“His prints aren’t on record?” I asked.
“No.”
“Anything else on the knives?” I asked.
“Nope. Clean as could be.”
“How late are you staying?”
“Just until I get the prints from Ed,” Pax said.
“Okay. The husband is supposed to come in tomorrow. We’ll print him if and when he shows.”
Pax scratched his thin peach-fuzz beard. “Think he’s the guy?”
“He could be. We’ll get our answer soon enough.”
Pax nodded.
“Did Rick already take off?”
“I think he left about twenty minutes ago.”
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. The screen showed I had a text message. I clicked the button to see a photo of Callie pointing to her stomach. The text read, “We’re hungry.”
I smiled. “Okay. I’m out of here. I’ve got places to be. Send me a text after you get those prints from Ed and let me know.”
“Will do.”
Chapter 4 - Viktor
Viktor lay on his two-inch-thick mattress pad, staring at the ceiling. He waited. He’d been in the ten-foot-by-six-foot white rectangular room for forty-six of the last forty-eight hours. He had been trying to sleep away the time, but his body could rest no more. The last few hours were spent staring at the ceiling or the scratches on the walls, from previous inmates. To his left sat the toilet and sink, both stainless steel. He could smell the toilet from where he lay. Above the sink, a shiny piece of metal that served as a mirror was bolted to the otherwise bare, flat walls.
Three times a day, the one-foot-by-four-inch flap in the door would be unlocked and opened, and a tray of food would be slid through. The slop they served him on the tray was almost unrecognizable. He had figured the last meal to be some kind of turkey and gravy. The only truly identifiable item of food was the stale slice of bread. Viktor would receive none of his commissary in the SHU. He’d worked a deal with one of the guards delivering food, to let him meet with his attorney. The guard agreed for a price. Viktor gave the guard the attorney’s name and number and had him set the meeting up.
With the delivery of the last meal, the guard had confirmed that Viktor’s attorney was on his way in. However, that was three hours before. Viktor continued to stare at the ceiling for another half hour. Finally, he heard the key turn the lock in the small rectangular door.
“Hands in the slot!”
Viktor stood and placed his hands through the opening.
The guard clicked cuffs around Viktor’s wrists. “Back away from the door.”
Viktor obeyed. He heard the small slot close and lock. A key turned in the main door’s lock. It swung open.
“You got about ten minutes. I already sat your lawyer in a room.”
“Is the room monitored?” Viktor asked.
“No.”
The guard walked Viktor out of the cell, and down the hall of the SHU. There was no other staff in sight. Viktor caught the time as they passed a clock—it was a few minutes past midnight. The walls were a shade of gray adding to the despondent nature of the complex. They turned left at the end of the hall and walked down a flight of stairs, also gray. At the bottom of the stairwell, the guard unlocked a metal gate and allowed them through. They made another left and continued down the hall to a door marked Interview Room Two. The guard stuck a key in the door and unlocked it. Viktor looked inside to see his attorney, his elbows resting on the green metal table. An empty chair waited across from him. The room was a stark white, and a fluorescent ceiling light buzzed with a low hum overhead.
The guard walked Viktor to the table and linked him up. “Make it quick,” he said and walked out.
Viktor heard him relock the door from the outside.
Viktor’s attorney, Yury Sokoloff, sat dressed in a gray suit with a white tie. His dark hair was slicked back. A briefcase lay on the table before him. While Viktor’s real high-powered attorneys would handle his case, Sokoloff was nothing more than a henchman with a purchased law degree. He’d been on Viktor’s payroll for years.
“Did you make contact?” Viktor asked.
“Is this room secure?”
“The guard says so, but keep it down either way.”
Yury leaned in close. His voice was low, and he cupped his hands over his mouth. “I met with their guy in charge, Ramon, yesterday.”
“How did he seem?”
“Wannabe military type. He acted professionally enough.” Yury stood, took his chair, and rounded the table to Viktor’s side. He sat and popped open the briefcase. If anyone was watching, the men would appear to be going over documents. The lawyer pulled a few pieces of paper out.
Viktor slid his chair over to make room. He pointed to a spot on the blank piece of paper. “Tell me how it’s going to go down.”
“The cop and woman are leaving out of town—they arrive in Milwaukee tomorrow at twelve forty-seven p.m., local time. I booked a seat on the same flight. They are being picked up from the airport by the cop’s sister and going back to her house. I looked at the place on a map. It seems pretty remote. We’ll try to do it there.”
“How good is our information?”
“Straight from the cop himself. We used a little leverage on someone at his department. They got the bug put on his phone last week. We can monitor his calls and track him with GPS.”
“Is there any way to tell this is on his phone?”
“Not on the surface. It runs in the background. No way to trace it either.”
“Perfect.” Viktor smiled. “Now, this Ramon is taking a team, correct?”
“Yes. Four men. I didn’t meet any of them, but he said they would be able to do the job. All of their false identities and documentation will be completed this evening. They are to pick it up in the morning.”
