Jo stared at him. “That’s a good observation.”
Crowder grinned. “I’m not all eye candy, you know.”
Tarik came over. “So I checked out Sherbourne Station, and just like the last time, we don’t have a clear shot of the killer. There is a parking lot across from the station entrance. A camera caught the killer exiting the doors and then walking down the street. He then disappeared around the corner. Next thing I saw was a Mercedes-Benz driving away. It was a side view, so I could not get the license plate number. But I bet it’s the same car the killer used the last time.” Tarik held up a DVD. “I got a copy from the parking lot if you want to see it.”
“I don’t think we’ll find anything,” Jo said. “The killer knows exactly what he’s doing. In the subway stations, he never once looks up at the cameras. And when he leaves, he knows where to park his car so that no camera captures his plate number. Oh, by the way, this is Detective Jay Crowder. He’s working on the case with us.”
Tarik shook his hand. “I heard Walters mention something. Welcome aboard.”
Jo leaned back in her chair. “What I don’t understand is, we have footage of him exiting the stations, but we don’t have any footage of him entering the subway. How is that possible?”
Tarik said, “If I remember correctly, there are almost forty subway stations, I’m sure he slipped in through one of them. We could ask BTA for all their security footage for the last week.”
“We would need extra resources to comb through that much data.”
“Chris could do it,” Tarik said.
“Chris can try, but he is just one person. Plus, if the killer is that careful in his getaway, I’m sure he is even more careful when he is dropping off his victims.”
Crowder chimed in. “From what you guys just told me, he uses the Mercedes to escape. What if he uses another vehicle for the drop off?”
They were silent for a moment. They were all thinking the same thing: What if there are not one, but two people involved in this?
Irina came over. “The victim’s name is Natasha Wedham. She lives with her boyfriend in the east side of the city.”
Crowder jumped up from his chair and said, “I’m Detective Jay Crowder from the Bridgeton PD. I’m also working on the case. You must be Irina.”
Crowder held out his hand. Irina reluctantly shook it.
Crowder gave her his best smile. “Your co-worker was right, you are hot.”
Irina looked at Jo as if to get her permission to clock Crowder.
Jo said, “Do you have an address?”
“Right here,” Irina replied, dropping a piece of paper on her desk.
Jo grabbed it and said, “Let’s go, Detective Crowder. We’ve got work to do.” Jo wanted to get Crowder out of the office before any blood was spilled.
THIRTY-FOUR
Rhodes slowed the Malibu as he passed by a pizza shop’s parking lot. According to the report, it was in this parking lot that Reed Yates was shot.
The area was known for gang-related crimes, and as such, police presence was all around. Rhodes had counted four cruisers on his way to the shop. This also meant that Rhodes could not sit in the Malibu and keep an eye on the place. He would easily be mistaken for an undercover cop.
He turned the car around and pulled into a strip mall. He parked the car and got out. He decided to go into a bagel shop.
He ordered a sandwich and coffee and found a seat by the windows. He was half a block away from the pizza shop, but he had a clear view of it from where he was seated.
Rhodes ate slowly. He chewed each bite and took small sips.
It did not take long for him to realize something else was going on.
A car pulled into the shop’s parking lot and stopped. Two seconds later, a kid, no older than thirteen, ran out from the side of the shop and up to the car. The kid exchanged a few words with the driver, shook his hand, and then ran into the pizza shop. He came back out, shook hands once again with the driver, and disappeared around the side of the shop. The car then drove away. All this happened in less than a minute.
To an untrained eye, nothing looked out of the ordinary, but Rhodes knew what had just happened: a drug exchange.
By the time Rhodes had finished his meal, he had seen four exchanges occur.
The pizza shop was used as a drug depot. This meant where there was lots of cash, there was always security, specifically cameras.
Rhodes was certain one of them had caught Reed’s shooting.
The owner of the shop had told Crowder the shop’s security cameras were not working. In his report, Crowder had stated he had confirmed this by examining the equipment, but Rhodes was certain that was only half the story. The owner had shown Crowder only what he needed to see. Rhodes was certain there was fully functioning equipment in the back that had captured what had transpired outside the shop.
The only way to find out was to do something.
Rhodes left the bagel shop, drove up to the pizzeria, and stopped the Malibu in front of it. He checked the side-view mirror and spotted the boy coming toward him.
The boy stopped by the driver’s side window.
Rhodes had folded a twenty dollar bill in his palm. He held his hand out for the boy, but instead of taking it, the boy said, “What’d you want?”
“I need a score,” Rhodes said nonchalantly.
The boy scrunched up his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”
“Someone told me I can buy some goods here.”
“They told you wrong, man.”
“You don’t work in the pizza shop?”
“I do.”
“Then why did you run up to my car?”
“I’m like the guy at a drive-thru. What kind of pizza do you want?” he asked.
