by Bill Craig
He wondered if she would know what had happened once she woke up. She would know about the cuts on her ankles of course. The pain would make that clear to her. But that was hours away. He headed out of the room to shower and get dressed. He had evidence to plant on Doug Carrington and a phone call to make.
Douglas Carrington frowned as he showered. His evening had not gone as planned at all. He had not expected Carly to join them for the run. That had been an unwelcome intrusion. But he had made the best of it, working to gain both women’s trust. That hadn’t been easy because he had sensed the walls that they both had in place. So, he had turned on the charm as they had run, and he could sense that he was making progress in getting them to trust him.
He wanted Tara so bad he couldn’t stand it, but if that meant he had to win Carly over too, well he could do that. Winning over Carly might even get him to Tara a little quicker. He liked the idea of that.
Chapter Fifteen
Morning. Lucy French opened her eyes. Binx the black cat was still curled up in her lap. Lucy smiled, glad that she had rescued the animal. Binx had a regal bearing that made her think of a sleek black panther. “Hey,” she told the cat, ruffling his fur. He looked up at her, blinking wide green eyes,
“Mrrow?” he seemed to ask.
“You need to move because I have to go pee,” Lucy told the cat. She shooed him off of her lap and headed for the bathroom. Once business had been taken care of she opened a can of food for the cat and put it on the floor next to a bowl of water. Binx rubbed against her leg a couple of times before attacking the food.
“Yeah, I’m hungry too,” Lucy told the cat as she got a single serve of Special K with red berries out of the cabinet and carried it to the table. She got a spoon from a drawer and milk from the fridge and carried it back to the table. She tore the cover off the cereal container and poured in the milk after adding a teaspoon of cinnamon. Lucy put the milk in the fridge and returned to the table to eat. By the time she had finished, Binx was rubbing against her legs and purring loudly.
“I love you too, Binx, but I have a busy day ahead and have to get ready,” Lucy told the cat. She headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the shower with a towel wrapped around her head and one wrapped around her body. Binx regarded her solemnly from the middle of the bed. “I suppose you plan on watching me get dressed? You men are all alike.”
“Mrrow?” Binx looked at her. Lucy laughed and pulled out socks and underwear from her drawers. She pulled them on and then headed for the closet. She selected a sleeveless coral colored blouse and a white pants suit. Her shoes were coral as well. She slipped on her shoulder holster before clipping her badge to her belt.
Lucy looked at Binx as she brushed out her hair. “You be good and stay out of trouble while I am at work,” she told him.
“Mrrow,” he replied, looking at her with his big green eyes.
Lucy laughed as she grabbed her purse and headed out the door, taking the time to lock it behind her.
Garrett Moseby had only slept about three hours the night before, and then only after hours of work and an hour spent drinking Vodka straight out of the bottle. According to the news, at least, there had been no more bodies. Moseby took that as a good thing and showered and dressed before heading to work. He swung into a McDonald’s to grab breakfast and headed to the station.
He hadn’t been able to find anything that would point them towards the perp the night before, but he had put the word out on the streets. He had every confidence that one of his informants would come through with some that could help them.
His stomach growled as he drove, but Moseby would wait to eat until he got to the station. He figured that Lucy would be there by the time that he arrived. Then at nine o’clock, they would go to Talk Tech where Sunny Cargill had worked to talk to her boss.
Moseby hoped to get something from Cargill’s boss, something that he had been unwilling to admit to over the telephone. He hoped that Lucy would be on board.
Moseby and Lucy met in the parking lot and walked inside together, passing a few officers that were getting in the last cigarette before going inside. A couple of detectives were out there as well and Moseby nodded at them.
“How’s your new roommate?” Moseby asked as they took the elevator up to the floor where the homicide squad was located.
“Binx was every bit the gentleman last night,” Lucy replied smugly.
“And this morning?”
“He laid on my bed and ogled me when I came out of the shower and got dressed, asserting his manliness,” Lucy sighed.
“But at least you can say you slept with a guy you just met. I won’t tell anybody it was a cat, I promise,” Moseby grinned at her
“Yeah, right,” Lucy rolled her eyes. The elevator stopped and the doors hissed open and the two of them stepped and headed for the squad room. Since their desks butted up against each other, they could talk as Garrett ate.
“So what are you thinking?” Garrett asked as he attacked his sausage biscuit like a hungry wolf.
“I’m thinking that this asshole is smart. He made his first kill and it was personal. But during that kill, he discovered that he liked it. He killed the second victim not because he wanted to, but because he wanted to make us think that he was escalating. But I talked to Lisa Black and she said the second attack didn’t demonstrate the passion or anger of the first one. Then he blew up my car to say, hello, I know who is after me and I could have killed you but you can’t catch me because I’m smarter than you,” Lucy said.
“That lines up with what I have as well,” Moseby said, licking crumbs from his fingers. He grabbed his coffee cup and took a sip. It was still pretty hot.
