Drawing Fire

by Janice Cantore

  “Crossing my fingers and unkinking the rubber hose. Thanks.” Abby set the phone back in its cradle and looked at Bandit snoozing. “Gonna get justice for you soon, bucko.”

  Her phone buzzed with Page’s text.

  Abby called Lieutenant Jacoby to tell him Lil’ Sporty was in interview.

  “I’ll be right down.”

  She found Davis’s rap sheet and wondered if Bandit would be okay if she left him in the office while she went to talk to the burglar.

  Since he was asleep, she decided she’d risk leaving him. She’d just finished committing the rap sheet to memory and grabbing her notebook and recorder to conduct the interview when the soft, muffled sounds of footsteps on the carpet alerted her to company. She recognized Bill Roper, formerly from narcotics.

  “Detective Hart, you got a minute?” He smiled and she could see the nerves.

  Biting back irritation, she kept her voice neutral. “I’ve got an interview to do, Detective Roper. My LT told me you’re my new partner.”

  He flushed and Abby thought he’d better get over that.

  “Yes, I am, and I’m ready to get to work. I hear we have something big.”

  Abby felt herself wince at the word we. Looking away from Roper as she struggled for the right words and prayed not to sound snarky, she saw Bandit stir.

  “Look, if you don’t mind hanging on to the dog—” she picked Bandit up—“you should probably come watch the interview. I’ll fill you in on the elevator.”

  “This the suspect in the granny murder?”

  “Yep.”

  “Great. I love dogs.”

  Abby handed him Bandit, and together they rode the elevator down to the interview room. She told him everything going on with their suspect and noticed that Bandit seemed to like him.

  Maybe it won’t be too bad having a partner, she thought when the elevator doors opened.

  WOODY COULDN’T SLEEP. He’d tried, but his breakfast hadn’t settled right, and after raiding the Rolaids, he changed into his swim trunks, grabbed an iced tea, and sauntered out to the pool. His two dogs, Ralph and Ed—Labs almost as old as he was—heard the screen open, and they were up and out to the pool with him.

  He lowered himself onto the first step and sat, sliding over so his legs would dangle in the water. Ed, the younger of his dogs, snuggled up behind him and licked his ear. Woody returned the affection with a hug, reminded one more time how happy he was that his last ex-wife left him the dogs. She’d not left much else, but then there wasn’t much else that he cared about.

  Abby was about the only person he counted as family now.

  He’d never had any kids of his own. Abby was the closest he had to a daughter. The special connection he’d felt the day she’d been handed to him through the flames had lasted twenty-seven years. At least no ex-wife could ever take that away.

  He’d brought his phone outside with him, and he opened it now, pressing one button for speed dial. He needed to talk to Asa. When it went right to voice mail, he simply said, “Call me.”

  He set the phone down and took a gulp of his tea. It was a warm afternoon and he considered a swim but just didn’t have the energy. Yawning and rolling the tea bottle across his forehead, for the first time in his career he wondered if it was time to retire.

  The phone chimed. Asa.

  “’Bout time,” Woody said when he answered.

  “Yeah?” His friend’s boozy voice assaulted his ear. “What do you want?”

  “She’s gonna investigate it.”

  Silence.

  Finally, “Can’t you stop her?”

  Woody sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. “Tried. I’ve run out of good reasons and she’s too smart for bad ones.”

  Asa cursed.

  “Look, what’s it matter anyway?” Woody asked, never understanding his friend’s wish to keep the case closed. “You’re safe up there in Idaho. Just stay put. Why do you think this will bite you in the butt?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I know I don’t. You’ve never told me everything. But I do know she’ll find out. Once she starts digging, she’ll find out.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  ABBY WATCHED LIL’ SPORTY for a few minutes from behind two-way glass. Roper stood to her right and Lieutenant Jacoby and Sergeant Page were on her left. She felt a tingle in the back of her neck, a sensation that told her she was on the right track. Abby trusted her instincts, but instincts alone would not gain a conviction. And if Sporty was their man, the hard work of building a solid case was just beginning.

