Red Rain: Hurricane Page 8

  Alan looked up at the ceiling. “Sometimes I do. I mean, I still spend time with them, on the weekends. We go to the park and stuff like that. I guess I don’t think about it that much. This is who I am.”

  “Yeah. I guess I think about it too much, then.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I feel I should be a better wife.”

  Alan slapped the desk and stood up. “Alright, let’s get outta here.”

  Teresa looked up at him.

  “You say you want to be a better wife; well, stop talking about it and go home.”

  She smiled. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  She shut down her computer and they both walked to their cars.

  As Teresa drove home, she knew Alan was thinking about the same things as her. The murder out on that lake wouldn’t be solved. Whoever did it made sure that they couldn’t find him. The goddamn bleach. The man meticulously planned and then executed his murders. Three days had already passed and they had nothing more than they did on day one.

  More cases were coming in, too, which meant this would be shelved soon.

  Which she didn’t like doing. She was fine if there were leads and nothing came to fruition. What she wasn’t fine with was a criminal who fixed everything so perfectly that they found no leads. Someone like that was much more dangerous than a person who left evidence.

  Someone like that could hurt people again.

  * * *

  Before leaving the house, Teresa promised her husband, Rashard, she would be home on time tonight, given that it was Friday. He didn’t ask her to promise, of course, and probably a large part of him believed she’d be late just as she had been every other night this week.

  The promise, more or less, was for herself.

  Teresa hadn’t slept well last night because she couldn’t stop thinking about the Lake Killer (as she always thought of him). She really didn’t want to let the case go, though knew she would have to sooner or later (and most likely sooner)—unless they found something quickly.

  Teresa went over to Evidence about an hour into her day. She pulled up all the pictures from the crime scene on her computer, but saw nothing new.

  She checked out the Lake Killer’s ‘file’, though it was a box with barely anything in it. A few pieces from the victims glove compartment, her keys, but that was it. Teresa stared into the box for a few minutes, motionless. She just stared as she thought. What else was there? What could she be missing in those crime scene pictures?

  But the pictures held nothing. That was the point. A body lying on a dirt road, a car parked in front of it.

  What about the car? Did she miss something there? They had searched it, as had the crime scene techs. Teresa sighed and took the box back to Evidence.

  “Find anything?” the officer on shift asked.

  “Nothing in that box but broken dreams.”

  Teresa walked back to her desk and grabbed her keys.

  “Where you headed?” Alan said, seeing her about to leave.

  “I’m going to go grab some coffee. Want anything?”

  “No, I’m good. You know there’s free coffee here, right? I mean, I know you’ve only worked here five years but I wasn’t sure if you’d heard. You could probably have paid off your mortgage if you used it.”

  “I don’t drink the swill of the hordes, Alan. I’ll be back.”

  She didn’t tell Alan where she was actually going because she needed time to process everything. She didn’t work well when she investigated with her partner; she needed Alan once the evidence finding was finished. She needed him as a sounding board, to challenge her, because when he did that, her mind crackled with intensity.

  Now though, she needed to be alone. Completely.

  She arrived at the impound lot about twenty minutes later. The victim wasn’t married and her next of kin wouldn’t be able to get out here for another week—her brother lived in Europe, apparently. So they impounded the car to make sure no one vandalized or stole it, which meant Teresa still had access.

  “You guys still have Janet Martinez, right?”

  “Give me a second,” the woman behind the counter said. An older, overweight woman, who looked like she smoked too many cigarettes and sat out in the sun far too long. She looked at her computer screen, clicking a few times before speaking again. “You have I.D.?”

  Teresa placed her badge on the counter.

  “Give me just another second.” The woman disappeared into a back room. Teresa could hear rummaging and she tried to imagine what the room looked like. Boxes everywhere. Disorganized. Maybe an old mutt lying down.

  “Here ya go,” the woman said, coming back through the door with a key in hand. “Now what you’re gonna do is go straight outside, and take a right. Just keep walking. When you see the third dirt path on your right, take that, and the car is going to be the fourth car on your left. It’s a black Mazda, okay?”

  “Straight, third path on my right, fourth on left?”

  “You got it,” the woman said.

  Teresa followed the directions until she found the car. The woman had been spot on, which was good, because the walk had been a half mile to the car, and she really didn’t want to turn back around for directions again.

  Teresa opened the car door and stood outside of it for a few seconds, trying to let the heat inside dissipate. When she got in, she stuck the key in the ignition and started the car, allowing cool air to blow across the interior. Turning on the AC wouldn’t create problems in the case, and she’d be damned if she’d sit out here in this heat.

  Teresa popped the trunk and went to the back. The smell of bleach was stronger than the car’s heat, even in the trunk where they believed it hadn’t been used. Apparently the killer didn’t use the trunk for anything except transporting the bleach.

  That bothered Teresa: when had the killer found the opportunity to put bleach in the victim’s car? If he knew the victim, that would help explain it, but if not—then how did he do it?

  She scanned the trunk but saw the exact same thing as before: nothing.

  She continued searching the car for the next thirty minutes, literally going inch by inch through the whole thing. She pulled her flashlight out as she started studying beneath the seats.

