Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix

by phill syron-jones

  “I will get you a copy of the registration and the other details,” he said, standing slowly. “Please wait here, I won’t be but a moment.”

  He left the room to go across the long hallway. From what the two detectives could see, he entered a dimly lit room with some sort of maroon velvet wallpaper and heavy looking oak furnishings. Steel continued to look at the art and paintings that were dotted round the large luxurious area, which felt more as if it was part of a stately home than a lived-in home.

  Walters returned holding a piece of paper in his hand, his suit shining in the sunlight as he headed towards them. “I hope this helps.” His words were almost sincere as he spoke them, but Steel picked up on something in his demeanour that suggested he was hiding something. McCall looked at the piece of heavy office paper the older man had handed her, and scanned the contents. The paper contained the licence plate and GPS number of the car. In addition, her cell phone number was amongst the main details on the list.

  “Perfect, Mr Walters, thank you, this will really help.”

  As McCall spoke Steel turned and gave her a look of disbelief. Was she really buttering him up? He knew that if the killer had been through this kind of trouble before, then the cell phone and car would probably be at the bottom of the Hudson. Unless he actually wanted the phone and car found, he was being too thorough.

  “Just one thing, sir,” asked Steel as they were making for the door. “If something happens to your wife, what happens to her money?”

  McCall’s face dropped in shock, not because Steel had asked such a question, but because he had thought of it, and she had not. And that stung. She flashed him a quick glance of annoyance, which merely seemed to amuse him.

  “Sorry, but you do understand, Mr Walters, we have to ask certain questions for the report, it’s so we can eliminate you as a suspect.” Her words were sympathetic, which reassured the older man.

  “Well, I suppose I do, hadn’t really thought about it.” His eyes glazed over but he said nothing.

  “Well, if that will be all, detectives, I have arrangements to make.” He raised his arm as if to beckon them to the front door.

  “There needs to be a formal identification, sir,” McCall said.

  “Of course, but you’ve just seen her picture, so there’s little doubt, presumably?” he asked them.

  “We still need you to come to identify her as soon as you can sir,” she replied.

  He nodded, barely registering her words.

  “We will do everything in our power to catch these people, I promise you.” McCall looked him in the eyes as she spoke, her face deadly serious. Steel thought it made her seem even more attractive.

  Mr Walters thanked them as they left, closing the heavy door behind them; McCall took out her cell phone and pressed the contact number for Tooms.

  “Well, we just left the husband, he seems genuine enough, where are we at on the car?” she said to him.

  “Nothing yet but her credit cards haven’t been used, so it’s not robbery unless they’re waiting until things cool down.” Tooms was sitting at his desk hitting keys on the computer keypad, bringing lists of information onto his screen.

  “This may help,” McCall told him. “We are looking for a black Mercedes SLK licence, plate number is Yankee, November, one, four, two, one, her cell is 555 12 412.”

  Tooms read it back to her so they both knew the information had been passed on correctly.

  “So where you guys heading now?” Tooms asked, his phone tucked between his broad shoulder and large head whilst feeding the information into the computer.

  “Well, Sherlock, where to next?” McCall asked the Englishman beside her, purposely trying to insult him.

  “I would say a trip to the Hamptons to this mysterious club, wouldn’t you say, Watson?” throwing it back at her, wiped the wide grin off her face.

  “We are off to the Hamptons, let us know when you find anything, will you?” She hung up and scowled at Steel, making him chuckle to himself.

  “You know, you were quite rude in there just then,” she told him. “I mean the guy just lost his wife.”

  “Are you mad with me because I asked the question, or are you mad at me because I thought of it?”

  She couldn’t stand his wide grin, not because his amusement was annoying. It was because he was right.

  “Do you know you can be a real asshole?” she said, stomping past him like a grounded teenager. When he was out of view she gave a little satisfied smile.

  THIRTEEN

  McCall and Steel had spent most of the afternoon at the Hamptons club talking to middle-aged women; the club was a large building of sandstone and glass, a true testimony to nineteenth-century architecture. The building was swarming with badly dressed women whose only lot in life appeared to be to drink and talk badly about one another. The interviews seemed endless and pointless due to the fact that nobody knew anything.

  McCall rolled her eyes as the last of the egotistical women got up and left, and she spotted Steel outside on a stone balcony looking over the view of lush green fields that was spread out before them. He was leaning against the worn sandstone wall, and his black suit and sunglasses matched their surroundings.

  “Well, that was the last of them,” he muttered. “God, what a waste of a day.” He turned and looked at her as she joined him leaning against the wall; he smiled and turned back to admire the view.

  “It’s so beautiful here, so quiet,” she commented. He nodded in agreement.

  “Pity it’s wasted on them, though.” He looked back at the gaggle of women parading themselves like flocks of flamingos.

  She laughed and, as they took a final look at the tranquil sight, McCall sighed deeply.

  “OK, let’s go back.” He clearly didn’t want to, but they had a case to solve and it would not solve itself.

  McCall had received a text that the Mercedes SLK had been discovered in the garage and that CSU were all over it, searching for prints and fibres. Tony was checking the security cameras for any shots of that evening. McCall and Steel pulled up in her Mustang, running the gauntlet of the press, who were out taking photos and shoving each other every time a person worth interviewing came close.

