Denouement

by E. H. Reinhard

  I set the phone back on the receiver.

  Hank walked over, took a seat in one of my guest chairs, and stared at me. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I just have a feeling I gave Faust something he’s going to act on.”

  “Is that a problem? I thought we were doing the whole work-together-on-this thing.”

  I scratched the stubble on my chin, in thought. I knew the first call Faust would make wouldn’t be about the phone records from the time-and-weather place. He’d call the district attorney’s office in Miami and pressure them to make a deal for the address. What I didn’t know is what he would do if he got the address before we did. He could move on it and leave us out completely. I let out a breath. “Yeah, I guess we’ll see in a bit here.”

  A perplexed look crossed Hank’s face. “Are you going to fill me in?”

  I brought Hank up to speed with everything from the last couple phone calls with Harrington and Faust. I let him know that I was questioning my decision to tell Faust about the pending deal with Blok.

  Hank flipped his leg up over his other knee. “We’re just going to have to see how it plays out. We can’t do anything else, really.”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, well, what do you need me on?” Hank asked.

  I copied down the vehicle information and license-plate number on a clean sheet from my notepad. I tore it out and handed it to Hank. “Go see if Timmons can put out a few cars with the ALPR system to find this plate and vehicle.”

  “Got it,” Hank said.

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter 17

  Ray sat at the condo’s breakfast bar, sipping whiskey. His eyes darted around the condo, looking for anything that belonged to him personally. Aside from clothes, he didn’t have much. He finished his drink and searched for a bag or suitcase to load up. He found a couple suitcases and a pair of large duffel bags in one of Yury’s closets. Ray grabbed the duffel bags and went room to room, tossing in anything that was his.

  Ray took the bags with his clothing down to the car and tossed them in the trunk. Then he headed back upstairs.

  He closed the front door at his back and surveyed the room. He was planning to head to the pawn shop as soon as he left, so anything of value that had once belonged to Yury needed to go with. Ray walked to the television mounted to the wall but quickly dismissed it. While it would bring a few hundred dollars, it was too big to deal with. He headed into Yury’s bedroom. Ray’s eyes went to the safe, which he’d looted weeks prior. The cash from inside was already spent and the jewelry already pawned. Ray’s eyes went to the desk in the back corner. An Apple laptop and iPad that Ray didn’t know the passwords for sat on the desk. Ray walked over, scooped them both up, along with their chargers, and placed them on Yury’s bed. He figured the two would bring at least five hundred dollars. Ray continued searching. After another two laps through the condo, Ray acquired a few more items that he placed in the growing pile on Yury’s bed.

  Ray stared at the items. Combined, they might get him an extra thousand dollars. Ray took one of the suitcases from the closet and loaded everything inside. He zipped the top of the suitcase and wheeled it out to the living room. Then he took a seat at the bar and pulled out his phone, a new burner cell he’d just begun using. While it wasn’t supposed to be able to be tracked, if the police looked into Ivan, they would get his number. Ray decided not to take the chance. He deleted the call history and left the phone lying on the bar. He grabbed the suitcase and wheeled it toward the door.

  Chapter 18

  Bostok stuck his head through my office doorway. “We’re just waiting on the address for the warrant,” he said. “Any news?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. He said within the hour.” I glanced at the clock on my desk—it showed a bit after one o’clock. “We’re right at an hour now.”

  “Maybe you should try calling him,” Bostok said.

  “I’m going to give him another ten minutes, then I’ll call.”

  “Are the patrol guys ready?” Bostok asked.

  “They’re sitting in the lunchroom, waiting on me. Timmons gave us four guys.”

  “Okay,” Bostok said. “Let me know as soon as you know something.”

  “I will.”

  He headed for his office.

  I stared at my phone and waited. My eyes moved back and forth from the clock to the phone and then back to the clock. I wondered if Faust had the address but wasn’t going to call. Ten minutes passed without my phone ringing. I let out a breath and reached for the phone, to dial Harrington. It rang as soon as my hand made contact. I lifted it to my ear.

  “Lieutenant Kane,” I said.

  “It’s Harrington.”

  “Did you get an address?” I asked.

  “We still don’t have it. Blok decided he wanted to lawyer up. So now his lawyer and the district attorney are going back and forth. I got something, though. I can’t say what, exactly. We haven’t had the chance to really look into it yet.”

  “What did you get?” I asked.

  “My guys executing the search warrant on Blok’s house just called me. Among other things, they found his checkbook there. There is a carbon for a payment to Maribelle Property Management in Tampa for the amount of six thousand dollars. In the check’s memo, it says Sokoloff Enterprises, unit number twenty-seven eighty-five.”

  “One second,” I said. I wrote down the name of the management company and the unit number. “Sokoloff, huh?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Sokoloff Enterprises. You’ve heard of it?”

  “No, but I’m betting that Sokoloff Enterprises is, or should I say was, owned by a Yury Sokoloff,” I said.

  “So you’re familiar with the name? Is the guy an Azarov associate?”

  “Yeah, he was. I killed him a little while back.”