“Are these guys all on your flight?”
Yury shook his head. “They land a few hours after I do. I have a hotel already booked for them. I’ll get their cars taken care of when I get there.”
“And the cars are going to be placed in this Ramon’s name?”
Yury nodded. “Just like we talked about. The guy’s real name is Carlos Cruz. I’ll have a driver’s license and credit card in his name before I leave town.”
Viktor rubbed his mouth against his sleeve to hide his words. “What about weapons?”
“Erik from Chicago will bring up everything they requested.”
“What did they request?” Viktor asked.
“A couple of high-dollar sniper rifles, a couple semiautomatics, a couple of frag grenades, and a cell-phone jammer. All pretty standard stuff.”
Viktor nodded. “Were they told I want photos?”
“Yes.”
Viktor smirked with pleasure. The thought of Lieutenant Kane and Callie getting what was coming to them brought a little ray of sunshine into his now-gloomy existence. The two deserved payback for getting him locked up—they deserved payback for what they had done to his brother. “And you know what to do with this Ramon and his team once the job is completed.”
“Yes, I told them that after they’re done we’d meet back at the hotel so they could be paid. I’ll take care of them then.”
“And everything that has anything to do with us is clean? The flights, hotel, everything?”
Yury nodded.
“Good. Just make sure everything goes smooth. They got me in the SHU for I don’t know how long, so it will be hard for me to get updates. I’ll try to get one of the guards to get me some phone time. If I call, make sure you answer.”
“Of course. What got you in the SHU?”
Viktor shook his head. “Just something that needed to be done. When is your flight back?”
“Monday morning.”
“I’ll try to get us another face-to-face next week. I want those photos in my hand. They die by any means necessary. If you don’t think this hired team can get it done, I want you to take care of it.”
“I understand.”
Someone banged on the metal door. The key clanked, unlocking it. The door swung open, and the guard stuck his head in. “Time’s up.”
Yury stood, closed his briefcase, and took it from the table. He looked at Viktor. “We’ll talk soon.”
Viktor nodded, and Yury left the room.
The guard walked to Viktor—still seated. He twisted the key in the lock that held Viktor’s cuffed hands to the chain on the table. “Was it worth your five hundred bucks?” he asked.
“Every penny.”
Chapter 5 - Kane
After Callie and I finished dinner, I spoke with Hank regarding Susanne Riaola’s so-called boyfriend. The man in question claimed he’d never had any kind of relationship, other than professional, with Susanne Riaola. He was married, had two children, and had been on a church retreat at the time the homicide took place. Hank confirmed the man’s attendance with the church. Riaola was lying. Pax’s text message came in a half hour after I left the station—the smaller set of prints did belong to the deceased woman. It got us no further in our investigation.
I was up by six and in my office by seven thirty. I needed to get together everything I could before Charles Riaola arrived for our interview—I was still grasping at a sliver of hope that he’d show. I grabbed a seat at my desk and played my voice messages—the machine showed just one message left an hour prior. The message was from Nick at the airport. Riaola’s car had been rented from United Auto Rental and was returned at 5:03 a.m. at the Atlanta airport. He wasn’t driving back. The car’s mileage showed a little over a hundred miles since rental—not a tenth of the mileage that the round-trip drive from Atlanta to Tampa would be. United Car Rental did not have GPS tracking on their cars. The only flight he had booked was his original return flight, which would land around one p.m.
I tossed the desk phone on its base and leaned back in my chair. The guy trying to steer us in a different direction ate at me, plus he was in no hurry to return to the area. While the rental car’s mileage didn’t add up, his actions said he was involved. He still could have disconnected the odometer or acquired another vehicle. He could have hired the murder out. I figured I’d try calling Riaola to confirm our meeting at noon. I dialed his number, but the call went straight to his voice mail. His phone was turned off.
I let out a puff of air through my nose and dialed Waterman back—he answered within a couple rings.
“Nick Waterman.”
“Hey, it’s Kane.”
“Did you get my message?” he asked.
“I got it. So he dropped off the car he had early this morning and didn’t book anything sooner than his original flight?”
“Strikes me as weird behavior. I just checked, and he could have grabbed a couple of different flights this morning. If something like that happened to me, nothing would have stopped me from being home as soon as I could.”
“Yeah, I know. Now, the car he dropped off—”
Waterman interrupted. “Not being cleaned and not being rented until they get word.”
“Perfect. I’m going to make a few calls here and try to get someone out to it from the local area there. Even though the mileage doesn’t fit, I want someone to have a look at it anyway.”
“Sure.”
“Can you let me know if he books a different flight or boards the plane for his original?” I asked.
“Of course. I’ll put a flag on him in the system. You’ll know as soon as I do.”
“I appreciate it, Nick.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks.” I hung up.
In my notepad, I found the page with the name of the company Riaola worked for. I looked them up and dialed. The call went to an answering system telling me they opened at nine. I’d have to try them back in an hour.
