Burning Embers (Alexis Parker Book 17)
Page 34
“Be careful. And don’t forget you’re coming to family dinner next week.”
“I’ll try. Tell Mom I said hi. I’ll see you guys soon. I promise.” I grabbed my bag and jacket, catching a glimpse of him emptying my plate into Gunnie’s bowl.
The puppy wagged his tail and lapped at the mushroom sauce. Apparently, my presence wasn’t as coveted as steak scraps. Traitor.
Two
I read the preliminary reports and reviewed the 911 calls. Since the crime occurred outside a swanky hotel, news reporters were covering the story. I watched the coverage, but, at this point, it was just speculation. We were keeping a lid on the details as best we could. We didn’t need the media turning this into a circus.
The police had Axel Kincaid under surveillance, but a few of his crew might have slipped away in order to boost the cars. Over the course of the last three months, my suspicions had grown concerning just how powerful Kincaid really was, but I hadn’t said anything to anyone at the station. Perhaps I should have.
Maybe if I did, this wouldn’t have happened, but until now, I had no reason to think he was dangerous. Most auto thefts were nonviolent. The parking attendant must have gotten in the way or seen their faces, so they killed him.
I made a few calls and checked with the crime scene team. The stolen cars had GPS trackers and security systems, but they had been deactivated. Whoever took the cars knew exactly what to do to get away with it. Obviously, we were dealing with professionals. That meant they probably had records.
Unfortunately, our prime suspect, Axel Kincaid, was hosting a private event at his club during the time of the murder. The police surveillance unit spotted him entering the club this morning, and he hadn’t stepped foot outside since.
Kincaid landed on our radar six months ago when vice got a tip he was running an illegal casino. After several failed attempts to bring Kincaid up on charges that never quite stuck, vice planted several undercovers inside Spark, Kincaid’s club. But Kincaid always sniffed them out.
In addition to allegations of a casino, Kincaid had been suspected of several high-end car thefts. It was no secret he traded vehicles in exchange for lost bets or as possible payments. He commanded a fleet. Rumor was he owned a converted warehouse filled with nothing but exotic cars. But winning the vehicles in races or by playing cards wasn’t enough for him. Everything he did was about the thrill.
He’d even been brazen enough to joyride past two traffic cops in a hot Maserati. However, the plates were bogus, and with the engine inside that Italian beast, by the time the patrol car caught up to him, he’d already pulled into a warehouse and sealed the doors. He was walking down the block when they stopped him.
The officers detained Kincaid and obtained a warrant. However, when they checked the warehouse, the car was gone. There was no denying Kincaid was the common denominator in these high-end thefts, and the crime today fit Axel’s profile perfectly. However, without hard proof, nothing ever stuck. Kincaid was untouchable. Even I didn’t know how he made an Italian sports car vanish into thin air from inside a sealed warehouse. But he did. I was sure of it.
After his little car stunt and vice’s failed attempts to infiltrate Kincaid’s inner circle, intelligence took over, and I was sent inside. Thus far, Kincaid didn’t suspect a thing. I was the only cop who managed to stay off his radar, and every day, I wondered if that was about to change.
He had keen instincts. After all, he survived the streets and emerged victorious. His juvie record indicated a violent, troubled individual with an innate ability to boost cars. By the time he was fifteen, he’d stolen over two million dollars in exotic imports and had been brought up on over half a dozen aggravated assault charges, but as far as society was concerned, it was a phase he outgrew. Now he owned one of the most exclusive clubs in town, catering to the wealthy and enjoying the protection that position afforded him. His clientele boasted the names of some powerful people in government, which is probably how he’d been able to keep his record clean thus far.
Sports cars were his signature item. His commodity of choice. Something he collected and traded like baseball cards. His legal activities only helped to conceal his illegal ones.
I’d only gotten a few glimpses into Spark’s private back room, but I’d seen the pink slips and car keys thrown into the pot of several high-stakes poker games. And I heard whispers of specific imports being procured and shipped to overseas buyers. Plus, I overheard some club members talking about Kincaid’s races.
