Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1)

by E. H. Reinhard

  “His sheet from Pet Med Plus.”

  “Was it a mobile or home?”

  Hank shook his head and shrugged.

  “Where is his employee sheet from Pet Med Plus?”

  “Hold on. I’ll get it.”

  Hank left my office to retrieve the sheet. He walked back in a few seconds later and passed it to me.

  I looked it over. It was a Brandon phone number. I grabbed my desk phone and dialed it. No one answered after multiple rings. A voicemail told me I’d reached Tina Watkins. I hung up. “He answered at the home number for his ex-wife.”

  “So he has been staying there,” Hank said.

  “Donner tailed him out to Brandon. If he was going back to Carrollwood, he wouldn’t have driven all the way out there to go to a mall.”

  I looked over at the clock—7:06 p.m. “What the hell is Donner’s deal? It’s not like him to not report back. Is the captain still in his office?”

  Hank looked out my door. “Yeah, he’s still in there.”

  “Go tell the Cap what we just talked about. Tell him I can’t get a hold of Donner. See what he wants to do.”

  Hank nodded and walked out.

  The files from the two dead women lay scattered across my desk. We still didn’t even have an identity on the woman found alive. I took the paper Hank had given me and tossed it on top of the rap sheet I had on Bob Cross. I leaned back in my chair and bounced a pencil on my desk. I rubbed my eyes until my vision blurred. I reached for the phone to call the mall’s security office. Something on my desk caught my eye. It was a photo of Sarah McMillian’s brand. I grabbed it and spun it toward me. I hung up the phone.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  I traced the outline with the pencil.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  I grabbed the photo and went to the captain’s office. I burst in and stuck the photo of the brand under the captain’s and Hank’s noses. “What’s that say?” I asked.

  “It’s a photo of the brand with pencil scribbling around it,” Hank said.

  “Read it.”

  “The pencil makes it look like it says Bob.”

  “With a cross inside the O. The damn brand says Bob Cross.”

  The captain squinted and looked at the photo. He shook his head. “Shit. You can’t get a hold of Donner?”

  “No. He tailed Cross to the mall in Brandon. I told him to grab him and bring him back to the station. It’s been a half hour. He hasn’t answered the phone or reported back,” I said.

  “Did you call mall security?”

  “I was about to when the photo of the brand caught my eye.”

  “You and Rawlings get out there. Find Donner and Cross.”

  “Cross said he was staying in Brandon. He answered the phone at his ex-wife’s place out there. You want us to call the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department to check it out?” I asked.

  The captain stood from his desk. “You two go to the ex-wife’s address. Get HCSD to assist. I’ll take Jones and go to the mall. Call the HCSD on your way. Go.”

  “Sounds good, Cap.”

  We grabbed the address and left. The place was a twenty-minute drive from the station—all freeway. I called the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department while we were en route. A couple of sheriffs agreed to meet us at the house.

  I made a right off the main road into the subdivision. The street was two lanes in each direction. Palm trees and flower gardens lined the median, and white picket fences sat just beyond the sidewalks. Landscape workers bustled about, blowing away debris and pruning trees, their day almost complete. I saw the sheriff’s cruiser up ahead. I flashed my lights as I passed. The sheriff’s car pulled from the curb behind me. We turned right onto Munson Court. The house was the first on the corner. I pulled to the curb across the street and parked.

  Hank and I got out. Two sheriffs exited their cruiser, and we got together. The driver’s nameplate read Ortiz. He looked to be in his forties with short black hair. His partner’s nameplate read Saunders. He was a big mid-twenties-looking kid with a blond buzz cut. We introduced ourselves. I explained the situation to them.

  We walked up into the driveway, guns drawn. The house was a newer beige ranch with a two-and-a-half-car garage at the front. The grass and flower gardens didn’t show one weed. Three big palm trees stood at the front. A fence wrapped the backyard. I wouldn’t have imagined a psychopath living in that house. I nodded to the sheriffs.

