Noah revised his revenge estimate. A riptide alone was too easy. Add sharks. No, then it would be over fast. Make that a swarm of stinging jellyfish.
And a lifeguard on shore smiling and waving while promising to help on Monday.
Noah dug for his wallet and pulled out Lincoln Montgomery’s card. He punched in the number and waited until he heard the FBI agent answer.
“Montgomery.”
“Daugherty here. I’m taking you up on your offer of help. There’s a bank with surveillance video I need. I’ll text you the address and phone number. They already have the warrant, but say they can’t get me a copy before Monday.”
“I’m in Nebraska.”
“I don’t give a fuck where you are. I want that video in an hour.”
Noah, Conner, and Lefty Bob Hernandez crowded into Lt. Jansen’s office. There were only two visitor chairs so Noah leaned against the wall.
He was too antsy to sit anyway. “You’re sure Perry is covered?”
“We can’t loiter inside his office at the Chronicle, but I left Kevin Gilmore watching his car.”
“He’s a rookie.”
Jansen shot Noah a fuck you glare. “He’s new to Homicide, but not to the force. I think he can handle watching a parked car. Especially one that ugly. Hernandez is more valuable here.”
Lefty Bob broke in, “I’m already working on a warrant for a tracking device for his car.”
“But he drove a van when he abducted that woman.”
“He lives on the tenth floor of a high-rise apartment. As soon as Gilmore relieved me, I drove out there. No light-colored panel van in the parking garage or on a nearby street.”
Conner rubbed his eyes. “Kind of hard to drag an unconscious woman up and down ten flights of stairs and using an elevator is out of the question.”
“Could wrap her up and use the freight elevator.” A growing sense of desperation gnawed at Noah. He wasn’t going to give up. Not on something this important.
“Perry? He’s got sixty-five in his rearview mirror and not in the best shape. If he’s spent a day in the gym in the last twenty years, it was to do an expose. I watched him walk out of here and two blocks to his car. He was wheezing like an asthmatic in a house full of cats.”
A ball of acid formed in Noah’s gut and began climbing its way up. “He’s our best suspect. We’re not going to write him off because it would have been inconvenient for him to abduct all those women.”
“Of course not.” Conner snapped his head around to face Noah. “Trace Elements said three of the women had cattail residue on their bodies. There weren’t any cattails in that field or anywhere around Perry’s apartment. Odds are, he, or whoever did this, has a cabin—a hideout, if you will—where he takes them for privacy. A tracing device on his car will show us where.”
They were right, dammit. “Yeah, and if it’s not him. Maybe it can lead us to whoever he talks to. If he didn’t write that letter himself, somebody else did and they picked him to contact.”
Jansen sat up straight and put down the pen he’d been drumming on his desk. “Alright then. We’re in agreement about the tracking device. What’s next?”
Conner checked his memo pad for the questions he’d noted. “Did we find anything about Perry’s record?”
“You’ll love this.” Jansen gave a half-laugh. “Protesting segregation at the Woolworth’s lunch counter in downtown Houston, 1968. Protested segregation at University of Texas, Austin, 1969. Chained himself to a tree at River Oaks Country Club, 1973. Don’t know why. Maybe the tree didn’t want to integrate with the other trees. I’ve heard pines and oaks don’t get along well. His last arrest was for Occupy Wall Street. That one was in New York, so he’s an intra-state protester.”
Fuck. That didn’t sound like someone who abducted and raped women. Or someone with the bitterness expressed in that letter. But who knew what was true and what was a lie? Maybe he used activism to attract women.
“Okay.” Noah pushed away from the wall and squared his shoulders. “If we can keep Lefty Bob for a while,” he glanced at the Lieu for confirmation, “he can work on Perry. Find out if he owns any property. Does he have another car? Where was he on the night of the last abduction? And any other juicy tidbits you can find.”
“Roger that.” Lefty Bob gave a mock salute. “Can I search his apartment?”
