by Scott Pratt
“I will.”
Brooke left Johnson City and drove back to Kingsport to the Cooper Center to follow up on the abortion angle. She didn’t put much stock in the theory that the killings had anything to do with abortion, but she felt an obligation to look under every rock. She wound up wasting two hours, then went to the station to put the final touches on planning the operation for that night. It was to be much like the one they’d conducted in Kingsport. They’d get out on the street, among the hookers and johns and pimps, and see if anything broke loose.
***
In the meantime, Lukas spent the afternoon cleaning up Gabriele’s place, not that it needed much cleaning. He bought flowers and two bottles of pinot noir, which was Gabriele’s favorite. An hour before she was scheduled to get off work, he left and drove ten minutes to their favorite Italian restaurant and picked up two orders of shrimp scampi, some garlic bread, and some pasta that he’d already ordered. He set the dining room table, lit candles. By the time Gabriele arrived, the food was hot, plated, and ready to eat.
She walked in the door, and Lukas picked her up and kissed her gently.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. “We have some catching up to do.”
She squeezed him, and he winced.
“Sorry,” Gabriele said. “The shoulder?”
“It’s okay. It’s getting better every day. Are you hungry?”
“I’m starved.”
“Good. Let’s eat.”
They sat at the table and ate the food and drank wine. Lukas steered the conversation toward her work, her friends, her family, anything but the murders. When they were finished, Lukas cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and straightened the kitchen while Gabriele took a shower. She came back out and came in the kitchen to help him.
“Go in the living room and take a load off,” Lukas said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Are you telling me I need to preserve my energy?” she said.
“You could take it that way, yeah.”
He finished in the kitchen, tossed the dish cloth he’d been using in the washing machine, and walked into the living room. Gabriele was sitting patiently on the couch, listening to music. Lukas picked her up gently. She submitted, putting her arms around his neck, her mouth gently brushing his cheek. He carried her down the hall and into the bedroom. Just as he laid her on the bed, his phone rang.
Damn.
He’d meant to leave it in his car. He took the phone out and glanced at the screen. It was Odessa McCabe. He hit the decline button, switched the phone to vibrate, and placed it on the nightstand. He turned back to Gabriele, hoping the mood hadn’t been spoiled.
Before he was able to get into bed, the phone buzzed. It was the loudest and most obnoxious cell phone buzz he’d ever heard in his life, and it seemed to go on forever. Things were quickly going to hell in a handbasket.
The phone pinged. A text.
“Lukas, you may as well take care of that,” Gabriele said. He could tell from the tone of her voice that the evening was already ruined. He walked into the kitchen and called Odessa.
“It’s about time. Where have you been?”
“I was a little busy.” He glanced back at Gabriele. She’d gotten out of bed and was now sitting on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the TV with a blank look on her face.
“You’ll have to tell whoever she is that it’ll have to wait. We got a DNA hit on the semen we recovered from the last victim. Captain Hunter is mobilizing the tactical team and the CSU.”
“On my way.” Lukas knew Gabriele would be madder than hell, but this could be the break they’d been waiting for. She’d just have to understand.
“Gabby, I—”
“I know.”
Lukas walked over to where Gabriele was sitting and kissed her on the head. “I’m so sorry. I really do have to go.”
She scowled. “Of course you do. You always do.”
Lukas picked his keys up off the kitchen counter and walked out without saying goodbye. He wasn’t sure if their relationship would survive this one.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooke was trying to find a way around the line of cars that was holding her up on the way into Johnson City. Her phone chirped. It was Lukas.
“Hey, I’ve been talking to Captain Hunter and we have a name,” Brooke said. “I’m on my way in. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”
“I’m not at home. I’m leaving Gabriele’s now. What’s the story?”
“The suspect’s name is Rodney Odell. He’s a black male who’s had multiple collars for solicitation and drugs. From the initial appearance, he seems good for it. He owns a red Cavalier, the initials match Jamika’s journal, and the sperm they found in Razzy matches his DNA. They’ve mobilized the tactical team, and they’re working up a threat assessment now.”
“What’s your feeling?”
“It seems right. I’d say it might be worth getting our hopes up.”
“Doesn’t fit the profile from Danny,” Lukas said.
Brooke laughed. “Yeah, well, profiles have never been wrong, have they?”
“Point taken. I’m on my way in. Is there anything you need?”
“I just need this to be over with, and at least now there could be a light at the end of the tunnel. One last thing. Captain Hunter asked me to give the briefing before everybody goes out to get this guy. He said it’s because you’ve been laid up. Any problem with it?”
“None. See you in a few.”
Brooke arrived at the department about the same time as Lukas. She could feel the buzz in the rooms she walked past. They were alive with activity. Different units were having discussions about the upcoming bust. She overheard someone she didn’t recognize announce that the briefing would take place in the conference room at 8:00 p.m. She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes.
The conference room was big enough for one department’s people, but since both departments were there, it was crowded, almost claustrophobic. Captain Hunter signaled Brooke and Lukas to take two seats he’d saved at the front of the room.