“So what now?” Lucy asked.
“We go to TalkTech and meet with Sunny Cargill’s employer and find out what we can there. We didn’t turn much up at her or the other gal’s apartment. If I had to guess, I’d say the killer picked Tina up in a bar, drugged her, got her out to where we found her and killed her. Make sure that Lisa gets back to us with the results of her toxicology screen,” Moseby said.
“That actually sounds suspiciously like a plan,” Lucy told him.
“It does,” Moseby agreed.
Carly was weeping, she couldn’t help it. Her body ached from what had been done to her. The pain in her legs was excruciating. It frightened her that she couldn’t feel her feet. She knew that she had been raped, but she had been drugged and had no idea who had done it. She remembered running in the park the night before with Tara and Doug. Doug had got into his car and she and Tara had headed for Tara’s car and then her mind went blank. What had happened?
She wished she could see through the fog that shrouded her memories but she couldn’t. But she remembered her captor telling her that it was Tara’s fault that she was here. What had he meant by that? Where was Tara? Where was Doug? She had no idea, and the tears continued to streak down her cheeks…
Moseby had driven the unmarked to TalkTech with Lucy riding in the passenger seat. Neither of them had spoken since leaving the station but it was the comfortable sort of silence that developed between partners that had worked together for years.
It was evident that the case was bothering both of them, but neither of them cared to verbalize their concerns. Some things were better left unsaid.
The sun was already beating down on the city when Moseby guided the unmarked into the parking lot of TalkTech. The heat hit them both like a wave as they stepped out of the air-conditioned car. Both of them had sweat beaded on their foreheads by the time they entered the front door. A blonde and tanned receptionist looked up at them and smiled as they approached the front desk.
Moseby pulled open his jacket so she could see his badge. “Detectives Moseby and French to see Mr. Falcone,” he told her. She flashed him a smile and pressed a button on the phone.
“Mr. Falcone? There are two detectives out here to see you,” she said into the telephone. “Yes sir, I’ll have securit
y bring them back,” she said before hanging up. She pressed another button smiling at them and a few seconds later a uniformed security guard arrived to escort them through the building to Greg Falcone. Moseby looked at French and she raised an eyebrow at him. Moseby put his head down and grinned as they followed the guard through a door that required a security badge to open.
Greg Falcone had a deep tan, thinning black hair that had a few highlights from the sun streaking through it. He was gray at the temples and wore an expensive Armani suit. He stood as they were both ushered into his office and extended his hand across the desk. “Greg Falcone,” he introduced himself. Moseby and French both shook hands with him.
“Thank you for giving us a call, Mr. Falcone,” Moseby said.
“I want Sunny’s killer caught. She was a valued employee,” Falcone said.
“How well did you know her?” Lucy French asked.
“Fairly well, she was a supervisor here in the call center.”
“Was she well liked?” Moseby asked.
“Sure, there were a few members of her particular team that didn’t like her but that’s actually pretty common in a call center environment. A lot of team members have beefs with their supervisors. It goes with the territory,” Falcone waved his hands.
“We would like to talk to Sunny’s team,” Lucy French told him.
“You really think one of them killed her?”
“She didn’t say that, Mr. Falcone. She said we needed to talk to the members of her team,” Moseby said soothingly.
“How long will that take? They are on activity-based compensation for their pay. Every minute they aren’t on the phones they lose money,” Falcone frowned.
“They lose money or you lose money?” French glowered at him.
“We’ll make it as quick as we can,” Moseby said soothingly.
“All right. You can interview them in the conference room. This way please,” Falcone said, leading them into yet another part of the building. He opened a door that led into a room with a large table surrounded by chairs. “I’ll get her team and send them in.”
“Thank you, Mr. Falcone,” Moseby told him and the man turned on his heel and stalked off.
“What a fucking jerk!” Lucy French exploded.
“Welcome to life in corporate America. Companies like this use ABC pay to get around minimum wage requirements. There are several class action suits against them all across the country,” Moseby told her.
“It seems like a lousy way to treat your employees.”
“Because it is. But it’s a job, and people gotta eat, plus they get insurance, so while they hate it, they do it.”
“I still think it’s horrible.”
“I do too.”
Just then the first pair of people walked through the door. Two men. “What’s this about?” one of them asked, a big blond handsome guy.
“We are going to wait until the whole team is here so we don’t have to explain it more than once,” Moseby told him.
“That sounds reasonable, the guy said as he dropped into a chair. A couple of moments later, three women and two other men entered the room and took a seat. Falcone was right behind them.
“Is this everyone?” Moseby looked at him.
“It’s everyone who isn’t off today. There are four others that have the day off. I guess you can talk to them when they come back,” Falcone said grumpily.
“When will that be?” Lucy asked.
“Day after tomorrow,” Falcone replied.
“Okay. I understand you all worked under Sunny Cargill?” Moseby asked. They all nodded.
