“Must be kids screwing around,” I said. I tossed my phone on the nightstand and rolled over. The sound came again.
I let out a hard breath in annoyance and rose from my bed. I walked to the intercom on the wall where my kitchen opened up into the living room. I pressed down the button to talk. “Who’s there?” I asked.
“I left you something down here, Lieutenant,” a woman’s voice said. “See you soon.”
I stood at the intercom, staring at it as if it was going to do something. It didn’t. The woman’s voice registered in my head a second later—it was the same voice that had called my desk and reported the body, more than likely Kleeman. I rushed to my bedroom and tossed on the T-shirt and jeans that I’d worn out to the bar. I hopped on one foot and then the other while I tried getting shoes on and spinning the lock of the door on my gun safe in my closet. As soon as I got the door open, I grabbed my shoulder holster with my gun in it and yanked it on. I left my bedroom and scooped up my keys from the kitchen counter as I went to the door. I looked back to see Butch standing with his front legs on the arm of the couch.
“Stay,” I said.
I slipped out the door as Butch ran to me, locked it from the other side, and jogged to the stairwell. I took the four flights down to the first level as fast as I could. I ran down the hall to the main entrance out front where the intercom was. The night air hit me as I shoved the locked glass door open and removed my service weapon. No one was there. I didn’t see a car driving anywhere. I looked left toward the gated entrance for the underground parking and right toward the exit for the same. There was no movement. I jogged down the short brick-paved entrance driveway out to the sidewalk on West Bay Street. I again looked left and right—still no one and not a single car moving.
I turned back to the building and ran along the side. The elevated entrance ramp to South Hyde Park Avenue that crossed the Hillsborough Bay toward the hospital, and ran parallel to my condo, was at my right shoulder—my building was on my left. My head was on a swivel, looking for any movement or anything left behind. Nothing. I reached the rear of my complex, which took up the entire block. I looked left up West De Leon Street, spotting taillights from a car in the distance, maybe four blocks up and traveling east. The car was too far away to get any kind of make and model. I tried to take in the shape of the lights as they lit at a stop sign. The taillights were rectangular, two on each side—it wasn’t a truck, which was what was registered to Kleeman, and didn’t look like an Audi, Billie Webber’s car.
I walked, quickly, to the gate of the small sidewalk that ran along the far side of my building. A four-foot-tall concrete fence separated the sidewalk and my building from the bank’s parking lot beside it. I needed only a single step toward the gate before something caught my eye. I jogged to the gate, staring through it at what looked like a female seated on the sidewalk with her back to my building as I worked the lock. I swung the gate toward me and ran to the woman. When I was within six feet, the bank’s parking lot lights shining over the fence revealed blood covering the front and sides of the orange-and-white-striped dress she wore.
“Shit,” I said. I knelt next to the woman’s side. I didn’t need to check for a pulse but did, anyway. She was dead, her body cold to the touch. The entire front of the dress, in addition to being filled with knife holes, was soaked in blood. Her eyes were closed. The wrinkles around them told me she was somewhere in her late forties or early fifties—the woman that I was looking at was not Billie Webber.
Looking at the side of her face that was lit up, I saw the nines in blood immediately. I looked over the rest of what I could see in the parking lot lights that shone over the fence. The woman had a laceration on her forehead. Black hair fell over her shoulders. Her arms were folded into her lap. Her legs were bent. She had something else on her dress, arms, and legs that wasn’t blood, and I couldn’t identify it.
I reached into my pants pocket for my cell phone. It wasn’t there. My phone was still upstairs plugged into the wall and sitting on my nightstand.
My eyes darted left and right. There wasn’t a soul around. I took two steps to the concrete fence and looked over into the bank’s parking lot. The lot was empty aside from two cars, a newer dark sedan and a bright red convertible. Both cars were empty.
