My mother nods. “No worries, Mija. It’s your job, go.”
“Devora.”
“Yeah, pop?”
“Don’t make us bury another child. You watch your ass and come back to us alive.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Go bring down these sons of Cain, Devora.”
“Will do, mamá.”
I climb into my Dodge and head to the station. Hopefully, the shooter will give me something useful on the Harvesters and Radomir; either way, the Collier County Sheriff Department will eat him alive, which will be a detriment to my interrogation because the asshole will know he’s fucked, regardless.
Chapter 19
MPD, 400 NW 2nd Ave
Kulikov sits in the interrogation room with his arms crossed, wearing an expression of anger. Detective Sanz strolls up to me carrying Kulikov’s file. “Here’s his rap sheet; only thing on his record is getting drunk and punching out a bartender.”
I take the file and rifle through it and notice he’s been on trial for suspected murders in the past. “This guy has been on trial for murder before?”
“Yeah, however, we never could make the charges stick. There was always some kind of technicality or unreliable witness right down to a judge throwing out the case. However, I’m not so convinced he’s our shooter giving his past MO.”
“How so?”
“Every time he’s been involved in a killing or suspected involvement, the crime scene has been clean. He even picked up his spent brass after he clips someone. The other thing that’s bothering me is the weapon. Going full auto with an AK, leaving spent brass all over the street.” He turns his head to the side. “Tsk. Not really his style. He has always preferred sniper weapons or point blank with a handgun or poison.”
I cross my arms, tucking the file under my arm. “You think this was an amateur who killed Roth?”
“Well, you have to figure. The shooter who killed your agent on the beach was a professional hit, quiet. No noise. No spent brass. Meanwhile, the street on Normandy Isle was like the first day of Fallujah.”
“Okay, so there’s a good chance that guy is Agent Milton’s killer, but not Roth’s. I’m willing to bet he killed Giselle too. But I didn’t get a look at him. The bastard had a ski mask on.”
“That’s what I’m saying. A professional like him doesn’t go from clean to sloppy overnight.”
“Well, let’s get this interview going and see what he coughs up.”
He nods. “Ladies first.”
We push through the door and enter the dim room with a single light fixture hanging above the table along with concrete floors. The suspect is handcuffed to a metal bar fixed on the table. “Good evening, Mr. Kulikov,” Sanz says.
He glowers at both of us. “Good evening, the both of you.” he calmly speaks, but with a hint of irritation in his voice.
I sit down and open his file. “You rub shoulders with some nasty people, Mr. Kulikov.”
“So what, I’m guilty by association now?”
Sanz leans back in the chair, steepling his hands. “It can be if you’re doing jobs for Radomir again.”
He scoffs. “This again, Sanz? I’m starting to think you’re harboring some kind of sexual desire for me.”
“You know, you can sit here and play the smart ass routine, but it ain’t gonna help ya. But, in retrospect, I guess this is to be expected, right? Badass professional like you is ashamed he got caught in such a stupid way. Hell, I’d be sullen right now too.”
He leans forward. “Why are you wasting time interrogating me? Are you uncertain I killed that cop?”
“Oh, no, we’re certain you killed that cop unless someone else put your prints on the shell casings.”
“Then what the hell charge me and send me on my way.”
I turn my head to the side. “You’ve not even asked for an attorney or anything. You’re just ready to get on with it. Why?”
“What the hell is the point?”
“Because I’m starting to suspect you’re not the actual shooter. A highly trained SF guy like yourself gets drunk behind the wheel and rears ends a patrol unit.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? Even the best of the best screw up at times.”
“Nuh-uh. We’re not buying that explanation; you’re covering for someone. You need to give up the real shooter, or it’ll be you staring down the barrel of a life sentence with no chance of parole. Someone framed you, didn’t they?”
“You’re making it more complex than it is, Detective Lobos.”
I turn my head to the side. “I never gave you my name.”
He turns his head to the side. “You think I wouldn’t recognize you? Devora Lobos, the Miami Homicide Detective who was awarded the Medal of Valor for saving a bunch of kids from a cult of Devil worshiping assholes in the Everglades.”
“I’m flattered you read up on me, but why don’t you save yourself and give me the shooter?”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I am the shooter. I killed that cop while she drank her fucking coffee. So charge me and push me through the system.”
Sanz shakes his head. “Nice try, pendejo. Your loyal, I get that. So what was the shooter, a childhood friend? A war buddy. I served in Marines First Marine Division Iraq 2003; we were fanatically loyal to each other. Never betray a brother or sister in arms.”
“Oh, well, thank you for your service, Detective, but I am not protecting anyone.”
“Bullshit! I believe you killed Agent Milton, Crimson and Giselle those hits clean. Deputy Roth’s death is sloppy.” I throw my hands out to my side. “Why are you willing to throw yourself on the fire for Radomir? You know his days are numbered, right? FBI, DEA is closing in on him, not to mention the Trevino Cartel and the Mongol MC he started a war with. You don’t help us, you’re gonna end up dead or in prison for a crime you didn’t commit. So help us help you.”
“I am not saying another word, Devora.”
Sanz leads forward. “So you’re going to take the fall for this?”
