“Sorry about the wait,” she heard a woman say.
Eve turned around to see a mid-thirties woman, thin, with short dark hair, wiping her greasy hands on a rag as she appeared from a hallway behind the front counter. The woman wore a dirty flannel shirt and equally dirty blue jeans. Beneath the dirt on her face, the woman was rather attractive, in a tomboy kind of way, Eve thought.
“I was in the service bay, checking one of our rental trucks back in. What can I help you out with?” the woman asked.
“I’m looking for a storage unit. Something garage sized. I found you guys online, and it looked like you had fairly reasonable prices.”
“No corporate-made pricing and overhead,” the woman said. “Independently owned and operated.”
Eve gave her a smile and nod.
“Okay. Storage unit. That we can do.” The woman turned and tossed the rag that she cleaned her hands with onto the counter.
Eve noticed the woman didn’t wear a wedding band.
“Now were you looking for climate controlled or no? Because if you were, we don’t have any.” She chuckled.
“Just a regular old garage space,” Eve said.
“Not a problem. What are you storing?”
“Miscellaneous odds and ends. I’m in the process of moving, and some of the stuff, I can’t bring myself to throw away but also don’t need it in my new place, which is small.”
“Sure. We have smaller units available if that may work better.”
“I think a regular-sized garage will do just fine.”
“Okay. Let me show you what we’ve got, and then we can tackle the forms.”
“Sounds good,” Eve said.
The woman walked her out of the front door, through the gates, and toward the back of the garages. Eve looked to her left as the pair walked. Directly behind the front office, the roofline rose, and a number of rental trucks were parked inside of the service bays. The interior of the building was wide open.
“That’s my shop,” the woman said. “My father used to do service work here as well as the storage. I do some minor maintenance, but the bay is mostly used for just parking our rental trucks and trailers.”
“Sure,” Eve said. She continued looking through the bay doors, but she never saw another person. The woman could have been running the entire place solo.
She walked Eve to a garage door with the number eight at the top and lifted the unlocked roll-up door. “Looks like an empty garage, eh?” she asked.
“That it does,” Eve said. “This one isn’t available, is it?” Eve pointed at the door directly beside where they stood, the end unit of that building, with the number nine overhead.
“Um, yeah, that one is available as well.”
“Can I get this one? Nine is my lucky number,” Eve said. She looked down at the woman, who was six or seven inches shorter, and waited for her response.
“Who am I to deny someone their lucky number? Sure. Do you need to see the inside?”
“Might as well,” Eve said.
The woman rolled down the door on number eight and lifted number nine.
Eve stared into the empty garage stall and envisioned it as it would be. “This will be perfect,” she said.
“Great. Did you want to get it written up?”
“Please,” Eve said.
The woman walked her up front to the office. Eve looked around aimlessly as the woman printed off an invoice from a white printer that looked as if it was produced sometime in the last century.
“Okay. I just need a credit card from you and I can ring in the first and last months, and then it’s going to be fifty-four dollars a month.”
Eve hesitated briefly. “Any break on the price if I just pay in full in cash?” she asked. “Say the deposits and six months.”
The woman looked as if she was in thought.
“It’s just that between credit card payments, rent, car, insurance, phone, internet, cable, utilities, it gets to be a little much,” Eve said. “It’s a lot easier for me to—”
The woman held up her hand to stop Eve from talking. “It’s fine,” she said. “Call it fifty bucks even a month. Three hundred cash, and you’re set.”
“Perfect,” Eve said. “Appreciate that. I just don’t want to have to remember another in a sea of never-ending bills, you know.” Eve pulled her black leather wallet from her back pocket and took out three hundred-dollar bills. She handed them to the woman.
“You don’t have to tell me. I seem to have some kind of bill in the mail every day.” The woman worked the register and placed the money inside. “It would sure as hell be nice if some billionaire playboy walked in here and swept me off of my feet, but until that day comes, it’s nine-to-fives and bills.” The woman pulled out a red rubber stamp from under the counter and stamped the invoice as paid. She took a business card from a small holder near the register and stapled it to the top of the invoice.
Eve gave her a smile. “Will I get some kind of reminder when the six months is up?”
“I’ll remind you,” she said. She folded the invoice and slid it across the counter to Eve.
Eve took it, folded it again, and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans with her wallet.
The woman turned around and grabbed a padlock with a set of keys hanging from the bottom of a rack. She pulled another key from below the padlocks and turned back to Eve. She set the key and the lock on the counter. “Here’s your lock for the garage. You can use your own if you’d like, but I provide everyone with one. This other key is for the gate. Let me show you how to work those.” She pointed toward the door and walked out from behind the counter. Eve followed her outside to the gates. The woman showed her how to punch the six-digit code into the box, which she was told worked only during business hours. After hours, she’d need to use the key to unlock the gate and then pull it open manually.
“Thanks,” Eve said as soon as the woman finished her instructions. Eve stared up at the camera housing on the pole. She pointed up at it. “Does that work?” she asked.