  “You guys want to try and get a visual around the back?”

  Ortiz nodded and pointed the younger sheriff around the corner. I reached out, rang the doorbell, and took a step back to the side. We waited and listened. No one came. A window sat to the right of the home’s front door. The blinds were turned shut but not pulled all the way down. I crouched to look in and saw a formal dining room with the lights out. Chairs lined the wall but no table. Something caught my eye. Dead flies covered the window’s ledge. I looked at them more closely—blowflies, hundreds of them.

  I looked over my shoulder at Hank and Ortiz. “We may have a D.B. Either of you two smell decomp?”

  Hank got by the base of the window and took in a deep sniff. “I can’t smell anything.”

  “We need to get a look inside this house.”

  “Around back? Patio doors maybe?” Ortiz asked.

  I agreed.

  “Ortiz, stay on this front door.”

  He nodded.

  Hank and I walked to the gate in the fence.

  Saunders walked back toward us. “The whole back here is fenced in. No entrance other than this one. No one ran.”

  I nodded and pulled at the fence gate. It was locked from the other side. I pulled myself up and over. I unlocked it for Hank and the sheriff. We walked around the side of the house to the lanai out back. Bushes, landscaping, and various palm trees surrounded the screened-in area. Hank walked to the other side in search of the entry. “Got a door over here,” he shouted back.

  We headed over to Hank and followed him into the lanai. A custom pool had a small rock waterfall bubbling away at the back near a hot tub. Tropical plants in planters lined the perimeter. A wicker table, chairs, and footrests sat next to a small outdoor fireplace. We went to the sliding backdoor.

  Hank reached out and gave the door a tug. “Open. Do we go in?”

  “Hold on.” I looked at the base of the door—more blowflies.

  “Just open the door a crack.”

  Hank slid the door open.

  Saunders yanked his head back away from the door. “Someone’s dead. We have to call this in.”

  “Do it,” I said.

  He made the call. I pointed into the house and gave the nod. I motioned to Hank and the sheriff. They fell in behind me.

  “Tampa Police Department!” I shouted.

  No response.

  “Tampa Police!” I yelled.

  Again, no response.

  We stepped into the house. It was an open floor plan. From where we stood, in the dining room, the entire house was visible, except down the hallway to the left. The kitchen was to our right. We cleared it and walked to the living room. The television was on, playing an infomercial for a juicer.

  A woman was sitting on the couch with her back toward us. Just the top of her head was visible over the couch back.

  “Tampa Police. Put your hands up.”

  I advanced on her and rounded the side of the couch.

  She didn’t move. As soon as I got in front of her, I realized she was the source of our blowflies and odor. The woman was dead and had been that way for some time. A cycle of flies and maggots had already been through her body. She wore green lingerie—at least some places of it were still green. Blood mixed with her decay had stained the rest of it.

  We cleared the living room and then headed toward the hall. Another door stood next to the hall entrance. I gave Hank the sign to wait and opened the door. It was the garage. Plastic hung from the ceiling and covered the floor. A few workbenches and toolb
oxes lined the back wall. Tools scattered the area. The dark silhouette of a car parked at the back showed through the plastic. A dining-room table, also covered in plastic, sat in the first garage bay. That was apparently where he had operated. I looked left and right—no people. I closed the door, and we continued into the hallway.

  The sheriff cleared the first room in the hall, a home office. Hank and I walked toward the master bedroom. The light was on, the door open. I stopped when I noticed something odd. I got Hank’s attention and pointed to the deadbolt mounted to the bedroom door. It could only be engaged from the outside.

  He nodded.

  With Sheriff Saunders at our back, we continued into the room. I spanned left and right. An unmade queen-size bed took up most of the floor space. A pair of ratcheting straps were balled up on the floor. An IV bag hung from the headboard. A dresser and a large television were on the wall to my left. We made our way through the room to a hallway leading left, to the master bath. A closet door was open with the light on inside. I spun around the door. The small room had nothing but clothes inside. I poked my head into the master bath.