  The ex-jockey could easily be mistaken for a teen from a distance. As she reviewed the window entries in her mind, she knew he would have had no problem climbing into the victims’ residences. And the two victims were frail; the killer didn’t have to be big and strong. But a nonviolent burglar making the leap to serial killer nagged. Lil’ Sporty’s last arrest had been eighteen months ago, on a charge of receiving stolen property, and he’d spent six months in jail. Abby wondered if something had happened there to push the burglar to murder. She felt in her gut that the posing of the victims was the key. Almost as if he wanted to leave the women at peace.

  As he fidgeted at the interview table, she noted his grimy hands and face. He’d definitely been living in the gutter for a time. By the way he sweated as he twitched in the chair, Abby guessed he needed a fix. His arrest record was long, and being interviewed was nothing new to Lil’ Sporty, so Abby knew she’d have to tread lightly. They had little physical evidence, and if he shut up and called for a lawyer, they’d have no interview.

  “Found a couple of interesting items in his bag,” Page told Abby. He handed her an inventory sheet.

  She immediately saw property from the first victim—gold coins. The victim’s daughter had told her that her mother had collected them, and Sporty had ten.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Page said. “I asked about the coins. Sporty says a friend paid a debt with them.”

  “He name the friend?”

  “Someone he just barely met.” Page rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want to press and have him scream, ‘Lawyer.’ You’d be madder at me than him.”

  Abby tilted her head in agreement, then looked at the other items: two rings and a couple of knickknacks. They might have belonged to Cora, but unless someone could tell them for sure . . .

  “No gloves or burglar tools?” Bill asked Page.

  “No, but he’s been to this rodeo more than once. I’m sure he dumped anything and everything that could immediately connect him to actual burgling, especially if he thought someone saw him. Glad that PI came along when he did. We’re still looking for where Sporty stayed. He says he’s been on the streets, but . . .” Page shook his head.

  “I’ll see if I can get anything out of him. At least he hasn’t lawyered up.”

  She stepped out to the hallway vending machine. Mountain Dew and a Snickers bar were the ticket. Coming to ground like he was, Sporty would need the caffeine and the sugar.

  After petting Bandit once, noting he seemed content in Roper’s arms, Abby headed into the interview room. Page held the door open for her, and she walked in to have a conversation with a murder suspect.

  Davis looked up at her when she stepped into the room, a grimy finger in the corner of his mouth. His gaze went directly to the food in her hand.

  “How’s the arm?” Abby nodded to the only clean patch on the man, the bandage covering his stitches.

  He looked from her to the Snickers and back again, then sniffled.

  “You hungry, Mr. Davis?” Abby asked as she sat across from the burglar.

  He swallowed and she saw the Adam’s apple in his throat work. “I could eat.”

  She slid the soda and the candy bar across the table, and he grabbed them, opening the can and drinking at least half before he ripped the wrapper from the candy bar and bit into it.

  Abby waited a beat while she watched Lil’ Spo
rty. He was used to telling lies and half-truths to evade in interviews, but if she could find a connection, something that would make him drop his guard, she might get the whole truth from him.

  “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Davis?”

  His cheek bulged with Snickers bar as he nodded. “You’re mad I ran, so you’re gonna try and blame me for something, I bet.” Bits of chocolate spittle dotted his lower lip.

  “I have questions for you.” Abby pulled out a Miranda rights form and placed a mini recorder on the desk. She read Davis his rights and explained about the taped interview while he stuffed the rest of the candy bar into his mouth and drained the last bit of soda from the can.

  “Yeah, I’ll talk,” he said after he swallowed. He picked up the pen Abby gave him and scrawled his name on the form, smudging the paper with chocolate and grime. “I didn’t do nothing.”