“I wish I could tell you that it does, but unfortunately no. I’ve been thinking about getting the camera replaced, but honestly, we really don’t have much of a reason to. We’re kind of hidden back here from the rest of the world and haven’t had any kind of vandalism or unauthorized entry in years. Even then, the last time, it was just a couple of kids looking for someplace they could hang out and drink.”
“I was just asking,” Eve said. “I don’t think my old furniture and whatever else I stick in here is going to be real high on anyone’s list of things to steal.”
The woman tapped on the counter. “Sure. Well, that’s about it as far as getting in and out,” she said. “You saw where your garage is, and I assume that you know how to open a garage door.”
“I’m skilled in that. It’s the closing that sometimes gets me,” Eve said.
She smiled at Eve. “Well, if you ever have a problem, I’m pretty easy to find,” she said.
“Thanks. What was your name?” Eve asked.
“Sorry.” The woman wiped her hand on the side of her jeans and outstretched it toward Eve. “Dana Haden.”
“Good to meet you,” Eve said. “And I’m glad you had something available.”
“Happy I could help,” Dana said. “I stapled one of my cards with my number to your invoice in case you ever need anything after hours. During the day, I’m always around. Either in the office, the garage, or across the street at home.” She pointed at the house directly across the street.
“So you live right there?” Eve asked.
“Yeah. This was all my father’s before he passed. The home and the business. He didn’t leave me any money, but he left me a roof over my head and a business that puts just enough cash in my pocket to get by. All a girl can ask for.”
“More than my father left me,” Eve said.
“Your father passed too?” she asked.
Eve looked down and away, trying to feign sadness. She ra
n her hand through her blond hair. “Just recently,” she said, a bit softer than her normal tone.
“I’m sorry. Mine was, geez, almost ten years ago now. It gets a little easier as time goes on. You’ll always miss him, though.”
Eve nodded. She looked back up and gave Dana a half smile. “I know. I can still feel him close by,” Eve said. “Okay, well, I better get moving. I think I’m going to have a long night. Thanks again. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Take care,” Dana said.
Eve walked to her car.
Chapter 11
Hank and I passed through the gated entrance and pulled into a parking slot in front of the Hillsborough County Medical Examiner’s Office. I stared through the windshield at the couple- year-old long, tan building with the green-tinted glass as I clicked the car into Park and killed the engine.
“Must have kept to themselves, hey?” Hank asked.
Hank was referring to the two girls at the apartment complex. Prior to us leaving, we’d asked every last person that had gathered in the lot if they knew Erica Osweiler or Billie Webber. A few people said that they’d seen the girls come and go, but no one had known them on any personal level, and none mentioned a man that frequented regularly and would have accounted for the clothes in the dresser.
“Must have,” I said.
My phone vibrated against my leg. I slipped it out and saw that it was Jim calling.
“I’m getting a call here, Hank. One second.” I opened the car door, stepped out, and hit Talk.
“Yeah, Jim,” I said.
“Hey, I just got your message. I was out on a scene. Dead gangbanger. The usual. What’s up?”
I rubbed at the back of my neck and gave Jim the story.
“Ugh,” he said.
“Yeah, so that’s what I’m dealing with here,” I said. I rested my elbows up on the roof of the car. I watched Hank pace the parking lot while I was on the phone with Jim—he held his cell phone to his ear. I assumed he was talking to his wife and letting her know that he would be working late.
“What can I do?” Jim asked.
“I need all the files from the original investigation,” I said.
“Okay. I can get whatever we have in records emailed over. What else?” he asked.
“I guess we’re looking for a female. Taller and larger than your average woman. Hair color we believe to be blond. Not sure what you can do with that up there, though. No one like that with the original investigation rings a bell with you?”
“I don’t remember anything like that,” Jim said. “But I can maybe call up to the state hospital again and check with them. Did you call the guy who reported the stolen license plate?”
“Yeah. There’s just nothing there. Plate gone. He never saw or heard anything.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know what I get on the mystery woman, but I’ll get the file from the investigation emailed over within the hour. I’ll have to go downstairs and get everything from records.”
“Thanks again, Jim.”
“No sweat. We’ll talk soon.”
I hung up and waved over at Hank, who was leaning up against a light pole a couple of parking spots away. He held his notepad and was writing something down. I saw him take his phone from his ear a moment later and return to the car.
“Karen?” I asked.
“No. Rob. We have a hit on our prints from the Acura.” Hank looked down at the notepad that he held. “Eve Kleeman. Her prints came up in the DOC database. Wisconsin.”
“Where were the prints?”
“License plate, plate frame, inside of the car, everywhere. The phone. They all match this woman.”
I said nothing but pulled out my phone and immediately dialed Jim back. He picked up after a single ring.
“That was fast,” he said.
“We have an ID on our woman. She’s a damn DOC employee. And I’d bet from the hospital where Koskinen is.”
“What’s the name?” Jim asked.
I looked at Hank. “What was the name again?” I asked.
Hank gave it to me, and I repeated it to Jim.
“Let me see what we have on her. Hold on,” Jim said.
I waited.
