The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure)

by Jack Parker

  "Tell us where the others are," Slyder broke in loudly, sending me a death stare.

  The kid shrugged against the big cop's hand. "Don't know," he mumbled. "They left me here. I was just doing what I was told."

  "By your friends?" Slyder asked in his ear.

  He shook his head, looking up at me angrily. "No, we were working together. We were hired to rob a house. That's it. This was… This was –"

  All of a sudden, however, I suddenly wasn't interested in hearing what he had to say. In fact, his story was the least of my concerns, now that a huge piece of the big picture was suddenly falling into place.

  "You were hired. So there's a brain behind all this?" I glanced up at Slyder, saw the light of dawning comprehension in his eyes, then looked back at Sheldon. "This wasn't just some ill–conceived, get–rich–quick job, then. Who is this boss?"

  He shrugged again, uneasily. "Wouldn't tell us his name. Just offered us a sum. We needed the money, so we took it."

  I posted my fists on my hips. "Why the hell would you sign up for this if you didn't know who was hiring you? Why weren't you suspicious?"

  Another shrug. He stared straight ahead, jaw set, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room. "He told us it was for safety. If either of us was caught, you cops wouldn't be able to trace the other party. Everyone was cool with it."

  "Tell me your compadrés' names," I said.

  For a moment, Sheldon worked his jaw, maybe considering whether to make up names or not. "Look, I didn't want this, okay?" he spat suddenly, meeting my gaze intensely. His glare was scathing. "We were just going to go in, take some shit, and go out. We didn't think anyone was home."

  "And that makes it okay?" I asked incredulously, honestly wondering if that was how he felt. "You damn well know it now. I asked you your partners' names. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to frighten you again?"

  "Stikup," Slyder began –

  "It was Fin's idea!" the kid burst out savagely, scooting to the edge of his seat – as far as Slyder's grip on his shoulder would allow. "He came in here, found her asleep, and wanted to have some fun. I didn't fucking touch her!"

  A bated silence fell.

  I arched an eyebrow at the kid. "'Fin'?"

  Sheldon shook sweaty hair out of his eyes, suddenly calmer. "Yeah. Fin. He hates to be called Finigan, so that's what we called him."

  "Who's 'we'?" I had pulled out my notebook and was poised to scribble down whatever "facts" he was about to give me. At least we could still search an alias. It was better than nothing.

  Sheldon hesitated. "Red Harris and me," he said reluctantly, and from the way he said the name, I could immediately tell there was some type of animosity between him and this Harris character. "There were only three of us."

  "Thanks." I tucked the 9mm into my armpit in order to write in my notebook. I scrawled the two names haphazardly in my notebook, alongside of "Greg Sheldon". "What's this 'Fin' character's last name?"

  A reluctant pause. "Thawyer."

  "T-h-a-w-y-e-r? Like 'Sawyer' with a lisp?" I made a note. "Why'd they leave you behind, Greg?"

  His eyes darkened considerably, and he jerked his head towards the door. "I tripped over that fucking table in the hall and hurt my leg. Fin was already outside getting the car, and Red decided I was too much trouble and left me."

  Explains why Sheldon's not happy with him. I frowned, wondering if there wasn't something more. "I guess real thieves aren't like they are in the movies," I said to cover my intrigue. "Brothers forever?"

  "Whatever, man." Sheldon sighed. "I told you I didn't have anything to do with the woman. I didn't take anything, either. Can I fucking go now?"

  I rounded on him, my fury breaking at his ignorance. "You've been caught red–handed in a house, with the body of an innocent woman! For all I know, you're just really good liar!" Unwittingly, my voice had risen in volume until I was shouting. "What do you think should be done to someone who rapes and kills a woman, Greg? God did not put us on this stupid earth to kill and violate one another! How do you justify that?"

  "Calm down, Stikup!" Slyder bellowed, something like outrage in his dark eyes. "I swear to God, I will have you removed, do you understand me?"

  I turned away from Sheldon, rubbed my eyes forcefully, then holstered my gun for all to see. "Apologies," I said hoarsely, speaking to everyone, but looking at the floor. I felt heat in my cheeks, and this time it had nothing to do with anger.

  Sergeant Cready was staring in disbelief, along with the rest of his team. The lieutenant remained where she stood, poised to intervene again if necessary.

  Swallowing my anger, breathing deliberately, I blew out a sigh. "Where were you and the others staying?" I asked, turning to face Sheldon once more.

  He had been shaken up by my second bout of shouting but was already regaining his sneer. "We didn't stay in the same place, man – kept moving around so we couldn't be traced. I don't know where we were planning on going next."

  "Your partners didn't make any suggestions?"

  Greg shook his head. "Not that I know of. Somewhere local, though."

  "Great." Turning to Slyder, I said: "That's it for me. Do you have anything you'd like to ask our friend here, Chief?"

  "Wait a minute – I want a lawyer." Greg looked around triumphantly, as though he had just won his freedom. "No more questions until I get a lawyer." As though that decided everything; the kid didn't seem to be very bright. I guess it's true what they say about cop shows: crimes on TV are committed by geniuses, but in real life, criminals are stupid.

