“Not really. We’re waiting on someone from security to let us see their video. I guess whoever dropped her off at the hospital took off. I want to see if we can get a plate number and track it back.”
Chapter 34
Hank and I sat huddled around a bank of monitors in the hospital’s security room. John, the sixty-some-year-old lead on the hospital’s late-night security staff, took us through the footage. We were nearing the time that Maria Flores had been dropped off.
“Her being dropped off should come any second here,” John said. He rubbed a knuckle under his nose, moving his thick white mustache side to side.
We watched the screen. An older full-size pickup truck pulled around the loop. A middle-aged African-American man stepped from the driver’s side. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. He rounded the back of the truck and pulled Maria Flores from the passenger side. He sat her on the bench out front and walked back toward his truck. A nurse came from the front doors of the emergency center. The two appeared to exchange words. The nurse walked back inside, and the truck pulled away.
“Pause it,” I said.
John did.
The back bumper of the truck was clearly visible on the screen. I pulled my notepad from my jacket pocket and wrote down the plate number.
“Okay, you can play it,” I said.
John restarted the footage. The rest of it showed the nurse reappearing with another staff member and taking Maria Flores inside.
“Should be all we need, John. Thanks,” I said.
“Sure. Let me know if there’s anything else.”
“Will do. Come on, Hank. Let’s go run this and see what we get.”
I motioned for Hank to follow me from the security office. We walked outside to our cruiser. I hopped in and plugged the tag number into the car’s computer. It processed and kicked out a result—a man named Adrian Wallace. The address was in Tampa Heights, but no phone number was listed. I looked further down, into the guy’s priors. He was clean. I let out a breath and looked over at Hank. “Tampa Heights address.”
“What do you think?” Hank asked.
“I don’t know. We’ll find out. Ready for another trip?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
I fired up the cruiser. The dash clock read 4:14 a.m. After a few more hours, I’d hit the twenty-four-hour mark for working nonstop. I smirked at the thought. The idea of working literally around the clock almost seemed like a goal to achieve at that point. We neared the address on North Jefferson Street within ten minutes. The location was just a block over from Robles Park, where we’d found the body of Henry Pullman. I turned left and pulled up to the curb across the street from the house. I glanced over. The 1920s white bungalow looked well kept in the streetlights. An old cypress tree towered over the right side of the house. A wheelchair ramp covered the front steps leading up to the porch. Hank and I got out and walked up the ramp to the navy-blue front door, lit up by porch lights.
“How are we playing this?” Hank asked.
I shrugged and reached out to knock on the door. “I’m just asking where Adrian is and what he can tell us about dropping Maria Flores off at the hospital.” I rapped my knuckles on the door.
I heard footsteps a moment later. The front door pulled open and caught on a chain lock.
“Who is it?” a woman asked. She stuck her face in the crack of the door.
“Tampa police, ma’am.” I showed her my badge. “We’re looking for Adrian Wallace.”
She closed the door, and I heard the chain latch slide over.
The door reopened. An African-American woman, probably in her sixties, stood in the doorway in a nightgown. “What do you want with Adrian?”
“To talk, ma’am. He dropped an injured woman off at the hospital this morning. We need to know where he found her and what exactly transpired there.”
“Injured woman? I don’t know anything about that. Are you sure you have the right Adrian Wallace? My husband would have mentioned if he came across an injured woman. When was this supposed to have happened?”
“Just an hour or two ago,” I said.
She furrowed her eyebrows. “That would have been around the time he left for work.” She turned her back on us and walked into the house. She waved us in over her shoulder. “Come on inside and close the door. You’re letting all my air conditioning out.”
Hank and I entered. The woman walked into her kitchen. She picked a set of reading glasses up from the kitchen counter and stared at a magnetic notepad attached to the refrigerator. “Are you ready to write this down? I’m going to give you his cell-phone number.”
“Sure.” I took my notepad from my pocket and wrote down the number she gave me.
“He’s at work now, but he’ll still answer,” she said.
“Appreciate it. Sorry if we woke you up,” I said.
“Nah, I was awake watching television.”
Hank and I left through the front door and got back in the car. I dialed the number she’d given us. I got an answer within a couple rings.
“Hello?”
“Adrian Wallace?” I asked.
“Speaking.”
“Lieutenant Carl Kane, Tampa Police. We need to know what happened with the woman you dropped off at the hospital this morning.”
“Ah, shit,” he said. He paused. “I found her down the street from my house as I was heading to work. She was laying at the side of the road. I got out to see if she needed help. She was just kind of mumbling. I saw all the blood and took her to the hospital.”
“Why did you leave?” I asked.
“I don’t know the woman. I wanted to get her some help and get to work. I have a route that is time sensitive. I can’t be sitting around at the hospital answering questions about a woman that I don’t know and don’t know what happened to.”
That was a plausible enough excuse. “Where exactly did you find her?” I asked.
The south corner of East Janette and North Avon, just a couple houses up from mine, at the corner there, facing the park. Like I said, she was laying in the grass at the side of the road.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch,” I said and clicked off.