“Okay, people, we’ve got a lot to go over,” Captain Hunter shouted over the din, “and it’s way too crowded to be in here any longer than we have to. Everyone here is aware of the murders we’ve had over the last two months in Kingsport and Johnson City. The forensic people learned earlier today that the semen that was found in our latest victim, Kimberly Renee Raznovich, matches the DNA profile of a black male here in Johnson City. His name is Rodney Odell, and his last known address is 118 Madison Avenue.” A mugshot of Odell, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, appeared on the screen. “At this time, I’m going to ask Detective Stevens to fill you in on the details.”
Brooke walked to the computer. A slide presentation had been prepared with the details about the murders. She began running through the slides as she talked.
“During the course of the investigation, we received information that a black male was seen carrying a rug near Mayor Pennington’s driveway, which is where the last body was dumped not long before being discovered. We’ve also received a couple of tips that indicated a red car may have been near one or more of the areas where victims were abducted. Another witness provided the diary of one of our victims. The last entry said she was going to meet ‘RO,’ which could be Rodney Odell. Rodney Odell has a red Chevrolet Cavalier registered to him. He has a history with prostitutes, and he’s a known drug user – or has been in the past according to vice. When you add the fact that his sperm was inside our last victim, he could very well be our guy. What we find in his home and car will be crucial. Captain, do we have a search warrant?”
“We will momentarily.”
“Obviously, we consider this man armed and extremely dangerous. The tactical team will have full control of the scene until the suspect is apprehended. On
ce that happens, the suits will move in. Questions? All right, I’ll turn it back over to you, Captain.”
Captain Hunter took center stage only long enough to introduce the special ops commander: “I’ll now turn the briefing over to Captain Thomason.”
A short, bald man decked out in full tactical gear walked up to the computer. He hit a few keys, and the images on the screen changed to what appeared to be real time footage of the house they were about to hit. It looked as though cameras had been placed some distance away from the house, covering all sides. Brooke hadn’t seen this done before, but she immediately realized that this tactic would make planning much more effective. The captain gave a short synopsis on the target and structure and listed concerns about tactical disadvantages and safety issues. The house was a single-story, wooden building with more bare wood showing than paint. There appeared to be a large oak tree in the front yard. The only thing Brooke saw that would raise her alarm were the two large dog houses at the rear of the house. She didn’t see any dogs, however.
After Captain Thomason had completed the threat assessment, he turned the briefing back over to Captain Hunter, who walked to the center of the room. “I don’t need to tell you what’s at stake here. Stay focused and sharp. Let’s get this guy. Any questions?”
“Is there any reason to believe there may be booby traps or explosives?” Brooke didn’t recognize the man, but from his attire he was clearly with the bomb squad.
“We have no information to suggest that it’s a possibility. You guys are here as a precautionary measure. Anyone else? Okay, we’ll stage at the elementary school parking lot a block from the house. Let’s go.”
The room emptied quickly. Captain Hunter motioned for Brooke and Lukas to stay.
“I know you two have worked hard on this case. You were put in a bad situation when we asked you to work together. But you didn’t cry or bitch. You handled it like real professionals. And for that you are to be commended. Miller, how’s the arm?”
“It’s fine, captain.”
“When we get this scumbag, I want you both to have a run at him. Together, just like it’s been up to this point.” He gave them both an approving nod. “Let’s go. This is what we’ve been working for.”
Brooke and Lukas exchanged nods and walked out of the conference room behind Captain Hunter. They took Brooke’s car and followed the entourage of ten vehicles. Once they got to the staging area, Brooke watched as the tactical team disappeared into the night like wraiths. They followed not far behind, and Brooke soon noticed there were no lights on in the house, which was odd at this time of night. Was he there? The car mentioned in the briefing was parked in the driveway. After about five minutes, she heard a commotion as the assault on the house began. The wraiths were now in full go-mode. She saw bright lights and loud pops from the flash bang grenades and could hear excited shouts from the team as they entered the house.
Minutes later, some of the tactical team members filed out, adjusting their gear. From what she could see, no one was moving with any sense of urgency. That was quick. Brooke looked over at Lukas.
“Ready?”
“Always.”
They walked across the street and down the block toward the house where the suspect had apparently been detained without incident. The nearer she got to the scene, the more disturbed Brooke became. She sensed that something was wrong before she made it to the house. The lack of urgency, the look on the faces of the officers that had been inside and were now walking back towards the staging area told her all was not well.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Captain Hunter. “Good news and bad news.”
“What’s wrong?” She sped up, growing more anxious.
“Slow down, Stevens. I’m an old man here.”
She slowed and finally stopped. “Sorry, Captain. I’m just in a hurry to get up there and—”
“You can take all the time you need. Odell’s dead.”
Brooke was stunned. She looked at Lukas, who was standing beside her rubbing his right arm and looking up into the black night sky as if he had just discovered a new constellation.
“Dead? What do you mean?”