  “The hell?”

  Teresa saw something, or thought she did, that she hadn’t seen before.

  Can’t be. Too many people scanned this whole thing. No way.

  Yet, with the light shining this way, it looked like something black was lodged into one of the seat’s sliding grooves. However, when she moved the light over an inch, the object disappeared. Teresa crammed her hand under the seat, but couldn’t quite touch the area, so she stood back up and went to the front of the seat. She pulled on the lever and tried to push the seat back, but it wouldn’t move.

  “Goddamn. Something’s there.”

  She pulled the seat forward and it moved easily enough. Teresa went to the back again, got on her knees, and stretched. Her hand touched plastic, right in the middle of the groove. She quickly moved her hand to the opposite groove in the same spot, but only felt slick, hot metal. Back to the original groove, she pulled on the plastic but it didn’t budge, and so she started wiggling it against the sides. Sweat pooled on her forehead as the air conditioner failed to keep up with the heat, especially with the car doors open. She reached up and wiped the sweat from her face, then without drying her hands, lubricated the plastic.

  With one hard pull, the thing slipped free of its captor.

  Teresa stood up, marveling at what she held.

  How did it get there?

  She had no question about what she was looking at: a key fob.

  To a gated neighborhood or apartment complex—was too flimsy for a car, and certainly didn’t go with this Mazda.

  Was it the victim’s, or someone else’s?

  * * *

  Well, she knew for certain that it didn’t belong to the victim, because she drove through her neighbo
rhood and didn’t see a single gate.

  Teresa wanted to tell Alan, but she wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t have the right information to go to him—Alan was all action, and he left the forethought to her. That was her role in this partnership, and just because she felt excited now, didn’t give her the right to violate the role. She needed more before she took this to him, because when she started that locomotive moving, it would be hard to stop.

  She went up two floors to the techies. The department only had three of them so they were normally overworked, and certainly felt under appreciated.

  “You got a second, Lincoln?” She stood at the side of his cubicle while he stared at his computer. His head slowly moved from it to her, as if he could barely be pulled away from his work.

  “What do you need?” he said.

  “Mind if I have a seat?”

  Lincoln looked to the chair at the back of his cubicle, clearly thinking about whether or not he wanted to give it up.

  “Come onnnn, Lincoln. I need your help here.”

  “Where are the other two?” he said, still staring at the chair. “Can’t you go to them?”

  “Lincoln, they’re harder to talk to than you. Believe it or not, you’ve got the best personality out of the bunch.”

  “Uggghh,” he moaned. “Sit down.” He went back to his computer and continued typing, his back to Teresa as she sat.

  “No need to turn around. I actually prefer talking to someone’s back.”

  “Sorry, Teresa, we don’t all get the cush jobs downstairs. Some of us actually have to work. Go ahead, what’s happening? I can multitask.”

  Teresa slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled the key fob out. “Okay, look, please don’t tell anyone about this; I’m not sure it means anything yet.”

  “Do I look like I have time to talk to anyone?” he said without diverting his focus from his computer.

  “Valid point. Okay, I have this key fob. I think it’s to an apartment complex or a neighborhood, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

  “A key fob? Like keyless entry?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Lincoln stopped typing but didn’t turn around. “Where did you find it?”

  “In a murder victim’s car, but it’s not the victim’s. At least, it doesn’t suit where she lived. I want to find out who it belongs to. Is that possible?”

  Lincoln spun his chair slowly, and Teresa pictured a dog lying in the sun, enjoying the heat, but his master calling him inside—the slow but steady movement as he knew he had to listen. The master here was Lincoln’s interest in the subject. Lincoln might hate his job, but he got started and then stayed for one reason as far as Teresa could tell: he loved the intersection of crime and technology. In that love, he was much like her … an addict.

  “Let me see.” He put his hand out. Teresa gave him the key fob.

  “Yeah, definitely doesn’t go to a car. It looks too sturdy for an apartment complex, though. If I had to guess, and I’m no expert on this stuff, I’d say it’s for a pretty well-to-do neighborhood. Weight is heavy, meaning it’s got some decent gear inside, and the outside is a step up from the plastic at apartment complexes. Probably costs at least a hundred dollars to replace.”

  “How would you replace it?” she said.

  “You’d ask the homeowner’s association, I’d imagine. They don’t pay me enough to get one of these, let alone lose it and then get a replacement.”

  Teresa felt the spark of excitement growing. This fob could very well be nothing, but it could be what they needed, too.

  “How would I find out what neighborhood it goes to?”

  He looked up at her, and she saw some excitement there as well. “What murder?”

  “The one on Lake Tribec.”

  “That the one where the guy used bleach to kill everything?”

  “You’ve heard of it?” Teresa said.

  “I keep up with the news.”

  “Oh yeah?” Teresa said and smiled. “Did you catch the President’s address on the Spain bombing?”

  “No, I missed it.”

  “But you managed to hear about the murder in Dallas, one of ten already this month?”

