Perilous

by E. H. Reinhard

  “APD Airport,” a man answered.

  “Hello, this is Lieutenant Carl Kane from the Tampa homicide division. I’m looking to speak with Major Rogan.”

  “Sure. One minute, Lieutenant.”

  Hold music played in my ear for a number of minutes. It broke only for announcements about the annual APD fundraiser. The music clicked off as someone picked up.

  “This is Major Rogan.”

  “Hello, Major. Lieutenant Kane from Tampa homicide.”

  “Yeah, sorry about the wait. We were just wrapping up our morning meeting. What can I help you with?”

  “Well, I have a possible suspect in a homicide that returned a rental car at your airport there this morning.”

  “Are you thinking it was involved?”

  “That, I’m not sure of. The mileage when the vehicle was returned doesn’t fit. I just wanted to see if you could send out someone to give it a quick look.”

  “Sure. What’s the company it was rented from?”

  “United Auto Rental.”

  “And what should I have my guys looking for?”

  I bounced my pen on my desk. “Anything that could suggest the guy was in Tampa. Also, see if there are any signs that the odometer has been tampered with.”

  “Sure. What was the name of the man who rented the car?”

  “Charles Riaola.”

  “I’ll send someone over.”

  “Thanks.”

  The major and I exchanged contact numbers and hung up. With any luck, I’d be able to check the rental car off the list one way or another within the hour.

  The last thing on my plate was calling Riaola’s employer. I pulled the number back up and dialed.

  A woman answered immediately. “Thanks for calling American Industrial Materials. This is Lauren. How can I help you today?”

  “Hi, Lauren. This is Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa Police Department. Is there someone in charge that I could speak with?”

  “One minute.”

  She placed me on hold.

  A man came on and cleared his throat. “Ted Lang. How can I help you?”

  “Hi. Lieutenant Carl Kane with the Tampa Police Department. Are you in charge there?”

  “I’m the vice president of sales.” His words were quick and short. I had a feeling he didn’t have much interest in dealing with me.

  “Great.” I jotted down his name. “I was wondering if you could confirm an employee’s attendance to a trade show you just conducted in Atlanta?”

  “What is this regarding?”

  “I just need to confirm his attendance. The employee’s name is Charles Riaola.”

  He let out a puff of air in annoyance. “Riaola was there Tuesday but missed Wednesday—food poisoning or some excuse like that.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. One of our managers called me to see if I wanted to send another rep up there. It was a small show, so I just had them work it minus Charles. Why do you need to confirm his whereabouts?”

  “It’s just part of an investigation. Thanks for your time, Mr. Lang.”

  I hung up and tossed my desk phone back on the base. There was too much circumstantial evidence for there to be any other conclusion than he was involved or committed the crime himself.

  Chapter 6 - Kane

  The major from the Atlanta Airport Precinct called me back a few minutes after ten—the car was clean. The officer he’d sent out didn’t find anything. The odometer didn’t appear to have been tampered with. The rental car was looking like a dead end.

  Rick gave my door a tap and walked in.

  “Hey, I just got back from the ME’s office. I got the skin processed, and it should go out for DNA testing today yet.”

  “Yeah, that will be weeks, at the earliest, before it comes back, though.”

  Rick shrugged. “It’s evidence—solid, concrete evidence. We’ll just have to wait a bit.”

  “I don’t suppose you got anything else?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, no. I wish we would have gotten more from the house. Aside from the body, some photographs, and the smear in the blood pool, there wasn’t much there.”

  “What did you come up with on that smear?”

  “We didn’t find anything around the house—either something our perp was carrying or maybe a pant leg.”

  I scrunched my mouth to the side in thought.

  “What? Did I say something?”

  “I need to make a call, Rick. I’m going to ask the Atlanta PD to head back out and check the carpets for blood transfer.”

  “Sure, there’s a chance there. Let me know.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Rick walked from my office. I dialed the major from Atlanta’s Airport Precinct back.

  “This is Major Rogan.”

  “Lieutenant Kane with the TPD, calling back. I know it’s probably a hassle, but I wanted to see if you could get an officer to check one specific thing inside that rental car.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Blood around the driver’s-side foot well. We are thinking that our suspect might have had blood on the bottoms of his pants.”

  “The officer said he didn’t notice any tampering with the odometer. If he didn’t drive the rental car to Tampa, there would be no blood.”

  “Do you think you could just humor me on this one? We have to cover everything here. This guy’s wife was found with a dozen kitchen knives sticking out of her. I need to be certain he didn’t drive that car back and commit the murder.”

  A pause came from the other end of the phone.

  “Fine. I’ll send him back out. I’m just going to give him your number. I’ll have him call you when he gets in the car. You can tell him what you want looked at.”

  “That’s perfect. I appreciate it, Major.”

  “You owe us one if we ever need anything from the TPD.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  I hung up and tapped my fingernails on my desk. A gut feeling, along with Riaola being dodgy, wouldn’t get me a warrant for his arrest. We could probably secure a sample of his DNA from somewhere in his house, but getting it would be a lot easier with a cheek swab. For that, he would need to be in front of us, and we were still unsure if he was coming back, running, guilty, innocent, or somewhere in between.