Outside my office door, I could see the captain in the bullpen at Hank’s desk. I got up, left my office, and walked over.
“Did you guys just get in?” I asked.
Hank gnawed the end of a granola bar. The crumbs fell from his mustache and sprinkled down onto his navy-blue tie. “Just walked in.”
The captain nodded as he sipped a coffee and swallowed. “Any news on the case?”
“I just talked to Nick at the airport. Riaola returned his rental car in Atlanta a few hours ago. The mileage on the returned car isn’t enough to make a round-trip drive from Atlanta to Tampa.”
“Did the rental car have GPS?” Hank asked.
“No,” I said.
“Did he get a flight?” Bostok asked.
“Nothing new. His original flight puts him back here around one p.m.”
“I thought he was supposed to come in at noon,” Hank said.
“Yeah, so did I.”
“Did you try calling him?” Bostok asked.
“I did. It went straight to voice mail. I guess he’s not taking calls.”
“What about the prints from forensics?” the captain asked.
“I talked to Pax before I left last night. The knives were clean, and they only got two sets of prints from inside the house. The deceased woman’s prints were everywhere, along with one other set that we can’t match—the husband’s more than likely.”
“They aren’t on file?” Hank asked.
I shook my head.
“So what’s next?” Hank asked.
“The car he rented is still at the rental office at the Atlanta airport. I was going to make a call up to the local PD there and see if someone could go have a look at it. If there’s nothing questionable with the car, we can check it off the list.”
“Do we know that it’s still there for sure?” Captain Bostok asked.
“Yeah, Waterman said they aren’t cleaning it or renting it until they get word.”
“You’ll want to talk to the major at the Airport Precinct. They have a separate division that works Hartsfield-Jackson. He’ll be able to send someone out to the car.”
I nodded.
“What does your gut tell you on this Riaola?” Bostok asked.
“The way he was on the phone, the way he tried casting suspicion away from himself, him in no hurry to get back or make the agreed-upon interview time—I think he’s involved, at the minimum.”
The captain stood. “You guys let me know if you need anything. Kane, don’t burn yourself out just because you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Captain Bostok walked toward his office.
I looked at Hank, who was wadding up his granola-bar wrapper. “What’s on your plate?”
The wrapper found the trash bin at the side of his desk. “Whatever you need me to do.”
“Can you get something going on the husband’s phone records?”
“Sure.” Hank pulled his tie to his mouth and ate the remaining crumbs that had accumulated. “How was the steak joint last night?”
“Great. You’ve never been there?”
He shook his head. “I think I might try to check the place out tonight. Karen won’t eat red meat and nags me when I do. So my steak fix has to come when she isn’t around.”
I smirked. “When does she get back?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Why don’t you come over tonight? We’ll grab some steaks and grill out.”
“Yeah?” Hank perked up. “Well, you probably have to pack and all that. I don’t want to intrude on you and Callie.”
“Whatever. Just come over after work. You’re never going to intrude.”
He smiled.
I left Hank’s desk and headed back to my office. I took a seat at my desk and dialed Callie.
She picked up. “Hey.”
“Hey, babe. What’s up?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just doing laundry and getting some stuff packed. Do you want me to put a bag together for you?”
“Don’t worry about it. I can take care of it when I get home. Hey, I invited Hank over to grill out later.”
“Okay. Yeah, that will wor
k. I was going to go out in a bit to do some girl stuff anyway. Do you want me to go grab a couple things from the store?”
“It’s up to you. Otherwise, I can do it on my way home.”
“I’ll get it—I’ll be out anyway. What do you guys want?”
“A couple of T-bones. Some potato salad.”
“Got it, babe. When do you think you’ll be done?”
“Seven at the latest.”
“See you then. Love you.”
“Love you guys too.”
“Aww. Bye, baby.”
I smiled. “See you later.”
I put the phone back on its base. No sooner did my hand come off of the receiver than it rang.
I lifted it back up. “Lieutenant Kane.”
“Kane, it’s Ed. I have a little something here for you guys. I actually just got off the phone with Rick. He’s going to stop back down and take a look at what I found.”
“Well, what did you find?”
“Flesh under her nail.”
“Our guys didn’t spot anything at the scene,” I said.
“I found it under her right large toenail when I was washing her down. The piece is pretty small. I had to look at it under magnification to confirm it as flesh. Rick is on his way over to get a scraping.”
“It didn’t come from her?”
“She has no scratches anywhere.”
“Good. It’s about the first real lead we have. Thanks, Ed.”
“Yup. We’ll see you.”
I hung up and fired off a text to Rick. I wanted to know as soon as he got anything from the flesh sample—he confirmed.
I looked over the notes of what I wanted to get taken care of. All that remained was calling the industrial supply company Riaola worked for and getting in contact with the guys at the Atlanta Police Department. I still had about twenty minutes before American Industrial Materials opened. I looked up the Airport Precinct’s number and found the name of my contact, Major Lance Rogan. I dialed the number.
Perilous Page 3
