Sometimes when she looked at him, he would swear that her eyes were scared, maybe even of him. But before he could understand her, the curtain would fall and he’d be staring at the strong, hard Sam again.
Surveillance made him think about the damnedest things. He frowned, trying to push Sam out of his mind. With her sitting beside him, it was almost impossible. Suddenly he wished he were alone on the job.
He rubbed his eyes under the bridge of his sunglasses, pulling them off to massage the ache he got behind his left eye whenever Sam started to take over his brain.
He glanced at the house and wished this stint was over. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Sandi Walters wasn’t killed by anyone she knew. Damn if he wasn’t ready to give up. Sitting in this car with Sam beside him much longer was going to make him nuts.
He shifted in his seat and took a drink from the warm Coke on the dash. Just then, a beat-up brown Toyota Camry passed, followed by a white Buick Skylark. Nick watched the Skylark pull into Sandi’s driveway.
“Company.”
Sam dropped the puzzle and they both watched the car.
The driver, a heavyset man with a beard almost as big as his gut, pulled himself out of the car and dropped a smoking butt onto Sandi’s brown lawn. With a glance over his shoulder, he opened the front door and let himself in.
Nick snatched up the two-way radio. “Three-eleven, this is Thomas. Can you confirm I.D. ?”
“This is Three-eleven. That is a negative.”
“It’s not Mick Walters,” Nick repeated to confirm.
“That’s correct.”
He and Sam exchanged a look.
“He knows them well enough to have a key,” Sam said.
“Not someone we knew about.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone we ought to talk to.”
“I agree.” Nick picked up his wireless radio and pressed the black button on the side to speak. “Check registry on the vehicle.” He repeated the plate number and said, “Three-six, please stand by to enter the premises.”
He and Sam waited in silence for a response.
Nick pulled the search warrant from his pocket. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, especially since it was still blank. How could he have a judge sign it when he didn’t know what or who the hell he’d want to search?
“Thomas, this is dispatch.”
Nick activated the radio, keeping one eye on the empty car across the street. “I read you.”
“The car is registered to a James Lugino, address is listed in the city of Martinez.”
Nick made note of the suspect’s name. “Any priors?”
There was a brief pause. “Charged with possession during a routine traffic stop. He served ninety hours community service.”
Ninety hours of community service meant pot. “Mary Jane?”
“Affirmative,” came the response.
“Big step from smoking dope to shooting someone up with heroin and then raping and killing her,” Sam said, pulling her Kevlar vest down over her head and strapping the heavy Velcro on her left side. She put her holster on over it and a blazer over the whole ensemble, looking in all her layers like she was about to head out onto the ski slopes.
Nick pulled on his own vest. He slid the magazine out of his Glock and checked it. “Let’s hope for some answers and some damn air conditioning.”
“Wimp.”
He threw her a scathing look and spoke into the radio again. “Three-eleven, this is Thomas.”
“Three-eleven responding.”
“Please move your vehicle to block the suspect’s and remain in the car for backup. We will wait for you to be in place before moving in.”
“Yes, sir,” came the response.
Nick waited, watching as the unmarked cruiser approached and stopped behind James Lugino’s car. He saw no movement from within.
Tucking the extra magazine in his pocket, Nick holstered his gun, put on his windbreaker, and zipped it to cover the vest. He could already feel the sweat trickling down his back. The vest made it hotter, but he was better off hot than dead.
He’d learned a hard lesson in his first hours working for the detective division as a patrol officer. His partner, on a routine set of interviews, had decided not to don a vest. He’d been shot through a solid oak door as he approached a suspect’s house. Though the shot hadn’t killed him, he’d taken the round in his intestines. He’d been eating baby food since. And he was considered lucky.
Nick stepped out of the car and crossed over to the house, giving a half nod to the backup. Sam walked beside him, the two of them like normal people coming for a visit. Reaching the front door, he paused and looked at Sam. When she nodded, he knocked three times. After a moment, the door squeaked open and little Molly stood half hidden behind it.
Nick bent down a little as he spoke. “Molly, I’m looking for the man who’s here. Do you know him?”
Molly looked up and then behind her.
Nick stepped into the house. “Ms. Mayes. Mr. Lugino,” he called out.
No one answered.
“Where’s your grandma?” Sam asked.
Molly looked around as though someone might help her with the answer.
“I’m the detective helping with your mommy’s case. Can you tell me where your grandma is?”
Molly shook her head, strands of light brown hair falling across her cheeks. “She’s not here.”
“Is there a man here, Molly?” Sam asked.
Molly shook her head.
He didn’t get angry with her. These kids had been trained to lie. The abused ones had been doing it since they could talk. Nick stooped lower so his gaze was level with Molly’s. “Molly, it’s very important that I talk to him. Where is he?”
Molly looked puzzled, then put a hand on one hip like a miniature grown-up. “He went out when you got here.”
Nick stood. “Went out where?”
She pointed behind her. “The back door.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded seriously and pointed to the door. “See, it’s still open.”
Nick cursed inwardly. “Did he know who I was?”
