Malevolent (Lieutenant Kane series Book 1)

by E. H. Reinhard

  “How do you know where I am?”

  “Don’t bother scouring the neighborhood. I’m not watching you. Your report of her car being stolen came across my trusty police scanner.”

  “What the hell do you want? Where is Samantha?”

  “Why so much concern for an ex-wife? Do you still love her, Lieutenant?”

  I didn’t respond. He wanted to play some kind of sick mind game with me, and I had no interest in giving him the satisfaction.

  “You better answer, or I’ll start tinkering with her right now. Listen.”

  I heard the sound of a drill in the background. “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I still love her.”

  Marty stared at me from the corner of the kitchen.

  “Isn’t that nice? We have a lot in common. My wife left me too. It’s too late for Tina and me, but I’m sure you can still get Samantha back if you try. You’ve got to just keep drilling down to get to the root of the problem.”

  His words disgusted me.

  He chuckled into the phone, finishing with a snort. “Did you get the joke there?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t funny. Tell me what you want, Cross.”

  “Well, I’m kind of getting a late start this morning. Samantha and I had a long night.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  “I just got done branding the little cow. That’s it. Like I said, I’m getting a late start today. I figure I’ll probably go grab a bite to eat and run a couple errands before I come back and start on her. So you’ll have a little time to find us. It wouldn’t be any fun if you didn’t have a chance. I’ll make sure you get some clues to where we are.”

  “I’ll find you.”

  “Maybe. Here’s the reason for my call though, Carl. I want you to tell me which way I should do it. Transorbital or leucotomy? I figured I’d let you choose.”

  “I’m not choosing.”

  “Choose, or I do it now.”

  His end of the line went quiet.

  I said nothing.

  “I’m going to count to three. One… Two… Thr—”

  I interrupted him. “Don’t.”

  “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  I was silent, again.

  He laughed into the phone. “All right, fine. I won’t make you pick. I’ll surprise you.”

  “I’ll kill you if you do anything to her.”

  “Maybe. I’m thinking that I’ll do the procedure while she’s alert and awake. What do you think? Think she’ll like that?”

  “I’ll find you, you sick piece of shit.”

  He yawned. “I’m just so weary from all this traveling.” The sound of a drill filled the phone. “See you later, Carl.” He hung up.

  I slammed the phone down on the table.

  Chapter 41

  His claim that I had time didn’t hold any weight with me. I didn’t want to think about her being held against her will or what he might be doing to her. I was going to find him in the shortest time possible.

  I went to the cab first. It belonged to Cross, so any clues would most likely be found there. I wasn’t going to wait for forensics or anyone else. I looked for any trash on the floor. Maybe he had left something behind, indicating where he had been. I was digging around the floor of the cab when my eyes caught the taxi registration card on the dash. The name was Dan Ellison. The photo looked like Cross might look without the beard. I opened the glove box and searched for the vehicle’s registration, which I found in an envelope with the insurance. They were both in Dan Ellison’s name. Who the hell is Dan Ellison? Why does that name sound familiar?

  I called the plates in to dispatch. They came back legal and up to date—issued to Dan Ellison. We got his address from the vehicle’s registration. We confirmed it as current with the station. I hung up. Ellison and Cross were either connected or the same person. If Samantha was being held there, I didn’t want to give him a forewarning.

  Hank, Jones, and Captain Bostok walked into the kitchen. I talked to them about the conversation I’d had with Cross and what I had found. I also told them about Dan Ellison.

  “Take two squad cars from patrol as backup. You, Jones, and Hank lead. Use your head,” the captain said.

  “Address is out of our jurisdiction,” I said.

  “Where is it?”

  “Apollo Beach.”

  “I’ll call ahead to the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department. You’ll be fine—just go.”

  “What about a warrant?”

  The captain thought about it for a second. “If it’s Cross or you see any sign of him, we already have the warrant. If it’s not Cross, get this Ellison back to the station. His name is all over a vehicle involved. It’s enough to bring him in.”

  The plan was loose, but it was all we had. I got Marty’s home and mobile phone numbers. I told him I’d update him with anything I found. Jones and Hank got in my car for the ride over to Ellison’s house. The address was twenty-five minutes south. Johnson followed us in his patrol car. Officer Henry met us en route. An HCSD car sat a few blocks from the address. He filed in behind us after we passed. We pulled into the subdivision and parked at the curb a block away from the house. We got out, and I went to the trunk of the car and put on a vest.

  Hank flashed me a confused look.

  “Someone has to go to the door,” I said.

  The sheriff approached us. “Who’s heading this up?” he asked.

  I cinched the Velcro straps tight on the vest with my left hand and reached out for a handshake with my right. “Lieutenant Carl Kane, TPD Homicide.”

  He shook my hand. “Sheriff Scott Tanner.”

  I introduced the rest of the team.

  “What can I help with?” he asked.

  “We have a person of interest at the address. Not sure if he’s home and not sure the level of what we are walking into. He might be innocent and unaware of why we are there, or we could be walking up on a serial killer with a hostage, the hostage being my ex-wife.”

