Past Crimes (Alexis Parker Book 20)

by G. K. Parks

  “What are you doing here?” Detective Heathcliff asked, appearing just as jumpy.

  “I’m working. Why are you here? Did Mark call you?”

  “No.” He glanced around. “The unsub who attacked you escaped in a white sedan. We finished scrubbing the DOT footage. We lost track of the car somewhere in this neighborhood. I’ve been knocking on doors in the hopes someone might recognize the car.”

  “I just came up the stairs. I didn’t see you.”

  “I’m on my way down.” He eyed the door behind me. “What’s so special about this apartment?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  But he didn’t believe me. “Is anyone home?”

  “I knocked, but there was no answer.”

  Heathcliff moved toward the door, forcing me to stand behind him while he listened for sounds coming from within. When he didn’t hear anything, he knocked again.

  “Did you run the VIN? Is the car still here?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t find the car. By the time I got here, it was gone. I must have just missed it. I called dispatch. Patrol will keep an eye out. Meanwhile, officers will scan the current DOT feed to see if they can figure out where he’s going now.”

  “This would be easier if we had a plate.”

  “No kidding.”

  Again, I shivered. Normally, things like this didn’t bother me, but this case had me on edge. Ever since I arrived, I’d felt eyes on me, which was ridiculous since no one was around. Maybe it was the threats or fear of what I’d find inside the apartment that was messing with my head.

  “Who’s the apartment registered to?”

  “Phil Namath.”

  “Is that name supposed to mean something?” Heathcliff peered into one of the windows, but he couldn’t see anything through the blinds. “You never told me why you’re here. How did you find this place?”

  “Knox had several aliases, each with overseas accounts. One of them remained active. Apparently, the rent is automatically drafted from his account. I didn’t find any mention of a car though.”

  “You’re sure Trey Knox and Phil Namath are the same guy?”

  “Positive.”

  “How does a dead guy, whose body is in the morgue, key your car and drive away?”

  “That’s a very good question.” A door slammed somewhere below us. “The better question is where’s the guy who keyed my car. You said he came here after attacking me. Does he live around here?”

  Heathcliff pressed a finger to his lips and edged toward the stairs, peering down them. “Someone’s below us. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  I moved half a step forward, but Heathcliff gave me a warning look. “Parker, do not make me cuff you to the railing.”

  Holding my breath, I strained to hear what was going on. Every cell in my body wanted to go with him, to help if he encountered a problem, but he told me to stay. A moment later, I heard him announce himself.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m looking for a man who drives a white sedan.” He described the car.

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “What about the man who lives in apartment 3C?”

  “I’ve never seen him,” she said. “I don’t know what he drives. Why are you asking?”

  While they were talking, I went back to work on the lock. Thirty seconds later, the knob twisted. After stowing my picks, I removed my gun. Since the man who attacked me had come to this neighborhood, I had to be careful. He wouldn’t surprise me again.

  The door creaked. Great, so much for a stealthy entrance. The room was too dark to see inside. Feeling along the wall, I flipped the light switch. A lamp turned on in the corner, illuminating a large display case which took up the entire side wall. Glass doors protected the items inside. Signed jerseys, game balls, baseball cards, and other collectibles were on display for the world to see.

  This had to be the right place. Trey Knox was an avid collector. This must have been whatever he salvaged from the break-in or bought to replace his lost collectibles.

  Carefully, I checked the rest of the apartment. The one-bedroom had plenty of square footage. A leather couch, wood table, and giant flatscreen TV filled what remained of the main area, making up the living room and dining room. The bedroom had a king-sized bed, silk sheets, and a matching dresser set.

  Tucked in the top drawer, beneath a row of neatly folded tighty whities, was a jewelry box. It reminded me of the case which housed Martin’s watches and rings. I opened the box. Six championship rings, similar to the one found on Knox’s body, glistened up at me. Did all of this belong to Knox?

  The rings had different years stamped on them. Each looked slightly different than the previous one, but they were similar enough. How many of these did he have? Why would he risk retrieving the one from his house when he had others?