With my weapon in hand, I made my way to the front of the building. After a glance toward the front and a quick look east down West Bay Street, I jogged to the main entrance and let myself inside. I ran up the four flights of stairs to the fifth floor and got into my condo. The second I opened the door, Butch was on my leg.
“No, no, no,” I said. I shooed him off my foot as quickly as I could and went to my bedroom, grabbed my phone, and called Donner. A moment later, he picked up.
“Hey, Kane. What the hell are you doing up?”
“I need you and Reynolds to my condo.” I slipped out my front door, using my foot to keep Butch inside, and started down the hall to the stairs. “Get with patrol and get some cars dispatched here as well.”
“What’s going on?” Donner asked.
I pushed the stairwell door open and started down. “Someone, more than likely Kleeman, just dumped a damn body outside of my building. Get with Mueller, over in patrol, and let him know that I want some cars on scene and searching the area. I’ll fill you in on the rest when you get here.”
“Got it. We’re on our way,” Donner said. “What do you want patrol looking for?”
“Eve Kleeman. And either of our BOLO vehicles.”
“Right,” he said.
I clicked off and dialed Bostok when I hit the landing at the second floor. The phone rang a good seven or eight times. I was standing outside my building before he answered. I still didn’t see a soul.
“I imagine that you know what time it is,” Bostok answered.
“We have another one. Someone just dumped a damn body outside of my condo.”
“What?” he asked.
I made a right to the sidewalk between the building and the bank and began to repeat myself, but the captain cut me off.
“I heard you. But why? This came through the station?”
“No,” I said. “I woke up to someone ringing my damn buzzer. I crawled out of bed and went to my intercom, and it’s a female that says she left me something. Then she said that she’d see me soon. Had to be Eve Kleeman.” I walked to the woman’s body, still in the same position as where I’d left her. “And I’m looking at what she left me right now. A female body filled with stab wounds.”
“Is anyone else on the scene?” Bostok asked.
“No, not yet. I just called it in before I called you. I talked to Donner. He’s going to get with Mueller and get everyone dispatched out here.”
“How does this Kleeman know where you live?” Bostok asked.
“I don’t know.” I knelt next to the dead woman’s body and searched around her as I held the phone to my ear. There was no purse, no phone. I continued to look her over. I still couldn’t identify whatever the substance was that was on her. “I’m at the DB now. She’s got some kind of liquid on her that isn’t blood.” The woman’s left arm, bent in an unnatural way at the forearm, caught my eye. “She also has a broken arm.”
“I’m getting out of bed,” Bostok said. “I’ll be over by you within a half hour.”
“You don’t need to come, Cap. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m sure everyone from the station will be here in a few minutes.”
“Nah, I’m coming. You’re still solo there?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Do you have your service weapon on you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Get off the phone and keep your wits about you. I’ll see you in a bit.” The captain clicked off.
I stuck my phone into my pocket, stood at the woman’s side, and walked toward the front of the building so I could flag down the officers when they arrived. I kept my service weapon at the ready and my head on a swivel, watching for any movemen
t.
Chapter 18
Within ten minutes, I had Donner, Reynolds, and a number of patrol cars at my place. After another ten minutes, the back of my condo building had become a standard crime scene consisting of parked patrol cars, flashing lights, police tape, and gawkers that somehow gravitated to the area in the early morning hour. I stood at the rear entrance to the sidewalk that separated my building from the bank’s parking lot, just a few feet from the gate—and the deceased woman.
“So we didn’t get any calls on Kleeman?” I asked.
Donner shook his head. “Nothing came into the station overnight.”
“She has to be staying somewhere,” I said. “Someone has to have seen her.”
Donner shrugged. “Give it some time. Let the woman’s face and identity circulate a little. Someone will see it.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“So what do you need us on?” Donner asked.