  Silence came from Harrington’s end of the line.

  “Is there an address?” I asked.

  “No, but the dollar amount would make me think it’s probably something commercial.”

  “Maybe. It could be a high-floor residential as well,” I said. “What was the date on the check?”

  “First of this month.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “Why would Blok be paying a lease payment for a dead guy?”

  “Good question.”

  “I’ll check it out. Let me know as soon as you get an address.”

  “Yup,” he said.

  I clicked off. I woke up my laptop and typed “Sokoloff Enterprises” into my search engine, but I got nothing. Then I looked up Maribelle Property Management. The headquarters came up located in Tallahassee, with a branch office located in downtown Tampa. I clicked on their website and followed the links through multiple pages. They appeared to be a listing broker. I grabbed my phone and dialed the local office.

  “Maribelle Management,” a woman answered.

  “Hello, this is Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa police. We’re conducting an investigation and are looking for some information regarding one of your properties.”

  “Okay. Um, how can we help?” she asked.

  “We found a check carbon made out to you for a Sokoloff Enterprises. We have the unit number but need the actual address of the property.”

  “Can you just give me one second?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. The phone clicked, and hold music played in my ear. I imagined the secretary was going to ask whoever was in charge if she could give me the information. Minutes passed before she came back on the line.

  “Lieutenant? Are you still there?” she asked.

  “Yup.”

  “You’ll want to call our corporate office for that information.”

  I scratched my chin, annoyed that she wasn’t giving me the address that, I was sure, was on a screen in front of her. “Is there someone there that I should contact directly?” I asked.

  “Ruth Klein,” she said.

  “Do you have a direct number for her?”

  She gave it to me. I hung
up and dialed the number for the Ruth woman. I received a pre-recorded message that she was out of the office and would return the following day. I left a message and dialed the general number for the corporate office.

  “Maribelle Property Management.” The woman’s words were drawn out, sounding as if she exhaled them instead of speaking. I heard the smacking of her chewing a wad of gum.

  “Hello, Lieutenant Carl Kane from the Tampa police. I was trying to get into contact with a Ruth Klein about one of your properties. It seems she’s out of the office today. We’re in the middle of a time-sensitive investigation, and I’m looking for someone to maybe help me out with what I need.”

  “What kind of information are you looking for, sir?” she asked as she smacked her gum.

  Between her loud gum chewing, I heard a constant back-and-forth scratching on her end of the call. “I just need an address for a property,” I said.

  The gum smacking and scratching sounds continued then stopped, and she let out a puff of air. “Do you know the property name, sir?”

  “Property name?” I asked.

  “We manage the leasing for over a hundred different apartment and condo communities. Plus, we have another couple hundred commercial properties. Each one has a certain name. I’ll need a property name if you want an address.” Annoyance hung from each of her words.

  I heard the pop of a bubble being burst, and the scratching sound started up again. The source of that noise finally registered in my head. She was filing her nails. “No. I don’t have that,” I said. “I have a unit number and the name of the lessee.”

  “Unfortunately, the only person who would be able to do anything with that information would be Ruth in billing. If you need an address from me, I’ll need a property name.”

  I ran my hand over my head and dug my fingers into my eyes. “The place is in downtown Tampa. Does that help?”

  “Not really,” she said. The sound of her filing her nails continued.

  I shook my head. The woman’s attitude toward me, along with her complete disinterest in helping, was getting my blood pressure up. Her bubble gum popped again.

  “How does that not help, exactly?” I asked. “I would think that would narrow the list down significantly.”

  The sound of her chewing her gum filled the phone again. “Sir, we have a large number of residential and commercial properties in Tampa, enough to where we needed a branch office there. Perhaps you should call them for further assistance.”

  I’d had enough of the woman, her attitude, her bubble gum, and her nail filing. My patience had worn past thin. “Is there someone else there I can speak with?” I asked.

  “The name of the person you’d like to talk to, sir?” she asked.

  “Manager, owner, president, janitor, someone other than you?” I asked.

  “One moment,” she said.

  I heard another bubble pop followed by a click and then a dial tone. She’d hung up on me. I squeezed the phone in my hand until my knuckles turned white. Before I could call back and voice my displeasure, Hank walked through my office door.

  “Timmons has three cars with the ALPR system out looking for that plate,” he said.

  “Good.” I leaned back in my chair and tried to calm myself.

  “Is something the matter?” Hank asked.

  I cracked my knuckles. “Nah, just some woman on the phone doing her best to send me off the deep end.”

  Hank showed me a look of confusion. I filled him in on Blok paying for a lease on something belonging to Sokoloff and getting nowhere with the management company.

  Hank said, “So back to waiting on Blok to—”

  His words were interrupted by my desk phone ringing. I reached out and scooped it up.

  “Lieutenant Kane.”

  “It’s Harrington. The address is twelve oh nine East Cumberland, unit twenty-seven eighty-five. Blok just gave it up a minute ago.”

  I wrote it down in my notepad and ripped the page out.

  “It’s the place that Blok wrote out the check for,” Harrington said.

