A faint smile traced his lips as he thought of the building’s state of disrepair aiding him, discouraging squatters who might have camped out on the top floor, the universe assisting his quest for justice.
Using the light from the diner as a guide, the Boat Man slipped into the southwest corner classroom, a tangle of tiny desks for children in their early years still inside. Most of the wood had long since been stripped away, leaving only misshapen metal skeletons behind.
Careful to step around them, the Boat Man picked his way to the closest window, nothing more than a gaping hole, the glass shattered away, lying in large shards across the floor. Sliding the rifle from its case, he rested the front of the barrel on the window casing and checked his view.
The Boat Man felt his heart rate increase as he stared through the scope, feeling like a military sniper as he checked over the area. Across from him he could see the diner, a half-dozen regulars scattered among the tables. To his right he could just make out the dumpster he’d used for cover the night before, trash still piled high around it.
The last place he looked was down at the abandoned gas station, at the open expanse of concrete providing an easy target. No more than 50 yards away, the Boat Man sighted in on small objects scattered on the asphalt, curling his finger around the trigger guard, imagining himself squeezing the trigger, almost feeling the weight of the stock kicking against his shoulder.
Just as fast, he lowered the weapon, the smile remaining in place.
Leaning it back against the wall, he lifted the shell of a desk from the ground nearby and placed it near the window, using it as a makeshift rest for the weapon.
There he left it, just inches from his fingertips, as he took a few steps back from the window to ensure he was out of direct eyesight. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, his fingers curling around the obols lodged deep inside. He lowered his chin , his body going into a low power state as he focused in on his target.
All he had to do now was wait.
After two years, the Boat Man was good at waiting.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Reed’s cell phone was out before he crossed the threshold of the interrogation room, already scrolling through his recently dialed calls. He thumbed to a string of numbers so new that a name had not yet even been attached to it, and pressed send.
“What the hell just happened in there?” Grimes asked, his attention still on the glass, the question aimed in Reed’s direction. Beside him, Dade stood in a trance that was somewhere between awe and a daze, staring through the glass, watching Brandt and her nephew on the other side.
“What just happened was our case got blown wide open,” Reed said, raising the phone to his ear. “Hopefully, in a few minutes we’ll have a name to go with that story, and we’ll be off and running.”
While listening to Pierce’s tale, a number of loose strings Reed could pull had come to mind. The obvious place to start was figuring out who the couple was and where they were, the odds overwhelming that they or someone affiliated with them was now going after the Kings.
It hadn’t taken a great deal of sleuthing to get the story out of Pierce, the photos having the effect of bringing a harrowing reality to the situation. Stripping away the veneer, he had gone straight to the last, and presumably worst, thing that occurred during the existence of the gang.
The murders had to be connected.
The line rang three times before going to voicemail, an automaton telling him to leave a message. “Deek, this is Reed. Call me back. Now.”
Looking up at Grimes, Reed said, “Whatever you hear me say in the next few minutes, I need you to agree.”
Holding the phone out in front of him, Reed counted off six seconds before it erupted in his palm, the sound shrill through the hallway. Reed switched it to speakerphone.
“You know, man, when I gave you my number this morning, that was so you wouldn’t wake me up anymore, not so you’d be calling again already.”
There was a slight hint of annoyance in Deek’s tone, though unlike their previous encounter, he did sound awake and alert.
“Deek, I’m standing here right now with Captain Wallace Grimes,” Reed said, bypassing Deek’s comment. “We need some serious cyber digging done this second, and we’re willing to pay you as a special consultant to make it happen.
“Isn’t that right, Captain?”
Grimes’s eyes grew larger as he reached out and covered the receiver on Reed’s phone. “We have people on the force to do this sort of thing. They can be on it in minutes.”
“Sir, with all due respect, we don’t have anybody who works like this guy. He’ll have an answer by the time they even start looking.”
It was apparent from the look on Grimes’s face that he didn’t like it, was even less comfortable with being put on the spot, but he let it ride. Slowly he pulled his hand back and said, “That’s correct. As this is a time sensitive matter in a high visibility case, we will compensate you for all assistance rendered.”
A moment of silence passed, Reed and Grimes looking at each other, before Deek asked, “The usual form of currency? Or actual cash?”
“Whichever you’d prefer,” Reed said, waving a hand at the confused look on Grimes’s face.
Another moment passed, this one filled with the sounds of feet shuffling over a bare floor, followed by the plastic wheels of a desk chair doing the same.
“Alright man, hit me when ready.”
“I need you to look at May of 2012,” Reed said. “Check the hospitals in the area, starting with Grove City, for a pair of people being admitted. One male, one female, both assault victims, the woman possibly raped.”
Even as he rattled off the information, Reed knew how thin the data was. It was a good start for establishing motive, but still a long way from securing an identity.
The sound of keys moving quickly rang out, all three men in the hallway staring down at the phone in Reed’s hand.
