“Any time frame for us to talk to him?”
“Sorry. He is days from being out of the woods.”
“Alright. Thanks,” I said.
“You used to date…”
“Yeah, Ben Warman.”
“I thought so.”
I turned and left before he could say anything else. I collected Dan and we headed to the car. I wanted to get back to the station and download the tape so Eric, our computer wizard, could see what he could do with it.
***
Once we got back, I pulled up the file on my computer then forwarded it to Eric. When I was finished with that I went to the Deli, got four corned beef sandwiches on rye, two with regular mustard and two with the spicy brown stuff. I got extra dill pickles and four bags of chips.
When I got back I gave one to Dan, took one to Eric, and kept one for me. Eric was easy. All I had to do was wave a corned beef sandwich in front of him and he would do whatever I asked, sometimes just slightly south of legal. He had gone out on a limb for me on more than one occasion.
“Oh dear God, a corned beef on rye. Please don’t tell me I have to kill the captain,” he said.
“Nothing that serious but it is something to think about,” I said, kidding.
“What is something to think about?” McGregor’s voice said behind me.
“A corned beef sandwich. I was just saying ‘I’ll bet that is something you were thinking about,” I said and gave him the forth one.
“Damn good thing,” he snorted before heading back to his office.
“So what do you want me to do?” Eric asked.
“I sent you an e-mail with a video in it. I need you to do your magic thing and make it so we can see what actually happened.”
“So this is like official stuff?”
“This time.”
“Hot dog. Okay, go away and let me work on it. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
Eric had always been like that. He could do anything but he needed his space. First, he talked to himself, usually in a language that only he understood and perhaps some ancient long dead Egyptians. I swear he would have understood every word in the movie, ‘Stargate’.
I went back to my desk to find that I only had half a sandwich. Dan was trying to look innocent and doing a really, really, poor job of it.
“What?”
“You ate half my sandwich.”
“Did not.”
“Liar.”
“Angie. I think you took it with you.”
“Dan you are such a bad liar. I can read it on your face.”
“Well you never finish yours anyway. You always offer the other half to me.”
“That’s because you drool while you are watching me. I can’t stand it so I give you the other half.”
“See. This is better. Now I don’t have to drool.”
I wondered if Eric could send an exploding e-mail to him. While I was contemplating that, the phone rang.
“Bartoni.”
“Hey Angie. It’s Lance. We recovered the bullet fragments and have them down at the lab.”
“Any ideas what it was?”
“Not sure. Nothing we usually see. Definitely not a .223. Bigger. Maybe a 7.62 or something like that.”
“Okay. Thanks. Let me know what else you find.”
“We sent a team over to the abandoned building. The shot came from the corner, third floor up. They sat up a shooting station. They knew what they were doing. It was back a pretty good distance from the window so no barrel sticking out.”
“A professional?”
“Not sure about that, but trained for sure.”
“No casings.”
“You wish. Like I said, they were either well trained or a professional.”
“Tell me you found something useful.”
“I would love to but we came up totally empty. No fibers, no prints, and no hair.”
“Well that’s just peachy,” I lamented.
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Thanks for the call. Let me know if you do turn up something.”
“Of course,” he said and hung up.
This put a new wrinkle on things. It is one thing if it is some dumb twerp with a beef against the police. If it is a professional or a sniper, that is a horse of a different color.
I went to tell the captain what Lance had just reported. I couldn’t believe it. He had mustard on his tie. Geez, he and Dan eat like pigs.
“What?”
“Lance said the bullet was larger than a .223. Also the shooter was probably trained or a professional. The found no physical evidence at the shooting site.”
I let that sink in for a second.
“They found nothing?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Crap. This is not good. Not good at all.”
“Yeah. There’s more bad news. Tomlinson didn’t make it. It looks like Cain will pull through but we won’t be able to talk to him for a few days.”
“I doubt it will help much anyway. They probably never saw it coming.”
“Oh, one more thing, a witness said the shots were slow and deliberate. I’m thinking a bolt action rifle.”
“If it’s a professional or a trained sniper you can pretty much bet on it,” he said.
“Well hopefully the cell phone video will give us some kind of clue. Eric is working on it as we speak. I don’t hold out much hope for anything helpful. He was back in the building a ways according to Lance. He didn’t have the barrel sticking out.”
“Professional or sniper,” the captain said.
“Yep.”
He was still shaking his head when I headed back to my desk.
“What next?” Dan asked.
“We visit the crime scene. I want to see the set up for myself.”
“What do you expect to find? The lab has already gone over the place.”
“I just want to see it, okay?’
“Geez, what a grouch. Sure, let’s go poke around in a broken down, boarded up warehouse. What fun.”
“Afraid of rats little boy?”
“You are not a nice person,” he said storming off down the stairs.
He hates rats. It’s a phobia with him. I knew darn good and well that was what was bugging him. He was afraid he would squeal like a little girl if a rat ran across his shoe. I know. I’ve see it. It is not a pretty sight.