“Where was she found?” Hank asked.
“Two houses up, here by the park.” I started the car, turned in the street, and made a left on Janette. I pulled to the curb at the stop sign. “This is where he said he found her. Grab the flashlight.”
Hank pulled a flashlight from inside the glove box and stepped out. I met him on the passenger side of the car. He flicked on the flashlight and focused it down into the grass on the corner. We spotted blood immediately. The grass was disturbed. I looked around.
“I bet Angel White is holed up around here somewhere. But where do we even start?” Hank asked.
“Well, this is our spot here. We’ve got blood. I guess just start looking in any direction for a drip. If we find one, we can tell which way she was coming from.”
“We only have one light,” Hank said.
“I’ll use my phone. Just start looking.”
I slipped my cell phone from my pocket and opened the flashlight app. I took the streets while Hank took the sidewalks and grass. Within thirty seconds, I found a blood drip in the middle of the street. “Hank, here,” I called.
He walked over. “Got one?” he asked.
“Yeah, here.” I pointed down and looked back to where she’d lain in the grass. We had an angle. “Get that side of the street. I’ll get this one.”
We walked ten feet before we found another drip, again in the center of the street.
“She was running down the middle of the road?” Hank asked.
“Best way to get yourself seen, I guess.”
We continued walking, following the blood around the corner that Adrian Wallace’s home sat on. The blood trail continued up the street. The light on my phone flipped off as my ringtone sounded. The screen said it was the captain.
I clicked Talk. “Yeah, Cap.”
“The locksmith just got us into the safe. We found pretty recent lease papers with a Tampa Heights address leased to Angel White.”
“We’re here now.”
“Here where?”
“Tampa Heights. Maria Flores was picked up here. What’s the address?”
“Thirty-four hundred North Jefferson.”
“We’re on North Jefferson.”
I glanced to my left. The house number was 3315. I didn’t know the area well enough to know how close we were to the house. It could have been a block or a mile away.
“Thanks, Cap. Come on, Hank,” I said. I started back toward the car.
“Wait until backup arrives,” the captain said. “I already called Mueller with the address. I’ll get you a warrant. Get the place surrounded and see who is inside. Announce your presence. No forced entry until the warrant is in hand.”
“Okay. Got it, Cap.” I hung up and picked up a jog back to the car.
Hank’s feet thumped the street behind me.
“We have her address?” he asked.
“Could be.”
Hank and I piled into the unmarked cruiser, and I fired up the engine and turned around. I made a right on North Jefferson and sped up the block.
Chapter 35
Angel sat in the spare bedroom. The skins that were ready had been rinsed. Tanning the skins properly would require them to be oiled and dried for days. Angel figured she had hours at the most. She took another skin from the rack and placed it beside the others on the table. Angel slid her fingertips against each other. The skin had left some form of slime on her hands. She wiped it on her shirt and continued to work.
Angel took the waxed string and fed it through the needle’s eye and tied a knot. Each perfectly cut piece had to be stitched together before they could be attached.
“You’re going to love this, Daddy,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get the Braird guy, but Mama was supposed to stick around and help. I’m sorry we ran out of time.”
She didn’t receive a response.
Angel poked the tip of her tongue with the needle. “What’s that? It’s okay?” Angel grinned. “I knew you’d understand.”
She pulled the needle through the skin and looped it over the other side.
“Hey!” Angel yelled. She smiled and shielded her work. “No peeking. You wait until I’m done. This is supposed to be a surprise.”
She, again, received no response.
Angel aligned the seams in the skin and continued sewing. One stitch after another, she joined the flesh.
Chapter 36
I yanked the wheel to the right, pulled to the curb, and slammed on the brakes.
Hank flashed me a confused look.
I pointed out forward through the windshield. “That’s her car.”
“Positive?” Hank asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are we going?”
“Bostok wants us to wait for patrol.”
“Are they on their way?” Hank asked.
“He said they were dispatched. Let me see how long.”
I grabbed the car’s radio and thumbed the button. “Lieutenant Kane. Ten-fifty-two to North Franklin.”
I got two 10-51s back, telling me they were en route. The ETA was three to five minutes. I radioed back to go with no lights or sirens and to meet us down the block from the address to the south, and both cars confirmed. Then I opened the driver’s door. “Come on, let’s get ready.”
Hank followed me to the trunk. The Clearwater officer’s account of Carmen Simms attacking him with a scalpel played through my head. I wouldn’t give Angel the opportunity to attempt the same thing Carmen had. I popped the Charger’s trunk, reached inside, and grabbed the shotgun.
“Are we putting on armor?” Hank asked.
“Yeah.”
He pulled the two bulletproof vests from within, and we strapped them on. I closed the trunk lid.
“Our patrol guys are here,” Hank said. He jerked his chin up the block.
I looked and saw one of our patrol cars rounding the corner a block down. The car approached and pulled to the curb behind our car. The officers left their vehicle and met Hank and I at our trunk. I recognized them as they walked up—Berris and Baker, the same officers that we’d met in the park with the first victim.
