The Perfect Scream
Page 27
The gate was open and Stallings drove into the acres and acres of paved area. A dozen semi tractor trailers were parked in the far corner with several step vans next to them. As he followed the small road toward the rear loading dock he saw a blue Suburban backed into a spot.
Stallings pulled the Impala directly in front of the car as Patty jumped out and trotted to the rear of the Suburban. A few seconds later she was back in the car and said, “Wrong tag number. But the registration says the company owns six Suburbans. Only one has a tag that starts with the letter A.” Patty pointed toward the loading dock and said, “Let’s go ask someone.”
Lynn liked being driven. There were a few times, when she was a kid, that her parents used a driver. Back then she’d had no idea there was a security consideration. Her father tried to do business with the same people over and over, but occasionally he had to work with people outside the normal, polite, marijuana industry. She could envision Leon being one of their drivers.
She also felt like she could trust Leon. Maybe more than she could trust anyone else in the world. She certainly couldn’t tell any of her brothers what she had been up to. But Leon asked few questions and obviously kept his mouth shut. As they were coming up to the exit in Daytona she said, “Leon, do you have any idea what you’re helping me with?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know it has something to do with your brother, right?”
Lynn nodded. She was surprised he was so accurate on this first guess. “How’d you know?”
“I saw who you were watching the night I found you in the bar. I heard rumors that someone set your brother up and they listed his cause of death as an accident. I’m sure your father blames himself. He never wanted any of you kids to go into the business or be touched by it in any way.”
“You’re very insightful.”
Leon shrugged and turned his weather-beaten face toward her. “You have to be to survive in this world. If I didn’t know it before, four years in the federal pen in Atlanta and a year in a halfway house taught me how to read people.” He looked back on the road and said very casually, “It wouldn’t hurt if you give me some details. It’s not like I’m going to blab to anyone.”
“Let’s say I’m dealing with it because the cops won’t.”
“The old street justice. I’m very familiar with it. And it’s as good a reason as any to help you.”
Lynn didn’t answer. She was so impressed with his grasp of the situation, she realized how valuable he could be. She also realized he still had contacts in the law enforcement world. He wouldn’t have been able to set up Dale as easily as he did if he wasn’t trusted by someone in law enforcement. That made him a liability. Maybe one she could live with.
But probably not.
FORTY-NINE
Now that they were inside talking to a manager, Patty took the initiative. She didn’t want to risk Stallings getting annoyed or impatient and threatening an employee of a big company like this. But the fleet manager, Larry, was very accommodating. He immediately invited them behind his counter to sit and have a cup of coffee and ask him any questions they wanted. Larry was the kind of guy who looked older than he really was. His thin face and bald head and unfortunate choice of plain white short-sleeved shirt made him appear closer to forty-five, but Patty realized he was only about thirty.
Larry said, “We only have one other blue Suburban and it’s on the road right now.”
Patty said, “Where is it?”
Larry looked down at the clipboard and said, “Volusia County.”
Patty said, “Was anyone driving it Tuesday afternoon?”
Larry flipped through a couple of pages on his clipboard and said, “Yeah, it was gone from eleven until three-thirty. It may have been on the lot before that if the guy who checked it out might have washed it too.”
Stallings said, “Did the same person check it out both days?”
Larry didn’t need to look at his clip board for that. “Yes, sir. A guy named Leon Kines. He does general stuff and maintains the grounds and vehicles.”
The name rang a bell with Patty. She ignored the manager for a moment while she opened the lid to her metal notebook case and shuffled through some of the pages the DEA had provided Stallings. She froze when she saw one profile under the name Leon Kines. She pulled the sheet of paper with the photograph in the corner and silently showed it to Stallings, who displayed no emotion but gave her a slight nod.
She held up the photograph to the manager and said, “Is this the man who checked out the Suburban both days?”
The manager took a closer look, then appeared stunned. He just nodded and mumbled, “Yeah, that’s him.”
Now Stallings stepped in and said, “Where exactly in Volusia County was he going?”
“We have a warehouse in New Smyrna Beach. He said he had to pick up some fencing material stored down there.” Then the man snapped his fingers and added, “He also said he was going to visit a friend in the hospital in Daytona.”
Patty looked at Stallings and knew exactly what he was thinking. Alan Cole, the victim from the hit-and-run, was still in the ICU in Daytona.
They were going to have to move quickly.
Lynn gave Leon a quick wave as he dropped her off at the front of the hospital, then pulled the Suburban to the rear of the parking lot. Lynn knew there were several issues facing her, mainly slipping into the hospital without having to give any identification or being noticed.
She stepped through the front door and saw a bored-looking woman with a Tammy Wynette hairdo looking down at a copy of the National Enquirer. Lynn let her eyes skip past her and see the corridor extending into the hospital. The woman still hadn’t looked up to see who had come in the door.
Lynn rushed up to her and said, “I’m sorry, this is embarrassing, but where’s your nearest restroom?” She hopped up and down a little bit to emphasize the urgency of the request.