Unlike the movies, these cars weren’t tricked out pieces of shit driven by teenagers. These vehicles were designed for speed and driven by wealthy thrill-seekers. Six-figure cars raced down the blocked-off streets while people placed bets. It was illegal, not just because of the obvious public endangerment and traffic law violations but also because of the gambling. However, when units rolled up and shut everything down, there was no way to prove Kincaid orchestrated it. He followed the rules of Fight Club. And no one was talking, just like tonight.
Even if Kincaid somehow managed to slip out the back, a dozen people would swear he was in the club. And the same would hold true for Axel’s top associates. Kincaid’s crew always alibied out, and without physical evidence or eyewitness testimony, we were never able to pin anything on them, not even the illicit poker games. But he was guilty as sin. I knew it. We all knew it. We just had no way of proving it.
For the last few months, I’d been working my way into Axel’s good graces. A vice informant working as a waitress at Kincaid’s club vouched for me when another of his waitresses was arrested for solicitation and possession. Since he was in a bind, he hired me on the spot. And I’d been there ever since.
Most nights, I worked as a waitress. Occasionally, he’d put me in one of the cages to dance. I did whatever he wanted and didn’t ask questions. He liked that, almost as much as black leather, a bare midriff, and my fascination with motorcycles. Of course, a woman who enjoyed something powerful between her thighs usually appealed to most men. If they didn’t fancy me, they liked the sleek, sporty, Japanese bike my cover persona drove. Too bad motorcycles scared the hell out of me.
I was three months in, but Axel still didn’t trust me completely. Trust had to be earned, and he didn’t know me well enough to test me. But from the looks he’d given me, it was obvious he wanted to get to know me better. Maybe it was time I took him up on that offer.
“Liv,” my partner, Brad Fennel, took a seat at his desk, “are you up to speed?”
“Getting there.”
Brad filled me in on the crime, but it was basic. The security footage from the garage showed three masked men inside a white SUV. The SUV followed the valet, who was parking a yellow Ferrari, into the garage. They boxed in the Ferrari. Two of the men stepped out of the car and forced the valet to give up the keys.
For no apparent reason, they shot him three times in the chest. They searched the body, taking the valet’s wallet, card case, phone, and a few sets of keys. One of the other sets of keys went to a silver McLaren. The SUV drove away, and the two masked men split up. The security camera didn’t catch the SUV’s license plate number, but it caught a glimpse of the two sports cars leaving the garage two minutes later.
“Who called it in?” I asked.
“Another valet,” Fennel said. “He was parking another car, spotted Juan Rodriguez on the ground, and called 911. By the time first responders arrived, Rodriguez was dead.”
“Was Rodriguez still alive when the other valet found him?”
“I don’t think so. The ME said he thinks Rodriquez’s death was instantaneous.” My partner swallowed. He hated bodies. We both did, but he tended to take them more personally than most. I had to do something to get him out of his morbid mood or else he’d find himself at the bottom of a bottle as soon as shift ended.
“Instantaneous, huh? I’m glad that word-a-day calendar is coming in handy, but if you start throwing around big words like that, the other cops are gonna tease you merci
lessly.” I smirked. “Oh, wait.”
He cracked a smile. “You should hear me use apropos in a sentence.”
“I just did.”
“Shut up.” He clicked a few computer keys and focused on me. “What are you thinking?”
“Have you tried pinging Rodriguez’s phone? We might be able to track the killer that way.”
“No dice. He probably tossed it out the window after they drove away. Have you heard anything coming from Kincaid’s crew?”
“Not yet. If Kincaid pulled this off, he must have buyers lined up. I asked cyber division to do some checking. Most deals are brokered online, but since Kincaid’s so damn careful, we need to check with our CIs and see if they’ve heard anything. We should probably read in the auto theft unit and monitor traffic cams. The more eyes, the better.”
“Ugh. Are you sure we have to get the state police involved?” Brad mumbled a few derogatory things about incompetent yahoos.