She smiled proudly. “I told him you were Mommy’s ’tective.”
Sam laughed at her antics, and Molly’s grin widened.
Giving her a smile, Nick scanned the room. He didn’t think she was lying. “Good girl. Now lock the doors,” he said, as he raced back outside and scanned the street for Lugino. Sam was on his heels. The officers were still sitting in the car. McCafferty got out.
“He bolted,” Nick said. “McCafferty, call for backup and then stay posted on this car.” He pointed to Lugino’s Skylark. “Lewis, head around the block from this side. He’s got to be on foot.”
“They would’ve seen him if he’d come this way,” Sam said. “We should check the next block down.”
Drawing his gun, Nick nodded and made his way around the side of the house. There was nowhere to hide in the Walters’ small backyard, so Nick assumed Lugino had taken off. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but smile when he remembered the sound of Molly’s little voice talking about her mommy’s ’tective.
Nick ran to the street behind the Walters’. Sam held back ten feet or so, covering in case Lugino appeared. Like Molly’s house, the houses on this street were small, mostly ranch-style single-family homes.
Nick looked in both directions. The streets were clear. He hadn’t expected to find Lugino on the street, though. If Nick were the one on the run, he would want to find a place where the cops couldn’t find him. He looked back at Sam, and she pointed to the right. “Further from the main street.”
Nodding, Nick followed her lead. Moving down the middle of the street, he surveyed each house. He was looking for deep bush, a hidden stairwell, a visible backyard, an empty-looking house—anything big enough for a human body. He got halfway down the block when something stirred behind him. He whipped around to see a little black girl coming out of a house, cradlin
g a baby doll in her arms and whispering to it. She walked down the three steps to the sidewalk and started to climb onto a tricycle.
“Back inside,” he urged her.
The girl froze and looked up, her eyes wide.
“Please go inside,” he repeated, motioning to her. He didn’t want to scare her, but he didn’t want her on the street at the moment, either.
She looked around, clearly frightened. Then, squeezing the doll tight to her, she raced up the steps and inside the house, screaming.
Sam stopped at the curb. Nick could see her checking the street for signs of their suspect.
“Anything?”
“Nada,” she said.
Nick exhaled. He had started to turn around when he noticed a crawl space beneath the deck of the girl’s house. Walking slowly, he pulled out his flashlight and turned the light toward the deck.
Silently, he crossed the grass and started to kneel.
“What the hell are you doing?” someone hollered.
Nick jumped back.
A woman, holding a bat, stood above him, leaning over the deck. “Get the hell off my lawn. Where do you get off scaring my girl that way?”
Nick raised his hand. “I’m a police officer, ma’am. I didn’t want your daughter out here because I’m looking for a suspect in a murder case.”
The woman didn’t lower her bat. Instead, she took a couple of steps backward and scanned the area. “Let me see some I.D.”
“Ma’am.”
She waved the bat around in a small circle like she was winding up to hit one home. “I’ll go back in that house and call the police ’less you show me your goddamn badge.”
Sam came forward, her badge drawn. “Special agent for the Department of Justice.”
The woman frowned, and the dark lines of her face suddenly looked painted on. “Not you,” she said to Sam and then pointed to Nick. “Him.”
He took a careful look around for Lugino. By now, he was probably on a bus for the next county.
“I.D., mister,” the woman repeated.
Sam was right behind him now. “You’re clear,” she said.
“Okay,” Nick agreed. Still holding his gun, he found his badge with his left hand and brought it out, handing it to the woman.
He looked around again and slowly holstered his gun.
The woman studied his badge, then looked at him.
Nick sensed movement in the crawl space under the porch behind him.
The woman screamed.
“Freeze!” Sam commanded.
Nick spun around, reaching for his gun.
Lugino stood behind him, swinging the tricycle.
Nick ducked, unable to reach his gun in time. The tricycle missed his head but hit him hard against his right shoulder. He moaned, falling forward.
“Drop it and freeze,” Sam repeated.
Lugino didn’t listen. He took off down the street.
The woman ran back into the house.
“Fuck,” Sam cursed, taking off after Lugino.
Nick forced himself up and cupped his right arm to his chest. He shook it loose slowly, the pain already starting to pulse in his muscles.
Lugino was moving, but not fast, and Sam reached him easily. When Sam was within arm’s reach, Lugino dove right, but Sam caught his arm and whipped him around. Without giving him a chance to pause, she kneed him in the balls and watched him drop to the ground. He moaned and rolled to his side, bringing his legs up in the fetal position. She put her hand in his hair and pressed his face into the ground, her gun at his back.
“Nice cover,” Nick said when he reached Sam. “I thought you were watching my back.”
She didn’t answer him but instead got on her knees and straddled Lugino. Her gun holstered, she pulled out a pair of cuffs and slapped them on Lugino. Nick wished again that he was alone out here. Watching her work was too much.
When she was done, she stood up and turned toward him. “You okay?”
He nodded.
Lugino moaned as Nick pulled him to his feet. “My nuts, man. That bitch crushed my nuts.”
“You shouldn’t have tried to crush my head,” Nick muttered, leading him toward the car.
