The Kid: A Suspense Thriller (Reed & Billie Book 3)

by Stevens,Dustin

  “Okay,” Glenn said, raising a hand before her and pointing to the white cards affixed to the end of each shelving unit. “It looks like these start in 2005 and work their way forward, so we need to look down on the far end there.”

  Dropping Billie’s lead to the floor, Reed let her drag it behind her as they moved forward, walking quickly through the rows until they found 2013. Starting on the right side of the aisle, they moved about halfway down the length of the row before finding the cases for February, more than 50 boxes filling 10 shelves in total.

  “Damn,” Reed muttered, “all this for one month?”

  “And this is just one branch of the County court system,” Glenn said.

  “Never let it be said the taxpayers aren’t getting their money’s worth,” Reed said, going to the opposite end of the February files and beginning to work his way back toward Glenn.

  Scrolling the names scribbled in blue marker along the side of the boxes, they both worked in silence for the better part of five minutes before Glenn found what they were looking for, snatching a box off the bottom shelf and dragging it out, the weight of it smacking against the tile floor, sending an echo through the cavernous room.

  “Franklin Co. v. Sanz. Let’s take a look and see what we’ve got.”

  Lowering herself to her knees, Glenn rested her backside on her heels and shoved the top of the box to the side, a plume of dust rising in its wake. On the opposite side Reed dropped to the floor, crossing his legs in front of him, Billie posted up just past his right shoulder, her muzzle a few inches away.

  Reaching in, Glenn pulled out the first folder, a dark brown jacket with metal clips at the top. The name and date of the case were scribbled across the front in black marker. Without opening or glancing inside she handed it across to Reed, going in for a matching one, each side settling in to read.

  The file in Reed’s hand was the evidentiary submissions for the case, a half dozen grainy photographs and a few more sworn affidavits and depositions. Their sources ranged from owners of the cars to police officers working the cases, the veracity of them also tracing the full gamut of reliability.

  “Anything good?” Glenn asked, the first either one of them had spoken since sitting down.

  “Evidence,” Reed said. “Not much of substance. You?”

  “Court transcript,” Glenn said. “With him already incarcerated, the whole thing reads like a whitewashing.”

  Reed nodded, expecting nothing less based on many of the reports he’d just glanced through. As best he could tell, nearly every statement that hadn’t originated with a law enforcement officer boiled down to an angry car owner wanting somebody to pay for what had happened, the particulars not being that important.

  Much as he hated to admit it, a couple of the official reports from the officers kind of read that way as well.

  Placing the file to the side, Reed went in for the next file in order, this one much thinner than either of the first two. Flipping open the top cover, he found a single piece of paper affixed to the inside of the left flap, the word Witness List at the top in block letters.

  Two columns were typed on the page, one each for the prosecution and defense. Under the prosecution more than a dozen names were listed, almost all of them matching names he’d seen in the previous folder. These he passed over and dismissed in quick order before settling his gaze on the side of the page demarcated for the defense.

  There weren’t enough names to call it a list, just three in total. The name at the top was Maria Sanz. Though Reed had absolutely no information about her beyond those two words he reasoned this was most likely a mother, the same person that most often turned up at the top of defense witness lists, the idea to put a crying mother or spouse on the stand and have them extol their moral upstanding.

  As Sanz was only in his 20s at the time, Reed figured the top name was his mother, the next in line, Sonya Johnston, to be his girlfriend.

  That left only a single name unaccounted for.

  “Can you scroll through that transcript and see what you find for Anthony Wittek?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Nobody had bothered climbing into the car. Still parked along the side of the courthouse, Reed leaned against the front hood, one arm crossed over his stomach, the other holding his phone out in front of him. Two feet away Glenn stood with one leg cocked to the side, her hands shoved into her front pockets.

  Both pretended to ignore the gusts of chilly breeze that blew across their bodies, tugging at their clothes, pushing Glenn’s hair out behind her.

