by Carolina Mac
He pulled his Beretta out of the harness and pointed it at Carlo’s door. He knocked. “Police, Mr. Amaya. Open the door, I need to talk to you.”
No sound inside. A building like this wasn’t big enough to have a super living on the premises. He pounded on the door again. “Police. Open the door.”
This time he heard a sound and the door opened the width of the chain. A female voice asked, “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to Carlo,” said Blaine. “Is he home?”
“No, he ain’t here. It’s just me and Justine.”
“Can I talk to you and Justine?”
“I guess so.” She took the chain off and opened the door.
The apartment was a mess. Pizza boxes, beer cans and liquor bottles everywhere. The smell of weed mixed with rotting garbage made Blaine’s stomach roil.
He pointed to the cluttered table and the girl sat down. “What’s your name?”
“Rose.”
“How old are you, Rose?”
“Eighteen.”
“Uh huh.” Rose looked like a girl who just graduated elementary school. Thirteen or fourteen. She was tiny, under a hundred pounds and dressed in black yoga pants and a red hoodie. “You and Justine work for Carlo?”
“We’re not allowed to talk to cops. Carlo said so.” She lit up a cigarette with a shaky hand and blew the smoke towards the discolored ceiling.
“Did Faith live here with y’all?”
Rose nodded. “She ran off. Carlo’s out looking for her.”
“Faith is dead,” said Blaine. “Someone killed her and threw her body in the Colorado River near Longhorn Dam.
“No. She ain’t dead. Couldn’t be. We’re a family. Carlo would’ve told us.”
“Could you ask Justine to come out here and talk to me for a minute?”
Rose shook her head. Her eyes glazed over at the mention of Justine and she lost what little color she had. Blaine hadn’t had much medical training, but he could have sworn Rose was going into shock. Why? Maybe she was strung out or starving. She looked like she could use a long nap and a decent meal.
She took a long drag on her smoke. “Justine has to stay in bed today. Carlo said so.”
“Why? Blaine stood up. “Is she sick?”
“Yep. She’s sick.”
“Can I take a look?” Without waiting for an answer, he left the small kitchen and headed across the untidy living area towards the bedrooms.
“No. You can’t go in there,” Rose screamed and then she began to cry.
Blaine stuck his head in the bedroom and knew in an instant he was going to vomit. He threw up in the disgusting toilet in the tiny bathroom wedged between the two bedrooms. He shook off the dizziness and called 911. Justine, a teenager like Rose, had given birth with no assistance. There had been obvious complications and she bled out. The baby lay dead on the bed beside her.
I’ll never get that scene out of my head.
While Blaine waited at the kitchen table for first response to arrive, he put a want out on Carlo Amaya for murder.
He spoke to the first officer who came through the door, Sergeant Bill Montoya, and turned the scene over to him. “Carlo Amaya is a pimp. I don’t know how many girls he runs, but the drowning victim at the dam yesterday was one of them. I was following up on that, when I found this.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the bedroom and felt his stomach take another turn. He walked Montoya as far as the bedroom door, then stepped back and let him take a look.
“One of the worst things I’ve seen, Mr. B,” said Montoya, looking a little pale. “I’ve got girls of my own in junior high.”
Blaine nodded. “I’m headed downtown anyway, so I’ll take this young lady to Juvie. If Mr. Amaya shows up, arrest him for murder.” Blaine held up three fingers. “Three counts.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. B. We’ve got this.”
Blaine turned at the door. “You don’t have to be gentle.”
AT HEADQUARTERS, Blaine turned Rose over to a female officer who would process her and help her settle in somewhere—a half-way house or a foster home. He gave his statement to homicide and looked around for Lopez. He was on his way out of the building when Lopez caught up.
“Heard you were looking for me?”
“Left a detailed statement with one of your crew. Should wrap up one murder for you, even though it multiplied in the solving.”
