Requite

by E. H. Reinhard

  “I think I’ll be fine with beverages.”

  Tom cracked the seal on one of the bottles and downed it.

  “OK. Your meal should be up to you shortly. Thanks for ordering.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said.

  He unscrewed the lid of the second vodka.

  Chapter 33

  I filled Hank in on the conversation the captain and I had regarding Casey on the ride over. We pulled into the judge’s driveway right around nine thirty. We followed the brick paved sidewalk to the front door. Hank hit the doorbell, and we waited. No response or sound came from inside. Hank hit the buzzer again—nothing.

  I dialed up the captain at the station.

  “Captain Bostok.”

  “Hey, it’s Kane. No answer at Casey’s. Santos didn’t call about him leaving?”

  “No. He’s parked over at the resort facing the street. There’s only one way in and out of the subdivision. Casey would’ve had to pass him.”

  “Alright, we’ll check around back. He might be in the pool or something.”

  I clicked off from the captain.

  We walked around the side of Casey’s house. The two story lanai over the pool was surrounded by bushes, landscaping and various palm trees. There was no sign of the judge.

  “Someone could have picked him up,” Hank said.

  “Let’s take a peek in the garage.”

  We walked back to the front. Hank cupped his hands around the glass of the window. “I got his SUV and an old Nova inside.”

  “Santos said he was drinking last night. Maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover,” I said.

  We went back to the front door to give the bell a few more rings.

  Hank ducked down to try to get a view into the house at the window adjacent to the door. “Shit.” He reached into his jacket and pulled his service weapon. “There’s a body in the living room.”

  I pulled my gun.

  Hank checked the knob on the door—locked.

  I took in the massive entry doors into the house. I’d never be able to kick them in.

  “Around back. Patio,” I said.

  We jogged around the house and made our way into the lanai. We went to the back glass sliding doors. They were all locked.

  “Watch out Hank.”

  He took a step back.

  With a confident strike, I hammered the glass door with my elbow. It exploded inward in a shower of falling safety glass. We pushed through the blinds and entered. “Tampa Police Department!” I shouted.

  There was no noise. No one ran.

  We took a few steps into the kitchen. I saw the body lying on the floor of the living room.

  “Watch my back.”

  Hank nodded.

  I crouched and made my way to the body. It was Casey. I didn’t need to check for a pulse. His skull was caved in and the lower half of his face was crushed. The word Spearman had been carved into his forehead. There was no doubt who did it. I pulled my phone to call it in and dialed District Two.

  “Tampa Police non-emergency line. How can I direct your call?”

  “This is Lieutenant Kane from District Three. We need backup to 805 Birdie Court. We have a one eighty-seven.”

  “Right away, Lieutenant.”

  I hung up and stuffed the phone back in my pocket. Hank and I moved through the kitchen. I headed to my right past the kitchen table and toward the garage. I stood in the laundry room. Blood was sprayed across the wall. A tire iron covered in blood lay on the ground. A revolver lay next to the washing machine. It had to be where the homicide occurred. There were drag marks coming out of the area into the kitchen. I opened the door for the garage—sticking my gun through the doorway as I flipped on the light. Aside from the judge’s cars, it was empty. I closed the door and looked through the dining room. I saw Hank sweeping the foyer and den. We met at the living room.

  “I found blood coming from the laundry room into the kitchen,” I said.

  “Blood and a pile of bloody clothes in the bathroom,” he said.

  I nodded.

  Hank pointed to the stairs leading up to the second story. Photos, broken picture frames and glass littered the marble staircase. We tried our best to avoid it as we made our way to the first landing. Our guns pointed up, we continued on. We reached the top of the stairs and split up. I searched each room. There was no one. I met Hank back at the top of the stairs.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “No. Looks like whoever was here is gone. I think someone went through his stuff though. Let’s go see what we have in the living room.”

  As we hit the landing of the staircase on our way down, I saw squad cars pulling in through the large window overlooking the front yard. “Our backup is here.”

  We walked down the rest of the stairs to the main level. I stopped at the judge in the living room. Hank opened the door for the officers. They stood in the doorway and stared at the body.

  I motioned for them to come in. Their tags said Barth and Rose.

  “Guys, I’m pretty sure we’re all clear, but can you do another quick sweep of the property to double check?”

  The one named Barth nodded and the two officers removed their weapons from their holsters and entered the house. I dialed the captain.

  “Captain Bostok.”

  “It’s Kane. Spearman killed Casey. Can you get Rick out here?”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, but I could hear the captain breathing.

  “Same as the rest?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was another pause on the phone.

  “We’re on our way.”

  The phone line went dead.

  I stuffed the phone back in my pocket. I met Hank at the bathroom where he said he found bloody clothing.

  “No one tried to clean up. There’s blood everywhere,” Hank said. He pointed to the bloody hooded sweatshirt on the ground.

  I peeked into the sink. A half inch of blood covered the base. Fishing line and a fishhook lay on the edge.