  Abby arched an eyebrow, thinking about the particulars on his arrest record. It didn’t surprise her that he’d quickly signed away his rights. Many career criminals thought easy cooperation would throw the investigators off the scent. They’d make up a plausible story about whatever was asked and outsmart the investigators.

  Not me. Not today, Abby thought. “First off, I have easy questions for you. Where are you staying?”

  “On the streets.” He wiped his nose with a sleeve. “I told Sergeant Page that.”

  “Before that, an address for parole or government checks?”

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “No one wants to rent to an ex-con.”

  “You’ve stayed at the Pacific Hotel before; they don’t care about your record.”

  “Streets are easier.”

  Abby folded her arms and decided to go a different direction. “What about family? Where does your mother live?”

  Davis’s head jerked her way, wariness in his eyes. “My mom? She’s dead. Died when I was five.”

  Abby knew from his file his mother was deceased, but she hadn’t known when she died. Now she had a connection.

  “Sorry to hear that. I know how that goes. I lost my mom when I was six.”

  Davis ran one hand over the dark stubble on his shaved head before dropping it to the table and rolling the empty soda can back and forth, now watching Abby guardedly. She could see he was wondering where she was going with the line of questioning.

  “I was bounced around in foster homes for a bit. Group homes, social services, you probably know the drill. Who raised you?”

  Sporty sat up and sniffled. “Grandma. Grew up in Los Alamitos.” He looked away.

  “Did you learn to ride horses there at the track?”

  “Yep. Because of my size I was good at it for a while.”

  “Is your grandma still in Los Al?”

  He shook his head. “No, we moved to Shady Acres about three years ago.”

  Shady Acres was a trailer park on the west side, on the other side of Santa Fe about five blocks from Cora Murray’s home and within the radius where she expected the killer to live.

  He continued to fidget with the empty pop can and appeared to have more to say, so Abby waited.

  “She died when I was in jail last. Fell, broke her hip, and no one heard her calling for help. Took three days, but she died. She suffered.”

  Abby held her breath, watching Davis carefully.

  “I hate to think of her suffering,” he said in a whisper. “I should have been there. I would have heard her. I would have helped.” A tear made a slow trail down his grimy cheek. “Old people shouldn’t be left alone.”

  Abby exhaled, leaned forward, and asked in a quiet voice, “Is that why you killed the old women?”

  Lil’ Sporty nodded without looking at her. “I did them a favor. They won’t suffer—” His head jerked up, and realization spread across his face like a curtain. “I want my lawyer.”

  Biting back frustration, Abby kept her face expressionless. She had to stop now, but she had enough. There was a foot in the door and she’d find enough evidence to force the door open. She told Davis he’d be booked, then left to confer with Page and Jacoby about getting a search warrant for the trailer Grandma had lived, and died, in.

  RELIEF.

  Abby rubbed her neck and yawned. Her bruised shoulder screamed, but now she could finally let herself wind down. Page flashed a smile and a thumbs-up as he led Lil’ Sporty away to be booked. Jacoby and Roper were equally congratulatory.

  While the brief admission was not a full confession, it was a start. Grandma’s address was listed on his last arrest report. They had probable cause to search the place and enough to hold Davis for a preliminary hearing while they worked to build a strong case. Abby felt confident that the serial killer was in custody and the killing would stop, and she knew she could do the work so that the rest would fall into place.

  Roper left with Bandit to let Abby finish up some arrest paperwork, and she was glad to ride up in the elevator alone. Rollins should be overjoyed that there was already a suspect in custody.

  Will I ever feel like that where my parents are concerned?

  Stretching, she approached her office, needing coffee and a second wind to prepare the declaration for the search warrant. The only fly in the ointment was overtime. DC Cox was known for being stingy under normal circumstances. There was no exigency on a search with a suspect in custody, and Abby doubted hers would be approved in any event. Cox would send her new partner, she bet.

  She stepped into the homicide office and stopped. Not only was most everyone back from lunch, but Deputy Chief Cox stood next to her desk conversing with Roper. Bandit was back in his place on her visitor’s chair.

