by G. K. Parks
“None of the names ring a bell,” I said.
“Did Cross Security come up with anything useful?” Moretti asked.
“Not yet. The security footage outside Mark’s was a bust, and Cross’s team is still working on compiling a list of cell phone users in the vicinity. They had to rerun the list and compare it to the cell phone pings they got near Cooper’s place and look for possible matches.”
Moretti sighed. “What about actual visuals? Did anyone spot the shooter or report suspicious activity at either location? He attacked Cooper early enough that people were still out and about.”
“We’re conducting a canvass,” Thompson said, “but it’s a mixed bag.”
“What about at Jablonsky’s place? The shooter called to gloat at 3AM. Someone must have noticed something odd happening in Jablonsky’s neighborhood at that time. They must have heard gunfire. It should have woken up half the neighborhood,” Moretti said.
“Nope,” Thompson said, “but officers are still canvassing.”
“I spoke to Jablonsky’s next door neighbor. Since they share an interior wall, I figured she might have heard the shots, but the neighbor didn’t remember hearing anything strange,” O’Connell said.
Thinking about the layout of Mark’s townhouse, I knew his bedroom was against the exterior wall, farthest away from his attached neighbor, but two shots fired in the middle of the night would be easy enough to hear. “He must have used a silencer.”
“Probably,” O’Connell agreed.
“Have you figured out how the unsub got inside the townhouse?” I asked.
“We’re not sure, but since the deadbolt was engaged when officers arrived on the scene, we’re assuming he came in through the back and went out the same way,” Thompson said. “It might explain why no one saw anything.”
“Did anyone ever find Mark’s spare key?” I asked.
“No key,” Moretti said. “And we didn’t recover any prints off the turtle either.”
“The unsub must have known where the key was hidden,” I said.
“Or Jablonsky finally got rid of it,” Moretti said. “Until he’s awake and can tell us himself, we can’t make that assumption. But you’re probably right.” Moretti turned to Thompson. “Have officers ask the neighbors if any gardeners or landscapers have been working in the neighborhood lately. This wasn’t an impetuous act. This asshole planned it, and that takes time and preparation. He must have cased the place prior to the break-in and shooting. Someone must have seen him. Find that person, and get the shooter’s description. We’re on a clock. He killed last night. He’s not done yet.”
“Yes, sir.” Thompson reached for the phone.
“What about prints? Anything around the doorframes or windows?” I asked.
“Parker, even though the scene was compromised by patrol and paramedics, we dusted everything and found nothing.” Moretti shook his head. “Can someone tell me what we got on ballistics?”
No one answered.
“Come on, people, don’t be shy. If you know something, speak up.”
O’Connell keyed the request into the computer. “Nine mill, hollow point. Severely damaged. No casings at the scene. Striations don’t match any weapons we have on file, but like I said, damaged, so forensics is hesitant to insist on that point with any degree of certainty.”
“In other words, nothing new since yesterday,” Moretti muttered. “That doesn’t help us any. Let’s shift gears. What about discrepancies and similarities between Jablonsky’s townhouse and Cooper’s apartment?”
“Different technique,” I said. “Same assailant.”
Moretti met my eyes, hearing the pain in my tone. “You okay?”
“No, but you saw what that animal did. I doubt any of us are okay.”
Moretti nodded, holding up a hand to indicate I had the floor.
“The unsub phoned a second time, right after he killed Cooper.”
“Crime scene techs found smeared blood on the receiver and the buttons. Based on the gruesome nature of the kill, your timeline is probably accurate,” Thompson said. He didn’t look up. We all worked with Cooper and Jablonsky. Even though these were cops and not agents, the crimes hit them hard too. I never bought into the us versus them mentality. We all bled the same. And we all hurt the same.
“The unsub assumed I recognized his voice. He knows me. And he’s certain I know him. If anything, he finds it insulting I haven’t identified him yet.” I thought for a moment. “I don’t remember hearing any background noises, but you have a copy of the recording I made. It’s just the tail-end of the conversation, but it’s all I managed to get. If Cooper was still alive when the killer made the call, we would have heard something in the background. Cooper was a fighter. A Marine. I don’t see how this happened.”