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Call me as soon as you know something.”

  “I will, Harrington. I appreciate it.” I clicked off.

  “Did he get us an address?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah, hold on.” I plugged the address into my computer though I was pretty certain I already knew the building the condo was located in. The search results showed me the Channelside Towers, just as I’d thought.

  “Channelside Towers,” I said.

  “Which building?” Hank asked.

  “It looks like the northern one.” I took the scrap of paper with the address and rushed next door to Bostok’s office. Hank followed. I gave Bostok’s door two quick taps with my knuckles, and we entered.

  “We have the address, Cap,” I said.

  “Where?”

  I stepped to him at his desk and handed him the paper. “Address is the Channelside Towers.”

  “Go let Timmons know and get everyone set. I’ll have the warrant in your hand in a few minutes.”

  Hank and I left the captain’s office. “Hank, go let everyone know. I’ll meet up with you in a second.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I need to call Faust and give him the address—if he doesn’t have it already.”

  Hank nodded and headed through the bullpen.

  Chapter 19

  Within minutes, the captain had the warrant in my hand. My call to Faust went unanswered. I left him a message telling him we were on our way to execute the warrant. Hank and I, along with the officers from patrol, readied ourselves in the station’s parking lot. We weren’t taking any chances in the event that Ray was in the condo. The patrol guys Timmons had given me were all SWAT members. Officer Collison, who I’d worked with before, would lead the other three officers—York, Russell, and Lapone. They planned to go in with full gear.

  I tossed my suit jacket on the roof of my unmarked cruiser and pulled one of the vests from the open trunk of the car. I loosened the body armor’s straps, pulled it over me, and snugged it tight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hank doing the same. I pulled my jacket from the roof of the car and put it back on. Officer Collison was giving his men orders.

  “Collison, are you set?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He waved Hank and me over to the patrol car he and his men stood behind.

  We walked over.

  Collison handed each of us a radio and earpiece. I took mine and wiggled it into my right ear. “I spoke with the building manager,” I said. “The twenty-seventh floor has just three other condos—sorry, junior penthouses is what he called them. The guy said he would call up and make sure everyone else was cleared off the floor immediately.”

  “Good idea,” Collison said.

  “How are we doing this?” Hank asked.

  “Our group here will get over there and go up. Sergeant, you and the lieutenant will wait and follow us in once we give you the all clear. I have a couple of patrol guys that are going to meet us there and watch the lobby and entrance of the building. Do you have the warrant?” Collison asked.

  I pulled it from my jacket pocket and handed it over.

  He opened the folded piece of paper, glanced at it, and jammed it into his shirt’s front pocket. “Let’s roll. The wife is making a pot roast tonight, and I don’t feel like eating it cold,” Collison said.

  “Fair enough. Lead the way,” I said.

  Hank and I took the few steps to our unmarked cruiser and hopped in. The luxury condos were just a mile from our station. While the ride would normally take five minutes, with cutting back and forth down city streets and obeying the speed limit, we went full lights and sirens. Collison radioed over to us on the way that we had a patrol car parked at the northern building of the twin high-rise complex. Our three cars pulled into the U-shaped entry just a minute or two after we left. We parked behind Collison’s car and stepped out. Collison and his team gath
ered with Officer Henry, who’d been waiting for us. Hank and I walked over. To our right was the building’s main entry. Residents of the building were coming and going. They all flashed us concerned looks.

  “Who wants to hoof it up?” Collison asked.

  Hank’s eyes went wide. “Stairs? To the twenty-seventh floor?”

  “We need to be sure no one comes down while we take the elevator, or elevators, up,” Collison said.

  “Um, I’m out. Old knee injury from my football days in college,” Hank said.

  I peered at Hank standing next to me. “Nice try. You didn’t play football in college.”

  “I meant high school,” he said.

  “You’ve never played football, period,” I said.

  Hank shrugged. “Did I say football? I meant basketball.”

  I shook my head. “We’ll take the stairs, Collison,” I said.

  “Shit,” Hank mumbled.

  “Okay. Russell, Lapone, York, you’re with me. One elevator, and we’ll all hop in—two, we’ll split up.”

  The officers nodded in confirmation.

  “Henry, I want you in the lobby, stationed by the elevators. After we get up there, we’re going to shut the elevators down. You’ll have to explain to the residents that they should remain in the lobby area until we’re clear upstairs.”

  Officer Henry pulled his chrome aviator sunglasses from his eyes and slipped them into the breast pocket of his dark TPD shirt. “Got it,” he said.

  “Do we have another patrol officer here?” Collison asked.

  “Telwan should be pulling up any second,” Officer Henry said.

  “Radio him. When he shows, let’s get him stationed at this entrance here.”

  “I’ll let him know,” Henry said.

  “I’m going to call more people,” I said. “This complex probably has twenty points of entry, plus I want someone searching their parking garage for the car the feds have him on video driving.”

  “Sure,” Collison said.

  I walked over to our unmarked cruiser and made the call over the radio before rejoining the group. “Are we set here?” I asked.