“It means that the suspect known as Rodney Odell has assumed room temperature. What the hell kind of question is that?”
“I’m sorry, Captain. I meant to ask how.”
“That’s your job.” He looked at them both. “Keep me posted.”
Brooke checked in with the uniform who was keeping the crime scene log while Lukas talked on his cell phone. Walking into the house was an exercise in dexterity. It was difficult to tell whether a small tornado had blown through or someone had ransacked it. There was hardly a place she could set her foot down without stepping on something. And that something could very well be evidence.
They made their way to the bedroom at the direction of the crime scene officer. The bedroom was in much the same condition as the rest of the house, although not quite as cluttered. Odell was lying in the middle of a bed that was situated in the corner of the room. He was on his back with his arms out to his sides in a crucifixion pose. He wore only boxer shorts and a pair of mismatched socks. The head of the bed and one side had been pushed into the corner against the wall. A lamp on a small table near the other side of the bed emitted an eerie red glow. Brooke could make out the shapes of three syringes that were lying on the table beside the lamp. A darkened television sat on a stand in the opposite corner of the room. The walls were bare except for two dirty, wrinkled Jimi Hendrix posters. Brooke looked around for identification and found Rodney Odell’s wallet on a dresser on the other side of the room.
“Got ID over here.”
“Is it our guy?” Lukas said.
“According to his driver’s license, yes.” She held the license next to the upturned face on the bed for comparison.
“Odessa is on her way.”
“Good.”
“How long you think he’s been here?” Lukas said as he looked over Brooke’s shoulder at the license.
“I’m not sure. But it’s fairly cool in here, so decomp would be minimal. I’d guess not more than two days.”
Brooke started going through the dresser drawers. She found nothing she wouldn’t expect in a single man’s home. The clothes looked to have been thrown in the drawers in no particular order. There were two pairs of shoes under the dresser, another pair under the bed. She opened the lower right dresser drawer and found some porn videos.
“Found the nightly entertainment,” she said as she held them up.
“Nice. I’ve seen all of those,” Lukas said.
“Are you in any of them?” Brooke put the videos back.
She was looking around the room when she saw Lukas open a drawer in the bedside table, reach in, and pull out a clear vial that had no labels or writing of any kind. He held it up to the light, and she noticed a small amount of liquid in the bottom. Not enough for a dose, just the remnants of some type of drug. It was most likely Rodney’s drug of choice and could possibly be what he overdosed on if that’s what the cause of death turned out to be. Lukas marked them, so CSU would pick them up. Meanwhile, Brooke turned her attention to a stack of papers that looked like unopened mail. She was interrupted by Lukas.
“Hey. I may have something over here.”
Lukas had his head in the closet at the back of the small room. Brooke walked over. Inside the closet were several pieces of women’s clothing. There were shoes of different designs and sizes, bras, panties. It looked as though there were enough clothes for several women. And it was a mixed lot. Some of the items appeared to have blood on them.
“Well, well, well,” Lukas said. “I’ll bet my next paycheck these items belong to our victims. And I’ll double down the blood is theirs too.”
Lukas carefully picked up a pink bra and stared at something.
“Initials are KRR. Thi
s is Razzy’s.” He showed it to Brooke with a look on his face that was a mixture of sadness and anger. “Is this the norm? For hookers to initial their bras?”
“How should I know? Maybe. I guess when you don’t have much, maybe you do.”
All the women’s clothing items were placed in a pile and marked for CSU to collect.
Brooke noticed Lukas walking out of the room while she was making notes in her notebook. Before she could finish writing, he walked back in with Odessa in tow.
Odessa was the first to speak. “Hey, Brooke, glad to see you again. And glad this nightmare is over. We hope.”
“You, too. Yeah, we hope.”
Brooke gave a quick rundown of her theory as Lukas and Odessa joined her by the bedside table. “He’s clearly a needle doper, most likely street level.” She pointed out the syringes for Odessa. “There are no obvious signs of trauma, no signs of a struggle. No suicide note. No way to tell whether he was depressed, other than the fact that he lived in this dump. My guess would be accidental overdose. Lukas?”
“That’s where the scene is taking me, but I have some problems with it.”
Brooke shrugged. “Like what?” She looked around the room, wondering what Lukas had seen that she hadn’t.
“There are several things, actually. But let’s not get sidetracked here. Let’s finish the scene. We can talk it over after.”
Odessa turned and looked at the body. She ran her gloved hand over his skull as if she was massaging it. “No fractures that I can feel. Fairly recent needle marks in the bends of his arms.” She reached down and took off his socks and spread the man’s toes. “You can barely see some marks between his toes. Not recent, though.” Next, she opened his eyes, checking for petechial hemorrhage, which could also show signs of trauma.
Finishing her preliminary, she turned. “I would put the time of death at thirty-six to forty-eight hours based on the state of rigor, body and room temp. And I put the preliminary cause of death as an accidental overdose, pending a toxicology report, of course.”
A uniformed officer stuck his head in the room. “Detectives, there’s something out here you should see.”