“I understand that you all know what happened to her?”
“Yeah,” the first guy that had come in sighed. “Pretty scary stuff when somebody you know gets murdered jogging.”
“Did you know Sunny Well?” Lucy asked the man, trying to throw him off balance.
“I guess. I mean, everybody here knew that she was a runner. She was always training for one marathon or another,” the man said.
“And your name is?” Moseby asked him.
“Douglas Carrington. I am a runner too, so we talked about the marathons during down time,” he shrugged.
“Are there any other runners on the team?” Lucy asked.
“Tara Sweet and Carly Matthews,” one of the other women supplied.
“Are they team members who aren’t here today?” Moseby asked.
“Yes, this is one of their regular days off,” the woman replied.
“And your name is…?” Lucy asked, waiting for a reply.
“Rhonda Pierce, the woman supplied.
“Thank you, Rhonda. What are the names of the people who aren’t here today?” Moseby asked.
“Well, Tara Sweet and Carly Matthews of course, also Rick Markland and Jason Burch,” Falcone supplied.
“Did any of them every run with Miss Cargill?” Lucy asked.
“I did a couple of times, but she was way out of my class as a runner,” Carrington admitted.
“How so?” Moseby asked.
“Sunny was really dedicated to running. For her, it was the ultimate form of relaxation after dealing with shitty customers all day on the phones. I mean we do customer service for a leading cell phone company and there are times when customer demands are unreasonable,” Carrington shrugged,
“Did Sunny ever get any threats on her life?” Lucy asked.
“Two or three times a day, when she would call a customer back and deny them credit for charges that they had run up and were trying to get out of paying,” Falcone cut in.
“We need to hear those recordings,” Moseby told him.
Chapter Sixteen
“So what do you think?” Moseby asked as they exited the building into the blast furnace heat of the day. They made their way across the parking lot to their unmarked car. Waves of heat washed over them as they opened the doors. Moseby slid the key into the ignition and fired up the motor. The AC started blowing hot air through the vents, but it quickly turned cool and Moseby shut his door.
“I think Falcone is an asshole, and I think that Carrington guy is hiding something,” Lucy replied.
“Would it surprise you to know that I agree with you?” Moseby asked.
“Yes, it would. Usually, you have your mind made up.”
“Falcone is an asshole, but he seemed to actually care for Sunny Cargill. I didn’t get that same read off Carrington. He acted like she was a conquest of some sort and he was the only one who knew.”
“You think he might have killed her?”
“I think that it is possible. He acted like he was hiding something, and I got the impression it was more than with just Sunny Cargill,” Moseby replied.
“I got that same impression,” Lucy told him.
“At least we have addresses for the four who weren’t at work today, so we should be able to catch them at home,” Moseby said.
“I almost thought we were going to have to arrest Falcone before he gave them up. He didn’t like doing it at all,’ Lucy shook her head.
“I still want to look into his background. I got the impression he was hiding something too, but I don’t know what it might be.”
“We can do that easily enough.”
“Yes, we can. We can’t let up on this guy. He’s going to kill again, and he’s going to do it soon.”
“So what are we going to do now?”
“We are going to find and talk to these four. We’re going to do it today,” Moseby said, his voice filled with grim determination.
“So who is first?” Lucy asked from the passenger seat.
“Who lives the closest?”
“Woodrow aka Woody Markland. He lives about ten blocks from here.”
“Then we go see him first,” Moseby said as he pulled out into traffic.
Woodrow Markland lived in an older two story house with an attached garage. The front yard was small but neatly kept. A wide front porch ran across the entire front of the house. Six con
crete steps led to the top of the porch and it was wooden, painted a pale blue color that matched the vinyl siding. The window frames and door frame were a darker shade of blue. Pale white curtains hung in the window. The garage door was trimmed in the same dark blue that matched the window frames and door frame.
Moseby and French climbed out of their unmarked Dodge Charger and headed up the sidewalk to the steps. The sun was beating down on them until they passed under a large maple tree that dominated the front yard. Both were glad for the shade but it did nothing to alleviate the high humidity that gave the Tampa air an almost living liquid feel to it. Both were sweating as they climbed the steps and Moseby pressed the button and heard the doorbell ringing inside.
They waited, hoping for a stray breeze, but it was a wish that went unfulfilled. Moseby rang the bell again. After a few seconds, they heard the sounds of movement inside. After a moment they could hear the door being unlocked and then it was flung open,
A young man stood there in a pair of long basketball shorts and nothing else. Cool air escaped through the screen door as the young man looked from one to the other of them. He had light curly brown hair and blue eyes, stubble covered his cheeks and chin. His hair was of medium length and tousled as if he had been asleep. He squinted at them as if he was used to wearing glasses.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” he said, his tone cranky.
“That’s good because we aren’t selling anything. We’re cops. Are you Woodrow Markland?” Lucy asked.
