Requite

by E. H. Reinhard

  “Justice for what?” Hank asked.

  I let out a puff of air through my nose. “I have a hunch we’ll find out.” I spread my fingers, pointing to the two dead bodies. “I’m guessing I know the cause of death.”

  “Yup, blunt force trauma.”

  “Bat?” Hank asked.

  Ed shook his head. “Thinner than that. Something like a pipe or crowbar. I’ll be able to get a better idea once I have them on the table.”

  I spun my head looking around the house. Nothing looked missing or out of place. “Anyone from Forensics here?” I asked.

  “Tony Spagnole was in here before with that Pax kid,” Ed said.

  “Pax? He’s one of ours.”

  Ed shrugged. “Don’t know. The kid is here though.”

  “I’ll go find him,” Hank said.

  “Thanks, Ed. How long should I expect before the reports are ready?”

  “I should be able to have at least one of them before your shift ends—both by morning for sure.”

  “OK, give me a buzz when they’re ready.”

  Ed turned his attention back to the James Miller’s body on the floor. “Will do, Kane.”

  I walked to go find Hank, I found him outside the front door talking to Pax and Tony.

  “Tony. How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Good, and you? How’s the noggin?” He swiped at the side of his head referencing my scar.

  “All good. I just have minor brain damage. What was your name again?”

  He chuckled.

  I nodded to the peach fuzzed twenty year old in the white jumpsuit. “Are you stepping out on us already, Pax?”

  He smiled. “Nah, they just have me splitting shifts between the two districts. Figure I can get more training this way.”

  “Alright. Well, you guys want to show me what you found?”

  Tony motioned for Pax to take the lead.

  “Sure. Let’s start at the back of the house.”

  I stepped to the side so he could pass and we could follow. Pax took us to the entrance of the lanai at the back of the house.

  “We found a cut around the screen here. This is our point of entry. No prints. We got some residue though.”

  “Residue?” Hank asked.

  Pax nodded and walked through the doorway. He took us to the glass sliding door leading into the back of the house.

  “We found this unlocked. There’s more of the white residue here and on the edge of the door. It appears to be cornstarch.”

  “Latex gloves,” I said.

  “That is correct.” Pax walked through the open sliding door into the kitchen. We looked out into the living room. They had removed the man’s body. Two of Ed’s guys tandem lifted the woman’s body onto a rolling gurney. On the top, a body bag waited to accept her. Her arms flopped to the sides as they placed her down. They folded them across her chest and zipped her in. A white sheet was placed over the bag and they began to wheel her through the living room to take her out.

  Pax continued. “Here is what I think happened.” He walked from the kitchen to the living room behind the chair where the woman sat. “Judging by how the bodies lay and the patterns of the blood, I believe the woman was first. All the damage came from above and from the back. Our killer struck her over the back of the chair like this.” He brought his arm up and down to show the motion. “I don’t believe the first blow killed her. She had damage to her fingers.” Pax pulled his small hands over the top of his head and interlocked his fingers to demonstrate. “I think she felt the first blow and reached for her head, getting her hands in the path of the next blow.” He pointed to the lampshade and the coffee table. “You see how the blood spatter appears to be directional going away from her here?” He motioned away from the top of the chair where the woman sat.

  “And the husband?” I asked.

  “I think he was coming to her defense when he was attacked here.” Pax walked to the middle of the living room in front of the pool of coagulated blood. “He had one blow to the front of the head and the rest to the back of the head. So the first put him to the ground here.” Pax pointed to the floor. “Then our attacker stood over him and hit him multiple times in the back of the head. We have blood spatter on the chair and carpet coming from way down here where the man’s head was.”

  I nodded, everything the kid said had made sense with what he had shown us except one thing. “How could someone attack you in the middle of your living room without being noticed walking up?” I asked.

  Pax shrugged. “They could have been asleep in front of the television.”

  It was simple and plausible. Hell, I fell asleep in front of the television daily.

  “Thanks, Pax. Let us know if you find anything else.”

  “Sure thing. I’m going to do a couple more laps around the house and make sure we haven’t looked over anything. You’ll be the first to know if something else turns up.”

  Hank and I made our way out front of the house.

  “Well?” Hank asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine—revenge killing for something. We’ll dig into their backgrounds when we get back to the station. Let’s go check if anyone has started door knocking yet.”

  I surveyed the scene looking for a patrolman in charge or for Captain Clark so he could point us in the right direction. We found the captain two houses up the street talking with a neighbor. He excused himself from the man when he saw us approaching.

  He nodded back to the man he had just come from. “Neighbor here is a Lance McDermott. He said he had spoken with James Miller last night around seven o’clock.”

  “Did he see anything unusual going on over here after?”

  Captain Clark shook his head. “No. He said they had some normal small talk before he left to take his son to his hockey game. When he came back around 10:00 p.m., the Miller’s house was dark. He’s the only person in these neighboring houses we’ve talked to that had contact with the Millers yesterday.”

  “No other witnesses?” Hank asked.

