Hot Lights, Cold Steel

by D P Lyle

  Furyk set his jaw. “Aden Slade is the one who did this. The only one. We found him with his final victims. In his garage where he tortured his victims. All his victims. There is no evidence that anyone else was involved.”

  Claire was now in full Claire mode. “Didn’t murder victim Eddie Elliott work for Alejandro Diaz? Weren’t his fingerprints found at one of the burial sites?”

  I could tell by Furyk’s expression that this wasn’t going the way he had hoped. He was losing control of the situation. “Needless to say, there are many unanswered questions about this investigation. I’d rather not get into the details at this time.”

  A young man in the middle of the pack yelled, “Do you think there might be more victims? Bodies you haven’t discovered yet?”

  Furyk seemed relieved at the interruption of Claire’s hammering. “That’s possible. Since Slade took the coward’s way out, shooting himself, we can’t ask him. So, yes, there could be other victims, and unfortunately we may never know.” He held both hands up, palms toward the crowd. “That’s all for now.”

  Shouted questions followed him as he walked inside, enveloped by officers.

  “I should’ve resigned,” T-Tommy said.

  “Where do you want to sniff around next?” I asked.

  “We know Slade ain’t the cutter.” T-Tommy raised his left thumb, counting it off. “We know someone staged the scene at Slade’s.” Index finger. “We know the girls passed through Rosalee. We know Rosalee and Rocco are the same species. We know that special tools are needed to do this shit and that Talbert makes them.” A fistful now. “We know that Slade worked at Talbert and that Alejandro had Talbert’s number.” Right thumb and index finger. “We know that Furyk just lied his fucking head off.” Middle finger. “We know that Rocco, Rosalee, Talbert, and Furyk are bound together by money and power. Crack one of these nuts, and you get them all.”

  “We tried Rosalee,” I said. “I don’t think Furyk will cop to a lesser charge. So that leaves Rocco and Talbert. Who do you like?”

  “Don’t know how deep in this Slade was, but someone wants us to think he’s the whole deal. Means that Talbert his ownself must have helped set up Slade.”

  I nodded. That sounded good.

  T-Tommy smiled. “We need to get inside Talbert. Something ain’t right over there.”

  “Front door or back?” I asked.

  “We’ve been through the front.”

  CHAPTER 75

  WEDNESDAY 1:32 P.M.

  AFTER THE PRESS CONFERENCE BROKE UP, CLAIRE HEADED TO THE station to work on her six o’clock report. T-Tommy and I drove to my house and settled on the back deck. T-Tommy reached out to a contact at county records, and she agreed to put together recent construction permits and plans on the Talbert building.

  My cell phone rang, and I answered.

  A male voice said, “Rosalee wants to talk.”

  Fifteen minutes later, T-Tommy and I climbed from my Porsche and walked up Rosalee’s driveway. An uneasy feeling blossomed in my gut as I approached the front door. It stood open. An invitation. Come on in. No sign of Max, no evidence of forced entry.

  “Rosalee?” I called.

  Nothing.

  “Rosalee?”

  T-Tommy pulled his Glock. “I’ll take the back.”

  I went through the front. Nothing in the foyer. Nothing in the living room. The kitchen was a different story.

  The open newspaper, coffee cup, phone, and Rosalee’s glasses were on the table exactly as they had been earlier. The leather phone book wasn’t. Rosalee’s chair had tipped over, and she lay on the floor, a bloody stain over her chest, a round entry wound in the middle of her forehead. Dry and clean, obviously delivered after death. Just in case. Eyes black and glassy. A pancake of dark purple clot surrounded by a halo of yellow serum fanned across the floor. The coppery smell of blood hung in the air.

  T-Tommy came through the French door that opened to the pool deck. He settled his gun back in its holster.

  “Been dead awhile,” I said. “Blood’s already separated.”

  He looked down at Rosalee and sighed. “Why aren’t I surprised?” He moved around the kitchen counter. “At least we know Max didn’t do this.”