“We’ll find out,” Moretti promised. “Did we catch a glimpse of anyone entering or leaving Cooper’s apartment?”
“Surveillance feed didn’t show anything. The last time Coop had a visitor was three days ago when he had groceries delivered. Nothing since,” O’Connell said. “Techs are checking to see if the feed’s been tampered with.”
“Dammit.” I tried to think, but none of the usual techniques for identifying suspects panned out.
“Did the asshole say anything to you that would help us ID him?” O’Connell asked.
“Unfortunately, no. What I don’t understand is why he’s going to this much trouble to conceal his identity. He wants me to know who he is. He enjoys gloating. Why not take it a step further and tell me who he is?”
“Because he threatened you,” Heathcliff said.
“So?”
“So he figures once he eliminates you, he doesn’t want any hard evidence linking back to him. That’s why he won’t tell you his name,” Moretti said. “It goes back to what I said earlier. He’s smart, and his actions are premeditated. He’s been planning this for some time. You must have really pissed this guy off.”
“He practically said as much on the phone,” I said. “I went through everything, but I don’t know. I piss off a lot of guys.”
“Comes with the territory,” Moretti said. “Kendall’s pulling every case file the three of you worked, but I heard you and O’Connell already did that.”
“And then Heathcliff and I did it again.” I looked at Heathcliff, waiting for the detective to admit the killer’s voice sounded familiar to him too, but he kept his mouth shut. “Based on the second call, I’d say our killer already has his next victim in his sights. He’s several steps ahead of us. Unless we figure out who’s next, Cooper might not be the only fatality.”
Moretti blew out a frustrated breath. “Does Kendall know more of his agents could be in danger?”
“That’s pretty damn fundamental,” I shrugged, “but I’m not an agent. I’m a cooperating witness, so he won’t tell me shit.”
“You’re more than a witness,” Moretti said. “Since he’s not keeping you in the loop, that will make this harder.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Do you have any remaining resources at the Bureau?” Moretti asked. “We’re working together, but classified material and internal memos will be a bitch to access without filling out the paperwork and waiting for authorization. And like you pointed out, we don’t have time for this.”
“I might still have a friend or two, but Mark’s our best bet, if he wakes up.”
“How is he?” O’Connell asked. “Jen didn’t say anything. Has there been any change?”
“As of seven a.m., his vitals were stable, but that’s all I know.” I hadn’t shared the surgeon’s news about possible brain damage with anyone. Martin knew, and that was it.
“We’ll take care of this without him. The only thing Jablonsky needs to worry about is getting his ass healed,” Moretti said. He opened the folder on the desk and read aloud. “Preliminary autopsy findings for Steven Cooper. Cause of death,” Moretti paused, “shit.”
“What?” My stomach roiled, protest
ing the sip of coffee I’d just taken, but I forced it back down.
“He drowned in his own blood. That’s what killed him.” Moretti reached for a chair and sat heavily. He’d been at the scene, just like O’Connell and Thompson. “The blood inside the bag came from his lungs. He coughed it up, and when the bag filled, he breathed it back in and drowned.”
“That’s sick,” Thompson muttered.
Sick didn’t even begin to describe it. “How many times was he stabbed?” I asked.
“Thirty-two. ME reasoned he should have bled out before he drowned, so the majority of the stab wounds were inflicted postmortem. Based on the bruising, they were delivered with extreme force.”
“The killer went into a rage,” I said.
“It appears so,” Moretti said.
“What kind of knife is that?” O’Connell asked, peering at the crime scene photos. “A switchblade?”
“Looks more like some kind of shiv,” Thompson said.
“Cooper had been shivved in prison,” I said. “That’s why he was permitted to carry out the remainder of his sentence under house arrest.”
“That could be significant,” Moretti said. “O’Connell, I’ll need you to look into that.”