The woman didn’t hesitate to point down the hallway and say, “Down there and to the left, sweetheart.”
Lynn didn’t wait for her to ask if she’d be back. She just walked quickly and slipped into the restroom. That had been much easier than she’d thought it’d be. She knew from her conversations with the nurse over the phone that the ICU was on the second floor and that Alan Cole was in room 201. She waited a full three minutes before quietly slipping out of the restroom and turning toward the elevators instead of the security checkpoint. The female security guard never even looked in her direction.
She stepped out of the elevator on the second floor and followed the sign to the intensive care unit. The security door was propped open. She slipped past and took a moment to survey the nursing station. She could tell 201 was in the next hallway to her left. This hallway had even numbers on the right side of the wall. There were three nurses and a dark-skinned doctor at the station, but no one noticed as she walked past confidently to the end of the hallway, then turned to her left and her real objective.
She felt the excitement course through her as the room numbers counted down until she could see 201 a few doors ahead. She had to make this fast and neat. Her only real concern was setting off an alarm that might draw the nurses. She’d work that out when she was in the room.
John Stallings had already called ahead to the Daytona Beach Police Department as he and Patty raced south on I-95. He had given a description of the Suburban and Leon Kines to the patrol sergeant on duty and advised him that there was a chance he was going to the hospital to deal with a witness in ICU. He made sure he added that Leon Kines was a convicted doper.
In the seat next to him, Patty was trying to get a photo sent over to the Daytona Beach Police Department to help identify Kines.
Stallings hated these situations, but the one bright spot was that it was Saturday morning and traffic was light. He also felt confident they had identified the killer of the Tau Upsilon fraternity brothers. With luck this case could be over soon and he could concentrate on Gator.
Lynn took anothe
r quick look down the hallway toward the nurses’ station, then slipped into the room. It seemed bright with the curtains drawn back and it took her a moment to notice the bed was empty. There were flowers in one corner and two plotted plants. The card on the flowers had Alan’s name on the outside. Had they taken him for some tests? Then she had a sick feeling in her stomach. Had he recovered enough to be moved to another room? Could he talk? She was certain he’d seen her face just before the car struck him outside his bank. She’d met him more than once, the last time being Josh’s funeral. He knew who she was and could identify her.
Lynn had no other choice but to ask where he was and risk someone else being able to identify her.
The young sergeant with the Daytona Police Department had grabbed another patrolman and a motorcycle cop who usually handled traffic out at the flea market. There was no way he was going to let a chance like this slip away on a quiet Saturday morning. It wasn’t bike week. It’d been a quiet Thanksgiving and he needed some action. No matter what happened, he could always claim he was just helping the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. His chief was big on helping other police agencies.
He spotted the big blue Suburban parked in the rear of the front parking lot as he pulled off Beville Road. He casually drove through the lot, past the Suburban, to make sure it had the right license plate. That’s when he noticed someone sitting in the driver seat. Holy shit. Not only had he found the car, he’d found the guy too.
The sergeant quickly called up the other two officers and told them over the radio how he wanted them to close in. He told them to buckle up because it looked like they could be heroes today.
Leon Kines noticed the cop cruise past. His past employment had taught him to pick up on any law enforcement officer in the area. This guy could be on normal patrol. He’d gone through every aisle in the lot. But it could be just a ploy to lull Leon into a false sense of security. He had a Taurus nine millimeter in the waistband of his jeans. It was left over from his days in the business. He’d stashed it along with some cash in a safety deposit box. It wasn’t registered and there was no way it would ever be traced back to him.
He didn’t like the idea of having to shoot it out with the cop. He also didn’t like the idea of a cop catching him with a pistol. Both the state and federal government frowned on convicted felons carrying firearms. Even if he was doing it mainly to impress the daughter of his former boss.
He didn’t want to turn around and be obvious, but just looking in his rearview mirror he couldn’t see the cop anymore. Maybe it was just a random patrol. His backup plan was to toss the pistol into the low hedge bordering the parking lot. The key was he had to see the cop coming again to have time to dump the gun.
Leon noticed a second cruiser. This one was a Dodge Charger. It was on the street across a small field directly in front of Leon. The cop wasn’t looking his way, but it made him nervous all the same. He started to sweat. Dealing with the cops was not generally part of the marijuana business. If he had wanted this kind of stress he would’ve gone into the more profitable cocaine business. He had very little experience dealing with the cops. Other than being arrested by a Customs Inspection team that stopped his go-fast boat with three thousand pounds of pot, his only interaction with law enforcement had been as a snitch since he got out of prison. There was a guy at the ATF he could trust. That was whom he’d passed on the trumped-up information about Dale to.
He had no business holding a handgun. He didn’t care if the two cops had no interest in him or not, the gun was going in the bushes. Leon pulled it from his waistband and carefully wiped it down with his loose T-shirt. He used two fingers to hold it by the edge of the grip and opened the door to the Suburban. Just as he was stepping onto the asphalt surface of the parking lot he heard someone shout, “Police! Don’t move.”