  McCall headed for the tape at the far side, hoping to make it without the hordes of newspaper people noticing, but she failed. One of the press hounds spotted her and dashed, causing the others to follow like sheep in pursuit. She looked behind her but Steel was nowhere to be seen until she got to the car. She stopped, startled for a moment as he stood next to one of the CSU team member who was busy dusting the passenger side.

  “Seriously, how did you get here ?” McCall stood there, her arms stretched out in a sign of wonderment and disbelief, but she wasn’t as surprised as the guard next to the car.

  “Hey, how the fuck” the officer demanded, pushing his chest out to make himself look more intimidating as he headed for Steel, only to be greeted by a badge held up in his face.

  “Oh sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you,” He apologized. Steel put the badge away, his attention had not even deviated from the CSU tec, who was just lifting the powdery cast using a kind of clear tape. The technician folded the two halves of tape, sealing the evidence in a bag, then labelling it.

  “So cool,” Steel murmured to the man, and the CSU nodded in reply.

  “Just hope we get something from them!”

  Tony and Tooms were examining the car so McCall dropped Steel at the precinct, because she had someone to see. McCall entered the well-lit corridor of the morgue; the white-tiled walls enhanced the brightness of the ‘cutting room’ as some of the M.E’s liked to call it. She could make out soft music in the background and the smell of fresh coffee tingled at her nose.

  On entering the room, McCall found John Steel giving Tina a cup of coffee. “What the hell is going on?” McCall was mad, so mad that she felt the veins at the side of her head throb.

  “He brought me coffee, you never bring me coffee, girl, it’
s not like it would kill you to.” Tina gave her friend a stern look then broke into a smile to lighten the mood.

  “No what I mean is,” McCall stumbled on. “Oh never mind.” She had lost momentum and her chance to give him another friendly scolding. “Steel, you told me you had to check something.” McCall took the coffee that Steel offered up in his other hand. “I didn’t know it was here you had to do the checking or with whom.”

  “What? Yes right, I had to see Tina, that’s if I may call you that,” he said politely, turning to the M.E with a small bow. Tina blushed and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Well, if everyone has finished!” McCall was now losing patience with him. If only he would stop flirting with the ME for a moment, she thought.

  “Yes OK,” Steel continued. “Now Tina, did you find out what blood type Mrs Walters was?” He braced himself for bad news.

  “Yes she was AB negative. Why?”

  The English detective looked at McCall, longing for her to make a connection.

  “Yes, so what?” McCall was tired of his games.

  He sat down on the workspace by the window. “You don’t see? She is a different blood type, the hair is all wrong, our guy prefers blondes. This is a cover-up killing, I bet my badge on it.”

  McCall thought for a brief second and looked at Tina, who was nodding at her with a sympathetic look on her face.

  “OK,” McCall mused. “So the husband can’t divorce his wife because he’d lose everything, so he kills her.”

  “Or he gets someone else to do it,” Steel said, jumping in.

  “So now everyone thinks it’s the serial killer’s doing, and he is home free.” McCall’s face lit up with excitement.

  They were now facing each other and finishing each other’s sentences.

  “Oh that just so sweet.” They turned to see Tina giving them both a strange dreamy look.

  McCall swivelled around towards the door to see Tooms and Tony standing there.

  “Hey, are we interrupting something here?” said Tooms, with the same expression as the doc had used.

  “No!” said McCall emphatically.

  “Yes!” Steel said, almost at the same moment, with a big grin on his face.

  “Find Mr. Walters and bring him in.” McCall barked as she headed out, leaving the room as angrily as she had entered.

  McCall and Steel watched Mr. Walters pace up and down the interrogation room like a caged animal waiting to be put down. They were sitting on the other side of the one-way mirror, watching him sweat. The Captain entered the small room to join them.

  “You had better be right about this,” he told the female detective.

  McCall just nodded.

  “Alright then, break the son of a bitch. But make it fast, as he has probably got a fleet of lawyers on the way.”

  The two detectives got up and moved towards the interview room, deciding that if they were to do this they had to do it as a team.

  “Mr Walters, please sit down,” said McCall as they entered the room.

  “Do you know why you are here, sir?”

  As Walters sat in front of the table he had a confused look on his face, but it masked something, something else: fear.

  “Your detectives said something about me killing my wife. But I would never”

  “Why didn’t you ask us how your wife died?” When Steel spoke, he was standing in the far corner of the room behind Mr Walters.

  “What?” the older man’s face twisted with anger at the absurdity of the question.

  “Answer the question please, sir,” McCall jumped in. She was impressed at the way the Englishman had knocked Walters off balance.

  “I... err I don’t know. I was upset. I had just found out my wife had been murdered.”

  “You see, the wonderful thing about the human psyche is that people want closure,” Steel continued the interrogation.

  “They want to know: did their loved one suffer? Was it quick? You know the sort of thing I mean. And the only people who don’t want to know are those who already do know.”

  Walters turned to where Steel’s voice was coming from and was shocked to find him directly behind him, almost breathing down his neck.