“Foot patrol. See if any lights are on in any of these places and see if anyone saw anything.” Donner waved to Reynolds, and the pair walked up the block. I watched the patrol officers hang some more yellow tape as I punched the after-hours emergency number for my condo complex into my cell phone. Voice mail picked up and instructed me to leave a message. I did, saying that I was a resident, a lieutenant with the Tampa PD, and I needed access to the security feeds for the building. I left my cell phone number in hopes that I’d get a callback. I doubted I’d get one before regular business hours.
I’d called Rick and Ed—both answered and were on their way, but neither had yet arrived. I looked at the time on my phone—3:51 a.m. I didn’t imagine I’d be getting any more sleep.
“We’re roped off, Lieutenant,” I heard at my back.
I turned around to see Officer McCarthy. He scratched at his gray hair and crossed his arms over his wide chest. “What’s next?” he asked.
“Did you guys do a walk around the building?” I asked.
He nodded. “And the underground garage. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A couple of the other guys are checking the bushes, landscaping, dumpsters, and all that now. Maybe something got tossed somewhere.”
“All right. Do you mind just staying put around here for a minute? I need to run upstairs quick.”
“Sure, Lieutenant,” McCarthy said.
I walked through the metal gate and past the woman’s body to the front of the building. A matching metal gate let me out to the front at the right of the exit for the underground parking. The area was roped off, and two patrol cars blocked the exit.
Officer Henry walked up as soon as he saw me exit the gate.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Quiet as it gets out here,” Henry said. “A car every now and then down Bayshore Boulevard, but that’s about it. We’ve been watching each one pass, and none have been our BOLOs.”
“Okay. I’m going to shoot upstairs to my condo for a second. If you need me for any reason, just send someone up. Fifth floor, 502B. I’ll leave the main door open. Don’t touch the intercom, and make sure no one else does. I’m going to get something to cover it up. We’ll need Forensics to try to get prints from it.”
“Sure,” Henry said. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”
I got upstairs to my condo and pushed open the front door, only to get attacked by Butch again the instant I put one foot inside.
“Dammit,” I said. I scooped him up under his front arms and got his face inches from my own. His legs hung down to my knees, and I could feel his rear claws looking for grip against my kneecaps. “Quit being a little shit,” I said, “or you’re going on the classifieds.” I walked him toward the granite breakfast bar and set him down. He dug his head into my hand as I petted him. He didn’t seem bothered by my hollow threat.
I circled the kitchen island and went straight to the coffee. I fixed a cup while I thought about the woman’s mentioning that she’d see me soon. She was obviously capable of murder—savage murder. The woman had some kind of thing with me. She knew where I lived, down to my unit number. I grumbled. I had a good feeling that I’d have police protection until the situation was resolved. I needed to get someone who knew this woman personally, or Koskinen himself, on the phone to answer some questions.
I pulled open the refrigerator, grabbed the carton of creamer, poured some in my coffee, and swung the door closed. I put my back to the counter and took a sip. Butch sat on the breakfast bar and observed me.
“You can go back to bed,” I said.
He leaped from the counter and came to my feet, letting out a couple of meows as he weaved between them and the counter.
“It’s not time for breakfast,” I said.
He meowed again.
“Fine,” I said. I grabbed some of his food from the pantry and filled his dish. Butch buried his head into it before I finished pouring. I put the bag away and heard a tap at my condo door.
“Yeah,” I said, loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear. “It’s open.”
I looked down at Butch, who was preoccupied with his breakfast. He wouldn’t be attacking whoever entered.
The captain walked in. He ran his hands through his white hair, seemingly trying to get it to not stand on end. Bostok wore street clothes consisting of a long-sleeved, collared tan fishing shirt and jeans. I rarely had seen him not in a suit and tie. “Morning, I guess,” I said. “Did you look at what we had downstairs?”
Bostok nodded. “Yeah. You didn’t find a purse or phone with her?”