  I stood from my desk and walked to the lunchroom. A cup of coffee and a Danish from the vending machines were in order. I scooped a cup from the rack and grabbed a single-serve Donut Shop coffee from the bowl next to the coffee maker. I splashed some water in the top and hit the Start button. I’d taken it upon myself in the last week to drop a few hundred dollars on a couple new coffee machines. They would save the sanity of me and everyone else in our precinct. The three-foot-tall, stainless-steel Deluxe Coffee Station sat where it always had—complete with an Out of Order sign taped to the front. I stared at the machine. It looked a little different than usual. I spotted a new dent in the side and a void in the dust covering it. Someone must have hit it recently. The officers were sick of having maintenance done on the stupid thing, and it served as somewhat of a punching bag. Officers would walk past and throw a jab or a hook into its side. Permanently out of order, it had never been more reliable.

  The light on my coffee maker flashed—my cup was full. I pulled it from the machine. The cup was filled to the top with coffee—no lukewarm water, no coffee grounds mixed in, just coffee. I splashed in some creamer from the refrigerator and plugged a couple dollars into the vending machine for a Danish. I sat and sipped my coffee, jotting down questions I wanted to ask Riaola if he actually showed. Even if he didn’t come in, I could give the bullet list to Hank in case he was picked up or showed up to the station while I was on vacation. I peeked at my watch—a couple minutes to eleven. I had roughly another six or seven hours before I’d be walking out of the station and officially going on vacation for ten days. The last few months had been pretty rough. I was actually looking forward to some time off wi
th Callie and my family, and surprisingly, I was looking forward to meeting hers. I jammed the rest of the cheese Danish in my mouth. I hadn’t heard from Waterman. Riaola should have been at the airport and checked in for his flight by then. I grabbed my coffee and walked back to my office.

  At my desk, I dialed Waterman at the airport.

  He picked up. “Nick Waterman.”

  “Hey, Nick. It’s Kane. Did Riaola check in for his flight?”

  “I didn’t get anything on my end from the flag I put in on him. Let me have a look manually.”

  I could hear him tapping away at a keyboard.

  “Negative. He never checked in. Give me one second.”

  I heard him plugging away at more keys.

  “They already called pre-boarding for business class, which is where his seat on the plane is. I don’t have any information that he’s been through security, and he hasn’t checked in. I doubt your guy is getting on that flight. It will be pulling from the gate in about fifteen minutes. The flight is scheduled to go out at eleven twenty-six. I’ll call you back then and let you know if he’s on board.”

  I cracked my knuckles in frustration. “Sounds good, Nick.”

  “Yup.”

  I hung up and rocked back in my chair. I clasped my hands behind my head. It looked as though Riaola was a runner. If he did in fact run, his guilt would be confirmed. The case would then get kicked over to the feds for a nationwide net. We were looking at months until he was found, if ever.

  Hank stuck his head through my office doorway. “Any news?” he asked.

  “Riaola didn’t check in for his flight which leaves in”—I looked at my watch—“less than ten minutes.”

  “Running?”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, I have the tech guys doing the legwork on getting his cell-phone records and locations.”

  “Good. Find Timmons and see if he can run a couple cars with the ALPR systems through the long, and short-term, parking lots by the airport. I want to know where Riaola’s car is.”

  “Sounds good.” Hank slapped the side of my door and walked off.

  Our ALPR-equipped cars could scan thousands of license plates in a shift. If Riaola’s car was in one of the lots, we’d have it in a matter of hours. My desk phone rang, and I scooped it up.

  “Lieutenant Kane.”

  “Hi, this is Officer Pace with the APD Airport Precinct. I’m out at a rental vehicle here, for the second time. What are we looking for, exactly?”

  “Sorry about making you run twice. I need to see if there is anything that looks like blood around the driver’s-side foot well.”

  “Hold on.”

  I heard rummaging around coming from his end of the call.

  “Okay, I got my head down here. Let me get my light. Um, hold on.”

  I waited.

  “Sure as shit,” he said. “I got some reddish-brown smudges next to the gas pedal. It looks like it could be blood. Let me get someone from forensics in Precinct One out here.”

  “That was the break we were hoping for,” I said. “One more thing. I need to be certain that the odometer wasn’t tampered with. Can you take a look at the screws holding it in?”

  More sounds of him moving around came from his end of the phone. “Yeah, one second. There is a plastic trim piece around the gauge cluster. Let me pop it off quick.”

  “Wait!”

  Silence. Then, “I’m waiting.”

  “Don’t touch it. Leave it for your forensics guys. His fingerprints may be around or behind it.”

  “Good point. Let me make the call. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have more information.”

  “Great. Thanks again, Officer Pace.”

  “Glad to help.”

  I hung up and then went to the captain’s office, knocked at his door, and walked in.

  “We got what could be blood in Riaola’s rental car. The officer I talked to out there has their forensics team on the way.”

  “We’ll need confirmation before I’ll be able to secure a warrant.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll have it within a few hours. I’ll have their forensic unit get in contact with ours as soon as I get the call.”