  Nearby Billie paced on the lawn of the courthouse, her nose lowered to the ground, in search of a spot to do her business while never being more than a few quick bounds away.

  “Cried?” Grimes asked, his voice carrying out over the speaker on his Reed’s phone. Even through the distortion of the phone, it was obvious there was some disbelief present.

  “Three different times,” Glenn said. “We just read it straight from the transcript.”

  A low, shrill whistle sounded out over the line, Reed looking up to Glenn and nodding in agreement.

  From the sound of things in the file, his initial reaction to the witness list had been spot on. There were the expected statements from Sanz’s mother and girlfriend, both proclaiming him to be a veritable saint, the kind of person the community could use more of. Neither had said anything of any real value though, never once moving past sweeping platitudes, their testimony noticeably thin on anything of substance.

  Anthony Wittek had been a different case altogether.

  From what they could glean from the statements, Marco Sanz had been a friend that became a big brother figure to the younger Wittek. The questioning glossed over how the two had met, instead focusing on how Sanz had mentored Wittek, had taken him under his wing when nobody else would.

  Repeatedly throughout his testimony he had referred to Sanz as Big, using the term interchangeably with his real first name, the entire affair interspersed with several episodes of breaking down. More than once he had begged for his friend to be released, saying he was no longer cut out for prison life.

  Without any video footage it was tough to determine how sincere the performance might have been, the transcript in places reading close to a bad television show. Listening to Glenn go through it, Reed could almost picture this young man sitting on the stand, trying to force out a few weak tears, reading from a script.

  At the same time, he had been around the culture of young men, especially those in criminal enterprises, enough to know that crying and asking for leniency were extreme breaches. There was a reason the mothers and girlfriends were usually the only ones to show up at trial, the friends and associates popping up days later during visiting hours to remind those inside to keep their mouth shut.

  The sound of keys clattering could be heard on the other end of the line as Grimes entered the name into his computer. “Anthony Wittek has two priors, one for receipt of stolen property, another for hacking into the system of a home security company.

  “Probation for the first, did a couple months on the second, released early due to overcrowding.”

  Reed made a face, shaking his head at the back end of the report.

  “Known whereabouts?”

  “Last address is from two years ago, during his final scheduled meeting with his parole officer. He could still be there, but I doubt it.”

  Reed flicked his gaze up to Glenn, thinking the same thing.

  “Anything in the system since?”

  “Not even a parking ticket,” Grimes said.

  Shaking her head, Glenn turned toward the street, shaking her head, watching traffic flow by.

  Reed couldn’t help but agree with her stance. If this was their guy, and all signs seemed to indicate it was, or that he was at least connected, there was precisely zero chance that he was still hanging out at his last known address. He had almost certainly fallen off the grid the minute his required check-in period had expired, going
underground to begin planning.

  The acts that had been committed in the previous days took a level of detail that would not arise from nowhere, would have to be born from something like extreme loyalty. The actions of Anthony Wittek during trial certainly seemed to indicate as much.

  “Okay,” Reed said, “thanks, Captain.”

  “What’s your next step?” Grimes asked.

  Letting the phone sag a couple of inches, Reed looked to Glenn. The two stayed locked in a gaze for a moment before Reed raised the speaker again and said, “I’m going to talk to Deek, see if he was able to pull any other names and if he can find us a current address for Wittek.”

  As he spoke, Reed slapped at the thigh of his leg, grabbing Billie’s attention, pulling her back toward them.

  “Okay,” Grimes said. “Keep me in the loop.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Reed wasn’t sure exactly where they were headed, but he pushed the car north anyway. He reasoned that most likely, based on where Sanz had originally been pulled over, he had lived at least somewhat close to Franklinton. That also meant there was a decent likelihood that Wittek, or whoever else, might be nearby as well.

  Beyond that, even if they weren’t, at least he would be that much closer to the precinct, to Deek, even to Glenn’s office.