  McCall jumped in: “Mr Walters, we know that you have had some gambling problems and how much you owed the wrong people, and so you thought if you could get rid of your wife you could pay your debt and have enough to start over again. How am I doing so far?” She spoke softly as she sat down opposite him and leant forwards over the table.

  “No, no, it wasn’t like that, you have to believe me! Yes I had a small problem. But I didn’t kill my wife.” His hands clenched together so tightly that the knuckles were white.

  “OK, so who did kill your wife and why?” She leant back in her chair awaiting his next lie.

  “Look, the thing is Mr Walters, we’ve got you. If you tell us who the killer is I can speak to the DA and let him know you cooperated.” Her voice had lost its aggressive edge and had become soft and calm.

  “I didn’t hire anyone, for God’s sakes, I loved my wife! Is she dead because of me? Yes! But I didn’t kill her!” He was angry and upset. Steel had the feeling that there was more to this story but only Walters could tell it. Sam McCall continued the questioning: “We have a statement from your bank showing a withdrawal of Two-Hundred-and-Fifty thousand dollars two days ago, so don’t tell me you didn’t hire anyone.”

  Walters looked up at her. His eyes were tired and burnt with righteous indignation. How could she think such a thing of him?

  “It wasn’t enough, was it?” Steel chipped in.

  “They wanted more, didn’t they?” Steel came closer, his voice soft and soothing, like a calming breeze.

  Walters nodded, looking down at his open wallet where there was a photo displayed.

  “You don’t understand, you see I have more family, friends. If I talk they said they would kill them all. And I’m sorry, but I would rather go to jail than talk.” Walters had pulled himself together, was now sitting upright in the chair.

  “Then don’t talk.” Steel moved his hand forward over the table and took out a business card from the wallet in Walters’s hand. Steel held up the card in front of Walters’s face, his scared eyes looked up at the card then he closed them tightly before he nodded.

  “See you didn’t tell us anything,” said Steel, turning to McCall who took the card off him

  Oh great, Russians, she thought.

  They both came out of the interrogation room leaving a sobbing Mr Walters. Tooms and Tony joined them.

  “So what’s our next move?” asked Tony, putting on his jacket.

  “We go and catch a show.” McCall passed the card to the two detectives.

  “I’ll bring the quarters,” said Steel, following McCall to her desk.

  “Russians? Are you friggin’ kidding me?” barked Tooms. This was all he needed, a stake out at a Russian strip club. Oh well, he figured it could be worse. He thought: I mean, what could go wrong?

  FOURTEEN

  The surveillance van was kitted out with all manner of monitors and listening and recording devices. Tooms and Tony sat in their usual seats while McCall was being fitted out with bugs and cameras.

  “OK, you’re good to go,” said Tony, “Your transmitter is in the purse so don’t lose it.”

  She nodded.

  “So where the hell is Super Cop?” Tony enquired. “Was the thought of big bad Russians too much for him?” They all laughed. But if that was the reason, Tooms figured that it probably meant that he was the smart one.

  “Ah, who needs they guy, he would just get in the way anyhow,” said McCall, checking the rooftops as she got out of the van.

  “You need us, we are there, got it?” Tooms’s face was full of concern and she knew he had a right to be worried. All of them were wary of this situation.

  “OK, wish me luck,” she said into her mike, using it as a communications check.

  “You are good to go girl, we
gotcha,” the voice boomed in her ear. She took a small bottle of whisky from a bag and doused her clothes with the cheap booze. She approached the club wearing a slutty outfit with a strange fake animal skin coat that now reeked of booze. As she got to the doormen she put on her ‘drunk’ act. The two large men who were dressed all in black stopped her.

  “Where do you think you are going?” asked the door attendant, holding her arm.

  “I’m going for a little party, party yeh party.” He held her at arm’s length and moved his head away.

  “You’re not going in you drunken slut,” he said shoving her back, revolted by the potent smell of alcohol. She moved in and tried to kiss him.

  “If you let me in you can have me later. Later, oohh later!” She stumbled slightly.

  “Get the hell away from me,” he said, pushing her through the doors.

  The other men laughed at him as he wiped the stinking saliva from his lips.

  “I see you have a date later tonight, Vladimir,” one of them joked. He just spat and gave them the bird.

  “OK boys, I’m in. Let’s do this.” McCall spoke as she headed for the bar, which ran across the right side of the room. In the centre lay a long stage with mirrored sides, where scantily clad girls performed erotic acrobatics on long shiny poles, while others danced in cages, which hung around the dimly lit room. The walls were covered in red patterned wallpaper and the floor covering was of wooden tiles. She arrived at the bar, which also had mirrors on the front of it, as well as brass fittings, which reflected the lights from the stage into her eyes, almost blinding her. McCall sat on a bar stool nearest to a wall which was one end of the bar counter. The seat rocked as she perched on it and she pretended to have lost her balance—the bar keeper quickly grabbed her arm to steady her. She thanked him in a drunken way, and he smiled.

  “What can I get you honey?” said the young handsome man in the black silk shirt. He had dark greased-back hair and his bulging muscles tried to push their way through his shirt every time he bent his elbow.