  Closing the box, I moved into the bathroom. The cracked tiles reminded me this wasn’t a high-end apartment. Water dripped at a slow, steady pace from the faucet. Drip. Drip. Drip. The utilities must be included in the rent.

  I opened the medicine cabinet, finding the basics. Oddly enough, none of the toiletries had expired. Replacing the shaving cream bottle, I closed the cabinet, noticing some gunk around the side of the sink.

  Returning to the bedroom, I opened the closet door. No clothing hung inside. Instead, I found surveillance photos of Lucien Cross plastered to a giant corkboard. Notes hung beside the photos with dates and times listed. What was this?

  I scanned the board, finding photos of my boss with sunglasses, his nose taped. Another photo showed Cross, his eyes surrounded by sickly yellowish-green skin as he left the hospital.

  The dates didn’t include the year, but the photos must have been taken eight years ago. The one in the top right corner showed Cross getting behind the wheel of an unfamiliar car. It wasn’t his Porsche, but he didn’t drive that eight years ago.

  The next row of photos caught Cross as he exited KC’s bar. I checked the date and time. Assuming I had the year right, that would have been taken the day after Knox returned to town. Did Knox take these photos?

  Based on his pseudonym’s travel itinerary, Knox wasn’t around when the first three photos were taken. Or was he? I crouched down to get a better look at the bottom row. The one in the middle showed Cross leaving the bank where Knox opened a safe deposit box. Was that taken this past Monday? I couldn’t find a corresponding note to go with the photo.

  My blood ran cold when I saw the final image tacked on the end. It was taken at the construction site where Knox’s body had been found. Cross wasn’t in the picture. I was.

  Knox couldn’t have taken these photos, at least not the last two. But this apartment was leased to one of his aliases. The sports items appeared to be part of Knox’s collection. What was going on here? Who was using this apartment? Who even knew about it?

  The doorknob twisted, and the floorboard creaked. “Parker?” Heathcliff hissed. “Are you in here?”

  I emerged from the bedroom, finding him standing in the doorway. “You have to see what I found.”

  Heathcliff surveyed the apartment, refusing to cross the threshold. “How did you get inside?”

  “The door was unlocked.”

  He gave me a look. “I can’t enter without a search warrant.”

  “So wait there.” I moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “The milk hasn’t expired.” This didn’t make any sense. “Someone’s living here. There are photos in the closet of Cross and one of me. That’s how recent they are.”

  “Out.” Heathcliff jerked his thumb backward.

  I shut the fridge and checked the cabinets. Lots of canned and packaged meals lined the shelves. Whoever was using this apartment had made himself at home. “The man who keyed my car must be staying here. Do you think he assumed Knox’s fake identity? Could he have killed Knox? Maybe he’s framing Lucien.”

  “Even more reason to do this properly.”

  “The photos mean something. You need to see the
m.” Going around the counter, I tripped on the edge of the area rug, catching myself before I faceplanted. I bent down to straighten the upturned corner. Beneath the fringe, a large stain covered the cheap flooring.

  I rolled back more of the area rug, revealing an orangey-pink stain. It covered several feet in a roughly oval shape. The center had the darkest hue, the stain growing lighter at the edges. Since the floor was a beige linoleum, the rug was the only way to hide it. “I think Trey Knox was murdered here.”

  Heathcliff put his hand on the outer edge of the doorframe and leaned forward as far as he could, hoping to see what I’d found. “Are you sure?”

  “The floor’s been scrubbed, but this looks like blood to me.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s Knox’s.”

  “No, but he rented this apartment. The display case is full of sports memorabilia. And based on the lack of blood at the scene and the way Knox’s body had been wrapped in a tarp, we know he wasn’t killed at the airport.”

  “Parker, move your ass. I’m not telling you again.” Heathcliff straightened and stepped away from the door.