Lynn thought the young doctor looked tired. He was Indian and wore stylish metal frame glasses and his name tag said Dr. Hamamllama. She didn’t want to risk pronouncing his name. She cleared her throat until he looked up. Then she said, “Excuse me. Could you tell me where the patient in 201 is?”
The doctor’s eyes darted to each side; then he said, “Are you related to Mr. Cole?”
“I’m his cousin. I came right here from the airport and haven’t talked to anyone.” She had been thinking of the ruse for several minutes.
The doctor nodded and said, “I see.”
She could tell he had a slight accent. It was elegant and formal.
The doctor said, “I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Cole passed away during the night from his injuries.”
Lynn felt a burst of energy and joy surge through her, but she knew not to express it. She gripped the edge of the nurses’ counter and said, “Oh my God, I just missed him.” She thought the doctor might say some words of comfort, but he remained silent. Lynn looked up at the doctor and said, “Did he ever regain consciousness?”
“Not fully.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant. “Was he able to speak at all? Did he have any last words?”
The young doctor shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. He never spoke.”
Lynn couldn’t believe her good fortune. She managed to fake a sob, wave to the doctor, then march off to the elevators.
It was over. Now all she had to deal with was Leon.
Stallings swerved to miss a car that didn’t acknowledge the small interior blue light flashing on the dashboard of his Impala. There were so many things running through his head it was hard to concentrate just on driving. Would they be able to link this guy, Leon Kines, to any of the deaths besides Zach Halston? Would he talk? Had he done it at the request of Josh Hickam’s father? It wasn’t unlike most of the cases he’d worked, but this one had come together much faster.
Patty, as usual, had kept her head and done all the practical tasks. She called Sergeant Zuni and advised her where they were and the lead they were following. Then she called Tony Mazzetti, who was predictably bent out of shape at the prospect of being left out of another major arrest. Stallings would have to remind him how he protested wasting detectives on interviewing owners of Suburbans. Mazzetti had all but accused Stallings of dreaming up the entire Suburban scenario. Mazzetti couldn’t deny that Zach Halston was dead as a result of a hit-and-run in St. Augustine, but he’d argued that Stallings could have seen any car, not necessarily the one that hit Zach. Stallings hated to admit it, but the look on Mazzetti’s face would be very satisfying if this all worked out.
The Daytona Police sergeant’s plan had worked beautifully. He’d sent the patrolman in a marked unit down the main road to attract the suspect’s attention. The sergeant and the motorman traffic cop had walked through the lot, then crept down below car level until they were almost on top of the Suburban. It looked like the suspect’s attention was still through the windshield. The sergeant pulled his issued Glock and motioned for the motorcycle cop to stay low behind the Cadillac parked next to the Suburban.
The sergeant was surprised when the door of the Suburban opened unexpectedly. Holy shit, the guy had a pistol in his hand. Out of instinct he shouted, “Police, don’t move.” In an instant he let his eyes scan behind the suspect to make sure there were no pedestrians or cars on the access road or in the field. The suspect turned, looking as shocked as the cops, but he still had the pistol.
The sergeant knew he didn’t have time to give another command and let his training take over. At this range he only focused on the front sight of the pistol, tried to breathe naturally and squeezed the trigger of his forty-caliber. He fired twice at the man’s chest. Center mass. He’d had to explain to too many people, at too many parties, that shooting the gun out of someone’s hand was just a Hollywood invention.
On the other side of the Cadillac the motorcycle cop also fired. But he kept pulling the trigger. It sounded like an automatic weapon even though he was firing the same model Glock. It seemed like it went on forever with the sound hammering his eardrums. Finally there was silence.
The other patrolman in the marked Dodge Charger had jumped the curb and was racing across the open field toward them.
The sergeant took a deep breath to calm himself, pulled the radio microphone off his shoulder, and hesitated, knowing whatever he said would be recorded. This was an opportunity to show how cool he was under stress. He depressed the mic button and said, “Clear traffic, clear traffic. We have a signal zero, shots fired and a suspect down in the parking lot of the hospital.” It would have been the perfect thing to say if his voice hadn’t cracked up two octaves to make it sound like he’d been breathing helium. Damn it.
FIFTY
It had taken most of the day and three separate buses coming up US 1, but Lynn was now back at her car in the front parking lot of the Thomas Brothers supply company. She was lucky she’d parked in a lot that didn’t require an access card. No one would even notice her car. If anyone did, she’d claim a dead battery and giggle like she didn’t know what she was supposed to do about it.
No one had seen her leave with Leon. She’d been careful about that earlier in the morning. After her surprise at learning Alan Cole had died, she was startled by the commotion in the parking lot with police cars arriving every minute. She casually waited inside until she heard the security guard telling a nurse the police had killed someone in the parking lot. She knew exactly who the victim was. She wondered if Leon was wanted or if it was related to her mission. She’d find out soon enough. Lynn was surprisingly unconcerned about the whole situation. In fact, she felt lighter and happier than she’d felt in some time.