I looked down at my phone. Before Fennel arrived, I made a few calls in between watching the news and reading the reports, but no one bothered to call me back. “We need as many resources on this as possible. We don’t want the cars to get loaded into a truck or freight container. You said it yourself; we don’t have evidence. So unless we find the cars, or more importantly, the thieves, we have nothing but a body. And I’m sick of people dying for no good reason. Rodriguez is our first DB since we started investigating Kincaid, and if this keeps up, he might not be our last.”
Fennel pressed his lips together and assessed me. “I know you, DeMarco. Is this what’s got your panties in a twist?”
“Wow, you can tell my panties are twisted from there? Is this why you’re a detective? Or are you just hoping I’ll flash you to disprove that statement?”
“Seriously, Liv, what’s going on? You seem out of sorts.”
“We know Axel has a violent past, but this is the first time he’s been violent or his crew’s been violent. Taking a life jeopardizes everything he’s worked to build. Murder can’t be swept under the rug as easily as some rich asshole’s stolen Porsche. I’m not convinced he’s behind this.”
“He’s the hottest game in town,” my partner countered. “He has the connections to move cars like that. If our suspicions are correct, it’s how he made his fortune in the first place. And after that Maserati stunt, we know he has the balls.”
Regardless, something about the situation didn’t feel right. “True, but Kincaid knows this will bring the police knocking. I don’t think he’d risk it.”
“For a million dollars, I bet he would. Plus, we have nothing to go on. Maybe all the other GTAs were test runs to see how smart we are.” Brad eyed me. “We know he’s a thrill-seeker. Maybe he just escalated to murder.”
“Oh god. I hate to think what that might mean.” My phone beeped, and I glanced at the number. It was go-time. I typed out a response and hit send. “Pull the records on every sports car stolen in the last three months. We need to make certain Axel’s responsible for all of them.” I bit my lip and stared at Brad. “It won’t hurt to make sure our assumptions are correct before we rule out other possibilities. I don’t want a killer getting away, and I know you don’t either.”
“You really think another crew is responsible?”
“I don’t know. Some of the previous thefts didn’t exactly fit Axel’s MO, and the timing didn’t always coordinate. I’ve been with him when some of those cars were boosted.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have someone do it for him,” Brad argued.
“I don’t know. I just don’t see how he’s moving them without us noticing. We have eyes on his club, his apartment, and the warehouse. Where is he keeping them? Where is he sending them? None of this makes much sense.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah.”
Fennel sighed and jerked his head at the door. “I’ll do some research, but the brass is going to need proof before they scrap this op and start chasing some unknown third party.”
“That’s why we have to find evidence to prove or disprove my theory.”
“Right, because you only follow the evidence.”
Unsure if that was a sarcastic remark, I gave my partner a final look and grabbed my phone. It was time I went back into the trenches.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
G.K. Parks is the author of the Alexis Parker series. The first novel, Likely Suspects, tells the story of Alexis’ first foray into the private sector.
G.K. Parks received a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science and History. After spending some time in law school, G.K. changed paths and earned a Master of Arts in Criminology/Criminal Justice. Now all that education is being put to use creating a fictional world based upon years of study and research.
You can find additional information on G.K. Parks and the Alexis Parker series by visiting our website at
www.alexisparkerseries.com
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Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:
Likely Suspects
The Warhol Incident
Mimicry of Banshees
Suspicion of Murder
Racing Through Darkness
Camels and Corpses
Lack of Jurisdiction
Dying for a Fix
Intended Target
Muffled Echoes
Crisis of Conscience
Misplaced Trust
Whitewashed Lies
On Tilt
Purview of Flashbulbs
The Long Game
Burning Embers
Thick Fog
Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:
Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series
Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)
Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)
The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)
Julian Mercer Novels
Condemned
Betrayal
Subversion
Reparation
Retaliation
Liv DeMarco Novels
Dangerous Stakes
Operation Stakeout
Unforeseen Danger
Deadly Dealings