“Some mud on the floor inside the back door, but nothing that tells us anything. We were able to black light some footprints on the linoleum in the kitchen, but the textured surface and the fact that he was wearing socks kept us from getting too much.”
Reed nodded, processing the information.
“I will tell you this much though,” Earl said, “can all but guarantee it was a man who did it.”
Already, Reed had been thinking that. “Why’s that?” he asked, curious to hear what made Earl so certain.
“The prints,” the big man replied. “We were able to get a couple of good outlines, determined that the intruder would wear a size 13 men’s shoe. That’s a big one, even for a man.”
Earl stopped there, but Reed knew where he was going with it. A foot that large would take a 17 in women’s shoes, which wasn’t impossible, but not very likely either.
For the second time Earl finished a cigarette and crushed it out, picking up both butts. “Sorry we don’t have more for you, but there just wasn’t a lot to be found. No blood, no semen, no urine. Not enough sweat to get a clean read on.”
Sensing that the conversation was over, Reed stood, sweat stains now lining the front and back of his t-shirt. He rose to full height on the seat of the table before stepping down to the ground, Billie raising her head and starting toward him as he did.
“Don’t be,” Reed said, “I just appreciate you taking a look for me. I hoped we’d get more from the pillows, but that was a long shot. At least we tried.”
“Yes, we did,” Earl agreed, both men watching Billie as she broke into trot, heading their direction.
Chapter Nine
Of the list of targets The Good Son had available, only one had both an enclosed garage and a dog.
The house was a small red brick bungalow with a matching free standing garage. A short breezeway connected the two, a rusted metal awning covering the walkway.
The dog was a shaggy, black-haired mutt with a matching bark that made The Good Son’s skin crawl. Each time it yelped, he was reminded of the task he would most likely later have to perform, no matter how much he dreaded the notion.
At the same time, it was that barking that made this such a particularly attractive target to begin with.
Every 90 minutes or so, the barking would commence, followed by the rear door opening and the dog bolting into the back yard. Soon after, the owner would step out onto the concrete patio to wait for the dog to finish.
The first couple nights The Good Son cased the house, he witnessed the action play out from the safety of the alleyway. Pressed tight against a telephone pole, he had folded himself into a tight ball and sat on the hard dirt, sweat trickling down his face. There he sat, from just after dark until well past midnight, watching everything long after the last light in the house had gone out.
Tonight was the first time he had ventured any closer, waiting an extra 30 minutes to ensure full darkness before approaching. Skirting the edge of the property, he put the driveway between him and the back door, using the garage as a shield. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose as he padded silently over the concrete, his every sense tingling.
In the preceding weeks, The Good Son had read stories about people in similar situations, finding the adrenaline rush intoxicating, the one thing that kept drawing them back long after common sense told them to stop.
To him the notion seemed crazy. There was no elation in the job at hand, no joy in the anticipation. Every fiber in him hated what he was doing, what he had done the night before, having turned to it only as a necessary means to an end.
It was that inevitability that drove him as he made his way to the corner of the garage and pressed his back against it. It surged through him as he crept past the closed garage doors and inched through the breezeway, his weight raised up onto the balls of his feet.
He kept the same pace until just past the back door and pressed himself tight against the rear of the house. Completely still, he stood and waited for his heartbeat to slow down, his breathing to even out.
Only then did he spread his feet and lean against the building, content to wait as long as necessary.
It took less than 20 minutes.
The Good Son was still standing alert as the first high pitched wail of the dog found his ears, echoing out through the back of the house. The singular sound pushed a bolt of anticipation through him as he reached into the pocket of his shorts for the 3” piece of copper pipe found there.
The metal felt warm through the latex glove as he extracted it, only the tips extended from either side of his hand.
He would only have one shot. He had to make it count.
Two more barks rang out as The Good Son shifted his feet just a couple of inches. His breathing grew shallow as the telltale sounds of movement came from the house, clear indicators of someone moving closer.
The Good Son rolled his weight forward, waiting as the deadbolt was released and the door swung open. A wheeze could be heard as it pulled free from the weather stripping surrounding it and a tiny black dog launched itself into the back yard. It managed to clear the steps in just one bound, three more pushing it across the patio and out into the grass.
For one brief instant a quiver of doubt passed through The Good Son as he watched and waited, a sliver of bright light extending out across the ground. A moment passed, the dog the only sign of life, before the sound of slippers scraping against tile could be heard.
Just as fast, the hesitation melted away from The Good Son. He felt his pulse hammering through his temples as he drew his left fist up to his ear.
Last night he had failed.
It could not happen again.
Chapter Ten
Upon arrival, the exterior of the 8th Precinct looked exactly as it always did, a pair of floodlights illuminating the front of the structure.
The precinct was an old brick building rising three stories in height. With a roundabout out front, an American flag flying in the center of it, and three even rows of windows on every side, the place resembled an old schoolhouse far more than a police station.