“Blond, six foot two, one hundred ninety-five pounds. Her address shows in Fitchburg. About it, really.”
I knew the city, a southern suburb of Madison, where the state mental hospital was. The height, weight, and hair color fit who we thought we were seeking.
“Anything as far as employment? Where she works? What her position is?”
“There’s nothing here.”
“Do you have a number for that assistant director that you spoke with there?” I asked.
“I just got transferred around until I got him on the line,” Jim said. “The guy’s name was Charles Gill.”
I took my notepad from my pocket and wrote down the name. I jotted down Eve Kleeman beneath the assistant director’s name.
“Okay. I wanted to call this guy, anyway, and now I damn well have a reason. Let me see if I can find out what the hell is going on. I still need those files, though, when you get a chance.”
“Yup. I’ll go and grab them now.”
“Thanks, Jim,” I said and hung up.
“The woman’s description fits,” I said to Hank. “I’ll meet you inside as soon as I’m off the phone.”
Hank nodded and walked to the building’s front entrance.
“And call Bostok with our woman’s ID,” I called out. “See if he can get us an arrest warrant.”
Hank turned back toward me. “Yeah,” he said.
I searched for the state hospital on my phone, got the phone number, and called. I ran through the automated prompts until I got someone on the line.
“Madison Mental Health Institute,” a man said.
“Lieutenant Carl Kane, Tampa PD Homicide. I need to speak with Assistant Director Gill.”
“What’s this regarding?”
“One of your patients and a DOC employee,” I said.
“One moment.”
I heard the click as I was transferred and then the phone ringing in my ear. A moment later, voice mail picked up.
“Shit,” I said. I waited for the beep and left a message with my name and number. I told him that a callback was needed urgently and clicked off. My next call went to Timmons. I had him get the woman’s name across the wire as well as added to the BOLO on the vehicle. I searched for the number and made a call to the Wisconsin DOC main office—which a recording told me was closed for the day.
“Son of a bitch,” I mumbled.
I let out a breath and stared at the screen of my phone. I needed someone to start getting whatever we could on the woman, and Jones would have his hands full trying to contact friends, families, and coworkers of Erica Osweiler and Billie Webber. I pulled up Donner’s number and dialed.
“What’s up?” he answered.
“Hey, Donner. I think I’m going to need you and Reynolds to come in a little early. We’re going to need a hand with what we’re working on.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
I ran through it with him, told him to get ahold of Reynolds, and instructed him to get whatever he could on our suspect. I hung up after telling him that I’d meet him at the station when he got in, and walked to the front doors of the medical examiner’s office. Hank stood at the front desk, just a few feet inside of the door as I entered. He cut his conversation with the receptionist short when he saw me walking up.
“I just got off the phone with Bostok. I guess he’s going to contact Billie Webber’s family. Ed should be out in a second. Brenda just paged him,” Hank said.
I gave Brenda, the receptionist that usually held down the front desk, a smile and a nod. She returned the smile and went back to the computer in front of her.
“Who did you call?” Hank asked.
“I tried getting the assistant director from the state hospital on the line. He wasn’t in,” I said. “Hopefully he
listens to the damn message I left and calls me back. Then I called Timmons and told him to distribute the woman’s identity. After that I called the state DOC office, which was closed. Then Donner to come in early.” I put my back to the front counter, pulled out my phone, and turned the ringer up as high as it would go.
Hank and I stared down the long hallway. A moment later, the swinging double doors at the end of the hallway opened, and Ed emerged. He walked the hall to us. Tucked under his left arm was a clipboard, and his right hand scratched at the back of his short gray hair. At twenty feet away, he said, “Lieutenant, Sergeant. Here for a look at the latest?”
“If you don’t mind,” I said. “I also told Rick that I’d bring her clothing back to the station.”
“Sure,” Ed said. “Follow me back, and I’ll go over the woman with you guys, and then we can get the clothes and transfer of evidence paperwork taken care of.”
We followed Ed down the hallway and through the swinging doors. A chill caught my neck from the refrigerated storage locker on my right where they kept the bodies. We passed through another set of doors and entered the white-walled and red-floored room where the autopsies were conducted. Separate workstations were filled with stainless steel tables, sinks, stools, and rolling carts. My nose filled with the smells of death and cleaning supplies. I looked to my right to see two sheet-covered bodies in the room—both had the white covers pulled to their chins with their faces exposed. Ed walked to the farthest workstation from the room’s entrance. As we approached, I recognized the woman on the table as Erica Osweiler.
“Here’s our girl,” Ed said. He set the clipboard that was under his arm down on the stool beside him.
I looked down at her. The first thing that I noticed was that the nines, in blood, were gone from her cheeks and forehead. Her face seemed thinner than I remembered it being when she was in the trunk. Her eyes were closed. Ed pulled the sheet back farther, revealing the woman’s Y-incision from the autopsy. I saw the knife wounds, each about an inch and a half by a quarter inch. They weren’t in any kind of pattern, just randomly placed between her stomach and chest.
The Ninth Life Page 7