“Great, that should make the Loot happy. More good news. I got the match back on the gun that killed Agent Enright. Got time to go make another arrest?”
Blaine smiled. “Damn right I do. You made my day.”
On the way to Fayette Memorial, Blaine gave Lopez the details on Carlo Amaya. “Heartless bastard. Even if we can’t prove the drowning, we still have him. He should get the needle.”
“Hope so.”
BLAINE AND LOPEZ stood outside the door to Race’s room for a moment chatting with the officer on duty. “Any visitors today?” asked Blaine.
“None. Medical staff and that’s it.”
Blaine pushed the door open and Lopez went in ahead of him. “Good morning, Mr. Ogilvie. How goes it?”
Race jerked his left hand against the bedrail and the cuff clanked. “How in hell do you think it’s going, fucker? I’m chained to the fuckin bed.”
“Race Ogilvie, you are being charged with the murder of John Enright,” said Lopez. “I’m here to read you your rights.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Race spit at Lopez.
“Right after I read you your rights.”
Blaine smiled as he watched the fury rise up Race’s neck. He took a mental picture and tucked it away in the back of his mind.
They left Race fuming, closed the door to his room and Lopez spoke to the guard. “I’ll send a transfer unit to bring him to the infirmary in Austin. Probably tomorrow morning by the time they arrange it.”
“Okay, thanks for letting me know.”
BEFORE LEAVING Austin PD, Blaine asked Lopez to check to see if Carlo Amaya had been brought in and booked.
Lopez returned with a smile on his face. “He’s downstairs in holding and howling for a PD, so I’ve been told.”
“No bail.” Blaine pointed. “Make sure there is no bail for that slime, or he’ll be gone.”
“I’ll make sure,” said Lopez. “Thanks for the quick close on that one.
“The Governor wants something to run with to soft-pedal the serial, so I’ll roll with it.”
“You roll anyway you want to, Blacky. I’m glad you’re on my side.”
From his truck, he called Governor Richardson and set up the interview. “We’re going to give a statement to The Statesman. Nice and quiet, but it will hit home. Can you come to my office in an hour?”
“I’ll be there. Thank God, we’ve got something to tell them. Do you know how many calls Mrs. Warburton got today?”
“No, but I’m sure she’s counting.” Blaine chuckled. The Governor’s personal assistant was a stern lady, and a little too serious. He ended his call and tried Mary Polito’s number.
“Ms. Polito, this is Blaine Blackmore. Could you possibly come to my office in an hour? I have something for you.”
“Oh, my nerves.” She sounded excited. “I sure can. May I bring a photographer?”
“You may, but I’m not sure we’ll be granting any pictures.”
“That’s okay. I want to be prepared, just in case.”
AT FOUR O’CLOCK, the principals were assembled in Blaine’s office, and Lily bustled about serving Blaine’s favorite Panamanian blend and making sure everyone was comfortable.
“Ms. Polito, this is Governor Richardson, but I’m sure you already knew that,” said Blaine. “I’m going to give you details on the two arrests that were made today, and then the Governor will comment. No questions. Understood?”
Mary nodded and turned on her recorder. “I understand.”
“The Governor is allowing pictures of him when he speaks. None of my office or of me.”
/> Again, Mary agreed.
Blaine recounted the details in the Carlo Amaya murders, soft-peddling the gory details as much as possible, and pumping up the solid police work provided by Austin Homicide.
Then he moved on to the arrest of Race Ogilvie in the murder of former DEA Agent John (Jacko) Enright. When he was finished he turned the spotlight on the Governor.
“Having two murderers arrested today and incarcerated eases some of my stress, and I can’t help but praise the hard work and the diligence shown by our law enforcement community. It pleases me a great deal to know two more criminals have been removed from the streets of our city. All residents of Austin should sleep better tonight knowing what a stellar job their police force is doing on their behalf.”
Mary Polito shook hands with the Governor and thanked him for the interview, then her photographer took a dozen shots and they were finished.