  Unsure if someone was coming, I flopped the rug back into place and met Heathcliff outside the apartment, shutting the door with my gloved hand. He walked the length of the exterior corridor, making sure no one had been spying on us. Once he was certain the coast was clear, he called the precinct. Pointing to me, he said, “Get Jablonsky to forward the details to Moretti. I want everything you’ve got on Phil Namath and this apartment.”

  I was certain Mark had already done it, but despite that, I obediently made the call. “Now what?”

  “Until the ink dries, we’ll hang out here.” He glared at me. “You should know better. You could have compromised the scene and the integrity of the case.”

  “I didn’t do anything. The door was unlocked.”

  “What happens if I search you? What will I find?”

  “I’m not a cop, Derek. I don’t have to play by the rules.”

  “When I’m around, you do.”

  “It’s not like I removed evidence or tampered with the scene.”

  He let out an exasperated grunt. “Tell me about the photographs.”

  “In the closet, there’s an array. They have notes with month and day, even the time, but no year. Except the last few. Those don’t have any notes, and they’re recent.”

  “You said he took one of you.”

  “At the field by the airport. It was focused on the construction site, but I’m in the corner of the shot, talking to the guys who dug up the body.”

  “That’s the same day the note was left on your car. I don’t like this.”

  “Neither do I, but it might prove Cross is innocent.”

  Twenty-eight

  A patrol car arrived. One of the officers grabbed the roll of yellow police tape from the trunk while the other headed up the stairs to meet us. Heathcliff’s badge hung from the chain around his neck.

  “Did you call for a warrant?” Officer Swenson asked.

  “Yes.” While Heathcliff went over the situation with the officer, another patrol car pulled up. Two more officers got out of the car. “Is the mobile crime scene unit on the way?”

  “They’ll be here. They’re just wrapping up a homicide.” Officer Swenson handed him the paperwork. “You want us to work crowd control?” Swenson glanced over the railing at the ground below. Aside from the woman Heathcliff spoke to earlier, only three other people had entered or left the apartment building while we’d been waiting.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for a white sedan.” Heathcliff gave him the specifications on the car and described the suspect.

  Before he finished, Swenson’s partner came up the steps with the roll of police tape looped around his forearm. “You again?”

  With his uniform and sunglasses on, I didn’t recognize him at first. “Officer Gallo?” His presence made me twitchy. “What are you doing here?”

  “My job.” He tucked the stem of his glasses into his collar, the sunlight catching on his ring. Last night, I’d barely glimpsed it and had mistakenly assumed it was a wedding band since he wore it on his left hand. I hadn’t noticed the piece of onyx in the center or the small crystal pieces in the corners of the signet ring.

  “Nice ring.”

  Gallo resisted the urge to hide his hand away. “Uh-huh.”

  Heathcliff turned toward us, glancing at Gallo’s left hand. “That is nice. I’d be afraid it’d get damaged on the job.”

  “I’m not too worried,” Gallo said.

  Heathcliff continued to eye it. “Is the stone cracked?”

  Gallo laughed it off, palming the tape and wrapping his hands around it to hide the ring from our view. “That’s why I’m not worried. It’s been like this for years.”

  “How’d it happen?” I asked.

  “I cracked it against a handrail while chasing a suspect down some stairs.” He glanced at the stairwell he’d just ascended.

  Heathcliff scanned the search warrant. “How do you two know one another?”

  “We met at a bar,” I said. “It turns out Officer Gallo knows Lucien.”

  “Small world.” Gallo eyed me, annoyed that I’d let the cat out of the bag. “I’ve worked with Commissioner Cross on a few occasions.”

  “Really? So you’re a family friend?” I asked.

  Gallo’s look could have hardened the melting icecaps. “Detective, how wide do you want the perimeter?”

  “I just need to search the apartment, so you can station yourself out here and make sure no one interferes. Should anyone exhibit an unhealthy fascination with what’s going on inside, get a name and contact information.” Heathcliff tucked the paperwork into his pocket. “I’ll perform a walkthrough while we wait for CSU.”