***
The crime scene boys and girls had done a good job of sealing the doors back up. I had to get a crowbar out of the trunk to get the plywood off the entrance. This was going to be just like those cop shows on television where everyone runs around with a flashlight. Cool. We worked our way into the building and found the stairs. Three floors later we walked into a large room with nothing but a few boxes sitting a few feet from the window. One corner of the plywood that covered the window had been removed. I could see a drill hole in one section then cut marks, probably from a jigsaw that was used to cut away the wood. Sitting at the boxes you could see right out the open section and watch both corners of the intersection.
Using my imaginary gun, I could see that they had about thirty yards of open area before they would lose sight of the cop car. He had to shoot quickly on the first shot, probably to take out the driver. Once the driver was down, the shooter could take his time, line everything up, and just squeeze the trigger. There would be no hurry. Once he was done he could make his way back down the stairs and out…? Where? Not the front where we had come in. He had to have had another exit in mind.
“Come on,” I said to Dan who had a frozen look of terror on his face.
I followed the beam of his flashlight and saw that it was pointed at a large rat standing on its hind legs.
“Oh for heaven sakes,” I said and ran at the rat.
It scurried away.
“Come on, I’ll protect you,” I said in a mocking tone.
For once he had no comeback. I really did feel sorry for him. When you have a phobia th
ere is little you can do about it. Mine is snakes. I can’t even stand to watch them on television. They are the worst thing on the planet. Well, that’s my point of view anyway.
We went down the stairs and a few minutes later found where the shooter had probably climbed out a window. A board was positioned over it but it was just hanging there. You could shove it up and climb right out. It was pretty slick. The back side of the building butted up to the backside of the next building. A little alley ran between them. He could have gone in either direction and simply disappeared.
One thing for sure, he was long gone now.
CHAPTER THREE
I held my breath all weekend but nothing happened. I knew the nut was still out there and we had to find him but on the other hand I was glad that nothing had happened.
All the patrolmen were definitely in a high state of alert and somewhat skittish. Who wouldn’t be? Anyway, as Monday came and went, I was a little more relaxed. We were just getting off duty and I was looking forward to driving my Austin Healey 3000 home, the long way.
“Got plans for tonight?” Dan asked as I closed my desk drawer.
“Taking my Healey for a spin.”
“Oooh, that’s some date. Are you ever going to actually have a real date?”
“Don’t start that again. I went out with a few of your ‘friends’,” I said using my fingers for quotations marks.
“Hey, those were the good ones. You should see some of the others.”
“No thanks. What about you?”
“Paula and I are going to see a movie then go out to dinner.”
“Wow. That’s like the fiftieth date with the same girl. This must be getting serious.”
“Well, gotta’ run,” he said before I could really get started on him.
I did exactly as I had said. I put the top down on the Healey and took the winding long way home. It was exhilarating. When I got home I had to order a pizza due to the sad state of affairs in my refrigerator. It was either that or eat cereal with a questionable carton of funky smelling milk. I opted for the pizza. I consumed three glasses of Pinot Noir with the pizza and fell into a fitful sleep. I kept thinking about what would have happened to Dan if the bullet had been just an inch further over.
I was dreaming that the phone was ringing for several seconds before I realized that it actually was. That’s always a bad sign. No one calls in the middle of the morning with good news.
“Bartoni,” I managed to get out.
“Another shooting. Barkley and Halsted. Two officers down. One dead for sure, the other in real bad shape.”
“Crap. On my way,” I said stumbling into the bathroom.
I almost scared myself when I looked into the mirror. I ran a brush through my mane and pulled it back into a ponytail. I ran a toothbrush across my teeth, gargled and threw on my clothes that were still lying on the floor from yesterday. Gun on my hip, badge in my pocket, and I was out the door.
Barkley and Halsted was a pretty far distance from my house and it took me about forty minutes to get there even with hardly any traffic and running red lights. When I got there it was the usual sea of red, white, and blue flashing lights. The yellow tape was doing its evil dance as I walked up. I slipped under it and walked over to the patrol car with both doors open.
The windshield was shattered and I could see blood on the side window and door. It was splattered on the headrest and headliner as well. A body lay in the street with a white sheet over it.
“Bartoni.”
“Hey Ed.”
“Not good. Not good at all.”
“Tell me about it. Who are the officers?”
“Riley and Anderson. Anderson is a rookie and this was his first week on the job.”
“Damn.”
“You got that right.”
“Angie.”
I turned to see Dan. He looked like he had been on a three day binge. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked like crap.
“You okay?’
“Yeah, fine.”
He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t see a need to ask.
I nodded towards the body on the ground.
“Riley,” Ed replied answering my question.
Obviously he was driving so I was pretty sure he wasn’t the rookie. Usually rookies don’t drive the first month. They take too long to respond and often don’t know the area well enough.
“Where did they take Anderson?”
“Methodist.”
“Any idea where the shots came from?”