The boy was sharp, Rhodes could tell. Someone must have trained him well. There was no way he was taking orders for slices of pizza. Rhodes had never once seen the boy return to a car with a pizza box or a paper bag. He always came out concealing something in his hand.
“Come on,” Rhodes said. “I drove all the way here because someone told me you guys have the best goods.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you are talking about, man. You’re a cop or something?”
Rhodes wanted to tell him he was actually a convicted felon, but he knew the boy or even his boss would not believe him. Rhodes still had the demeanor of a police officer. Even after ten years behind bars, he reeked of detective.
“We don’t like the police, you get me?” the boy said and walked away.
Rhodes cursed.
He put the car in gear and drove away.
THIRTY-FIVE
The room was dark and closed off from the outside world. There were no windows and just one door. The walls were dirty and grimy. The floor was wet and sticky. The fluorescent tube light flickered constantly.
None of this bothered Jacopo.
He was seated at a table. His tools were spread before him. He picked up a corrugated saw and examined it. There was rust on the blade, but he was not too concerned. The longer it took to get the job done, the more pain his victims endured.
He never imagined he was capable of inflicting so much hurt on another human being. But now he realized he actually enjoyed it. Maybe it had to do with the hurt he felt inside him. When he tortured someone, he was actually releasing his suffering. The entire process was in some ways cathartic. When he was done torturing a victim, he always felt like a new person.
He put the saw down and lifted a scalpel. It too was rusted.
The walls vibrated, and he heard the sounds of metal on metal. A train passed through a tunnel adjacent to the room. He placed his hand over the tools to stop them from falling off the table.
Within seconds, the sound had subsided. He went back to examining his tools.
The room was filthy and depressing compared to his current accommodations. But he would never dare say this to his master. After all, it was his master who had given h
im a new life.
His real name was Craig Orton. He was once married. He also had a child. He used to work for a mining company, but after years of spending time underground, he developed a lung disease. His company quickly released him when they found out his condition. He got a lawyer and tried to sue them, but they had lawyers too, and theirs were more effective than his. His savings dried up, and he became an alcoholic. His marriage fell apart, and his wife took his daughter away from him. It did not help that he had become abusive toward his wife. But she did not understand what he was going through. The company he had worked day and night for had robbed him of a future.
He drifted from shelter to shelter until he ended up on the streets. His condition worsened, and he was good as dead when a man approached him one night. The man stayed in the shadows, but he offered Craig a chance at a new life.
The man put him in a private health facility where doctors monitored him twenty-four-seven. They gave him powerful medication that destroyed whatever disease had infected his lungs. Three months later, he was cured.
The man reappeared again, and he gave him a brand new car and an apartment in a nice part of the city. The man told him he would take care of him, but he had to do whatever the man asked of him, even if it meant killing and torturing another person.
He never hesitated for one minute in following the man’s commands. It was a small price to pay for what the man had done for him.
The man then gave him the name Jacopo. The man also told him he was going to be his master, and Jacopo was going to be his student.
He accepted this without question. After all, it was his master who had given him life, and in return, he would take a life for him.
There was something else that propelled him to do what was asked of him. He feared his master. His master had a plan, and Jacopo knew if he did not follow through with it, his master would make him suffer a fate far worse than what he made his victims suffer.
He shivered at that thought.
He knew soon enough his master would reappear with another task for him.
Jacopo went back to his tools. He wanted to be ready for when it happened.
THIRTY-SIX
Rhodes sat on the sofa with Reed’s file spread out next to him. For the last couple hours, he had pondered ways to get inside the pizza shop. He could not ask the local police for help. He knew once Detective Crowder found out an outsider was working on his case, he would make Rhodes’s life even more difficult.
He could make another attempt and hope a different boy was running the drugs. But this came with a huge risk. If he got caught, there was no telling what the gang would do to him once they found out he was not a narc officer. Rhodes had no interest in finding out.
There had to be another way.
There was a knock at the door. Rhodes’s back tensed. No one knew his address. Who could that be? he thought.
There was another knock.
Rhodes looked around the apartment, but there was nothing he could use as a weapon.
He slowly moved to the door and without opening it, he said, “Who is it?”
“It’s Tess,” a female voice said from the other side.
“Who?”
“I live on the top floor.”
Rhodes relaxed. It was the girl he had found sitting on his front steps.
He opened the door. The girl was dressed like the day before, but this time her mascara was all over her face. She looked like she had been crying.
“Can I sit in your car?”
“Why?”
“I had a fight with my mom, and I need a place to stay.”
Rhodes did not want to get involved. It was none of his business. He had a lot on his plate as it was. He knew he should tell her to go away, or shut the door on her. But he knew he would not. He had a soft spot for those in need.
In fact, that was what got him sent to prison in the first place.