  I rounded the counter. Max lay on his back near the refrigerator. Three dark circles patterned his chest, and, as with Rosalee, a dry, clean entry wound stared up from his forehead. “This must have gone down right after we left this morning.”

  The sound of approaching sirens came through the open front door.

  “Wonder who called the cops,” I said.

  “The one who put the holes in these two.”

  “Lefty and Austin?”

  T-Tommy nodded. “Which means Rocco’s trying to set you up.

  Thought maybe you’d come here alone.”

  I heard tires screech outside and car doors slam. We moved to the foyer just as four uniforms came through the door, guns in hand.

  The first officer stopped, surprise on his face. “Investigator Tortelli? We got a call about a shooting.” He put away his weapon. “You call it in?”

  “No. Two victims.” T-Tommy jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Back there.”

  Two of the officers headed that way.

  Another car pulled up, and Furyk got out. Great.

  “Hello, Sergeant,” I said as he marched into the house. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  He ignored me and snapped at the two uniforms. “Place Mr. Walker under arrest.”

  “What charges?” I asked, knowing the answer, just wanting him to say it.

  “Murder. Two counts.”

  One of the officers started to move. T-Tommy froze him with a glare. The young man looked at Furyk, obviously unsure what to do.

  T-Tommy held up a palm toward the uniform. “Just a minute.” He turned to Furyk. “He’s been with me all day.”

  Furyk glared at him. “You looking to get arrested, too? I gave you an order. Take this man into custody.”

  T-Tommy stepped forward. “Sergeant, this is a mistake.”

  “Why are you here? You’ve been suspended. I’d suggest you back off.”

  I moved close to Furyk. “A word?” I brushed past him and walked through the door where I waited for him. I led him out into the circular drive, away from the door, out of earshot. “Knowingly making a false arrest would just about do in your little mayoral run, wouldn’t it?”

  “Unless you’re guilty.”

  “Which I’m not, and you know it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know any such thing.”

  “Then maybe you better call your suck buddy Rocco.”

  “He’s not my buddy, and I doubt he knows anything about this.”

  “Really?” I smiled.

  Furyk didn’t respond.

  “Rocco and his two clowns are going to bring you down.”

  “I have nothing to do with them.”

  I sighed and waited for his gaze to leave his shoes and rise to meet mine. “You know me. Know what I do. Know I’ve consulted on cases all over. Even overseas. Know I have friends from here to DC. Marine Intel, the CIA, NSA, FBI.”

  “I’m impressed.” He didn’t do sarcasm well.

  “You should be. I can have a line of attorneys from here to DC in a heartbeat. I can have an FBI forensics team in here before the sun sets. I’m sure they might turn up a thing or two. Like maybe Aden Slade didn’t shoot himself.”

  “Only the HPD can get them in here.”

  “Try me. You forgetting that two of the victims were buried in Tennessee? Crossing state lines makes it a federal beef. I make a call, the feds pop in here, find out you fucked this thing all up, and there goes your trip to the mayor’s office.” I kicked at a loose stone. It clattered across the drive and settled in the dirt beneath a pink azalea.

  Furyk stared at me but remained silent.

  “More to your future aspirations, I can also drag in a few news reporters. I’m sure you know my ex, Claire McBride. If you
thought her questions today were tough, wait until she really gets focused. The woman has no manners and no brakes, and blood in the water drives her loony. Trust me on this one. I know.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Just giving you the lay of the land. Claire is only the beginning. I can drag TV and print reporters from coast to coast in here. The kind who love dirty cops. The kind who sink political futures. The kind who crush balls.”

  “Modesty isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

  I couldn’t suppress a brief smile. “Not really. And discretion isn’t yours.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Take Wendy Morland for example.”

  Got to love Claire. She had dug up this tidbit. Furyk had been pumping old Wendy—actually twenty-three-year-old Wendy—for a couple of years. Claire sniffed it out over a year ago but never ran the story. I hoped this might be the push Furyk needed to turn his rudder in another direction.

  “Bet your wife and your future voting public don’t know about her. A trip to Cabo? On the taxpayers’ dime? You and little Wendy? Wendy who used to dance at High Rollers.”