  The only thing he did know for sure was that Grove City held little more benefit for them, the town center fading in his rearview mirror as he circled onto the freeway.

  This time he let Glenn hold the phone, the implement gripped between her thumb and fingers, a full inch over her palm. She kept it raised above her thigh, her wrist acting as a support, the timer on the screen counting upward for zero.

  The line rang three times before being answered, the voice on the other end sounding somewhere between a stoned surfer and someone being awoken from the dead.

  “Detective,” Deek said, adding nothing more.

  “Hey, Deek,” Reed said, “I’ve got you on speakerphone right now with Investigator Cassidy Glenn from the BCI.”

  “Huh,” Deek said, a hint of surprise in his voice. “What happened to the pooch?”

  Unable to stop it, Reed felt the right corner of his mouth curl into a smile. He glanced over to Glenn to see a similar smirk, her eyebrows raised a bit as she glanced to Reed.

  He could only imagine what her reaction would be if she actually met Deek, especially if said encounter took place in his den of iniquity.

  “Billie’s here, too,” Reed said, “but she won’t be adding much to the conversation. Just wanted you to know who you were talking to.”

  “Ah,” Deek said, Reed envisioning him rocking his head back, his mouth falling open. “Gotcha.”

  “So what were you able to find from those files?” Reed asked. “Any of those names come without a thick black line drawn through them?”

  The sound of bare feet on a hard surface was the first response, followed by the plastic wheels of a desk chair rolling across the same. Next in order came fingers slapping against a keyboard, Deek waiting almost a full minute before responding.

  “Fair warning, considering you’ve given me about an hour so far, I’ve only been able to get through the first part of the file. I’m guessing whatever you’re into here is some pretty heavy shit because the security was extra tight, even by FBI standards.”

  Reed again glanced to Glenn, the investigator meeting his gaze, drawing her mouth into a line.

  “Only one name,” Deek said, “though it came up a dozen times or so. File doesn’t give much detail on the guy, and I figured you had plenty of access to his standard police jacket without me poking around in there too, so I didn’t do too much digging.”

  His jaw set, Reed nodded. Deek was correct in that they had plenty of access to files once they had a name, it was just getting past the redactions that was tough.

  “What’s the name?” Reed asked.

  “Raul Vazquez,” Deek said. “From the way this thing reads, they were thick as thieves, no pun intended.”

  Glenn made a face at the poor joke and asked, “Does it say how he and Sanz were connected?”

  “Sounds like they were partners in this car theft enterprise they had going,” Deek said, “or at least whoever was leaning on Sanz thought they were.”

  “And Sanz never gave him up?” Reed asked.

  “Never said a word,” Deek replied.

  He paused there, a long break punctuated by more movement of the chair, by another series of clattering on the keyboard. “Looks like he’s the reason Gilmore offered Sanz a deal, too.”

  Reed felt his eyebrows rise as he continued pushing north up the freeway, leaning heavy on the gas to get around a pair of semi-trucks before moving back into the outside lane, their exit fast approaching.

  “Gilmore was interested in Vazquez?” Reed asked.

  “Interested?” Deek asked. “Guy had a major hard-on for him. Enough surveillance in the file to write a book. He just didn’t have an in.”

  Reed glanced over to the passenger seat, Glenn’s face twisted up, shock and concern on her features.

  “What?” Reed asked.

  “He has access to Gilmore’s files?”

  “Seriously?” Deek asked, jumping in before Reed had a chance to respond.

  “She didn’t mean anything by it,” Reed said, raising his voice slightly for effect. “She just doesn’t know you the way I do.”

  “Uh-huh,” Deek said, skepticism obvious.

  Reflexively, a half-smile formed on Reed’s lips as he looked to Glenn and mouthed, I’ll tell you later.

  Keeping his attention aimed her way, Reed glanced sideways at the road a couple of times, a square green sign just off the shoulder announcing Franklinton approaching in two miles.