  "Little late now," I said, squashing his sense of victory and loving it. "Should have thought of that earlier and plead the Fifth."

  Slyder sucked on his cigarette for a moment, thinking. "What does the name Miles mean to you?"

  The kid shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Perhaps he didn't like Slyder breathing down his neck – quite literally – or perhaps he was still thinking about lawyers and loopholes. "Look," he began, blowing out a sigh. "Boss just told us to hit 264, Franklin Drive in Swedesboro. Wasn't our idea – we just needed the money. I don't know why he'd have us hit that guy, but whatever, man – we got the money for it. Was 264 this Miles guy's place?"

  It's a personal thing, then. Definitely. I arched an eyebrow and exchanged a significant look with Kevin Slyder. "Maybe. Same reason why you hit 13, Jackson Boulevard – Mantua?"

  The kid frowned, looking confused. "This is only the second place we've hit. This isn't 13 Jackson, is it? I thought we were in Richwood."

  My brows drew together of their own accord. "How'd you end up with that car you're driving? The red Ford?"

  Sheldon shrugged. "Boss left it at that abandoned cannery downtown Swedesboro and told us to pick it up there. Didn't say where he'd gotten it – only that it would work."

  Things weren't making sense, and I didn't like it. That crucial piece of information I had so recently unearthed seemed further out of reach all of a sudden. "Did this boss of yours let on to you whether or not he has any other crooks under his employ?"

  Sheldon shook his head, but he looked disinterested in the question – almost annoyed by it. "No. I told you, he didn't tell us anything – only what to do, where to do it, and how much we'd get for the job."

  I twisted my face into a grimace. "Well that certainly makes things more complicated. Now we have a potential two gangs, both operating beneath the same boss. There's these three that hit Miles, and the other gang that hit Mendoza."

  Slyder blew smoke out his nose, making me think forcibly of a dragon. "No word of any other thefts yet," he grunted simply.

  I removed my fedora and scratched my scalp. "Yeah, but now when we do, we'll have to wonder which group it was… Unless we detain either of these two goons that Greg here told us about."

  The kid sat up straight, very real fear shining in his youthful eyes. "You can't tell them that I snitched on them! They'll fucking kill me! That's the kind of men they are!"

  I didn't dou
bt it, but Sheldon's safety and fear weren't my biggest priorities at the moment. Just the same, I reassured him, but not just to calm his anxiety. "I'm not telling them anything, kid. They'll be answering my questions – not the other way around."

  There was complete silence as I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and looked around the moonlit room one last time. "Alright, I'm through here."

  The other cops in the room seemed distinctly pleased by that pronouncement, but I was too exhausted and too preoccupied to really care.

  Slyder gestured to two of his officers. "Take him to the car."

  They each took one of Sheldon's arms and helped him stand. He didn't struggle this time: he finally seemed to realize that any resistance would have proved fruitless.

  "Hold up," I said suddenly, and the trio stopped in the doorway. All three of them turned to face me apprehensively as I crossed the room and came to stand before Sheldon.

  "Thank you for your assistance, Greg," I said in earnest. "I apologize for my frustration, and I hope you can forgive me for it."

  He said nothing, and his eyes were hard.

  I cleared my throat to unstick it. "If we find out that you really didn't have anything to do with this woman's death, then I'll make sure that you only get charged for B&E. Okay?"

  After a moment, he nodded mutely, and then the cops ushered him out of the room. The officers behind me seemed to collectively release their breath. That didn't mean the tension in the room was gone, but with one of the reactive components successfully removed, it was suddenly more bearable.

  The bomb had been defused, but it still deserved cautious treatment.

  Slyder wiped sweat from his palms onto his pants. "Quick thinking there, Stikup. He might have gotten away if you hadn't been paying attention."

  I shrugged like it was no big deal, but I was grinding my teeth in agitation. "Sure, Chief. It's what I'm paid to do."

  Suddenly he was angry again – and rightly so, I suppose. "But you weren't paid to rough the kid up!" he snapped, putting his face very close to mine. "I don't know what you were thinking – you can'tscrew with the criminals! Like it or not, they are human beings, and they do have rights."

  For a moment, he stared at me, obviously raging inside, and then he exploded: "Jesus Christ, Stikup! If I were you, I'd be praying to God that he doesn't get a good lawyer! You know they can revoke your license for that, right? Criminal abuse is a felony, too."

  He gave me a look that in no way caused my growing resentment to die away and pointed a finger in my face. I could smell his cigarette as he put that finger into my chest, nearly shouting: "I know you're not really used to this, but you've got to fucking control yourself. No one gives a damn what you think, okay? One more display of this righteous pastor shit and you're off the case. You got it? I don't think I need to tell you that you're only here because Dempsey didn't want some stupid theft case to gum up the whole force. I will file complaints, do you understand?"

  I forced a painful smile, then held up my hand to show how it was shaking – voluntarily, of course. "Yeah, Chief. No coffee in me. Apologies."