  His eyes grew. “Geez.”

  “I’m going to go to the door and try to make contact.” I pointed to Hank and Jones. “The two detectives here will have my back. I want you backing us up, if you’re all right with that.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I’m going to send my guys from patrol around the back of the house to make sure we don’t get a runner.”

  We made our way up the street toward the house. It looked to have been built in the early 2000s. The outside was light-tan stucco. A ten-year-old oak tree sat in front of the house’s front bay window. Low shrubs surrounded the front. The officers from patrol headed around toward the back—one in each direction. I walked to the front entryway while Hank and Jones went to the blind side of the doorway against the house. The sheriff was behind them to the right.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  They nodded.

  I knocked on the door. A flash of darkness and then light flickered in the peephole. Someone was looking out. I moved to the side of the door. It opened.

  “Can I help you?”

  I looked at the man standing there. He was clean shaven, short, and a little overweight. His hair was a few inches long and dark brown. He wore a red polo shirt and black slacks. He wasn’t Bob Cross, but he wasn’t that far off in appearance, minus the weight difference. Behind him, some kids sat in the living room playing video games on a big-screen TV. A woman sat in the kitchen, talking on the telephone. The man who’d answered the door looked me up and down, trying to figure out who I was and why I was there. From his position, he couldn’t see my backup with their guns drawn.

  “Are you Dan Ellison?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Ellison, I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa Police Department.” I showed him my badge. “I need you to answer some questions for me.”

  His reaction would tell me about his involvement. I waited for him to run, to slam the door in my face, something. He just stood in th
e doorway.

  “Questions? About what?”

  “Bob Cross.”

  “Bob Cross? What do you want to talk to me about him for?”

  “So you know him?”

  “I used to work with him, yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “Pet Med Plus.”

  It dawned on me why his name sounded familiar. He was on my sheet of employees for the place.

  “We need to know why he is driving a taxi that belongs to you.”

  “What?” He stepped from the front door of the house and closed it behind him. He spotted Hank, Jones, and the sheriff with their weapons drawn. “Whoa, what’s going on here?” He held his hands up at shoulder level. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Step out here,” I said. I brought him ten feet from the front of his house. “Do you have any weapons on you?”

  “Weapons? No.”

  “Mind if I check?”

  “Go ahead. I don’t have anything on me.”

  I gave him a quick pat down. I nodded for the men to holster their weapons.

  “Mr. Ellison, why is Bob Cross driving a taxi registered to you?”

  “Taxi? I don’t own a taxi. Never did.”

  “There is one titled to you, registered to you, insured by you.”

  “It must be a different Dan Ellison because it isn’t me.”

  “Your address is on all the forms.”

  “Look, I’m telling you I don’t own a taxi. I’ve never even ridden in one.”

  I stared at him. He looked as if he was thinking about something.

  “Wait a minute. That little prick.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “He had to be the asshole who stole my wallet from my desk at work. So he registered a cab in my name? Is that what this is about? What did he do? Hit and run?”

  “You haven’t been watching the news?”

  “No.”

  “He killed two people and incapacitated one. Right now, he is on the run with another.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “What?”

  My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. The caller ID on the screen said it was the captain.

  “Sit tight for a second for me, Mr. Ellison.” I motioned for Hank to follow me and for Jones to keep an eye on Ellison. I walked to the sidewalk and hit Talk. “Cap?”

  “What’s the scene?”

  “This guy was a coworker. Said Cross may have stolen his wallet.”

  “Have Jones bring him back to the station either way. I just got word from Timmons. HCSD just called us. They located Samantha’s car.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Out in Gibsonton.”

  “Gibsonton? Where?”

  The captain rattled off the location.

  “Okay. I’m leaving now.”

  Chapter 42

  He ditched the car a couple blocks away and walked back. A shiny new Lexus sitting in front of the ratty motel would’ve screamed that something was off. He left Kane a clue inside the car. It wouldn’t matter either way.

  Samantha Bridgeman lay strapped to the bed. Her hands and feet remained zip tied together. The blinds were drawn shut, so the room was dark. An old television in the corner provided the only source of light—it was playing a Saturday-afternoon movie from the seventies. Bob paced the room and focused on the small alarm clock on the night stand. It showed a couple minutes after two o’clock. He called in the location of Samantha’s Lexus to the sheriff’s department. He walked over and gave her another dose of the tranquilizer.

  He left the drill, scalpel, and suture needles, but he stuffed the branding iron, ice pick, hammer, drugs, and lingerie into a pillowcase from the bed. He decided to hang onto the cop’s gun just in case.

  Bob headed out. He’d watch the show from a distance before continuing with the rest of the night’s activities.

  Chapter 43

  Jones took Ellison back to the station and dismissed the other officers. Hank and I were nearing where her car had been spotted. I saw the Lexus from half a block away. Aside from the fact that there was a sheriff’s cruiser behind it, in that neighborhood, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Hank and I pulled into the parking lot that the car was sitting in. We stepped out, and the Sheriff walked over to us.

  “You my detectives from TPD?” he asked.