  “You ever heard of Raul Vazquez?” Reed asked.

  “No,” Glenn said, “but I don’t work in robbery at all. You?”

  “No,” Reed said, giving a tight shake of his head. “Deek, any chance you can get an address for him?”

  More banging on the keyboard was the only response as Deek went to work, Reed and Glenn both leaning toward the phone.

  “You thinking of going over there?” Glenn asked.

  “Don’t see how we can’t,” Reed said. “His name was mentioned as the business partner of a dead man that seems to have ignited a string of killings.”

  “The FBI will be pissed. Could torpedo their investigation.”

  “Do we care?” Reed asked. “They’re already pissed and the investigating agent is dead.”

  “Good points,” Glenn conceded, her right shoulder rising slightly in a shrug.

  “Alright,” Deek said, “there’s an address here in Gilmore’s notes that he was watching pretty tight. If I were a betting man, I’d say this is your place.”

  “Where?” Reed asked.

  “Hilltop,” Deek said, “not too far from your new stomping grounds. You want me to send it over?”

  “Please,” Reed said. “And try to stay out of that bottle for the rest of the afternoon and keep your phone handy if you could.”

  A moment passed before Deek said, “I could do that, for a small fee.”

  Again the half-smile appeared on Reed’s face. “Whatever you want.”

  He raised a hand and slashed it across his throat, signaling for Glenn to end the call. She did so without another word being exchanged between the two sides, dropping the phone flat against her leg and staring expectantly at Reed.

  “I’ll explain later,” Reed said, sensing a questioning look on his skin. “Can you go down the call menu and get Grimes on the line?”

  She did as asked, again propping the phone up on her leg. This time the line rang only once before being picked up, the captain’s graveled voice sounding a bit deeper than their previous conversation.

  “Was he able to help?”

  “Who’d you put on watch over at Sanz’s gravesite?” Reed asked, moving straight past the opening question.

  “McMic
haels and Jacobs, why?”

  “Can you get Greene and Gilchrist up and have them join us?” Reed asked. “We’re going to roll up on Sanz’s business partner, not sure what to expect.”

  Silence met their ears for a moment before Grimes asked, “Should I be sending over a SWAT unit instead?”

  Reed glanced to Glenn, having considered the same thing himself. “Not right now. We don’t know what we’re going into, showing up with that kind of muscle might incite something we’re not prepared for.”

  It was apparent by the chorus of noises Grimes made that he wasn’t entirely onboard with the request, did not like the open-ended nature of it at all, but to his credit he said nothing. “Okay. You have an address?”

  “I’ll send it straight to them,” Reed said. He paused and glanced to Glenn, flipping on his blinker as he eased his foot up off the gas and drifted onto the off-ramp leading toward Franklinton.

  “Also, can you get on the horn with the 19th and tell them we’ll be dropping into their jurisdiction for a few minutes?”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  With a ball cap pulled low and a pair of non-prescription glasses he’d picked up at a drug store for six bucks, The Kid was virtually invisible. He sat at the counter lining the front window of the coffee shop, a dog-eared paperback in front of him, a tall cup of steaming black coffee by his side.

  Scrawled on the side of it in black pen was a name that was decidedly not his, the ink standing out against the white paper background.

  Sitting with his shoulders hunched, the toes of his shoes just grazing the ground as his feet dangled from the lowest rung on the stool he sat on, he positioned himself so it appeared to anybody nearby like he was engrossed in his novel. He had torn away the front cover, hoping to dissuade anybody that might see and recognize it, causing them to remember him or even worse attempt to engage him in conversation. Every so often he was careful to turn the page, just another college student in the area killing time.

  The ruse was easy enough for The Kid to pull off, he himself that very thing not too long ago. Of course that was before he had traded in his books for something a little more lucrative, joining the crew, finally making valuable use of his myriad skills.