“Morning, Lieutenant, Sergeant,” Baker said.
Berris gave us a nod.
“Good morning, guys. Who are we waiting on?”
“McCarthy and Quinlin are on their way. A few minutes out yet.”
“Do you both have body armor?” I asked.
“Wearing,” Berris said.
“Yeah, I have my vest on,” Baker said. “What are we looking at here?”
“The house in question is two up and across the street. The woman inside, Angel White, is an accomplice to Carmen Simms. This woman could have had a hand in the murders. That’s her car there.” I pointed to it. “We’re going in, assuming she’s armed and dangerous.”
“Do we have a plan together yet?” Baker asked.
“We’re waiting on everyone to arrive, but we’re going to get that place surrounded, and if she’s inside, one way or another, she’s leaving in custody.”
I thought about the men we had and the ones we had coming. We were a bit short for the plan I was putting together.
“Is it just McCarthy and Quinlin coming?” I asked.
“Yeah. Do we need more than six guys for a single woman?” Berris asked.
“It’s not that. I want guys on each side of the house, aside from who we’ll have out front. Plus, we need the patrol cars for blocking the street. Berris, I need you to get the residents out of their homes, two houses in each direction. Baker, move your car to the south end of the street and block it. All residents go behind your car.”
“Right, Lieutenant,” Berris said.
“I’ll go get the car in position,” Baker said.
I headed toward my unmarked cruiser.
As I called back to the station for more men, Berris and Baker split up, handling the instructions I’d just given. Two more patrol cars rounded the corner down the street and approached up the block. They parked behind Berris and Baker’s car and stepped out. The streetlights lit them—Quinlin and McCarthy.
“Morning,” I said. “We’re waiting on a couple more guys to come. I just sent Berris to get the neighbors out of their homes and Baker to block the street to the south. I need one of your cars blocking the street to the north,” I said.
“I got it,” Quinlin said. He went to move his car.
“Which house is it?” McCarthy asked.
“Two up, on the left there,” Hank said.
“The woman?” McCarthy asked.
“Redding’s daughter.”
McCarthy looked confused. “We had a name of something White?”
“Adoptive name. She’s Redding’s daughter.”
“So, what? Being a psychopath serial killer is genetic or something?” McCarthy asked.
“Don’t know. All I know is she’s dangerous. Let’s start to get into position. McCarthy, I’m going to move our car directly in front of the house in the street. You pull your cruiser behind ours.”
“No problem, Lieutenant,” McCarthy said. He headed toward his car.
“McCarthy,” I called.
He stopped and turned back toward Hank and I.
“Are both you and Quinlin wearing armor?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
I hopped into the unmarked charger and pulled it up past the couple houses—no headlights. I coasted to a stop, put it in park, and stepped out. I watched as McCarthy tucked his cruiser bumper to bumper with my car then stepped out.
Hank, as well as Baker and Quinlin, met us behind the two cars in front of the house.
We stared over at the property. No lights were coming from inside.
“Looks like she’s asleep or not home,” Hank said.
“We’re about to find out.”
I checked our surroundings and the street. Baker’s and Quinlin’s cars were in position. I saw Berris moving a family toward our squad car to the south. Directly to our back was an empty lot. I stared over at the house. The place looked to be under a thousand square feet. The condition was rough. Bits and pieces of the stucco façade were falling off, and the landscaping was overgrown. What had once been a small garage attached to the front had been bricked in with no windows. The front had a small porch. Two windows sat to the sides of the front door. A waist-high chain-link fence surrounded the perimeter.
Headlights shone on us from down the block. The two sets of lights clicked off when they approached Baker’s cruiser. The light bars on the car’s roofs were dark.
A few moments later, Berris walked up to us with the other officers in tow. “All the families are out,” he said. “I never did get an answer from one of the houses two up. It looked empty.”
“Thanks, Berris,” I said. “Okay. It looks like we’re all here. Berris and Baker, I want you two to take the back of the house. Quinlin, McCarthy, you’ll be with us here.” I looked behind Quinlin at the other officers. “We need two guys on the east and two on the west side of the home. Who has a Taser?” I asked.
One of the patrol officers stepped forward and patted his hip.
“Good. I want you on the side of the porch with eyes on the front door. We have enough distance between us that if she comes out acting crazy and is holding anything other than a gun, we can take her with nonlethal force. Obviously, use your best judgment,” I said.
With the commands given, the group dispersed to their positions.
I looked at McCarthy. “Do you have a bullhorn in the trunk?”
He nodded and went to remove it.
“Do we have a warrant?” Quinlin asked.
“It’s on the way. We’re just getting the place locked down and announcing our presence for now, in hopes she comes out and gives up peacefully. We already have a warrant on the woman, just not the house. If she steps outside, she’s ours right now.”
McCarthy handed me the bullhorn and removed his service weapon. Quinlin did the same. I handed Hank the shotgun I’d taken from the trunk. The men took positions over the roofs of the cars in the street, Quinlin and McCarthy on one car, Hank and I on the other.
Progeny Page 17