  After a very baited silence, Slyder sighed wearily and tossed his spent cigarette into a waste bin that stood by the bookshelf. "Fuck," he growled, fighting to put away his frustration. "Get the hell out of here, Stikup. We'll update you on any information we find. I do want you to come back in the morning, however, to check everything over again."

  "Sure, Chief." I turned to the lieutenant. "If you find anything on the body, I want it. Anything that don't belong to her – blood, fingernail fragments, anything… I want it DNA'd and the information faxed to me. Got it? And keep this crime scene set up for me exactly as is. Don't touch anything."

  She nodded once, although her eyes told me she wasn't happy in the slightest with my performance. But at the moment, I didn't give a shit.

  "Of course," she said hesitantly. "Anything to help."

  I turned on my heel and left the room.

  Chapter Six

  Instead of going home, I headed back to the office. It was 5:20 by the time I left the Daniels house, so there was no sense in going home, regardless of the fact that I was thoroughly exhausted.

  The drive seemed to take a lot longer than fifteen minutes it had previously. By the time I arrived back at the office, I had picked apart the entire instance, detail by detail. And after evaluating my own performance, I was furious with myself for being unable to control my anger, and not a little humiliated at the results. Here I was, trying to be professional about this whole affair, and goddamn it all if I hadn't gone and effectively destroyed that ruse. Granted, I wasn't used to working murder cases, but that was no excuse for flying off the handle.

  But it wasn't Greg Sheldon's attitude that had sparked the fire within me. It had nothing to do with the irritating actions of the police officers who had randomly ended up on the scene. It wasn't related to the late hour or the lack of any substantial leads and information. It was the all–too–recent memory of the victim, Daniels, lying prostrate on the floor, never to rise again. It was the knowledge that an innocent creature had been violated and slaughtered in such an ungodly way. It made me question mankind and curse the day God had ever created such despicable creatures.

  But aside from stirring up a righteous hatred in my gut, Daniels' murder fixated my resolve unerringly on bringing the murderers to justice. Even if the result of my actions earlier that morning would prove to be my removal from the case, I solemnly vowed that I would still do everything within my power to bring the murders to justice. I felt no obligation to Miles or Mendoza despite the fact that I was technically under their employ: I just wanted to get retribution for what Sheldon and his buddies had done, if only to atone for the death of one innocent woman.

  Not that anything will really make that right.

  Despite the fog clouding my mind, I remembered to lock the Anglia before heading inside. On rubber legs, I made my way to the room at the end of the hall, my sanctuary. After lighting a fire in the fireplace, I flopped onto the sofa, still wearing my coat for the added warmth.

  For a long while, I lay there, wide–awake. All I could do was think.

  Before leaving the scene of the crime, I had briefly questioned the neighbors – the Dudsons – who had originally heard the commotion. Frank Dudson, a light sleeper, claimed to have been aroused by the sounds of a car outside. While he was using the restroom, he had heard the screams coming faintly from next–door, at approximately 1:30. According to Frank and his wife Sherry, the struggle must have been a violent one for them to have heard it so clearly.

  I tossed my notepad onto the coffee table and laid my head back against the sofa's armrest, watching the ceiling grow lighter as morning crept steadily into the room. Frustration and lack of sleep were joining forces to give me a severe headache – not to mention the punch to the jaw I'd received.

  Slyder and the Swedesboro CSI had gotten to the scene of the crime at about 2:00, roughly twenty minutes after Sergeant Cready had gotten the information from their DA, Seth Chauncey, that the case was under SPD jurisdiction and called them in. At 2:05, Slyder had called me over to get my hands dirty, about an hour before Cready's cops would return from their search for the getaway vehicle. According to the sergeant, they had scouted 55 from exits 20 to the merge with the Expressway, an expanse of roughly fifteen miles, but had not met with any success. They had put out the alert over all police channels about the vehicle and its dangerous occupants, but no one had seen a suspicious red Ford with no tags and a smashed driver's window at any time that night.

  My swirling thoughts eventually surrendered me to the slumber of necessity, and I awoke to the smell of coffee at 7:00 on the dot. I blinked mist from my eyes and raised my head from the arm of the sofa, somehow feeling less rested than I had before nodding off.

  Jill stood next to the coffee table, a gorgeous sight to wake up to, juggling a mug, sugar, and a bottle of CoffeeMate in her hands.

  "Good mornin
g!" she said, smiling and oblivious, setting it all down on the coffee table. "You looked like you were sleeping kind of restlessly. Are you okay?"

  Swallowing the sour taste of sleep, I unwound my tie from around my neck where it had been attempting to strangle me. I always have had bad taste in ties.

  "As far as I can tell," I replied sleepily, and began shrugging my shoulders free of the trench coat. For some reason, I was sweating – even though the fire in the hearth had burned itself out some hours ago and the room had returned to the approximate temperature of a refrigerator.

  Jill smiled, almost amused, regarding my appearance. I probably looked like hell, the complete antithesis of her. "I tried waking you up when I got here, but you wouldn't come around, so I just let you sleep. I figured you needed it after last night."