Blaine walked them to the door of the lobby. “I might need you to run something else for me soon, Mary. I’ll call you.”
“Anytime, Mr. Blackmore. Call me day or night.”
The Governor was beaming when Blaine returned to the office. “Fantastic, son, that should turn things around for a few days, at least.”
“I hope so. I need to concentrate on the park murders.”
“How’s Annie?”
“Terrible. Never been worse. She gave up her marriage to Jesse and for what? Two weeks with a murderer?”
“The poor thing. How sad she must be. I better make some time for her. He checked his watch. I don’t have that much more today, I’ll get Mrs. Warburton to clear me until tomorrow.”
“You’re headed for the ranch now?”
“I think so. Might be good for both of us.”
What the hell are you getting yourself into, Scott?
“I’ll walk you out.”
BLAINE HEADED HOME intending to take Misty out for dinner, but he hadn’t had a chance to call her. He called Mrs. Flores to see if she had started cooking. Sometimes she began preparing dinner right after lunch, if the recipe was complicated. He would never go out for dinner without telling her, because she cooked specifically for him. If he wasn’t living there, she might not cook at all.
Too late, dinner was on the stove, but the good news was, she would welcome the girl from next door. All Blaine had to do was convince Misty.
He called, and she didn’t answer. Maybe she’s doing one of her reading things.
She called back as he turned onto their street. “You called? Sorry I was busy.”
“That’s okay. I was going to take you out for dinner, but Mrs. Flores is already cooking. Would you come over?”
“Sure. Okay. My last customers just left.”
Blaine was upstairs changing his clothes when Lexi barked. He bolted down the stairs, turned off the alarm and opened the door. He kissed Misty in the foyer then escorted her to the kitchen and introduced her to Mrs. Flores.
Misty’s Spanish turned out to be better than his own. She had no trouble conversing with Mrs. Flores during dinner and complimenting her culinary talents.
After coffee, Blaine walked Misty across the lawn to her place. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gift he’d bought. “I got you something but couldn’t find the time to give it to you.”
“You bought me a present?” She smiled, and her face lit up. She removed the ribbon and then the paper and held her breath while she opened the lid. Her mouth dropped open and she gasped. “Oh, my God, Blaine, it’s so beautiful. I love it.” She carefully lifted it out of the box. “Would you fasten it for me? I’m shaking, I’m so excited.” She put it on and turned for Blaine to do up the clasp.
She turned towards him, slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Her tongue explored his mouth and he pressed closer to her.
“Can you stay?” She asked in a whisper.
“Sorry I can’t. I’m working surveillance on a case.”
“The park murders, right?”
Blaine nodded.
“Wish I could help with that.”
“Oh, yeah? How could you help?”
“Is there anything tangible?” She trudged up the three steps onto her porch. “I mean like a piece of evidence from the scene I could hold in my hand?”
“The bandanas,” said Blaine. “Each girl had a colored bandana wrapped around her throat.
Misty’s hand went to her own throat. “Oh, I didn’t know.”
“It’s something that wasn’t released to the press. I’d have to get permission.”
“If I touched the bandanas I might get a sense of the person that killed the girls. Not a guaranteed thing. Might help you. Might not.”
“Thanks for the offer. I’ll see where we are after tonight.”
“Most people don’t believe I have insight and I’m past the point of caring whether they do or not. If I can help, let me know.”
BLAINE FOUND TRAVIS and Farrell in Zilker Park, getting set up for the night. While they took their shifts strolling around with the dogs and looking for possible trouble, he intended to listen to what Ken Schofield had to say.
Travis left the unit with Bluebelle around ten. Farrell and Red stayed inside with Blaine.
“How is Lexi doing at Mrs. Flores’ house?”
“Great. Mrs. Flores likes her, and I feel better with the dog there. I’m not home much and I don’t like her alone in that neighborhood.”