  Lieutenant Jacoby was homicide’s direct supervisor, but Cox commanded the entire detective division. She wore a sharp tailored black suit with a thigh-length skirt, a dark-red blouse under the jacket. She looked good and seemed calm and composed, so Abby guessed she’d gotten a handle on the press situation.

  “Hart, I hear you have a solid suspect.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you’ve done enough for today. Roper can take it from here and call you if he encounters any problems.”

  Roper cleared his throat. “Uh, Chief, this is Detective Hart’s baby. I think she deserves to be in on all of it.”

  Abby looked away, wishing she could have stopped Roper from pushing that button.

  Cox straightened and looked down her nose at Roper, speaking as if she were talking to a four-year-old. “Are you responsible for addressing the city council when overtime runs over budget? I don’t think so. Detective Hart has completed her shift with an arrest. You are more than capable of taking it from here and assisting CCAT with a search warrant.”

  She tapped a toe of her high heel shoe on the floor before turning to leave, but not before pausing to look directly at Abby. “The only dogs allowed in the station are working dogs.”

  Abby arched one eyebrow but said nothing as the chief continued her exit.

  “Pick your battles,” Woody would say.

  Roper waited until the chief had disappeared. “Wow, I knew she was tough, but that’s the first I’ve seen her like that.”

  Abby turned to Bandit, who stood in the chair, tail wagging furiously. Seeing the little dog made her smile and forget Cox.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said as she picked Bandit up. Irritation fled as she held the furry body and let him lick her hand. “I need to review all three crime reports carefully anyway, and I can do that at home. You surely served a lot of warrants in narcotics, so you’ll know what to look for when you get in the grandmother’s house.”

  “Thanks for having faith in me. You don’t even know me and you trust me with this huge case.”

  “I trust you to do your job. We have time to build a court case. If you mess something up, then we will have issues. Right now your slate is clean.” She closed her desk drawer for emphasis and gave Roper her best Asa look, a look he’d given her often when she was green. “See that it stays that way.”

>   He smiled and for the first time she saw a competent, confident cop, not a nervous new guy. “You got it.”

  “Have you looked over the first granny murder?”

  “Yep, it was the first on my list.”

  “Touch base with Page about the search warrant. He’ll know about how long it will take to get it signed off. While he’s doing that, put together a six-pack of photos and show it to our witness, Luke Murphy. I know he said he didn’t see the suspect’s face clearly, but give it a shot anyway.”

  Roper grinned. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Also put the Jenkins file next on your list.” She pulled her yellow pad from under a stack of reports and tore off the top sheet. “This was my to-do list on Jenkins for today, but the callout canceled it for me. He was beaten to death at an unknown location and then left in his car in his driveway for his wife to find. But I can’t find anything—no enemies, no arguments, nothing that would cause someone to want him dead. If you can make any of these calls today, great. I’ve hit dead ends for two weeks.”

  He took the paper from her. “Will do.”

  Grabbing her bag, she looked at her new partner. “I’m gone. If Murphy can help with the six-pack or if you find anything at Grandma’s, call me; I don’t care what time. Other than that, see that everything is cleaned up by tomorrow or we’ll be starting off on a really bad foot.”

  Abby hated to admit she felt relieved about going home. The lack of sleep, the brush with the train, and this case that might bring her face-to-face with Lowell Rollins all conspired to throw her off-balance. She felt a little punch-drunk when she got back in her car. She’d decided to make a stop to pick up some dog food for Bandit when the missing flyer and the picture of the smiling young girl caught her attention again. She picked it up and studied it for a minute.

  “Why are you running, Nadine?”

  Sighing, Abby knew she had to make an additional stop before going home. It wasn’t about Murphy; it was about a young girl, possibly in danger. There was a westside hangout called Destination X that had a reputation for attracting runaways and lost souls. It had been on the PD’s radar for selling alcohol to minors in the past. That would be the place to ask pertinent questions.