  His chest heaved, and I thought he might hyperventilate. Sweat beaded on his neck and forehead. Must have been the heat.

  He didn’t have a comment about Wendy, so I went on. “You hooked up with her when you were doing vice and narc over at the West Precinct? Maybe Rocco made the intro?”

  His fists balled at his side, but he still had nothing to say. I was a bit disappointed. I expected better.

  “Then there’s Francisco Flores.”

  Furyk straightened his shoulders. “Never heard of him.”

  I put on a face of mock surprise. “Really? I’d bet he would be disappointed to hear that. After he was kind enough to donate ten Grovers to your campaign. Lot of money for a gardener. Even Rocco’s gardener.”

  “How did you . . . ?”

  “I confess. It wasn’t me. It was Claire. See what I mean about staying on her good side?”

  Furyk worked his neck, glanced back at the door, and let out a long breath. “I’m listening.”

  Bingo. Just had to find the right buttons. “Rocco’s going down. If my suspicions are correct, Talbert and Kincaid, too.”

  “And?”

  “Play it smart. You’ll lose a couple of donors. But if you don’t cut them loose right now, you could lose the whole deal. It’s like a cat with a ball of string. Once he starts clawing at loose ends, things tend to unravel.”

  “What exactly are you proposing?”

  “Walk away. Let me and T-Tommy handle it.”

  I could almost see the wheels in his head turning. Finally, he said, “What about me?”

  “I want the guy who did Noel. That’s it. When I get him, I’m done. So, unless you were involved in that, I don’t give a shit what happens. You can take credit for solving the crimes. Pad your fucking résumé. Become mayor and live happily ever after.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Same thing. All you have to do is walk away.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Give T-Tommy his shield back. Stuff a letter of commendation in his jacket about his stellar work on this case.”

  He hesitated, brow furrowed, then nodded.

  CHAPTER 76

  WEDNESDAY 3:22 P.M.

  WE SWUNG BY THE COUNTY RECORDS OFFICE. T-TOMMY RAN IN AND returned in a few minutes with a roll of plans. When we got home, I called Claire. Got her voice mail and left a message. I tried her at the station but was told she wasn’t there yet.

  I grabbed a bottle of Blanton’s and two glasses, and T-Tommy and I moved to the patio table. For the next half hour, we dissected the plans, going back and forth between the blue-line drawings and photos we had taken.

  I pointed to one of the photos. “This lower floor window corresponds to this one.” I indicated the same window on the plans. “The new construction is just inside there. See this hallway? Runs most of the length of the building. These two rooms are new.”

  “They’re each about twenty by thirty,” T-Tommy said.

  “Each is wired heavily. Both standard and 220 outlets, two banks of overhead lights. And these . . .” I flipped to another page and pointed out several symbols. “Here, here, and here are oxygen and suction ports.”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded. “The only reason I know is that when I was in school I saw some plans for the UAB expansion down in Birmingham. I didn’t know what these symbols meant, either.”

  “Don’t need oxygen for cadavers,” T-Tommy said.

  “Looks like Talbert and Kincaid set up their own hospital,” I said.

  T-Tommy let out a low whistle. “So the surgeries were done there.”

  “It all fits. Talbert runs the show, and Kincaid’s the cutter. Got to be. Has the skill, the equipment, and now apparently the location. Eddie and Alejandro, with Rocco’s blessing, were the garbagemen. Furyk provided protection . . . just in case.”

  “And they filled up Furyk’s campaign coffers,” T-Tommy said.

  “I’d suspect Rocco’s pockets, too.”

  “Makes your medical research theory seem more likely,” T-Tommy said. “But I still don’t see why they would do all this. I mean, using people as guinea pigs to perfect another tool? Doesn’t wash.”

  “We don’t have the whole picture yet,” I said. “Could be they’re working on something bigger than a few new tools.”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t know.”

  T-Tommy leaned back in his chair. “A little recon work seems to be in order.”

  The phone rang, and I walked to the bar and answered it.