Noah wanted to see inside that apartment so bad he could almost taste it. Something had to be in there. He held his breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I’m afraid we don’t have enough for a warrant. You find anything you let me know and we’ll go for it. Until then, we’d just piss off some judge we might need later.”
Jansen cleared his throat and put on his serious face. Never a good sign. “There’s another reason we can’t mess with Perry without something more concrete, and it’s political.”
The three men turned on the Lieu as one, glaring and sputtering. Jansen held up his hand. “I know, I know. I don’t like it either, but here you go. Perry will be seen as a newsperson who is refusing to reveal his sources. That’s sacrosanct and every media outlet in the country will jump on us. Call us ‘Jackbooted thugs.’ It’s not right, but that story will live longer than these murders.”
“So we let him get by with it?” Noah could hear the horror in his own voice.
“Absolutely not. For now, we tiptoe. The instant you bring me something substantial, I’ll unleash the hounds.”
The idea of politics sticking its polluted nose into a murder investigation chaffed at Noah big time, but maybe the Lieu was right. He’d been at this longer. “So, Lefty Bob stays with Perry. Conner, can you go over the news footage and see if anyone approached Perry at the crime scene?”
His partner groaned and put his hands over his eyes. Was he starting to need glasses or not getting enough sleep? Or simply tired of sitting in a darkened room watching videos? Either way, it had to be done and Conner was the most detail-orientated one of the squad.
“Lieutenant, do you think you could call whoever took that letter and see if they learned anything we couldn’t figure out for ourselves?”
“Will do. What about you? What do you have in mind?”
“I’m heading back over to the bodega and see if the owner can identify our latest victim.”
“This little one? She’s the one with the lights and ambulances and helicopters?” The bodega owner nodded toward the field.
Noah handed him the best photo he had, but her face didn’t show. “Yes, she’s the one. Do you know who she is?”
“Ahh. No.” He shook his head and heaved out a sigh. “I don’t know her name. I call her Princesita. Little Princess. She comes by here twice a week on her way to school.”
On her way to school? That didn’t sound like the harlots the Sanitizer talked about.
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Where did she live? Go to school?”
“She walked up from that street.” He pointed with his head, still holding the photo. “Every Tuesday and Thursday evening. I know she caught the bus on that corner because sometimes she had to run.” He nodded the other direction.
“Mostly she had a backpack, but one time she had a notebook with the letters HCC.”
Houston Community College? He’d check the bus route.
“She was so tiny, thin. I don’t think she got enough to eat. I always pretended to try to sell her some fruit. I would hold up an apple and say, ‘Try it. See how good it is.’ Tuesday she was a little late. I had most everything put way. I gave her a date because she said she’d never had one before. Then she ran off, laughing. Did she ever have a chance to eat it, I wonder?”
She did, but he couldn’t tell the man that. Not yet, anyway. “What about her family? Do you know them?”
“I don’t think she had any family. She worked a couple of jobs and went to school. All on her own. And so young.”
“Two jobs? Where’d she work?”
“She went in before I got here in the mornings
so before five a.m., but came home around noon. One time she had a bag of donuts and offered me one, so I think maybe a donut shop. The other job, I don’t know. Maybe fast food on the weekends.”
Not as much information as he’d hoped. He could check on the bus route. Try to figure out where she went, or he could scour the neighborhood. Knock on every door for three square blocks. Hope one of the neighbors recognized her.
Even if he found someone willing to talk to la policia, the photo didn’t show her face. He needed the bank video. That would offer a better view.
Noah checked his phone. It had been an hour since he called Lincoln Montgomery.
Nothing.
Maybe the Fed sent the video straight to Jansen. He crossed his fingers and called his boss.
“Haven’t heard a word. And don’t bitch to me. You’re the one who suggested working with the feebies.”
“Does anybody know anything they didn’t know before I left?”