Ten years ago, a woman came to him for help. Her child had been murdered, and she believed it was the boy’s father. No one believed her. The boy’s father was a respectable member of society. She was an addict and known to the police. Rhodes should have sent her away. But he felt pity for her. She was weak, and society had failed her. But he would not.
Rhodes never regretted taking on her case, but he did regret what he did at the end of it.
Rhodes sighed. He went out and unlocked the Malibu’s doors.
“Thanks,” Tess said as she got in.
Rhodes went back inside.
A few hours later, Rhodes was exhausted from looking over the file. He needed fresh air. He decided to go for a drive. It would help clear his head and his mind. Maybe once he returned, he would find a way into the pizza shop.
He grabbed his coat and put his hands in his pockets. One of his hands felt a card. He pulled it out. It was the one given to him by Barry Kowalski at the bar.
Rhodes gritted his teeth. He knew that sooner or later, he would have to deal with his father.
He might as well do it now.
He went out and found the car empty.
The girl must have left. I hope she has sorted out her problems with her mom.
He started the engine and drove away.
Wilmington was a two-hour drive from Bridgeton. The last time Rhodes was there was over twenty years ago. He had promised himself he would never go back. The city brought back bad memories. And all those memories involved his father.
He had driven for an hour when he heard a loud noise. He looked around. He was sure he had not hit anything.
He heard the noise again.
Do I have a flat tire? He wondered.
He parked the car by the side of the road and got out. There was nothing around him except for trees and bushes. The nearest gas station was about a mile away. If he had a flat, he would have to change it himself.
He checked each tire and found all four were inflated.
What the hell? Well, the car’s so old, maybe it is acting up.
He heard the noise again and realized it was not car-related. It was something else.
He moved to the back of the car. The noise was coming from the trunk.
He popped it open and moved back, expecting something to jump at him. Instead, he saw the girl curled up inside. She squinted as the light hit her face.
“What’re you doing in there?” he asked, surprised.
“I was sleeping.”
His brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Why in the trunk?”
She did not answer him. Instead, she pulled herself out and patted her jacket and jeans. “You should clean it. It’s so dirty in there.”
Rhodes felt anger rise in him. “It’s not made for sleeping,” he growled. Then something occurred to him. “How did you get in the trunk?” Rhodes had the keys on him the entire time.
“Through the back seat.”
Tess gestured to the back seats. Rhodes saw the trunk was accessible from the inside once the seats were pulled down.
“Why were you in the trunk?” Rhodes asked.
She looked away.
“I’m asking you a question.”
She shook her head and bit her bottom lip. “I was trying to hide, okay?”
Rhodes’s eyes narrowed. “From who?”
“My mom’s boyfriend. He’s a creep. He’s tried to hit on me. I’ve told my mom many times, but she won’t believe me.”
“Is that why you had a fight with your mom?”
“Yeah.”
Rhodes put his hands in his pockets and stepped away from her. He needed to think. If the girl is missing, will the mother call the police on me? He had not kidnapped her. She had snuck in without his knowledge. But when pressed, would she give that statement? She was only fifteen, and kids that age would do anything, even lie, to avoid getting in trouble.
“Can I come with you?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not supposed to be getting in cars with strangers.”
“But you’re not a stranger. You live in the same house as me.”
“Yeah, but I have a lot of work to do, and I can’t babysit you.”
“So are you going to leave me here alone?”
Rhodes looked around. The last town was a couple of miles away. He sighed. “Fine. Get in.”
“As I said, my name is Tess,” she said, strapping herself in the passenger seat. “Tess Connelly.”
Rhodes put the car in gear.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Rhodes did not respond.
“I told you mine. You have to tell me yours.”
“If I tell you, will you be quiet for the rest of the drive?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“It’s Martin,” he replied. “Martin Rhodes.”
Rhodes was not in any mood for chit-chat. He never was. Right now, though, he had a bigger problem waiting for him in Wilmington.
THIRTY-SEVEN
They were in a two-bedroom bungalow on the west side of the city. The living room was decorated with antique furniture.
Jo and Crowder sat across from Jeremy Turnbull. Jeremy’s long, thinning hair was combed back. He had stubble on his face, and he had a large tattoo on his right arm.
Jeremy was Natasha Wedham’s boyfriend.
“How can someone do such a thing?” he asked the two detectives.
Jo had heard that question many times before, and each time, she found herself wondering the same thing: How can someone take another person’s life? Birth was beautifuland filled with endless opportunities. Death was ugly, and there was no return from it.
“What can you tell us about Natasha?” Jo asked.
“She was smart, funny, and I loved her.”
“What did Natasha do for a living?”
“She worked as a nurse at a retirement home.”
“What did she do before that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. She mentioned something about working with the mentally ill.”
Close Your Eyes Page 10