  “You think he tried stitching himself up?” Hank asked.

  “I don’t know why else that would be there. Casey might have shot him. There’s a revolver on the floor of the laundry room. I didn’t get a good look at it, but it could have been the one that was in the judge’s waistline. Forensics should be able to tell us what transpired when they get here.”

  “Did Cap say he was coming?”

  “He said he was on his way.”

  I walked toward the laundry room. The two officers from District Two approached.

  “You want me to make the call to get our Forensics guys down here?” Rose asked.

  “Hold off on that for one second.” I excused myself and pulled my phone. I dialed the number for District Two.

  “Tampa Police non-emergency line.”

  “Captain Clark, please.”

  “One moment,” the woman said.

  “This is Clark.”

  “Captain, it’s Lieutenant Kane. We have a homicide over in your district here.”

  “I heard it come through, was just leaving to come over there. Is it the judge?”

  “It is.”

  He let out a puff of air.

  “It’s the same perp as our double the other day.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “Yes. With that, I have to ask…”

  Captain Clark interrupted. “You want your team to take the scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s fine, Lieutenant. I should be down there in fifteen.”

  “Thanks Captain.”

  I hung up.

  Chapter 34

  An empty plate and fork sat on the desk of the room, next to it, five empty bottles of vodka. He had just finished booking his flight to Indonesia. It was a last minute selection. While Canada would have been OK, Tom decided he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in the cold. Indonesia’s climate wasn’t too far off from Florida’s. The islands provide endless beaches a
nd his money would go much further. The flight there had two layovers and the total travel time was thirty-plus hours. The first layover was in Chicago, after that, he would never step foot in the United States again. His flight departed at 7:40 p.m.

  Tom wadded up the sheet with the bloody sweater and clothes he had on earlier. He peered through the peephole of the hotel room’s front door. As far as he could see, no one was in the hallway. He opened the door and looked left to right. A maid cart sat a few doors down. He flipped the door guard latch out to prop the door open and walked down the hall toward the cart. The maid attended to the room inside. Tom crept past. He looked into the room. The maid was wearing headphones and vacuuming. Tom buried the soiled clothes and sheet in the bottom of her hamper. He covered them with the rest of the dirty linens and started back to his room.

  “Sir. Did you need something?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Tom turned to see the maid standing next to her cart in the hall.

  “I was just looking for some towels. We seem to be all out of clean ones. Do you have any on the cart?”

  “Sure. I have some right here. How many did you need?”

  “Two would be great. Thanks.”

  Tom walked back to the maid at the cart. She handed him a pair of towels. He did his best to reach out with both hands and take them. The painkillers and vodka were doing their job to dull the pain.

  “There you go, Sir. Does your room need service?”

  “I think I’ll be good with just the towels. Thanks.”

  Tom carried the towels back to his room. As he approached he could hear the telephone ringing from inside. He rushed in and flipped the latch back, allowing the room door to close. He dropped the towels on the floor and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello Sir, this is James with Prestige Limo. We have arrived out front. Do you need a hand with your bags?”

  “No. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll be waiting for you right out front, Sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tom hung up the phone and scooped up the pillow case from the floor. The makeshift bag jingled from the mini bottles inside—he’d cleared the fridge. He checked the room to make sure he didn’t forget anything. Tom walked out and headed down the hall. He opted for the stairs. Whatever pain was involved making the journey down the eight flights was less than the pain of being trapped in the elevator with tourists. He made a right by the ice machine and used his foot to kick the door for the stairwell open. He questioned his decision to not ride the elevator half way down. The last four flights were torture. He hit the bottom of the stairwell and untied the pillowcase bag. His hand grasped a mini bottle of gin. He cracked the top and drank it down. The bottle was dropped at his feet as he pushed the door open. The lobby was filled with people—old couples on vacation, families waiting in line for the hotel’s restaurant, hotel staff buzzing about.

  As Tom made for the front he saw a cop standing to the side of the sliding doors. He kept his head low as he passed. The straw hat did it’s best to conceal Tom’s identity. The doors parted as he approached. He looked out of the doors searching for the Town Car—it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light. He spotted the car parked to the right of the door about thirty feet away. Beyond the Town Car, he watched two squad cars pass out front on the street. He walked to the car.

  The limo driver leaned on the side—a tall thin man in his forties dressed in a black suit with a white undershirt.

  “Mister Taylor?”

  A squad car with lights flashing sped past on the street.

  “Are you Mister Taylor?” the driver asked again.

  “Sorry. Yes.”

  “I’ll be your driver today, Sir. Brad Smith.”

  “Hello, Brad.”

  The driver pointed to the pillowcase filled with mini bottles. “Bag in the trunk?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll keep it with me.”

  Brad nodded. He walked to the back door of the Lincoln and opened it, allowing Tom inside. He closed him in. Tom scooted forward in the seat watching the street through the tinted glass of the car. Brad opened the driver’s door and took his seat behind the wheel.