Slowly, I stood and crossed to O’Connell’s desk. The last thing I wanted to see were those photographs, but my personal preference wasn’t important. I had a job to do. “What about a pocket knife?” I scanned the notes, but forensics hadn’t matched a weapon to the wound tracks yet.
“Could be,” O’Connell said. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s focus on what we know.”
“Which is?” Desperation crept into my tone.
“Plastic bag came from the Stop N’ Shop. We found two sets of partial prints on it. We ran them through IAFIS but only matched one set to Roderick Ames, the store clerk,” O’Connell said.
“Have we spoken to him yet?” Moretti asked. “We need to make a request for whatever security cam footage they have.”
“On it,” Heathcliff volunteered, heading out the door before anyone could object.
“There has to be more.” I sifted through CSU’s attached report. No prints were found at the scene except Cooper’s. My gaze drifted back to the autopsy report. “Coop was trained. Former Marine. Former FBI agent. And the attack happened in broad daylight. I don’t see how this asshole got the drop on him, especially when Coop clearly had a home court advantage.” I flipped to the attached photos, cringing at the ghastly images. “Did they find any blood at the scene that wasn’t his?”
“It’ll take time to process, but it’s possible. We won’t know until everything has been swabbed and analyzed,” Moretti said. “The ME noted the knuckles on Cooper’s right hand were bruised. He probably got at least one good swing in, but the defensive wounds were at a minimum. I’d say the killer surprised him.”
“If Cooper hit him, that might have been what pissed off the killer,” Thompson muttered.
“Anything under Coop’s fingernails?” I asked.
“No.” Moretti let out an exhale. “And we still aren’t sure how the killer gained entry to Cooper’s apartment. Security cameras in the hallway didn’t see anyone exit or enter.”
“The fire escape,” I said, a memory from long ago surfacing. I teetered, and O’Connell grabbed my arm to steady me. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment then blinked, waiting for the dizziness to subside.
“Parker, sit down.” O’Connell climbed out of his chair and pushed it closer to me. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“A little.” But hospital chairs weren’t comfortable and I’d been plagued by sadness, guilt, and fear which wouldn’t be assuaged until I identified the asshole responsible. “Did you get the recordings for me to listen to?”
“Yeah.” O’Connell glanced at Moretti. The LT nodded, handed out orders to a few other detectives, and went to his office to call Kendall with the updates so they could plot out their next course of action. “I cleared out an office downstairs so no one will disturb you. And I prioritized the files based on your updated list. IT’s been running a comparison of the recording you made with the files I requested, but it’s been slow going. They’ve only been at it for about,” he looked at his watch, “six hours, give or take.” He eyed me. “Did you remember something else?”
“I’m not sure.” But I had my suspicions about the voice. It started when Martin said the killer sounded like a vengeful ex. However, I wanted to do my own comparison before I sounded the alarm. In the event I was wrong, the resulting goose chase would waste valuable time and resources, and with the killer already plotting his next kill, I couldn’t afford to be wrong.
O’Connell led me downstairs. “Where do you want to start?” he asked, clicking the mouse at the computer terminal.
I skimmed the case numbers on the files. “The last case I worked with Cooper. The Horvat investigation.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Jakov’s dead.”
“Niko isn’t.”
“I thought Homeland threw him into some deep dark hole, never to be heard from again.”
“Yeah, but I need to make sure.” I double-clicked the file and carefully selected an OIO interview. “Even if it isn’t Niko, it could be another diehard member of Shade.”
“I thought that got disbanded.”
I pointed at O’Connell and made a clicking sound. “Yes, which means that Jablonsky, Cooper, and I all played a part in destroying something these assholes worked so hard to build.”
O’Connell dropped into a chair beside me. “That does fit.”
Unfortunately, the voice didn’t match, but I knew it wouldn’t. O’Connell told the techs to run comparisons against the rest of the men we arrested from the terrorist cell, just to be on the safe side, and they shuffled those interviews to the top of their pile.
“Strike one,” I muttered.