He pointed to a three story parking garage, “I’m pretty sure from up there. Crime scene has people up there right now looking around.”
“Who is up there?”
“Lance and some of his guys.”
“Good. If Lance is up there nothing will be overlooked,” I said.
Dan was leaning against the car holding his head.
“You okay? You don’t look so good,” I said.
“Tequila shots,” he said.
“Brilliant,” was all I said and started off toward the parking garage.
I didn’t look back to see if Dan was following me. I figured if he felt as bad as he looked I needed to give him some space. I did not want to see or hear him barf.
I walked up the ramp to the third story and saw half a dozen tech guys with flashlights poking around. They seemed to be concentrated in one area.
“Lance.”
“Hey Angie. Kind of hard to see. We have lights coming in a few minutes. We could just wait for the sun to come up but as you well know, this has Red Ball written all over it.”
“It does indeed. Find anything so far?”
“Same procedure. It looks like he pulled a vehicle up and used it as a bench rest. I found air conditioning condensation where I think he must have parked. It gives him a perfect alignment for any car coming down Halstead. I figured they were going down Barkley and turned onto Halstead. He had ample time to line the shot up and take it. Six shots again. I’m obviously not the ME, but I figure he shot Riley, who was driving, first. Then he unloaded on them at his leisure. No casings again and nothing else but the condensation so far. Maybe we will get lucky when the lights arrive.”
“Don’t count on it. I think this guy is a professional. The question is why? Why start this all of a sudden? Why random shootings? What is he after? So far we have no demands or anyone taking credit for it. Usually if it is a vendetta against the police, they make the reason known. This is just weird,” I told him.
“Hey, crazy people do crazy things,” Lance said, “Did you get a chance to talk to Cain yet?”
“We were going to do that today. Depending on how long we are held up here, I still want to get it in.”
“Well, what do you really have to do here at this point? You have been to the crime scene. Anderson is at Methodist along with Cain. We have a thousand pictures already and I can have more taken if you feel it is necessary. Go talk to Cain. I don’t know how much good it will do but maybe he saw something useful.”
“Alright Lance. I probably wouldn’t do that without you on the case. I know you are the absolute best.”
“Why thank you kindly Miss Bartoni,” he said in his best Western drawl.
“You are rightly welcome kind sir,” I replied.
***
When I got back down to the ground level I saw the King of Sarcasm, The Grand Master of Snide, The High Priest of Cutting Repertoire, none other than our illustrious Medical Examiner, Doctor Sorenson.
“Damn it Bartoni, are you going to catch this guy or not? I can’t keep coming out in the middle of the night. How about you do your job for a change?” Mr. Grumpbutt said.
“Gee, nice to see you too. I see you forgot to put sugar in your coffee again,” I said.
“I don’t know why they call me out on these in the first place,” he grumbled.
“Maybe because it’s a dead body lying in the street or did you miss that part?” I said.
“You listen to me De-tecti
ve. If you would do your job there wouldn’t be a dead body lying in the street or is that above your head?”
“You know what I like best about you Doc? Nothing. You are the biggest poop butt I have ever met.”
“That’s the first nice thing you have said so far,” he replied and went over and looked at the body of Officer Riley.
“Hit three times, twice in the head, once in the vest. Obviously it went right through. Did a hell of a number on his skull. Not much left. For you Bartoni, that means cause of death was a gunshot wound to the cranium.”
“Gee I would have never guessed.”
“I know. That’s why I am a trained professional and you are just a flunky cop. Now go bother someone else,” he said.
It may not sound like it but I really do love that old coot. He must be two hundred years old and yet he is as sharp as a tack. You do not want to match wits with him unless you are prepared to eat your lunch in the humble room. I get away with more than anyone else, that’s for sure. If he doesn’t like you, you are cooked.
Defense attorneys hate it when he is on the stand. He would cut the legs right out from under them if they try to call his findings into question. I have seen them almost ready to cry when he gets done with them. They practically beg him to get off the witness stand. The judges seem to like him and give him a lot of latitude.
He was right, we needed to go bother someone else. I grabbed Dan, still woozy and we headed to Methodist.
“Some binge.”
“I don’t normally do this but last night this bigmouth goaded me into a shot contest. I put down nine that I remember.”
“Goaded you into it? Did some big ole meanie pick on little Dan?”
“It was about pride.”
“So how is your pride right now?” I asked.
“Most of it came up after I left the bar.”
“What about Paula?”
“She took a cab home. I don’t think she was too impressed.”
“Imagine that?” I said as I wheeled into the parking lot of the Methodist Hospital.
It was the usual scene with people waiting to be treated in the emergency room, people wondering around like they were lost, and EMT’s rushing in and out. We knew where surgery was so we went up to the second floor. The waiting room was packed with cops and others that I took to be the family. I hated this scene. First of all, I detest hospitals in general. Very few good things are associated with hospitals. Other than babies being born, I couldn’t think of anything else.
Payback (Angie Bartoni Case Files Book 13) Page 2