  I holstered my weapon. “Damn. He ain’t here.”

  We walked back outside to get away from the smell of decomp and wait for the other officers to arrive.

  Chapter 34

  Hank and I watched them wheel the woman’s body from the living room, down the front step, and out to the driveway where they’d parked the coroner’s van. The captain’s Ford pulled to the corner of the street. He and Jones got out and walked over.

  “Cap, Jones,” I said.

  “They give you any problems?” the captain asked.

  “No, they called it in, but as soon as they got word from their superiors, they backed off and gave us the scene. We’ve been waiting on the okay from forensics to go back in the house. What did you get from the mall?”

  “Nothing. No signs of Donner or Cross. Donner’s car wasn’t in the mall’s parking lot. He never talked with anyone from security about taking someone out of the mall. I gave them descriptions of Donner and Cross. They’re going to look on their surveillance videos and call me back.”

  “What about Packard?” I asked.

  “I had the guys at the station cut him loose. It’s pretty obvious now he’s not our guy,” the captain said.

  Ed was standing at the front door of the house, so we walked over.

  “Don’t suppose she died of natural causes?” I asked.

  “Not unless it’s natural to have over a dozen holes drilled in the side of your head.”

  “A dozen holes?”

  Ed nodded. “A dozen might be on the low side.”

  “How long has she been sitting there?” I asked.

  “My guess is ten to twelve days. He did this one before the others.”

  “Damn. Can we ID her? Is it the ex-wife?” Captain Bostok asked.

  “Height, hair color, and weight are pretty close to the information we have on her. We’ll have to get her dental records to confirm, though.”

  “Okay, Ed. Thanks. Give me a call when you have her report ready,” I said.

  “Won’t be until tomorrow, but I will.”

  I saw Rick in a clean suit inside.

  He noticed us standing at the door and walked over, pulling the mask from his mouth. “This place is something else.”

  “What have you got so far?” I asked.

  “I’m just working in the living room and kitchen right now. Pax is looking over the rest of the house and the garage. So far, I have blood from a number of different sources. There is cast off all over the kitchen. The kid and I are going to be here a while. Cap, I’d like to get an entomologist in here. He should be able to get us a better time of death from all these flies.”

  “That’s fine, Rick. Whatever you need,” Bostok said.

  Rick flipped the mask over his nose and mouth and walked toward the kitchen. We walked back outside to get away from the smell.

  “Well? Now what?” Hank asked.

  “We need to find Donner. Something is wrong.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed his number. It rang and went to his voicemail.

  Pax burst from the front door of the house. “You guys, come on. Come here.”

  The tone of his voice said he’d found something bad. We followed him into the house and out to the garage. Pax had pulled down the plastic separating the parking stalls. I saw the reason for his emotion. One of our unmarked Chargers sat parked in the last garage bay. We rushed over to the car. I didn’t see blood. I put my hand on the hood. It was still warm. I looked at Hank. “Call the tag into the station.”

  Someone from patrol confirmed it as ours. The car number had been checked out to Donner. I dialed his phone again to see if I could hear it ring in the garage.

  On the seventh or eighth ring, someone answered.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  I could hear breathing from the other end of the phone. He cleared his throat. “Did you think I wouldn’t spot your tail, Lieutenant Kane?”

  It took me a second to recognize the voice and realize what we were dealing with. I squeezed the phone in my hand until my knuckles were white. “Where’s my detective?”

  I pointed at my phone and mouthed the word Cross to the captain and Hank.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about him. He’ll turn up sooner or later.”

  “Where the hell is he?”

  “How is my wife? Was she still watching the television? That’s all that bitch ever did.”

  He knew we were at the house. I covered the mouthpiece on the phone. “Hank, get some officers to search the area. He knows we’re here.”