“If so, they haven’t told me. Lefty Bob is working the phones and computer. Conner is still watching videos. The lab hasn’t gotten back to me on the letter.”
Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s the same old story. Hurry up and wait. Just so long as nobody else turns up dead while we sit around and twiddle our thumbs.”
“What about the bodega owner? Did he have anything that would help us?”
“She walks past his shop often, rides the city bus on Tuesday and Thursday evenings—might be taking a class at HCC—and possibly works at a donut shop early in the mornings. But he doesn’t know her name or where she lives. I might as well come back to the office and waste my time there.”
“Nothing you can do here for now. Why don’t you start a canvas of the neighborhood? Find out if anyone knows her. Meanwhile, I’ll see if HCC can tell me where she was headed on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ll call you the instant we get any kind of news. Then we’ll meet back in my office and discuss what to do next.”
The Lieu didn’t get where he was on his good looks. If that counted, he’d still be walking a beat. He was sharp and had seen it all once, maybe twice. He could look at a problem and tell you your next best step.
He also knew when to give encouragement, when to offer a calming hand, and when to deliver a swift kick in the ass.
So which was it the Lieu thought he needed today? Probably all three.
“Buenos dias, Senora.” Noah tipped his head to the woman with an arm full of groceries. He held out the photo of Princesita. Damn, he needed a better picture. “Do you know this woman? She lives somewhere in this neighborhood.”
“No habla ingles.” The woman shook her head and tried to brush past Noah, something that wasn’t easy to do even when he was in a good mood.
And he hadn’t been in a good mood for the last hour.
Maybe it was time to be blunt. “She was brutally raped and murdered a few blocks from here. I hate to think of someone as violent as her killer roaming the streets, looking for his next victim.”
The woman’s face paled. “Murdered?” She crossed herself before taking the photo and studying it from all directions. “Are you certain?”
Her English had magically appeared, but not her trust in police.
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out his phone. “I can ask the morgue to send a photo of her face, but it’s not a pretty sight and I would hate for you to see something like that.” The poor Princess was probably unrecognizable in her current state. One eye was swollen shut, her jaw hung at an unnatural angle, and her lip was split. The Sanitizer had taken his time for that much swelling to occur.
“No. No.” She crossed herself again and shook her head vigorously. “I may have seen her, but I don’t know her name. If this is the same person, she was always running, with her mochila full of books, bouncing against her back. Once I called to her, ‘Slow down chiquita—little one. It is a beautiful day. Enjoy the sunshine.’ She turned and gave me a smile to melt your heart. ‘Maybe tomorrow, Mamacita. I’m late for school.’”
Had to be the same person. Small, young, always running, heading to school with a backpack full of books. Now they were getting somewhere. Maybe. “Do you know where she lived?”
Mamacita shrugged. “Somewhere around there.” She pointed halfway down the street and on the left.
A neglected four-story apartment building sagged in the afternoon sun. The bottom two feet of fake stucco was covered in green mold. The entire building needed painting. Especially the warped front door.
No lock or passcode prevented Noah from entering the building. The main hallway was dark, possibly in an attempt to hide the dirty walls and peeling floor.
He’d been in many old buildings and was prepared for the rancid smell of old food and urine.
But that wasn’t what he found.
Instead, the aroma of fresh chilies and spices and other good food wafted from behind unpainted doors, reminding Noah he’d skipped lunch. His stomach rumbled as he knocked on apartment 1A.
The door opened three inches and a woman peered out.
Noah held out his only photo. “Do you know this woman? She lives around here.”
“No hable ingles.”
The door began to close, but he’d learned his lesson and spoke up quickly. “She was murdered yesterday and we’re trying to identify her so we can notify her family and catch the guy who did it before he harms someone else.”
The woman shrugged, but didn’t slam the door. “Julio,” she called.
A boy of around six or seven—shouldn’t he be in school?—came to her side and she spoke to him in rapid-fire Spanish.