  “Negative. The house next door we aren’t getting an answer at and the homeowners across the street said they didn’t see or hear anything.” Captain Clark pointed at the row of cypress trees. “The tree line there blocks the house from view of anyone else.”

  “And aside from cell phones, nothing appears missing or gone through?” I asked.

  “No. We’re still looking, but nothing apparent.”

  The neighbor that the captain had just spoken with was still standing at his mailbox staring at us. I pointed over at him. “I’m going to have a quick talk with the neighbor, and then get going on this back at our station. We’ll keep you updated.”

  “I appreciate it guys.” Captain Clark gave Hank and me a handshake and walked back toward the Miller’s house.

  We headed for the neighbor. A twenty minute chat later and he had nothing more to offer. We had as much as we were going to get at the scene. Hank and I wrapped up and made for downtown, back to the station.

  After briefing the captain, the rest of the afternoon was spent trying to contact family for interviews and digging into the couple’s backgrounds. Their only child was an adult son that attended college out of state. He wouldn’t be able to get to Florida for a few days. It didn’t seem as if he was close with his parents. The only information he could provide was that they had won some kind of lottery a few months back. The home and contents were nice, but not extravagant, and nothing stolen. I planned to look into it further. On the surface, they appeared to be a normal mid-forties married couple. Neither had any records more severe than traffic citations, and not many at that. I called in a favor to Agent Faust, a friend over at the FBI, to get me some additional information on the couple.

  It was pushing six o’clock when I shut down the computer at my desk. A quick talk with Callie solidified our plans of a movie following Italian food at a restaurant she liked. I locked up my office and headed over to the captain’s to tell him I was heading out. I
gave his door a quick rap with my knuckles and walked in.

  Captain Bostok looked up from his desk and rocked back in his chair. “Are you taking off?”

  “Yup. Going to go grab dinner and try to catch a movie with Callie. She doesn’t have to work tonight.”

  “Get interviews set for tomorrow?”

  “There’s nobody to interview. No witnesses and no family in the area. Both James and Margaret Miller’s parents are deceased and neither has siblings. I spoke with their son who attends college out in California. He didn’t have much to offer but will contact me when he arrives in the area.”

  “Find any friends?”

  “Their son didn’t remember any last names of the few friends they had.”

  The captain seemed to be thinking on something. “What about cell phones? Could we maybe go through their call logs and see who they were in frequent contact with?” he asked.

  “Captain Clark said that there were no mobile phones found on the scene.”

  “They were taken or didn’t own any?”

  “Killer must have grabbed them.”

  “So we have two dead bodies and nowhere to start?”

  “I called Faust over at the Fed’s office to see if he could fast-track some additional background information. I asked for work history, phone records and banking. Maybe something will help there.”

  The captain nodded. “It’s a start. You realize we can get all that in house right?”

  “Except that it will take us three weeks. Faust will have everything in a day or two.”

  “Just don’t use up all your favors.”

  I nodded.

  “So dinner and a movie, huh? Where are you guys going to eat?”

  The topic of food was always of interest to him. I leaned against the door sill of his office. “I think some Italian joint.”

  “Real Italian or Americanized Italian?”

  I shrugged. “What’s the difference?”

  The captain went on to give me the finer details of “real Italian” foods and dishes. What I got out of the story was that real Italian food wasn’t covered in red sauce. They also used less cheese.

  He rubbed his ever growing belly. “Mmmm Italian. The old lady says she’s got something going in the slow cooker tonight. I’ll see if I can talk her into doing one of her mother’s recipes tomorrow night. Mother in law was from somewhere in Italy. She was a real battle ax, but man, could she cook.”

  I glanced at my watch. His food ramblings were informative, but I didn’t feel like explaining to my girlfriend that I was late to eat because the captain and I were talking about food. “Anything pressing? Otherwise I need to scoot if we want to make the nine o’clock show.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Have a good night. See you in the morning.”

  I nodded and closed the door to leave. I turned smack into Hank.

  “You heading out?” he asked.

  “Yeah, Callie and I are going to grab dinner and a movie.”

  “What are you seeing?”

  “Don’t know. I guess we’ll decide when we get there.”

  “Did she move in yet?”

  “No, she didn’t move in yet.”

  “Does she have any drawers in your dresser? A toothbrush in the holder?”

  I shook my head. He didn’t need to know that she already had both.

  “I got to go. I’ll see you at the meeting in the morning.”

  He smiled. “Have fun.”

  I turned from Hank and started down the hall.

  Chapter 6

  Tom pulled the white cargo van into the parking structure, driving up and down isles until he found Jessica Casey’s shiny new Acura. The van was backed it into the closest spot he could find to her car. Tom killed the motor, hopped out and removed the rear license plate. It was tossed on the floor in the back of the van. He stepped back in through the sliding side door and stared out of the windshield. Metal bars separated the front seats from the back cargo area.

  He knew exactly where Jake Richwood and Jessica Casey were going to be tonight—he had been following them for three weeks. Each Tuesday was the same routine. Jessica and Jake drove together to their class at the college, parked in this structure and after class went to the sports bar across the street. They stayed until close.

  It’s bad to have routines when people are watching, he thought.