“Exactly as you saw her is how I found her. Patrol was searching the area but hasn’t come up with anything the last I’d heard. I just came up to grab a coffee and get something to put over the intercom downstairs until Rick can print it.” I set my coffee on the counter and crouched down to the cabinets under the kitchen sink. I pulled open the doors, had a quick look, and determined that a garbage bag was about the only option. I pulled one from the box and walked to a kitchen drawer for some tape.
“Did you catch any of the coverage on TV?” Bostok asked.
“Yeah.” I pulled open a drawer near the sink and pulled out a roll of masking tape. “Basically photo, name, and wanted regarding a homicide. That, and info on Billie Webber. You haven’t heard that we received any call ins, have you?”
Bostok shook his head.
I scooped up my coffee from the counter in one hand and held the roll of tape and garbage bag in the other. I motioned toward the door. “Let’s get back downstairs so I can get the intercom covered up.” I glanced down to see Butch still munching away on his cat food. Only a couple of pieces were left but enough that we wouldn’t be thrashed at the door. Bostok and I made our way back downstairs and outside. The captain walked to the uniformed officers blocking the condo’s outgoing driveway. I taped the bag over the intercom and walked to the gated sidewalk that led back to the woman. I passed through the propped-open metal gate and started down the sidewalk. I could see the shadow of someone kneeling near the woman up ahead. Another ten or fifteen steps, and I saw the glow of an electronic cigarette and the flash of a camera.
“Just show up?” I asked.
Rick stood and let his camera hang from his neck and his plastic cigarette hang from his mouth. “Maybe five minutes ago. Is this exactly how you found her?”
“Yeah, I checked her for a pulse, and that was it. Have you seen enough to tell me anything?” I asked.
“Well, this isn’t the woman from the apartment, Billie Webber. She was what, later twenties?” Rick asked. He put his cigarette in the breast pocket of his shirt.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Which means we still have another body out there somewhere. This one here is probably early fifties, I’d say. Killed like the others. Nines marked on her face in blood. Head laceration and broken arm happened while she was still alive. She looks like she’s dressed for the beach. Bikini top under this sundress.” Rick knelt next to the woman. He craned his neck and seemed to try to get a better look at her feet, which were b
are. He pulled a pen-sized flashlight from his kit beside him and lit the soles of her feet. “Yet no sand. Pool, maybe,” he said.
“What do you suppose that other substance is that’s on her?” I pointed down at the woman. “It’s all over her.”
“Don’t know.” Rick moved the light of the flashlight to her exposed calf, and some of the substance that I spoke of. “It’s red and was a liquid. I’ll get a sample and analyze it back at the lab. Not really too much to look at here. I’d hoped that she had a driver’s license tucked into one of her pockets—but she doesn’t have any. Without ID, we’ll have to try to print her, maybe go dental records if we don’t get a hit on the prints. Then on to the missing persons departments if we come up blank after that.”
“When do you suppose our TOD was?”
“Pretty recent.” Rick reached out with his gloved hand and moved her head by the chin. “A couple of hours or so. Rigor is just getting under way. The muscles in her neck and face are just starting to firm up. I’m going to print her here and then get her run in the system back at the lab. I doubt Ed is going to be able to start on her for a good couple of hours yet. Maybe we can get an ID right away, this way.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Kane,” I heard.
I looked over my shoulder and up the sidewalk near the front gate. Bostok was waving me toward him. I walked to the captain.
“Hey, and before you start bitching, this is what’s happening,” Bostok said.
“You’re sticking a babysitter on me,” I interrupted.
“We’re going to station a pair of cars front and back after we wrap up. They’ll be here for the night, and we’ll go from there.”
I nodded but said nothing.
“No rebuttal?” Bostok asked.
I shook my head. “No. This woman just went from wanting me involved in this to coming to my home. Her coming here is a threat, and I don’t do very well with threats. I’m going to find her before she gets a chance to get this close again. But a friendly watching my place isn’t something that I’m going to bitch about.”
The Ninth Life Page 11