“We don’t know her,” the boy said, without looking at the photo.
“Look again,” Noah said. “She lives around here and carries a heavy backpack.”
The boy took the photo from his hand and studied it. “I don’t know. I can’t see her face. There was one lady. She kicked the ball back to me when it rolled into the street. We played for a minute before she rushed away. Maybe this is her, maybe not. But I don’t know her name.”
“Did she live around here?”
“I guess.”
“Where?”
The kid’s eyes grew sad and he shrugged.
By the time Noah reached 4D, he was tired, hungry, and discouraged. Half the apartments were empty—their occupants at work or afraid to open the door—and the other half didn’t recognize her or didn’t speak English or both.
He’d been trudging the dark, damp hallway long enough to feel like a fungi. He needed fresh air and sunshine to think and an open space to find a cell connection so he could call his office.
An unlocked door led to the roof and Noah opened it, hoping someone had left a folding chair or bench. Two lime green plastic chairs—one with a broken leg—and a rusted barbecue pit stood in one corner.
He eased himself into the unsteady chair and when it didn’t collapse under him, he punched in Conner’s number. His partner answered on the first ring.
“Enjoying the movie?” He really shouldn’t give Conner a hard time, but who else did he have to torment?
“You could have at least left me with some popcorn and a Coke. Maybe some Milk Duds.”
“Next time. I promise. You learn anything?”
“I’ve watched every frame of news footage shot at the crime scene and studied hundreds of photographs. No sign of Perry speaking to anyone except when he tried to question Lincoln Montgomery.”
“So, that’s it then.”
“Nope. I didn’t say that.”
Fuck. So now it was Conner’s turn to give him a hard time? “What did you say?”
“No one spoke to him, but a white van drove past while he was waving his hand, trying to get Montgomery’s attention. With so many news trucks and squad cars, I could only catch a glimpse of it and couldn’t be sure it was ours, but you know how I feel about coincidences.”
The same way I do. They’re a definite red flag.
“I printed out the photo, bu
t you can’t see the tires and it’s the wrong side for the rust spot. Even in the daylight, the windows are too tinted to see inside.”
“How’s the rest of our team doing? Lefty Bob or the Lieu learn anything helpful? Any sign of the bank video?”
“I think Lefty’s learned everything he can over the internet concerning R.J. Perry. Now he has a call in to the guy’s boss at the Chronicle.”
Yeah. Fat lot of good that was likely to do. Newspapers considered information their lifeblood. They could call it protecting their sources all they wanted. They didn’t share. Certainly not about one of their own.
“Forensics says Perry’s prints are all over the letter, along with those of the mailroom kid. Other prints are too smudged to read. The envelope and stamp are peel-and-stick, so no DNA. They’ve sent a copy offsite to a psychologist for an expert opinion. We’ll have an answer in a week.”
“Wanna bet we’ll get a bill worth two weeks salary over something we could have figured out for two nickels?”
“No, thanks. I’ve learned the hard way never to bet with you. You already own my left nut and have a lien on my right one. However, whatever this unknown doc sends us will be worth more than a dime for the vocabulary lesson alone. You know the report will be filled with two dollar words and fifty-cent ideas.”
“Ah, yes. I can learn to say nutcase with twelve letter words. I guess there’s no point in asking if we got the bank video. You’d have told me if it came in.”
“I received a text from Montgomery saying the bank promised to send it before the end of the day.” Conner paused and Noah could picture him glancing at the clock over the boss’ door. “It’s three o’clock now. They better hurry.”
Noah stood, the phone still against his ear, and the plastic chair came with him. He pried it off while Conner caught him up on the small amount Lefty had learned about Perry.
The sun felt good on his shoulders. Summer had been long and hot and he was ready for even a hint of fall. A woody smell filled the air and he peered over the corner of the building where trees and vines had overtaken a decaying tool shed.
Autumn Secrets (Seasons Pass Book 4) Page 16