  “Lieutenant Kane.” I nodded toward Hank. “This is Sergeant Rawlings.”

  “Sheriff Richard Williams. I guess someone called our station and reported a stolen vehicle and its location. I shot over and ran the plates. It came back as stolen. The alert said to contact the TPD.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff. Do you know if it’s open?” I asked.

  “Open with the keys in the ignition. That’s why I’m still sitting here. It was stolen once—doesn’t need to be stolen again.”

  I reached out and opened the door.

  “Don’t you want to have someone print this thing?”

  I shook my head. “We already know who stole it.”

  He gave me a confused look.

  We hopped in and searched for any sign of a clue that could point us to where Cross was holding Samantha. Hank put his face down to the carpet and searched under the passenger seat.

  “Anything?” I asked.

  “It’s clean.”

  I grabbed the keys to look in the trunk. When the lid flipped open, I noticed hair on the trunk’s carpet. It was the same color and length as Samantha’s. At least it was the last time I saw her. I didn’t see any blood, so I closed the trunk lid. We’d have to get the car towed back to our station so forensics could go over it. I hit the button on Samantha’s key fob to lock the Lexus. I looked at the keys. One was old and worn. It was on the same ring as a number tag—118. I flipped the tag over. It came from a motel in Gibsonton. Underneath the name, it read, “hourly rates”. My ex-wife wouldn’t be caught dead in a rent-by-the-hour motel.

  I looked at Sheriff Williams. “Where is the Weary Traveler Motel?”

  “Up the street here a mile or so.”

  “We need to get there now.” I started for our car. “Can you lead the way?”

  “Sure.” The sheriff went to his cruiser.

  “Call back to your station for support on your mobile phone. The guy we’re after has a scanner.”

  He nodded.

  “Come on, Hank. Let’s go.”

  We hopped into our car and followed the sheriff from the lot. He flipped on his lights and sirens.

  I called it into our dispatch from my cell phone. I didn’t want Cross to know anyone was en route if he was monitoring the police bands. We headed south a little over a mile, weaving in and out of traffic. Sheriff Williams cut the lights and siren a few blocks from our turn. He made a right into the motel’s lot and pulled up to the side of the building. We followed in behind him. We were the only police there.

  We piled out, and I asked the sheriff to get our backs. He followed us to the room. The curtains were closed, so we couldn’t get a visual inside. I pulled my service weapon and took the far side of the doorway. Hank tucked in behind me. The sheriff covered us from behind. I pulled Samantha’s keys from my pocket and slipped the hotel key into the door. With my gun in my right hand at my hip, I twisted the knob with my left and pushed the door open. I could see a good part of the room before I stepped to the side. No one ran out, and no shots were fired. I peered around the corner of the doorway. The room was dark. I spotted a lump in the bed, a person. We stayed low and entered—all guns pointed into the room.

  Hank flipped on the lights. The room was empty except for the woman strapped to the bed. It was her.

  “Sam!” I went to the bedside. Hank cleared the rest of the motel room. The sheriff stepped inside.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked.

  Plastic covered the bed. The nightstand held a drill covered in blood and a scalpel. A few bottles of alcohol and needles for stitching lay across the nightstand. She lay in a pool of half-dried blood. Both sides of her head had been shaved.
Above each ear, at her temple, were stitches. I checked her for a pulse and found it faint. I unhooked the straps holding her.

  “One of you have something to cut these zip ties?” I asked.

  Hank pulled a pocket knife from his pants, flipped it open, and passed it over. I cut away the ties on her hands and feet. Her hand was branded. Hank grabbed his phone and requested an ambulance.

  I picked her up and laid her on the second bed. I leaned over her and opened her eyes with my fingers. “Samantha? Samantha?”

  She didn’t respond or wake up.

  I sat there until EMS arrived. They couldn’t tell me anything about her condition. They loaded her on a gurney and wheeled her out. I followed. The parking lot was filled with HCSD cars. I walked with the EMTs over to the back of the ambulance, where they loaded her inside. They told me they were going to take her to Tampa General Hospital and closed the doors. They hit the lights and sirens and pulled out. I walked back to the Charger and called Bridgeman.

  “This is Marty.”

  “It’s Carl. I found her.”

  “Well, let me talk to her.”

  “She’s being taken to Tampa General.”

  “What the hell happened to her? Is she going to be okay?”

  “I’m not sure. She was unresponsive when we found her.”

  “Unresponsive. What the hell is unresponsive?”

  “Just go to Tampa General. I’ll meet you there.” I hung up.

  Hank walked around the corner toward me as I leaned against the car.

  “Any signs of Cross?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “HCSD has a description of him. They are looking around the area. Nothing yet. The woman inside the motel office said the occupant of room 118 came in late last night. She gave me a copy of the invoice.” Hank handed me the piece of paper. “The room was billed to a Visa belonging to Dan Ellison.”

  “How is that going to help us now?” I asked.

  “Get the feds to watch Ellison’s accounts. See if we get a hit somewhere else.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to the hospital. Are you staying here, or do you want me to drop you back at the station?”