everything we have on Azteca Gas. I want those bastards shut down immediately.”

  “Got it.”

  I dropped DeLuca off at the station and headed home. I needed to get some sleep. Even three or four hours would do. I just hoped I wouldn’t crash trying to get there.

  Chapter 49

  I knew I had to rest my body and mind. I couldn’t keep burning the candle at both ends. There were never enough hours in the day.

  I pulled into the driveway, put the truck in park, and sat there. I stared at the house, its windows dark, and remembered how empty it would be. It took all my strength just to drag my weary body inside.

  I locked the front door behind me and noticed the alarm was not activated. I could have sworn I set it the last time I left, but that seemed like ages ago and I’d definitely been preoccupied. I took out my service weapon and gave the downstairs a once-over. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I had a good reason to be.

  I took off my jacket and sat down on the couch—and that was the last thing I remembered.

  ***

  I tugged and pulled as hard as I could, but it was no use. Caleb had me tied up. There was no escape. I was doomed. I thought about yelling, but then I reasoned against it. There was no way in hell anyone was close enough to be able to hear me.

  “What do you want from me, Caleb?” I yelled.

  No response.

  “Did you hear me? What the hell do you want from me?”

  “Oh, someone’s finally awake, I see,” Caleb said.

  “Yeah, I’m awake. What more do you want from me, Caleb? When is this going to stop? How many more people have to die?”

  Caleb laughed. “How many more people have to die? When is this going to stop? Who said it was ever going to stop, old man? I can call you old man, right?”

  I glared at him. “One day they’ll catch you. It may not be today or
tomorrow, but you can’t run forever. We are professional hunters; you’re just a kid in over his head.”

  “Do you enjoy listening to yourself talk? I have you tied up, not the other way around, Mr. Professional.”

  He had me there. “You’ve been around bad guys—real bad guys. This has gone on long enough for you to know I’m not one of those guys, Caleb. Use your head here. You’re doing someone else’s dirty work.”

  I looked down and realized I was naked. I’d been in sticky situations before, but I really didn’t see myself making it out of this one. He’d killed too many cops before me, and I was his grand prize. Suddenly, I found myself distract by a flashing red light. It was coming from a camcorder on the corner bookshelf. He’s probably streaming this online, I thought to myself.

  Caleb pulled a knife and waltzed over to me. “You won’t be needing these anymore, lover boy.”

  He grabbed my testicles, cupping them in his free hand. Then he slowly lowered the knife to my crotch. I held my breath and sat as still as I could, determined not to let my fear show.

  And then, just like that, he cut me. I screamed, and he cut me again . . . and again.

  I fought through the excruciating pain, determined not to lose consciousness. All of a sudden, I heard banging, a determined thump, over and over and over again.

  “Porter! Open up this goddamn door or we’re coming in!”

  I could hear the voices, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen, tense and motionless. It was the weirdest feeling I’d ever experienced. No matter how hard I tried, I could not move.

  I heard the door burst open, followed by pounding footsteps.

  “Porter! Porter!” DeLuca said, shaking me. “Wake the hell up! You’re dreaming, man.”

  My eyes snapped open. I sat up straight. I reached down, checking to see that I still had all my parts. My eyes darted around the room, searching for Caleb.

  “David, who the hell are you looking for?” Fingers said. “There’s no one else here. We could hear you screaming from outside, so we rushed right in.”

  I had my weapon out and pointed at the door, still in panic mode. I looked from DeLuca to Fingers and back again, trying hard to make sense out of what I was seeing.

  “We were coming to fill you in on what Fingers found and give you the latest on Marci Wingup. But you don’t need anything else right now. You go to sleep for real this time, and we’ll talk first thing tomorrow, bright and early. I’m not taking no for an answer,” DeLuca said. “You look like shit. Trust me on that.”

  “Hey, who works for who here?” I asked.

  “Well . . . technically, we told the media that you worked for me. At least as it pertains to this case. Remember that?” She smiled.

  I sat for a minute without replying.

  “Hey, it’s all or nothing. I’ve already got your laptop and cell phone. No technology for the next eight hours. If you die from sleep deprivation you’re no help to any of us. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  DeLuca headed for the doorway. Fingers stood there, eyeing me as if trying to decide if he should stay or go. I made it easy for him and nodded toward the door. With a sheepish shrug, he followed DeLuca from the house.

  I lay back down. I even managed to laugh at myself. What forty-year-old has nightmares, for God’s sake?

  It all seemed so real, though. The sleep exhaustion and mental tug-of-war had won this time. Hopefully, I could keep it at bay and get some much-needed sleep.

  Chapter 50

  Marci Wingup knew one day she’d end up right where she was—a jail cell. Well, if she were being honest, she’d planned on following in Stacy’s footsteps. She wanted to be a martyr for the cause. And now that she’d seen Porter’s disgusting face up close, her mission was complete. Or complete enough. When they started the Women’s Rapist Club, she and Stacy agreed that if the options were death or jail, it would be death. She knew Caleb would finish off the Wilcrests—and Porter too. Then it would be done. What she hadn’t planned on was falling in love with Caleb. Offing herself didn’t seem like such a good plan anymore, but she always kept her word.