  “Heading to the airport correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  Tom wondered if they were heading to the judge’s house.

  “It should be about a twenty-five minute ride or so, depending on traffic.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  Tom’s voice trailed off. His attention was focused on the street. As the Town Car pulled from the parking lot another police cruiser flew by. His driver turned right from the resort’s parking lot. Tom stared out of the back window watching the police car make a left into the judge’s cul-de-sac.

  How the hell did they find Casey so fast?

  Chapter 35

  “Time of death Ed?” I asked.

  The judge’s body lay covered on a rolling gurney. Ed stood behind it to push it from the living room.

  “Eight to ten hours. Somewhere right in there. Lividity is fixed.”

  I looked at my watch. Casey would have been killed between midnight and two in the morning.

  “What time did Santos say the judge got home?”

  “Right around midnight.”

  “Spearman could have been here waiting for him.”

  Captain Bostok and I watched the Ed wheel the judge’s body from the living room, down the front step, and out to the driveway where his van was parked.

  Rick approached with the tire iron in a large, see through evidence bag.

  “No one touched this did they?” Rick asked.

  The couple officers still inside the house shook their heads.

  “I haven’t touched it,” the captain said.

  “No. Not that I saw,” I said.

  “We got prints all over this thing.”

  Pax walked out from the bathroom, evidence bags in hand.

  “I pulled prints from the bathroom too. Have one in blood on the side of the sink. The two shirts that were lying on the bathroom floor tell a story. Bullet holes through the left shoulders,” Pax said.

  “So Spearman was shot by Casey? Where’s that gun?”

  “Have it sealed up in an evidence bag.” Rick jerked his head toward the dining room table. “It’s in that tote over there.”

  “Casey’s gun?” Bostok asked.

  “Have to get the prints from it and run the numbers.”

  “What’s the scene telling you, Rick?” I asked.

  “Looks pretty simple. Here, follow me.”

  We trailed behind Rick to the laundry room.

  “Suspect waited behind that door for Casey to walk in from the garage. As soon as he did, he struck him with the tire iron and Casey went down. We have a number of bullet holes in the walls here. The holes all travel upward, so our shooter, Casey, fired from a seated position. I checked the gun, all six shots were fired. This mark of blood here.” Rick pointed to a small puddle behind the door. “Pretty sure that is a result of our guy getting shot.”

  “Gun versus tire iron and gun loses?” I asked.

  “He had already been hit with the tire iron once. My guess is a flurry of shots at a moving target from someone inexperienced with a firearm. Combine that with severe head trauma.”

  “And alcohol,” I said.

  “Alcohol?” Rick asked.

  “We got word that the judge had been drinking. Anyway, continue.”

  “When the six shots were gone, it was over. From first glance at the body, it looked like he took a number of strikes. After that the body was moved out to the living room.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I can’t answer that one for you, Lieutenant,” Rick said.

  “So he’d be found by anyone who looked into the house. Spearman wanted him found right away. Let’s get the kid back to the station with all this and get going on it. Get confirmation on all the prints,” the captain said.

/>   Captain Bostok motioned to get the evidence loaded up. Rick and Pax each carried a tote outside.

  “Thanks Rick,” I said.

  I followed Pax and Rick from the house outside to Casey’s driveway where Hank and Captain Clark stood talking next to the coroner’s van.

  I walked over. Clark excused himself for an incoming phone call.

  “I was just filling him in on what we found. What’s our next move?” Hank asked.

  “I’m not sure we have one. His message is complete. Justice for murdering Claire Spearman. I doubt we’ll get another body.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Well, Faust put an alert out on Spearman through the FBI’s database. All we can do is follow up on any leads that get called in.”

  “There’s Jake,” Hank said.

  I hadn’t thought about it, but Hank was right. He might be able to tell us something, if he ever came around.

  “You didn’t hear anything about a change in his condition did you?” I asked.

  “No.”

  A question was rattling around in my head. Something that just popped in. “You think Spearman knows that Jake is still alive?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “Well, he’s killed everyone else he’s gone after. These are revenge killings. He’s extracting his revenge for whatever allegedly happened to his wife. He’s been bludgeoning people to death and carving messages in their head. His message is complete except one of the people isn’t dead. By the severity of these attacks, Spearman doesn’t come across like someone who would leave a victim alive to me.”

  I went quiet. I was working on an idea.

  “You got the wheels turning. What’s up?” Hank asked.

  “I need to go talk to the captain.”

  “Fill me in.”

  I headed back into the house and gave Hank a wave to follow. “Come on.”

  I found Bostok standing in the kitchen.

  “Cap, I need to run something by you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You spoke with Jake’s father on the phone, right?”

  “Yeah. Roger Richwood.”

  “How did he seem?”

  “He seemed like he wanted to bring whoever did this to his son to justice.”

  “Think he’d be willing to help with something?”