  “Not a problem.” Gallo gave me another look, making his disdain known. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d pissed him off the previous night. “Is she staying?”

  “No, she’s not.” Heathcliff’s eyes communicated more than enough. “This is police business. Alex isn’t a cop. She knows she can’t enter a potential crime scene.”

  “What is she doing here, anyway?” Gallo asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Heathcliff said. Since I knew him so well, I noticed the shift before he grinned. “I’ll see you later, babe.” He kissed my cheek. “Don’t forget we have plans tonight.”

  “How could I forget? You won’t let me.”

  On my way back to the car, I wondered if Heathcliff would have let me stay if Gallo hadn’t shown up. Gallo’s presence made me uneasy. He made his dislike for me obvious, but that wasn’t the problem. It was the damn ring on his finger. I didn’t notice it was damaged, but Heathcliff did. Could Gallo be the man who attacked me? The one who took off in the white sedan? He showed up at the crime scene, and he knew Knox and Cross. Could he be operating out of the apartment?

  Renner’s police pals didn’t have anything negative to say about Gallo, but walking the beat and patrolling the neighborhoods for over a decade could take a toll. I’d have to do a deep dive on him. I hadn’t bothered to do much digging since I’d been busy with other things, but Gallo checked one too many boxes. Idly, I wondered what Jade would have to say about him.

  Another thought came to mind. Since Gallo tipped Cross about the discovery of Knox’s body and the safe deposit box key, Gallo must have known Cross would go to the bank. He might have been the only person who knew he’d do that. Did Gallo take the photos? Was all of this an elaborate setup to frame my boss?

  Reaching for my phone, I called Mr. Almeada’s office, but his secretary said he was in court. I didn’t know if that had anything to do with the arraignment or bail hearing, so I asked her to have him call me back.

  When I’d spoken to Cross, the only cop he named as a friend was Sgt. Rostokowski, and he’d warned me not to do anything that would harm her or her career. Since Cross trusted her, maybe I could too. Unfortunately, her shift ended early this morning.

>   By the time I reached my car, I decided I’d just have to dig up whatever dirt I could find on Gallo by myself. Justin said they traded favors. Perhaps Gallo would tip off Cross Security on occasion just to keep tabs on Lucien, in case my boss ever reopened the Knox investigation. But all of this was conjecture. Still, it was the first time in days I had a lead, even if it pointed a finger at a cop. Luckily, Heathcliff had caught on to the oddities too. Moretti wouldn’t be able to dismiss my theory so easily with Heathcliff backing me.

  I’d just opened my car door when I noticed a folded piece of paper on my seat. Picking it up, I read the message. Since you came to see me at home, I should return the favor.

  I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone nearby. Heathcliff said the white sedan had been tracked to the area, but he didn’t spot it. Maybe he overlooked it. Or maybe Gallo was the creep who left the note. I’d seen him pull up, but he took his sweet time meeting us upstairs. Did he have time to leave the note, or could his partner be involved?

  Keeping my head on a swivel, I checked every cross street and nearby garage, but I didn’t see a white sedan that fit the description. The unsub didn’t bother with the theatrics this time. But the note on my seat had done more to freak me out than anything else. It had to be the message. Now, this was personal.

  Considering how long Heathcliff and I had remained outside the apartment, anyone could have left it. But my money was on Gallo. I hated to think one of the cops who showed up to help was responsible, but it fit.

  On my way back to the office, I stopped by the OIO to have the note fingerprinted, but it was clean. After that, I checked Gallo’s schedule. He’d just gotten off shift the night Cross was attacked. That gave him enough time to get changed, grab the lieutenant’s credentials, and storm the holding cells. Before sullying a man’s good name, I had to be sure. So I found Gallo’s address and went to check out his place.

  * * *

  Gallo’s apartment would put Oscar Madison to shame. Dirty clothes, abandoned dishes, receipts, mail, and various takeout containers cluttered every visible surface. This looked nothing like the organized and maintained apartment I’d just left.