“You got anything else for me, man? Over the course of a month we’ve got 11 different rape victims and 27 assaults.”
Aside from the artist’s rendering, there was precious little Reed had to work with.
“I know the male was Caucasian. That help any?”
More keys sounded out. “14. Cut it almost in half.”
“Damn it,” Reed said, looking up at Grimes and Dade, both wearing the same strain he felt on their faces.
He looked a question to each of them, hoping for some bit of guidance, but both seemed as stumped as he was.
“Alright, let’s try this again,” Reed said. “Is there any way to determine if the victims were found in a park?”
“Found in a park?” Deek asked. “I’m looking at hospital records right now, not housing reports.”
Reed gave a bitter nod as he agreed with Deek’s assessment.
Once more he ran the story back through his head, starting with the Kings hanging out in the gas station parking lot and taking it up through the moment when they dumped the bodies. Start to finish it took him less than a minute, everyone watching him, waiting in silence.
“The car,” he said, his attention focused on Brandt and Pierce, still talking on the other side of the glass, the elder now having reached across the table, holding her nephew’s hand. “He said they left the car.”
Both Grimes and Dade continued to watch him, neither saying anything.
“Deek, can you determine if a car was towed from in front of the All-Nite Diner at any point that month? I don’t have an exact address, but I know it’s on Scanson.”
“Hold on,” Deek said, his voice distracted as he went to work. He continued to punch hard for 30 seconds, paused, and then went back again.
When he was done, a low, shrill whistle sounded over the line.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“What?” Reed asked, looking up at Grimes, not wanting to allow hope to creep in, but feeling it just the same.
“Riley was right. You are good.”
The feeling of hope grew a little stronger as Reed focused on the phone, squeezing it so tight in his hand, the plastic threatened to crack at any moment.
“Deek, what’d you find?”
“On May 18th, a solid black BMW registered to a Michael Rigas was towed from that corner. Thing sat in impound for two and a half months before it was ever claimed.”
“How about the hospital records?” Reed asked. “That name come up?”
“No,” Deek replied, his voice again growing distant as he searched. “But four of them were admitted as John Doe’s.”
“That’s got to be our guy,” Reed said without looking up, staring at his phone. “Is there an address?”
“This your cell?” Deek asked. “I’ll text it to you right now.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
The first thing Reed thought as he pulled up in front of Michael Rigas’s home was that Pierce had been correct. Quite possibly, the only people more out of place than him in The Bottoms at that time of night would have been the owner of this home and his lady.
Located in Worthington, the house was tucked away in a cul-de-sac, a few miles away from the outer belt encircling the city. Leaving behind any of the noise or traffic of the freeway and the collection of restaurants and shopping centers it supported, the street was a bucolic look into residential living.
Generous lots lined the street in this established upper-middle-class neighborhood. Large two story homes were surrounded by towering oaks and elms just starting to bud.
As he sat there, Reed could only imagine the place in the summertime, the sort of street where impromptu barbecues and games of street baseball were common.
The images seemed almost a cruel contrast to the reason Reed was there, at the very least at what had befallen Rigas.
“You ready?” Reed asked over his shoulder, taking up the short leash as he climbed out, clipping it to Billie’s collar so they could both approach the front door together.
Under different circumstances, he might have been more aware of the neighborhood dynamics at play. He may have tried less to alert any neighbors who might be watching, been sure to leave Billie behind so as to not arouse suspicion.
At the moment, though, he had ample reason to believe the man who was terrorizing The Bottoms 15 miles south called this location his home. At the very least, he had direct knowledge of something horrific the victims had done, something so vile the likelihood of it not being connected was almost non-existent.
Given all that, there was no way he was leaving Billie behind.
The house appeared deserted as Reed approached, no car in the driveway, no lights in any of the windows. The front lawn had not yet been cut for the spring, errant tufts just starting to sprout up in odd places.
Reed could feel his pulse pushing through his temples as he came near, Billie sensing the physiological change in him, her demeanor shifting in turn. His breathing picked up as he climbed the front two steps and rang the doorbell, waiting a few moments before curling his hand into a fist and pounding on the frame of the door.
Thirty seconds of standing confirmed his original assumption. No lights came on, no sound of footsteps approaching, not even the slightest creak in the home to indicate someone might be moving around inside.
Had any of the previous things occurred, Reed might have been able to claim probable cause and force his way inside, feigning that a suspect was hiding, refusing to answer. As it was, he had no reason to believe that to be true.
Forcing his way inside now could bring down a firestorm of bad press for the department.
“Come on,” Reed said, starting back down the front walk. When they got to the end of it, a thought occurred to him, and he kept moving across the street to the door of the home directly opposite them.
With lights spilling through the front windows, he hoped to find more information to help him locate Rigas.