  I uncovered the phone. “So, you are confirming that you killed your ex-wife?”

  “We were as happy as ever for the first couple days after her procedure. Then she kind of started to go downhill. I kept drilling more holes, pouring in boiling water, but she just wouldn’t respond. Tell me, Lieutenant, how does it feel to know you had me sitting right in front of you and you guys were too stupid to see it?”

  “I’m going to find you.”

  Cross made a sound like a yawn. “Did you like the girl found in Ybor the other night? I think her name was Anna or something.”

  The girl was probably staring at the wall in her hospital room. The thought made my blood boil. I didn’t know what else to say to him. He didn’t just need to be caught. He needed to be taken out of the population permanently.

  “What do you want? Why are you doing this? Where is my detective?”

  He laughed. “I want notoriety—just a few moments in the spotlight, so to speak. Now that we’re acquainted, I may have found a better way to get it.” He paused.

  I figured he was waiting for me to comment on his statement. I didn’t.

  “The fun is just starting. Your detective is stuffed in a supply closet at the mall. I’d hurry. I gave him a pretty good-sized dose of Xylazine. It might have been enough to kill him. I’m not a hundred percent sure. See you soon.” He hung up.

  “Come on.” I slid my phone back into my pocket and headed for the car.

  The captain and Hank followed. “What did he say?” Bostok asked.

  “Said Donner is stuffed in a supply closet in the mall. He drugged him. Call 9-1-1 and have paramedics meet us there. I’m going to get a hold of the mall’s security office and get them searching. Is there a way we can get a GPS location on Donner’s phone?”

  “I’ll call tech,” Bostok said.

  I hopped into our cruiser, and Hank jumped in the passenger side. The captain and Jones got in the captain’s car and followed us over to the mall. I made the call to security on the way over. The man I spoke with told me one of their guys would meet us up front when we arrived. We parked our cars at the front curb of the mall, and I led us in. An older man in a security uniform met us at the doors. He had a white mustache and a large beard. He might have been the mall’s Santa during winter.

  “You the officer I spoke with?�
�� he asked.

  I nodded. His nametag read Jerry Ott.

  “We just found your detective. He’s in the back hall by the food court. This way.”

  We followed him in and past the food court. The mall was set to close, and it was mostly empty aside from employees and a couple last-minute shoppers. He led us to the emergency exit at the end of the hall containing the restrooms. He pushed the door open and walked through. Twenty feet down the hall, another man in a security uniform knelt next to Donner in the middle of the hallway. We went to his side. The security guard’s name badge read Caffe. I looked down at Donner. His face was covered in spattered blood. He was breathing but unconscious.

  “This how you found him?” I asked.

  He jerked his head toward the door a few feet away. “Found him in the janitor’s closet over there. He’s breathing but not responding.”

  I felt for Donner’s pulse. It seemed strong. His jacket hung open, his service weapon missing.

  “Jones, can you go and wait for the ambulance? Show the first responders where we are.”

  He nodded.

  The security guard we’d met at the front doors, Ott, accompanied Detective Jones back into the mall.

  “What happened here?” Caffe asked.

  “A man we are after attacked him. Show me the closet you found him in.”

  The captain waited with Donner while Caffe showed me into the janitor’s closet. It was five feet by five. A mop bucket sat on the floor. Miscellaneous cleaning supplies filled a shelf at the back. None of Donner’s belongings were on the floor. His service weapon was nowhere in sight. We went back to Donner and the captain. I felt Donner’s jacket and pants pockets. The captain flashed me a questioning look.

  “Service weapon is gone.” I checked the final pocket inside his sport coat. “No keys, badge, wallet, anything.”

  Jones led the EMTs back to us. They loaded Donner onto a gurney and started administering a hand ventilator. One of the attending technicians came over to us.

  “How does he look?” I asked.

  “We are just trying to get some extra oxygen into him right now. His breathing is a little shallow.”

  “The blood on his face?” I asked.