“Will you be coming back to the ranch now that Race is gone—I hope for good?”
Blaine shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I don’t know yet. See how things play out with Mom.”
“She’s done nothing but cry. She told me she begged Jesse for another chance and he refused. He’s standing firm on the divorce and said he’s staying at Quantrall with his daughter.”
“Can you blame him?”
“Nope. Mom pulled a boner of a move on Jesse, and if it were me, I’d never take her back.”
“Let’s listen in on Ken. Maybe he’s taking a shower. That would be a gift.”
“Why?”
“He stunk up the whole PD when he was there.”
Farrell made a face. “That bad?”
“It was disgusting.”
Blaine put the audio on speaker and picked up the sound of a chain clanking.
“Ready for your walk, Max?”
“He’s walking the dog. As soon as we see where he enters the park, that will help us,” said Blaine.
“He’ll recognize me and Travis,” said Farrell.
“Don’t worry. We’ll stay out of sight and watch him from a distance.”
“Stroll towards the north gate, Trav,” said Blaine into the earwig. “Ken is walking his dog.”
“Wish we had a tracker in his shoe or something.”
“Or in the dog’s collar,” said Farrell.
“Once he’s out of the house on foot, he could be anywhere.”
An hour passed, and Travis never saw one person. Not a biker, a dog or a jogger. He returned to the unit and gave Bluebelle a biscuit. “Nothing, boss. He never came into the park. I checked all the gates. Ran my fucking legs off and Bluebelle’s too.”
“Where do you want me?” asked Farrell.
Blaine held up a hand. “Hang on a minute. I think he’s back home.”
“That was fun, wasn’t it Max? Time for bed.”
CHAPTER NINE
Saturday, December 9th.
“WAKE UP, BLACKY,” said Lopez. “If I have to work on Saturday, so do you.”
Blaine rolled over, glanced at the clock on the nightstand and tried to focus on what Lopez was saying. “Why are you at work at six a.m.?”
“I’m not at the precinct, I’m in Barton Park.”
“Fuck, no.”
“I’m timing you.” He hung up.
Blaine groaned as he eased his tired body out of bed. He stumbled to the window, pulled the curtain back and peered out at the day. No sun, at least not yet. Dawn had barely cracked over Aust
in. He decided not to call the boys until he found out what new horror they were dealing with in Barton park.
After a quick shower, he threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed a jacket and his Beretta and headed out. He stood at the front door ready to punch the code into the security panel when Lexi caught up and whined to go out. “I better let you out for a couple of minutes before I leave. Come on, girl.”
He lit a cigarette and stood on the porch while he waited for Lexi to tour around the house and do her business. A voice startled him as it floated on the thick morning air.
“Misty?” He peered at the porch next door and could barely see her in the shadows. “I thought nobody was up.”
She moved closer and leaned over her porch railing looking his way. “I had a scary dream. Was there another murder in the park?”
Blaine closed the gap between the two houses, reached up and held her hand. “I’m going there now.”
“I should come with you.”
“They won’t let you near the scene.”
“I don’t have to be too close to get a sense of what’s going on.”
“Get dressed and I’ll wait for you.”
“Five minutes.”
Not a good idea to take her, but I’ve had worse.
Blaine put Lexi back in the house, set the alarm and jumped in his truck. He lowered the window and was about to light up his third smoke of the morning when Misty jogged down her porch steps. He shoved the Marlborough back in the pack and started the diesel.
“I’m not sure I like this idea.” He looked at her beautiful face across the console and realized he didn’t want her looking at anything as horrible as what he’d seen the day before. “You should go back to bed.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m not made of glass.”
“I find I am worrying,” he smiled. “I care about you.”
She reached over and squeezed his arm. “I care about you too. Does that mean we’re in a relationship?”
Blaine shrugged. “Don’t know. Are we?”
“I think I am.”
“Okay. Me too.”
“Where’s my going steady ring?” She giggled.