  “Good. Let me know.”

  I walked back to my office.

  Chapter 7 - Yury

  In a high-rise condo, with views from downtown all the way around to Hillsborough Bay, Yury, Viktor’s henchman attorney, was waiting for Ramon to arrive. Yury caught the time from the clock on the wall: 11:19 a.m. At any minute, Ramon should be giving word to the concierge downstairs that he was there. Yury walked to the gray granite breakfast bar and poured himself a half glass of vodka. He took a mouthful and swallowed as he leaned back against the bar and waited. His attention focused on the television playing sports highlights on the adjacent wall. Before he finished the last inch of his drink, the intercom buzzed. Yury set his glass down and walked over to it.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Glen from downstairs. A guest, Mr. Hernandez, has arrived for you. Shall I send him up?”

  “Please. Thanks.”

  Yury removed his finger from the intercom and took his gun from the bar. He stuffed it into the back of his pants and let his suit jacket fall back over it. The last of the vodka was drunk, and he splashed more in his glass. Yury took the drink to a big black leather chair in the living room and waited. On the mahogany end table to his right sat a folder filled with all the false identifications for Ramon and his crew. He stared out through the glass, past the patio, at the downtown skyline. Yury heard a double tap on the condo’s door.

  “Yeah, come on in!” Yury shouted.

  The door opened and closed.

  “Yury?” a voice asked.

  “In the living room. Pour yourself a drink if you’d like. There is booze on the bar there.”

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink when I’m working.”

  Ramon walked into the living room. Yury eyeballed him up and down. Ramon had on a blue button-up collared shirt, the front covered with pockets. He wore tan cargo pants and black tactical boots. His black hair was buzzed short. Not a speck of stubble could be seen on his face. He walked ten feet from Yury and stopped.

  “Have a seat.” Yury nodded to another leather chair.

  “I prefer to stand.”

  Ramon grabbed his drink and took a sip. “Are you carrying?”

  “I am.”

  “Set the piece on the table and sit.” Yury pointed at the chair.

  Ramon didn’t move.

  Yury set his drink back down. His eyes went back to Ramon. “Did you hear what I asked?”

  “I did.”

  “Then why aren’t you doing it?”

  Ramon said nothing.

  “Do we have a problem here?” Yury stood and took the gun from his waistband. He let it hang against his leg. He stared at Ramon. “If you want to get paid, you’re going to do what I say. If not, we’re going to have a problem.” Yury motioned with the barrel of the gun to the chair.

  Ramon scratched the side of his head and did as he was told.

  Yury set his gun next to Ramon’s. “There. Now we are on the same page.” He grabbed the folder from the end table and held it out for Ramon.

  Ramon took it.

  “Look it over and make sure everything in there is correct.”

  Ramon thumbed through the documents and identifications. He looked over the airline tickets and hotel information.

  “So you will be there as well?” Ramon asked.

  “In the background. You’ll report your movements and actions to me. You won’t see me, but I’ll be watching.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “I’ll get you two vehicles for transportation once we’re up there.”

  Ramon nodded.

  Yury walked to the kitchen and, from the counter top, grabbed a duffel bag he had prepared. He walked it back and handed it to Ramon. “Here are your phones and radios. They are all untraceable and will work with the cell
-phone jammer turned on. Don’t use anything other than these. The numbers for the phones are programmed in. It will say “unavailable” on the screen when I call you. The one black phone in the bag is yours. Make sure no one else uses it.”

  “Okay. Is that it?” Ramon asked.

  “A few more things. Check into the hotel as soon as you get in. No one should use the hotel phone in the room. Make sure none of the hotel staff sees your men. Just be smart.”

  “I got it.”

  Ramon stood and walked toward the door. He grabbed the handle and turned it.

  “Remember. Be smart,” Yury said.

  Ramon stopped and talked over his shoulder. “We will. In, dead, out, and then get paid.”

  “Don’t take this guy for a pushover. Keep your confidence in check.”

  Ramon nodded and walked out.

  Yury took his seat again, looking out the window. He heard a door open. A man walked from one of the back bedrooms out to Yury.

  “He’s gone?” the man asked. He tied a white bathrobe around his large frame.

  “Yeah. I just gave him all of their documentation.”

  “Good. We should put something else in place as well.

  “For?”

  “I’m just not sold on this plan of hiring this out. Viktor wants this to stay away from us, but I don’t see how it’s really going to matter.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “You’re still going up there to supervise, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  “Have one or two of the guys locate Kane’s parents and hang on to them. We can always use them for bait if needed. Have it done before any shots are fired. I don’t want Kane to be able to warn them if these guys’ first attempt fails.”

  “And if everything goes smooth? What do you want to do with the parents?”

  He shrugged. “Bury them.”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter 8 - Kane

  Waterman called me at eleven thirty to inform me that Riaola had not boarded his flight. He didn’t book a new flight either. My gut feelings on him were appearing to be correct, and he was in the wind.

  Hank walked into my office and sat across from me. “Timmons sent out two cars to look over the airport lots.”