  “I watch local news,” he said, but Teresa knew that was bullshit. Lincoln paid attention to murders—which was probably the only reason he spoke to her: he knew she worked in homicide.

  “Yes, Lincoln, the murderer poured bleach over the entire crime scene. That, right there, is literally the only clue we have. Which is why I’d prefer you not to talk about it.”

  He looked back down at it. “Doesn’t look like it got too wet, which is good. These things work off short wave radio frequencies. They’re programmed to send a frequency that a receiver grabs onto which then performs the required action. Most of the times this is unlocking gates, car doors, or starting ignitions. You can find out where this goes, but it’s going to take you some time.”

  “How would I do it?”

  “Well, you would need to find out the radio frequency and then call around to neighborhoods hoping they would tell you if the frequency matched their programming. If they decided not to, which they could, you’d need a warrant for the information.” He looked up at her, smiling for the first time.

  “What would someone of your talents need to do?”

  “Someone of my talents would have other means to discover the receiver’s location.”

  “What would someone of your talents want in return to discover it?”

  Lincoln turned his mouth into an over exaggerated frown and looked up into the air as if thinking.

  “I suppose I might be able to help if you kept me abreast of the findings. Of course, I’d be completely silent in return, as I wouldn’t want to jeopardize an ongoing investigation.” He looked back down to her, his eyes glowing.

  “What type of findings?”

  “Anything and everything. Whether or not you think it has merit. Like this key fob that you’re not telling anyone about. I want to know as soon as you find your next clue. I won’t ask any questions. I just want to know. It’ll keep me from having to waste time on the local news.”

  “Deal,” Teresa said. She knew he was a junkie, but a safe one. She’d give him his fix if he helped her, as long as it didn’t have an actual chance of endangering anything.

  “Alright, I’ll get back to you by the end of the day.” Lincoln turned around back to his computer. “Poor Detective Kaur. Looks like his ask just got pushed back. He’ll live.”

  * * *

  Teresa waited all day, and she felt like a kid made to stare at a chocolate cake, knowing she couldn’t touch it until after her mother got home. The kid had a lot of things she could do: go play outside, do homework, call a friend, but she just couldn’t take her eyes off the cake. Teresa had plenty of work to do. The one amazing thing about law enforcement was job security—people never stopped committing crimes, and if they did, congress would just make new laws.

  No shortage of cases, but yet Teresa could barely keep her excitement from showing.

  “What’s with you today?” Alan said.

  “What do you mean?” she said, looking at her computer.

  “Well, one, your leg is bouncing like you’ve been smoking meth, which is both frowned upon and against police code, not to mention illegal.”

  “Illegality is an abused term, don’t you know that?” Teresa said. She smiled but knew Alan told the truth. Her leg had been bouncing relentlessly. Even now, the smile wasn’t just at their banter, but also because she couldn’t wait to get Lincoln’s information.

  “Something happening that you’re not telling me about? If you were a normal human being, I’d think that Rashard had a surprise waiting on you tonight. However, I know that you’re not normal, so I’m wondering if something is happening here.”

  “You know how we have these roles that we play, Alan? You’re a smart guy, but you prefer action to thought. I’m good in the field, but my role on this team is to think
first. Well, I’m playing my role right now, so I’m going to need you to play yours for a little while longer.”

  Teresa glanced sideways at him and saw he was smiling, though silent.

  “Is it about the lake?” he said after a few seconds.

  “Play your role,” Teresa said.

  He let it drop then, but kept stealing glances every twenty minutes or so, almost as interested as her.

  And true to form, at the end of the day, Lincoln sent her an email.

  come upstairs

  That’s all it said, without a bit of punctuation.

  “Where’re you going?” Alan said as she stood up.

  “Roles, Alan. We all have them, and when you step out of your role … well, everything breaks down.”

  She climbed the stairs and found Lincoln still sitting at his computer, looking like he might not have stood up all damn day. She wouldn’t be surprised if when he backed away from his computer, she saw a yellow filled water bottle sitting there. Cap off, of course, because if you didn’t have time stand up and go to the restroom, you certainly didn’t have time to screw the cap back on.

  “What did you find?” Teresa said, standing behind him.

  “I think I have the location. I didn’t call the place, though, because … well, I don’t want people asking how I found out.”

  “Can’t they scan your computer any time they want and see what you’ve been doing, if it really came down to it?”

  Lincoln looked over his shoulder. “Who do you think built the scan?”

  She smiled. “Okay. Go on.”

  “It’s a neighborhood called Arlington Terrace. It’s in Arlington, clearly. I’ve looked it up, rich place.”

  “Is there anyway to tell who it belongs to?”

  “You can ask if anyone’s lost a fob recently, and that might help you narrow it down, other than that, though, no. The radio frequency for all these are the same.”

  “Thanks, Lincoln. You might have just helped me catch this guy.”

  “Just remember—you keep me up to date.”

  * * *

  Teresa almost told Alan. She didn’t, though. She wanted to wait just a bit longer. When she finished looking into the neighborhood, she would tell him—whether or not she found anything. She hoped something turned up, but if not, that would be the time to bring Alan in. His mind would start sparking and this thing would set off in earnest.