The echo of the bell had no more than died away when the sound of footsteps approached, the door pulled open by a woman with thick blonde hair. Somewhere in her late 30s to early 40s, smile lines had just started etching themselves around her eyes and mouth. Dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, she wore a red and white apron, a dish towel in her hands.
A look of concern passed over her face as she looked at Reed and his enormous partner both standing on her porch.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Good evening,” Reed said, reaching into his sweatshirt and removing his badge. “My name is Detective Reed Mattox, and this is my partner Billie.”
The look of concern faded a bit, though she remained silent.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Michael Rigas,” Reed said, motioning to the house across the street. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen him tonight, would you?”
The woman glanced past Reed to the home sitting dark and shook her head. “No, I haven’t. What’s this about? Has something happened...?”
He got the impression from the way her voice tailed off at the end that she had wanted to add again, but had stopped herself short.
“Not at all,” Reed said. “In fact, there’s been a break in a previous case, and I was hoping to ask him a few questions.”
Even as Reed gave the response, he knew it sounded hollow. The woman before him seemed to as well, her stance remaining aloof, guarded.
“No,” she said, again shaking her head. “To be honest, we haven’t seen a lot of Michael in quite some time.”
The statement struck Reed as a bit off, something in her tone suggesting she was trying to tell him more than she was saying.
“He does still live here though?” Reed asked.
“Far as I know,” she replied. “I still see his car pull in and leave from time to time, but it’s been ages since any of us actually talked to him.”
She paused, seemingly hoping Reed would pick up on what she was saying, only continuing once it was clear he didn’t.
“At first, after what happened, none of us really knew what to do. After a while it became apparent there was no point, he didn’t want our help anyway.”
“Really? That was almost two years ago, nobody has spoken to him since?”
The woman looked from Reed to the house again, regret crossing her face, before finally shrugging.
“Best guess? Try the church down on the corner of Knox and Edgewood. Sometimes I see his car parked there. Maybe you’ll get lucky, or find somebody who knows where he’s been.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
The name Rigas should have tipped Reed off, though for whatever reason, he never once thought the church he was being sent to was Greek Orthodox. Not until he pulled up in front of the white stucco building with twin spires, did it even occur to him.
“Well, this is different,” Reed whispered, turning the engine off and climbing out, leaving Billie behind.
A quick scan of the parking lot showed there to be only two other cars on the grounds, both of them a long way from BMW’s.
If he had any other leads at the moment, he might have gone somewhere else. As it stood, he didn’t. If this too turned out to be a dead end, he would have no choice but to call in a BOLO for Rigas’s car, slink back to the precinct, and hope Brandt could wrestle something useful from her nephew.
The thought made Reed shudder.
The front door was thick and heavy wood as Reed tugged it open and stepped inside. The smells of incense and candle wax assaulted his nose simultaneously as he entered.
Pausing just inside the door, Reed took stock of the small holding room he found himself in, a second set of doors standing open before him, beckoning him into the main hall of the church.
The space was much larger than it appeared from outside, over 20 rows of pews lined either side of the main aisle, all painted white with red seat cushions. Overhead, massive chandeliers hung down, their lights twinkling through ornate crystal.
One step at a time Reed moved into the church.
“Hello?” he c
alled, his voice echoing through the room.
“Hello,” a voice said beside him, jerking his attention to the left.
Tucked along the wall was a pair of confessional booths. Kneeling at the foot of them was an older man in slacks and shirtsleeves, a paintbrush and bucket by his side.
“Good evening,” Reed said, sliding himself through the rows of pews, making his way to the man. “My name is Detective Reed Mattox, and I was told I might be able to find Michael Rigas here.”
At the mention of Rigas’s name the man’s face fell flat. Carefully, he set his brush down on the can of paint and stood.
He met Reed before he reached the end of the pew, extending a hand. “Peter Galanos, priest here at the church.”
“Father,” Reed said, returning the handshake.
Galanos waved a hand at him and said, “That won’t be necessary, but thank you. Please, have a seat.”
The urge to tell Galanos he didn’t have the time crossed Reed’s mind, but he opted against it. He could tell from the man’s demeanor, from his instantaneous reaction to Rigas’s name, that he had something to say.
He only hoped it would help.
“May I ask,” Galanos said, “why it is you wish to speak with Michael?”
Reed opened his mouth to give the same canned response he had given the woman a few minutes earlier, but closed it just as fast. Something about the gravity of the situation, of the clock he knew was ticking, of sitting in church speaking to a priest, just wouldn’t let him.
“We have reason to believe Michael may be involved in a series of murders that have taken place,” Reed said, his voice low, careful to ensure anybody else who might enter would not hear.
Beside him Galanos’s eyes slid shut, his shoulders somehow falling another inch. “The Bottoms, right?”
Reed nodded. “That’s right.”
A mournful sound passed from the man as he closed his eyes, his entire upper body jerking with a shudder. He remained that way, his body fighting off the sobs in silence.
The Boat Man: A Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 1) Page 20