  He knelt on the metal floor, eyes locked on the stairwell they would use to return to the car.

  Tom slid the ski mask from his pocket over his head—black with just holes for his eyes and mouth. From inside his duffel bag, he slid out the tire iron. A quick check of his pants pocket confirmed he had his pocket knife. He stared out the windshield.

  “Come on.”

  Tom thumped the tire iron against his gloved hand. He caught the time: 2:52 a.m.

  A few minutes passed.

  Tom drew in a deep breath through his nose as he counted to six. He let it out the same way. A breathing technique his shrink taught him to relax.

  The bar had to be booting people out by now. Any second, he thought.

  Tom’s eyes stayed fixed on the stairs. Headlights flashed into his van as a car parked across from him flashed its lights signaling that it had been unlocked. Tom ducked down and kept an eye on the car. Three drunk college aged guys hopped in and the car disappeared down the exit ramp of the structure.

  He went back to watching the stairs. A couple walked up, holding hands. He used the metal bars to pull himself inches closer and get a better look.

  “It’s them,” he said.

  He held the handle of the sliding rear door with his left hand—the tire iron in his right. Tom looked around the parking structure, it was quiet. No cars coming or going, and no people.

  Perfect, he thought.

  Tom slid open the door and stepped out. He crouched at the back of the van until they passed. Tom walked around the other side toward them. His movements were quiet enough to not draw the attention of the couple walking just a few feet ahead. In four steps Tom was behind them. He raised his arm and swung the tire iron down into the top of Jake’s head. The blow sent him stumbling forward. Tom raised the tire iron again for another strike, this one to Jessica. The tire iron made contact over her right ear as she turned toward him. The one blow was enough to send her falling to the cement face first. Tom took two steps after Jake and delivered three more blows to his head. Within seconds, he joined Jessica face-down in the parking lot. Blood pumped from his head onto the concrete.

  Tom surveyed the parking lot. Clear. He looked at Jessica, she wasn’t moving—either dead or knocked out. Light from Jake’s cell phone caught Tom’s eye. He was trying to make a call.

  “Nah, nah. No phone calls, Jake.”

  Tom kicked the phone from his hand, sending it skidding across the parking lot and under a nearby car. The tire iron was lifted overhead again. Tom brought it down into the side of Jake’s head. Jake’s movement stopped. Tom raised the tire iron again and delivered Jake’s motionless body another blow. He rolled Jake face-up and knelt over him. The knife came from his pocket. One by one, he sliced his letters into Jake’s forehead. Finished, he reached down and checked for a pulse. He didn’t find one.

  Jessica was next. Tom positioned her on her back and knelt at her left side. Jake’s blood dripped from the tip of the knife as he raised it over Jessica’s forehead. Before the blade could break her flesh, headlights shined up the ramp of the structure. Tom flipped the knife closed and stuck it in his pocket. She was taken into his arms. Her blonde hair, soaked red in blood, hung down and dripped onto the parking lot. He felt her breathing—she was still alive.

  Jessica was carried back to the van and placed inside. He slammed the sliding door closed and rounded the back to enter the driver’s side. The car pulling into the structure had stopped. The vehicle’s headlights shined over Jake’s body lying motionless. Tom fired the van’s motor and stomped the gas. The tires spun and squealed as the van launched from it
s parking spot. He ripped the wheel left and sped down the exit ramp. The van crashed through the yellow plastic arm of the unmanned guardhouse and bounced into the street. Plastic splinters from the drop down barrier skittered across the road behind his van. He held the steering wheel to the right and kept the gas pedal floored. He kept an eye on the side mirrors. The car from the structure wasn’t following him. The quick exit from the parking structure drew looks from people on the street, yet still no one followed.

  A few miles away Tom looked over his shoulder and through the metal cage. Jessica lay motionless aside from being bounced around from the van’s suspension. He’d have to finish her off elsewhere.

  Chapter 7

  The morning traffic left the freeway in a standstill. I was still ten minutes north of the city heading home from Callie’s house. While I liked staying over there, I wasn’t a fan of the morning commute. The four southbound lanes didn’t move more than a car length at a time. It took another fifteen minutes before the skyline of downtown came into view, twenty more on top of that before I entered.

  My cell phone vibrated away on the dash of the unmarked cruiser. The caller I.D. said it was Hank. It was early for a phone call. Our shift didn’t start for over an hour. I hit the talk button.

  “Morning, Hank.”

  “Are you on your way to the station?”

  “Not yet. Why? What’s up?”

  “The captain didn’t call you? He called me.”

  I looked at the screen of my phone. I missed a call from the station ten minutes prior. “Guess he tried. I must have missed it. What’s going on?”

  “We got a development on our double from yesterday.”

  “Someone come forward?”

  “No. More victims.”

  “Shit.”

  “How soon can you be in?”

  I ran through how much time it would take to get to my house, then to the station. I needed to shower, change and deal with the cat. Butch never seemed to be in a good mood when I left him alone for the night. On top of that, he learned a few new moves to bypass me trying to catch him at the door. “I can be down there in a half hour or so.”