“Did someone threaten the people you care about?”
“Save it, Devora.”
“If that’s the case, we can protect them and you.”
“Let it go, Devora.” He growls.
“So that’s it, huh? All your alleged murders have been clean, and you’re willing to tarnish your reputation by taking responsibility for one that was clearly amateur hour?”
He glares at me and exhales in frustration.
“How come you don’t like automatics?”
He throws his hands up briefly and leans back in the chair. “Inaccurate, messy, slings bullet casings all over the place.”
“Well, then either you got lazy, or someone stole your identity.”
“Fuck you, Lobos!”
“Let’s just cut through the bullshit. We both know you didn’t kill Deputy Roth, but something tells me you know who would.”
“Do I look like a fucking rat to you?”
“No, you look stupid for taking the fall for someone else.”
Sanz rolls his eyes. “Come on, man. Give us the real shooter and you can be on your way.”
He stares at the table, shaking his head.
I lean forward, getting his space and he leans away, while he stares at me awkwardly. “There’s no shame in self-preservation.” I shrug. “If my agency or the FBI doesn’t take him down, the Trevino Cartel will. So why don’t you take this lifeline while you still can?”
Detective Sanz scoffs. “Who are you protecting and why?”
I shove a notepad and pencil over to him. “You know what I think? I think you didn’t do this. I think that’s why you got into a drunken stupor because you don’t want to face reality: someone is taking credit for your work, right? Just write his name down.”
His jaw tightens. “Maybe I got tired of this life and wanted to get caught?”
A sarcastic smile slides across my lips. “Bullshit. Radomir played you, didn’t he? You’re his number one-
hitter, and suddenly, he’s framing you. Why?”
His breath quickens. “Look, just fucking charge me already and push me through the system.”
Sanz lowers his head, furrowing his brow. “Not gonna happen, hermano.”
“Goddamn it! You’re killing her!” his voice frantic.
And there’s the Freudian slip.
“Her?” I say.
“Damn it!” he exclaims.
“Always a chica involved. Why would Radomir want to kill her, and who is she to you?”
He sighs, crossing his arms, briefly staring away from us. “My Fiancée. You said it yourself. Radomir is on his way out, and he is in a panic and a state of hyper paranoia. He accused me of being a spy for Gabriella when I drew it to his attention: we don’t have the adequate muscle or resources to withstand a war with her.”
“So, where does you taking the fall for someone else’s murder come in?”
“He knows how much I take pride in my work, so he thought it best to frame me for a sloppy assassination, and I take the fall for it.”
I chew the inside of my jaw. “I am guesstimating there’s a quid pro quo in there somewhere.”
“Take the fall, or Radomir said he would decorate the walls with my fiancée.”
“Give me her address, and I will send some agents to pick her up.”
“Eight hundred Northwest Twenty-Fifth Street Avenue, Little Havana area. Her name is Susanita Alejo Garcia.”
After writing her name and address on the notepad, I glance up at him. “Description?”
“Slender petite built, long brown curly hair, has a tattoo of a barbwire on her forearm, and she is about forty- one old.” He smiles, staring off to the side. “And Piercing dark eyes. Eyes you can lose yourself in.”
“Yeah, romantic,” I say, clicking the pen and clipping it to my notebook. “I will send agents to this address.”
Sanz and I stand up and head for the door when Kulikov calls out. “Devora!”
I turn on around. “What?”
“I know I am not a good person, but Sue is. She doesn’t deserve to die because of me. Please protect her from the animals I worked for.”
“You’re off the hook for murdering Deputy Roth, but not for the murder of Agent Milton or Giselle or Crimson.”
He nods. “Just protect her.”
“We’ll do what we can.” I step out of the room and dial-up Tanner. “Go Ahead, Lobos.”
“I need a protection detail for a Susanita Alejo Garcia. The address is Eight Hundred Northwest Twenty-Fifth Street Avenue. The description is slender petite built early forties long brown curly hair and dark eyes. She has a barbwire tattoo on her forearm.”
“Okay, got it. Sending agents to pick her up now.”
“Sir, I also suggest we ship Kulikov to the field office as well.”
“The shooter of Roth?”
“He is not the shooter of Deputy Roth. That murder was too sloppy for him. However, I wouldn’t rule out him being responsible for the murder of Agent Milton, Crimson, and Giselle.”
“So let me see if I understand this; you want me to ask your fellow agents to protect the very man who killed one of their own in a professional hit?”
“You wanna solve this case. This man is getting ready to burn Radomir to the ground.”
“I hear ya, but I just want you to know you’re walking a lamb into a wolf’s den.”
“I know, but it’s the best lead we got. Did you send a protection detail to my family?”
“Yes, however, your father was less than welcoming.”
“He’s a retired SID cop; don’t take it personally.”
“I didn’t. Lobos, I want you back out there focusing on the Harvesters. I’ll pass along any information I learn from Kulikov to you and Special Agent Munroe.”
“Sarah Munroe of the FBI?”
“Yeah, I read you two worked together on the Moonlight Killer Case.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“She’s working to shut down Radomir’s Harvester operation too. I thought it time you two partnered up again.”