None of those details jumped out as Reed parked in the second row of the staff lot, one of just a handful of cars around at such an hour. Instead, it was the single light burning on the first floor corner, the location of the same office he had been inside just 15 hours before.
“That’s not good,” Reed said, pulling his keys from the ignition, leaning in and peering over the steering wheel.
It was a well-known fact that the only people who kept normal business hours in the police department were the operational staff and the brass. Most everyone else was either a beat patrolman, meaning they spent as little time as possible inside the building, or they were like Reed, who came and went at odd times. Day in and day out, with the exception of Jackie and a few others, it was mainly Grimes and some ranking officers who could always be found between 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.
Now well past that, Reed felt a ball coil in the pit of his stomach. Grimes was good about being around as much as his employees needed him, but even at that, Reed could count on one hand the number of times he had missed dinner.
Maybe even one finger.
“You don’t suppose this has anything to do with last night, do you?” Reed asked, glancing into the rearview mirror. In response, Billie’s ears went flat to her head as she watched silently.
Reed took up the keys and the case file from the passenger seat before climbing out and letting Billie free. He didn’t bother affixing her to a lead as they walked to the front door, the night air only nominally cooler than the oven they had suffered through all day.
Somewhere in the distance he could hear a car alarm going off and a pair of dogs barking in response, though for the most part, the world was quiet, borderline calm.
The notion only seemed to heighten his anxiety.
The first floor of the precinct was open, large spaces with desks butted back-to-back for partners to share, no cubic
les or individual offices. Metal filing cabinets were lined up against one wall, stacks of papers piled around empty chairs, employees having already gone home for the night.
A wide staircase rose in front of Reed and Billie, the wooden steps rubbed free of stain and varnish by years of foot traffic. His desk was on the second floor, along with all the other detectives in the precinct. It was there that Jackie manned the dispatch center and oversaw the occasional guests of the holding cells, with the back half of the floor housing the evidence room.
The stairs almost called to Reed as he considered them, Billie poised by his side awaiting instructions, before opting against it.
If some pissed off EMT’s or firefighters were the reason Grimes was still here, it was only a matter of time before Reed was found anyway. Better to meet it head-on, with the station empty, than wait and bear the brunt of it in the morning with curious onlookers nearby.
Tapping the file against his leg, Reed led Billie through a set of double doors with frosted glass. Separated from the front of the building, the area had individual offices reserved for the captain and other senior level staff.
Billie’s toenails clicked on the floor as they passed through, a puff of cool air hitting them in the face, bringing with it the stale smells of body odor and Chinese food. Yellow light poured into the hallway from Grimes’s office, along with it a steady torrent of obscenities.
Reed took a half step into the open doorway, making sure he was seen without actually entering, and tapped a knuckle against the door frame.
The sound jerked Grimes’s attention up from the desk, his body hunched forward. A scowl creased his features as usual, an array of papers spread before him.
“This a bad time?” Reed asked, venturing no closer.
Sensing his hesitation, Billie stayed at his side, her ribs pressed against his calf.
“Yes, but come in anyway,” Grimes said. He leaned back in his chair and tossed a pencil down on the desk, rubbing both hands over his face. His tie was gone and his shirt open at the throat, the sleeves rolled almost to the elbows, easily the most dressed down Reed had ever seen him at work.
On the desk at his side was an open container of Chinese food, a pair of chopsticks rising at an odd angle from it.
“I can see you’re busy, so I won’t stay long,” Reed opened, settling into a seat. Beside him Billie lowered herself to the floor, her head raised.
“No, actually I’m glad you popped in,” Grimes said. “You can maybe clear up some of this mess for me.”
Without any further detail, Reed knew what he was alluding to. “EMT’s still on your ass?”
Somehow the scowl on Grimes’s face grew even deeper. “And then some. They’re claiming now that I owe them for their services last night, that if we don’t pay, they’ll sue, go to the papers with it.”
Reed made no effort to hide his eye-roll. “Next time they call, tell them it’s been confirmed as a murder. Our guys were right. If they had let the damn EMT’s in, there’s a good chance they could have contaminated the murder weapon beyond use.”
Some of Grimes’s anger seemed to bleed away as he stared at Reed. “Any of that true?”
“Most of it,” Reed said, adding a small nod. “It was definitely a murder, and the killer used a pillow from inside the house. We found it on the couch, but they don’t need to know that.”
Despite the concession of the final sentence, Reed could tell it was the first good news Grimes had heard in quite a while. His mouth flickered slightly, the closest he would possibly get to a smile.
“Good,” Grimes said. “Those bastards call back again I’ll tell them if they don’t shut the hell up, I’ll go to the papers and crucify them for being more worried about a few dollars than the apprehension of a murderer.”
Unlike his boss, Reed allowed himself a smile. “That ought to do it.”