  She hadn’t imagined the smell in this pig sty would be so unbearable. Of course, she was the brains of the operation, not some tough jailhouse girl.

  “Chow time, ladies,” a female officer called out to the wing. “Pop open tanks one through twenty.”

  A buzzer sounded. Marci sat up as the cell door slowly opened. She watched as the single-file line of inmates marched past her door but made no move to join them.

  “Wingup, bring your ass,” the officer said, banging on the bars of Marci’s cell as she passed by. “Not bringing you food later if you don’t eat now, pretty girl.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Marci said.

  “Bitch, I don’t care if you’re hungry or not. When I say move, you get your ass up and move.”

  Marci looked at her and smiled.

  “You find something funny, inmate?”

  Marci didn’t respond.

  “Now you deaf too?”

  Marci didn’t respond to that either. She watched as the officer reached for her radio, as if to call for backup, and then clipped it back on her belt.

  “I don’t have time to deal with you tonight. If you want to starve, fine.” The officer slammed the cell door shut and shook her head.

  Marci lay back down on the cot. She’d already decided she wasn’t sleeping in this hellhole. If everything went as planned, it’d all be over in a few hours anyway. The trump card they’d always held was money. During the thirties, oil had been found on Stacy’s grandfather’s land in Louisiana. They chose not to live or spend like it, but money was not something they had to worry about.

  Marci hoped the distress text she’d sent when she was being chased had gotten to her number three. The show, even with Marci gone, must go on.

  Forty-five minutes later, the noise started up again as the inmates returned to their cells. A heavyset blonde with gold teeth stuck her head up to the bars of Marci’s cell.

  “You the bitch that been killing them cops?”

  Marci said nothing.

  “Hey, bitch! You got a hearing problem?”

  Finally Marci looked up. “Maybe. What’s it to ya?” Marci snapped.

  “I was gonna give you some props, but you can go to hell.”

  “Already got a one-way ticket,” Marci said as she got to her feet and stepped close to the bars. “And if you don’t get the hell out of here, you’ll be joining me when I go.”

  The two stared at each other for a minute before the woman slowly moved on.

  Marci returned to her cot. She was actually more afraid of what she was about to do than she thought she’d be. Unlike Stacy, she didn’t have a gun pointed at her right now.

  Marci held her breath as the last wave of women filed past her cell. Come on! Where is she? she wondered, determined not to panic. Then a woman near the end of the line stepped closed to her cell and slipped a wad of paper through the bars.

  “You’re a rockstar, Marci!” the woman yelled as she hurried off.

  Marci picked up the balled-up napkin and returned to her cot. She opened the paper and stared down at the handful of pills. This is it.

  She poured the pills into her hand, tossed them in her mouth, and threw back her head.

  “Hey!” she heard a voice call from her cell door.

  “What the hell did you just take? Open cell 8-A!Hurry! ” The officer yelled.

  Marci stood up. “You’re back again, I see. Marci unleashed a front kick to the officer’s midsection, and the woman doubled over. She reached high and came down hard, slamming both fists into the back of the officer’s head. When she fell to the floor in a heap, Marci kicked her in the head over and over.

  Seconds later, another officer stuck her head in the cell. She pulled her radio and called for backup. The woman looked down at her coworker who was out cold on the floor.

  Marci looked up at her. “Come on! Come get some. What you waiti
ng on?”

  The officer pushed in along with three others. The four of them took Marci down to the floor and handcuffed her. The four officers carried Marci by the arms and feet.

  “You’re in big trouble now, princess,” one of the officers said.

  “What the hell was Rodriguez thinking? Everyone knew this bitch was crazy as hell.”

  Foam started to form around Marci’s mouth, and her body started seizing.

  “Let’s get her to the infirmary!” One of them yelled out.

  The officers busted through the infirmary doors with Marci. “Crazy bitch took something. We don’t know what it was.”

  Marci’s eyes bulged. Blood drained from her nose.

  Marci Wingup was dead.

  Chapter 51

  This time my nap went a lot smoother. I rolled over and sent Miranda and the girls a text letting them know I loved them. I didn’t bring up Christmas—for many reasons, but mainly because it was only three days away, and missing it was now a real possibility.

  I jumped in the shower, got dressed, and headed for Fingers’ lab. I noticed a soft tail had been placed on me by what I suspected were FBI hounds. Probably Mullinski’s handiwork after our playdate had gone so well.

  I decided I didn’t want my FBI buddies or Hill tracking me, so I took a detour and used a phone-a-friend.

  “Edmund, what’s up? It’s Porter.”

  “It ain’t shit, loco. What’s poppin’?”

  “Need a favor. I need to drop in and borrow the Hayabusa for a day, maybe two. Trying to get lost, if you know what I mean.”

  “When you stoppin’ by, ese?”

  “ETA fifteen minutes. Leave it in the garage.”

  “You sure you can still ride, holmes?”

  “Funny man. I see how it is. Just have her ready for me.”

  I’d used this tactic one time before, when Wilcrest had a crew following me a few years earlier. It was a kidnapping case, and he didn’t trust me not to strangle the guy with my bare hands if I caught him. I’d sold my bike years earlier, but I’d never lost the passion for riding. Nor the skill, despite what my buddy Edmund thought.