“What happened to the whole conflict of interest thing?”
“Detective Sanz is investigating your brother’s death. Radomir didn’t kill your brother, so the conflict of interest is no longer an issue.”
“Where do I meet Munroe?”
“She is waiting for you at the Ocean Surf Hotel on Ocean Terrace.”
“I’m heading there now.”
Detective Sanz walks up to me and crosses his arms. “Look, I will do my damndest to prove it was Gabriella who murdered your brother. You just stop the Harvesters. But right now, I’m going to hang here till the Feds pick up this joker.”
I slap him on the arm. “Thanks, keep me in the loop.”
“Will do, hermana.”
I leave the building and head to the Ocean Surf Hotel to meet up with little Ms. Meat is Murder. I don’t have a problem with vegans, just the preachy ones that try to shove their diets on my dinner table.
You wanna eat lawn clippings, be my fucking guest. Either way, it will be nice to see what she has on the Harvesters, and working with Munroe keeps Gabriella from butchering my entire family and setting my ass on fire in an oil drum. The universe seems to be lining up… for now. The paranoid side of me worries when stuff works out.
Chapter 20
7436, Ocean Terrace, Ocean Surf Hotel
The Ocean Surf hotel has an Art Deco design on its exterior and interior, caramel tile with pink diamond shapes embroidered into the floor. The man behind the front desk beams a dimpled smile at me. “How can I help you, ma’am?” he says with a thick Cuban accent.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine who checked in here. Sarah Munroe is her name.”
“Ah, Si. She is on the 3rd-floor suite that faces the beach. Room 35.”
“Thanks.”
I head to the elevator and ride the lift to the third-floor, stepping off the lift; I spot Munroe about to enter her room; she’s in a green two-piece bikini. She is soaked from being in the pool area. Her hair is still blonde.
“Munroe.”
She turns, and I see the scar on her gut from where she was shot, left a nasty mark, but I’m sure it’s better than the alternative. “Hey, Lobos. Nice to see you again. Come on in.” She pushes the keycard into the door, and the lock lets out a loud click. We step into her room, and she grabs a towel, drying her hair. I follow her out onto the balcony. We sit at the metal table. “I see you caught up on some sunbathing.”
She glances down at her body. “Yeah, a bit of sun and swimming was the refresher I needed.”
“That gunshot wound seemed to heal up fine.”
“I went through a bunch of drama to recover from it and almost died, but thankfully all I got out of it was a ruined bikini body.”
I light up a cigarette and exhale smoke into the breeze. “Eh, some people find scars sexy on a woman.”
“HA. So I take it you’re eager to get down to business with the Harvester case.”
“Sooner would be better than later, yes.”
“By the way, Lobos. I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Please, if have to hear sorry for your loss anymore, I’m gonna scream.”
She nods. “I understand.”
“So what have you got on the Harvesters?”
She stands up and motions for me to come into the room. I snub out my smoke on the concrete.
She lays the file on the table. “I doubt there’s anything you don’t already know in that file, but no harm in you looking.”
I open the file. And damn it, she was right. Nothing that I don’t already know—wait a minute, this is new. A one-story small warehouse. “What’s this warehouse in the photo?”
“I suspect that’s where they’re taking the victims to be emptied.”
“Have you seen anything going on there?”
“It’s busy at night, but I can’t tell what’s going on in it due to no warrant.
However, lots of suspicious unmarked white vans are going in and out of the warehouse.”
“How many?”
“There’s been several unmarked vans going in and out of there, sometimes eight of them in one night. Don’t you think that’s odd for a warehouse that says Miami Fruit?”
“Very odd.”
“I’m going to get dressed, and we’ll head out and tail the doctor and see where the SOB leads us.”
She grabs her bag, and a red phallic shaped object hits the floor.
A vibrator.
A smile slips across my lips. “A bit lonely up there, huh?”
Munroe’s cheeks turn red with embarrassment and awkwardly shrugs. “S-something like that?” she stammers. “Look, Lobos, don’t you dare judge me.”
I throw my hands up. “Whoa, easy. I wasn’t judging, just never pictured you for the type of woman to carry a vibrator in your bag.”
She places her hand on her head and exhales. “I don’t mean to be a bitch, but my husband and I are going through a separation.”
“Relationships more often than not suffer in our line of work.”
“My husband said he can’t stand around waiting to get the call. He told me nearly dying was too much for him, he said find a new career or it’s over.” She glances away from me, trying to hide her eyes from watering up. “So… I told him this my calling so happy trails.”
“He knew you were an FBI agent when he agreed to marry you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then he was a selfish prick for leaving you. In my humble opinion, he did you a favor.”
She forces a smile. “A vibrator is like a dog, it loves you no matter what your career is.”
My brow furrows. “This is getting awkward, can we get going?”
***
We tail the doctor after he leaves his clinic. “Last time I tried to tail him, Russian hitmen ambushed me, so keep your head on a swivel.”
“Will do, Lobos.” The doctor turns, and she does the same. “It seems he’s heading to the warehouse.”
“Maybe we can catch him in the act.”
The Harvesters: A Detective Devora Lobos Novel Page 11