Chapter Six
Nick ran a hand over his face and took a long drink of his cold coffee. It was after ten and they had been talking to Lugino for more than three hours. Sam had left early on, promising to come back later. Lugino hadn’t been responsive with a woman in the room. And since she’d kneed him in the balls, he seemed to be particularly against talking to her. She’d gone to make some phone calls, and Lugino had relaxed a bit after she left. Nick knew how he felt.
Through a small one-way window in the viewing room, he watched Officer Polaski wear down Lugino. The idea was to tire the witness, exhaust him, until he was ready to spill everything—or everything you were going to get. Then you recorded the interview.
Nick had had interviews that lasted five minutes and others that had gone six or seven hours. Only one had pushed into the twenty-third hour, leaving Nick almost as desperate for a confession as the perp was for release. Twenty-four hours was the cutoff. Hold them that long, they had to be charged with something. Twenty-three hours and twenty minutes into it, Nick had gotten a full confession and detailed instructions on where to find the murder weapon. In interviewing, patience was an officer’s best friend. He’d ask a question and wait—sometimes ten minutes—for an answer. If he didn’t like the answer, he’d ask it another way or ask a different one and come back to it.
Over a hundred or so interviews, Nick had developed a sort of sixth sense about who was guilty and who was innocent. He didn’t have the guilty feeling about Lugino. He’d missed it in others who had killed, but Lugino lacked a baseness in his gaze and the fake confidence that came with being able to carry off a lie of that magnitude.
Lugino was being held on assaulting an officer, but if they were going to charge him, Nick wanted it to be something more substantial than that. He’d left the interview room to give the other officer a chance to intimidate Lugino before they continued.
He paced the small viewing room, watching while Polaski glared at Lugino. Polaski was the ultimate bad cop. A nice enough guy, he had a rugged, pockmarked face and a scar from the corner of his mouth to above his ear. The scar was from a dog attack when he was a kid. His thick, dark hair divided at the line of his scar like a second part on the side of his head. When he was smiling, the scar dimpled, like a huge lopsided grin. But when he wasn’t smiling, you’d swear it was a gash from a recent knife fight, and you’d wonder how bad the other guy looked.
Polaski’s tactics certainly seemed to be working on Lugino. He had sweated a thick streak down the front of his gray Raiders T-shirt, and his curly dark hair was plastered to his brow.
“Is he talking?”
Nick turned to meet Sam’s gaze. “Polaski’s working him a bit.”
“I got some good news,” she announced, smiling. She was dangling a piece of paper in her fingers.
Nick tried to snatch it but missed. “Good news I could use.”
She handed it to him. “We got a print on the body.”
Nick read the evidence report. “Any matches?”
“Not yet, but maybe we’ll have one soon.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Sam moved up beside Nick to look through the window. He felt her closeness like an electrical current, but he kept his distance. He didn’t let them touch and neither did she. “Any priors besides the possession?”
“That’s it. I can’t figure it. No history of violence.”
“Maybe Sandi drove him to it,” Sam suggested.
It didn’t feel right. “According to the guys he works with, he doesn’t have a temper to speak of. Came to work one day with three broken fingers. Guys razzed him about getting in a fight. Turned out Sandi broke them and he didn’t even get mad—just said it was her fire that made her fun.”
“A real tough guy.”
Nick nodded. “Exactly. Not the type to strangle someone.”
“Maybe not.”
Nick rubbed the stiffness in his right shoulder where the trike had hit.
“How’s that arm?”
He dropped his hand. “It’s fine.”
“Must be getting old if it still hurts.”
He didn’t look at her, but he could tell she was kidding. “It’s fine, I said.”
She was quiet a moment. Through the speaker wired to the interview room, they heard Polaski ask Lugino what he thought his chances were of not getting nailed for Sandi’s murder if he didn’t answer the questions. Lugino didn’t respond.
“Plans have changed a bit for your birthday,” Sam said, frowning.
Nick didn’t blink. “That’s fine,” he said, though he was disappointed.
“It’s just that with Rob grounded, I don’t really want to take him to Chevy’s. I want him to learn from this and taking him out will feel like a reward.”
Nick nodded. “That’s fine. I’m going to dinner at my sister’s on Saturday.”
“But tomorrow’s your actual birthday,” she said, still watching Polaski and Lugino.
“No biggie.”
She watched through the two-way mirror, and he could see her thinking. “Why don’t you come to dinner anyway?”
“Why don’t I take you out?”
Her gaze shot to his. “Take me out onyour birthday?”
He nodded. “Or you can take me.”
She opened her mouth.
“Or we can go Dutch.”
“Just the two of us?” She looked like she was holding her breath.
He laughed. “Okay, it was a bad idea.”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s a good idea.”
He watched her, the nervousness in the way her eyes flitted across the room and she played with her blazer button. He pretended to watch Polaski, wondering what she would say.
“Where did you want to go?”
He shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
She paused and tried to look nonchalant. “Okay. Tell me where and I’ll meet you there.”
(2002) Chasing Darkness Page 6