“Damn right,” Grimes agreed. At that, he assumed his usual stance, drawing his hands together and lacing his fingers over his stomach. “What else have you got on it so far?”
“Right now? Whole lot of questions and not a lot of answers.”
Grimes arched an eyebrow, but remained silent.
“Two big ones,” Reed said, jumping right to the meat of the matter. “First, somebody called 911, and it sure as hell wasn’t Esther Rosen.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Reed confirmed. “I got a recording of the call earlier today. Male voice.”
Grimes’s eyes widened just slightly. “Son? Neighbor?”
“I don’t know,” Reed said. “That’s actually why we’re here now, to do some more digging and see what we can find. Intended to earlier this afternoon, but got sidetracked on the pillow, ended up making a trip over to CSU instead.”
Another nod was Grimes’s only response to the information. “And how is Earl?”
“Still puffing like a chimney,” Reed replied.
“Yeah, he does that,” Grimes agreed. “And the second thing?”
“Rosen’s sternum was broken,” Reed said. He laid the information out there free from inflection of any kind, knowing that Grimes would come to the same conclusions he had.
He had been prepared to wait as long as it took for the significance of the finding to be worked out by the captain, but it took less than a minute.
“So either someone found her, tried to resuscitate her, couldn’t, and called 911,” Grimes said.
“In which case they did so without leaving a shred of DNA,” Reed added. “And it does beg the question of why he ran.”
“Or this guy killed her, then tried to bring her back.”
Reed only nodded, not bothering to state that he had been thinking the same thing since leaving Solomon’s office earlier in the day.
Together, they sat in silence, mulling things over. Thus far, they had been successful in stymieing the petty infighting between first responders, but that still didn’t get them any closer to whoever committed the murder in the first place.
Reed was just a moment away from excusing himself and heading upstairs to continue digging when the phone rang on Grimes’s desk. In the quiet of the precinct the sound was exaggeratedly loud, Billie’s ears springing straight up on her head.
In a flash, the scowl was back on Grimes’s face as he lifted the receiver, appearing as if he might slam it back into place before fitting it to his ear. “Yeah?”
His face softened a bit as he glanced up at Reed. “Actually, he and his partner are sitting right here.”
The comment pulled Reed up in his seat.
“Yeah, I’ll send them over.”
Without signing off, Grimes hung up the phone and again passed a hand over his face.
“That was Jackie from upstairs. Apparently, she’s been trying to call you.”
Chapter Eleven
The scene was a mirror image of the previous night. The house was more than a dozen blocks from the previous one, made from brick instead of siding, had a free standing garage instead of attached, but to Reed it might as well have been the same house.
A fire truck sat silent at the curb, four men in front of it. All had already stripped out of their yellow protective gear and stood in shorts and shirt sleeves, their arms folded over their chests, staring at the house.
Parked facing them was the emergency medical unit, a man and woman in uniform beside it. They leaned against the front hood, the man conveying hostility through body language. He seemed to be talking at a blistering pace, completely unaware that the woman beside him had already stopped listening, sick of the whole affair.
Parking on the opposite side of the street, Reed didn’t think twice about reaching across and taking up the short lead from the passenger seat. The female medic might have given up, but it was clear at a glance that nobody else had. Seeing him approach, his badge swinging from his neck, would no doubt draw some stares and more than a couple comments.
It was moments like this that Reed especially appreciated Billie, k
nowing they would be far less likely to lob snide remarks with her by his side.
She wasn’t as large as some of the German Shepherds on the force, though she was still quite an imposing animal, her body stretched nearly the width of the back seat. With a coat of midnight black, the only contrast was the vicious, white teeth she displayed when she needed to.
Reed had never heard of a Belgian Malinois before partnering with Billie, but it was now his favorite breed – smart, loyal and strong.
As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t even a contender for second place on the list.
Attaching the short lead, Reed led Billie directly across the front yard, aware of the nearby stares without reacting in any way. Noting his tension, Billie kept her body rigid beside him, both almost daring somebody to say something.
Nobody did.
Passing through the breezeway connecting the house and the garage, Reed circled around to find McMichaels and Jacobs waiting. Both glanced up as he appeared, their bodies tensing before recognition set in, and they each visibly slackened.
“Fellas, I wasn’t kidding,” Reed said, keeping his voice low so as to not be overheard, “we really need to stop meeting like this.”
Standing closest to him, Jacobs smiled. Behind him, McMichaels gave no outward sign of even hearing the comment as he said, “Yeah, sorry about calling you in again. Dispatch said you were pulled off the night shift just this morning.”
“We were,” Reed said, glancing down to his partner, “but I assume you asked for us by name because it was connected?”
“Maybe not,” Jacobs conceded, “but close enough we thought we’d give you first crack at it. You can turf it in the morning if need be.”
The officers had been correct in their initial assessment the night before, so for the time being he would give them the benefit of the doubt.
“Alright,” Reed said, “walk me through it.”
The Good Son: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 2) Page 4