O’Connell shut the door. “Do you think this could have something to do with Antonio Vincenzo?”
“He’s also dead, remember?”
“Yeah, but he hated you with a passion, and once Cooper turned on his organization, I bet several people had scores to settle.”
“Do you know the details behind the attack Cooper suffered in prison?”
“Someone stabbed him twice with a sharpened toothbrush. Cooper got the guy into a chokehold, backed against the shower wall, and managed to hold on until he passed out. If he didn’t use that guy as a human shield, he might have been beaten to death by the other three guys who took part in the attack.”
“Were those Vito’s guys?” I asked.
“According to prison records, Cooper’s attackers were serving time for gang-related crimes and were affiliated with the Mexican cartels.”
Again with the cartels. There was something to that. I could feel it. “So nothing linked them to organized crime or Vito?”
“No, but you never know. Vito had to get his drugs from somewhere. And the cartels have the market on every kind of narcotic imaginable.”
“Vito is the gift that keeps on giving, but after jumping to that conclusion last night, Heathcliff pointed out some cold, hard facts to me. I don’t think this has anything to do with the dead mob boss. I would probably have identified the voice by now, and Heathcliff said the voice doesn’t match anyone from Vito’s inner circle. Plus, the OIO had an additional interest in monitoring organized crime after Vito greenlit me. The last I heard, the rest of Vito’s inner circle got knocked off or took early retirement somewhere warmer. You should check to see what the police know, but according to the OIO, all those businesses are now under new management.”
“It still fits, but you’d know best,” O’Connell said. “So who’s up next?”
“The DeAngelo Bard case.”
“Bard’s in prison.”
“Yeah, but a lot of people worked for him. He ran a gang, the KXDs, and those guys are a dime a dozen. It could be one of them.” I clicked the file, staring at the lengthy list of recorded interviews
. This would take some time. “You might as well get back to work. If I find something, I’ll let you know.”
O’Connell squeezed my shoulder. “Have fun.”
Ten
“That’s him.” I pointed emphatically at the screen. “That’s the asshole who shot Mark and slaughtered Cooper.” The words cut through me like an icepick. They would never get easier to say. Despite everything, I’d spent most of the morning flashing back to cases I’d worked with Cooper, how he’d saved my life, how he went out of his way to watch out for me, and how he’d come clean in the end. And now he was dead. I couldn’t lose anyone else. We had to act fast. I just prayed we could put an end to this before the killer found another victim, assuming Mark pulled through, which was another can of worms I couldn’t open right now or I’d be paralyzed.
“It’s not possible, Parker,” Thompson said. He glanced at O’Connell.
“I’m telling you that’s our guy. You need to issue a BOLO.”
“Alex, Francisco Steele is currently incarcerated,” O’Connell said gently.
“What did the techs say? Did you have them compare the recordings?” I stared wide-eyed in utter shock that two detectives, my friends, weren’t jumping into action.
“They said it’s possible,” O’Connell admitted. “Steele’s interview is an 88% voice match to the call you received yesterday. That’s probably why you think he’s our guy. The caller sounds just like him, but Steele can’t be the killer.”
“He is our guy. Why aren’t you listening? Why aren’t you doing something?” Frantic desperation clawed at me. I spun. If Nick and Thompson wouldn’t do something, I’d go to Moretti. He’d do something. And if he didn’t listen, then Kendall would be my next stop. Hell, I didn’t need any of them. I could do this myself. Lucien offered me his resources. We could make a citizen’s arrest, if need be.
“Parker,” Moretti grabbed me before I collided with him, “I just got off the phone with corrections. I verified his inmate number and everything. Francisco Steele remains in custody.”
“No,” I shook my head, “it’s not possible. He’s out. He has to be. He called from Mark’s and then Cooper’s. He knows me, lieutenant. I spent months undercover getting to know him. He’s the shithead who did this. I’d bet my life on it.” I spotted Heathcliff returning to his desk. “Derek, you remember that undercover case I worked at the strip joint, right?”