  The voice was masculine, muffled a bit. “Walker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to see your ex-wife again?” The voice was harsh with a Germanic accent.

  “Who is this?”

  “Stay close to this phone. Call your buddy Tortelli, and then both of you sit tight. Don’t fuck up. We’ll be in touch.”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 77

  WEDNESDAY 7:32 P.M.

  I LAY ON THE BED AND STARED AT THE CEILING. IT HAD BEEN OVER three hours and still no call. What if they never called? What if I never found Claire? What if she was buried somewhere?

  Earlier I had called Channel 8. Maybe it was a hoax, and Claire was really there. She wasn’t. They were worried. Said Claire was never late. I knew that. Said they were going to call the cops. I told them I’d handle it.

  I then tried to help T-Tommy collect more info on Talbert, make a plan to get inside, but I couldn’t concentrate. Or sit still. I paced the room, gazed out the window, stared at the phone.

  The big question was why had they grabbed Claire? The case had been solved. At least to the satisfaction of Furyk and the gullible public. Slade was the killer. Eddie and Alejandro accomplices. All dead. Case closed. Let the sun shine, the flowers bloom, and the birds sing. The world was perfect again, and the citizens of Rocket City could go about their lives without fear. Rocco could peddle his sleaze. Furyk could run for mayor. Neat. Clean.

  But why grab Claire?

  Only one answer. Rocco. He knew that T-Tommy and I had the goods on him. Knew everything. About him. About Furyk. About their little marriage of money and power. He also knew we wouldn’t simply walk away. We’d made that clear. His first shot? Rosalee and Max went down, and we got set up for the murders. But he hadn’t figured on us buying our way out of that deal. Knowledge was rich currency.

  It also made Claire, T-Tommy, and I liabilities. The only remaining loose ends. Without us, Rocco was home free. Who could tell the truth then? Furyk? Talbert or Kincaid? Get real.

  So, Rocco hatched a plan in that greasy little head of his. Take Claire, draw us in, whack all of us, and the package was complete.

  Which meant we had to find Claire.

  T-Tommy and I agreed that she was l
ikely being held at Talbert. They’d already imprisoned a couple of dozen victims there, so it made sense. Problem was, we weren’t sure. She could be anywhere. Storming Talbert might put Claire in the line of fire. And if she wasn’t there? That was the real problem. She would be in even more danger. Bottom line: if we knew for sure where she was, we’d go in. Not knowing left us with nothing.

  At one point I suggested we snatch Rocco. Just go into High Rollers and grab him. Kick his fat ass around. Make him talk. Make a trade. T-Tommy loved the idea but said only as a last resort. I hated it when he was rational. Usually I had to hold him back. I brought that fact up, but he said I wasn’t exactly thinking straight right now. That was when he suggested I go lie down so he could get some work done.

  Claire, where are you?

  In the quiet room I could almost hear the seconds ticking by. Slowly. I glanced at the clock beside the bed—7:34. Exactly two minutes since I last checked.

  My thoughts ran the gamut. Claire was already dead. She was being tortured, raped. She was strapped to a table, and Kincaid was cutting into her. She had escaped and was on the run. Like Alejandro. Bleeding, weakening by the minute. Around and around I went from image to image.

  I must have dozed off because Jill made an appearance. I only saw her in my dreams. Could never pull up her face when I wanted to. Not sure why, but that was the way it was. Jill was screaming for help. I could almost reach her but not quite. She sank into something deep and black. Water? A well? Her face and cries and whimpers faded. She slipped away. I jerked awake.

  I got up, headed to the bathroom, and splashed water on my face. Didn’t help much. I looked in the mirror. Could I survive losing Claire? Jill’s abduction almost did me in. Depression, anger, self-incrimination, a ton of other shit pulled me from med school, from life. Only Claire and the USMC saved me. A fear rose deep inside that if Claire was gone I could easily circle that drain again. This time I might not find a rope. I liked to think I was a stronger person now. That such a descent wasn’t possible. Truth was, I simply didn’t know.

  I went out on the deck, and T-Tommy handed me a fresh bourbon. I took a long drink. I needed it.