Stump Rushing and Stringbean Fenney were the least respected members of Sydney Berry’s 108th homicide division. While Ellis and Warren had their lieutenant’s utmost respect, and were definitely considered his A team, Stump and Stringbean had always managed to run afoul of Sydney’s favor, earning themselves very little in the form of recognition in their over ten years with the department.
Rodney “Stump” Rushing was all of five foot-two and weighed in at a squat one hundred and eighty pounds. Since “Fire Hydrant” was far too long, his fellow detectives had settled on “Stump.” He hated the nickname that had followed him for over ten years, heatedly pointing out on several occasions that his name was “Rodney.” The usual response to this would be, “Oh, okay—sorry, Stump.” He would turn red, cuss up a storm and stomp his feet. That was Stump’s main problem—taking himself far too seriously.
Like many diminutive men of history, he voiced his many opinions both loudly and often. This Napoleon complex earned him total disrespect from his peers, most of them amused at his tantrums and diatribes. They thought he was a joke—and that infuriated him.
There was one man, besides Stump himself, who took Stump very seriously. Earl “Stringbean” Fenney, Stump’s partner for over ten years, looked pretty much how one would expect a fellow nicknamed Stringbean to look—six foot-four, one hundred and seventy pounds—he, too, caught hell for his odd appearance.
Much less sensitive than his odd partner, he was considered easygoing and affable enough by his co-workers. Unfortunately, his obvious limited mental capacity was a well-known deterrent to any possible aspirations he might have, making the team of Rushing and Fenney a joke throughout the entire precinct.
Stringbean Fenney had one other peculiar character flaw. He thought that his partner, Rodney Rushing, was the smartest man he had ever met—a fact that Stump Rushing reveled in.
Sydney did not openly ridicule the two men, opting instead to keep them occupied with tasks that trained monkeys could do. Though Stringbean found the work quite challenging, his spark plug of a partner recognized it as just another example of the department shitting on him. He bitched and moaned daily, constantly after Sydney to give him a chance to prove himself. Sydney tap danced around him, always chickening out on assigning anything of real importance to the strange duo. The fact was, he simply thought that Stump and Stringbean were clowns in cops clothing.
Friday morning began for Sydney with a visit from one of the clowns—the short fat one with the big mouth. “Yeah, Rodney, what you need?” Sydney asked as the detective walked in, taking a seat.
“I need to speak with you, sir, if I may,” Stump replied seriously.
Sydney didn’t need this. Not today. “Can you make it quick? I have a shitload of work to do this morning.”
“Yes sir, I’ll get right to the point. Sergeant Fenney and I feel personally slighted by your refusal to allow us to participate in the Butcher case,” he said, a short bundle of indignation.
Sydney rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his leather chair. “Sergeant Rushing, you and Sergeant Fenney are performing a very important role in the overall scheme of things. A case like this one leaves me shorthanded. I need you and your partner to handle a heavier case load with Sergeants’ Moore and Burroughs tied up.”
“Begging the lieutenant’s indulgence, it would seem that some fresh minds and legs would be welcome, especially since the investigation appears to be dragging. Sergeant Fenney and I could bring a combined twenty years of investigative experience to the table.”
“I’ve got a shitload of experience already at the table, Sergeant,” Sydney replied, unable to mask his growing irritation.
“Sir, may I speak frankly?”
“I’ve never known you to do otherwise.”
“Sir, it is common knowledge around the squad room that Sergeants’ Moore and Burroughs have succeeded in earning your respect, while myself and my partner have come up lacking in your eyes.”
“You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
“Sir, one cannot ignore that Moore and Burroughs are referred to as the A team.”
“Did it ever occur to you, Sergeant Rushing, that the nickname was given out of respect and admiration?”
“Did it ever occur to you, Lieutenant, that being referred to as the Z team conveys a total lack of respect for myself and Sergeant Fenney?”
“Respect is earned, not given,” Sydney replied, staring coolly at the stubborn man.
“Lieutenant, it is difficult to earn respect when the cases we receive are so trivial that a first-year rookie could handle them in his sleep.”
Sydney sighed heavily. “Sergeant Rushing, would you consider it a reasonable statement that Sergeant Fenney and yourself make a striking visual first impression?”
“To the shallow eye, perhaps,” he replied, his face reddening.
“I’ve seen you walk up to interview a witness, then someone will make a harmless remark about the totally obvious visual impression the two of you make, and you fly off the handle. Instead of laughing off this innocent, flip observation, you take the offensive.”
“Sir, I—”
“No, you asked for it,” Sydney snapped, “so sit back and shut up for a change. Perhaps if you loosened up a bit and met the other detectives half way, you wouldn’t always feel so ostracized.”
Stump frowned, stubbornly refusing to buy what Sydney was selling. “Perhaps I need to take up the game of poker to be taken seriously around here.”
Sydney quickly stood, stalking around his desk, startling Stump. He finally stopped, sitting on the edge of his desk. He leaned forward, his face mere inches from his unhappy sergeant.
“You are right about one thing, Rodney. I chose Moore and Burroughs because they are the very best I’ve got. I would’ve chosen them even if I had the entire NYPD to choose from.”
Stump nodded smugly, pleased with himself for finally getting him to admit it.
“Wipe that look off your face,” Sydney barked. “As the head of this division, I have an obligation to put the best individuals at my disposal on the trail of this guy.” He rose and walked back to his chair, pausing a second to sit and recline. “Now, should the scope of this investigation require more manpower, I will, then, decide where that manpower will come from.”
Stump Rushing wisely decided to hold his tongue, aware that Sydney was near his boiling point.
“Is there anything else, Sergeant?”
“No sir. I just thought it imperative that I express my interest in taking part in this investigation. Young women are dying, and I would like to help put an end to it.”
“Interest noted.”
“Then, if you’ll excuse me, sir,” he said, rising, “Sergeant Fenney and I have a case to work on. A lady came home and found her husband in bed with their neighbor. Shot ‘em both dead. Confessed to the arresting officers.”
“Open and shut, nice and neat.”
“Oh, yes sir,” Stump replied sarcastically, “no detective work required on this one.”
“Have a good day, Sergeant Rushing,” Sydney said icily.
“You do the same, sir,” Stump said, closing the door firmly behind him.
Sydney, opening his top drawer, removing the antacid tablets, gruffly mumbled, “What an asshole.”
◆ ◆ ◆
At a few minutes after five p.m., Sydney pulled into JFK International, searching for Ellis’ brown Ford. As he circled once, he saw headlights flashing. The signaling car turned out to be a beige sedan—Warren’s car. Surprised, Sydney drove up beside it, lowering his window, looking first at Warren, then over at Ellis. “Warren, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“We have a bad guy to catch, Lieutenant,” Warren answered with a cocky smile.
“I’m sure that you are aware that Captain Bradshaw has absolutely, positively forbade us from following Reed.”
“If we are any damn good at our jobs, this can be our little secret,” Warren slyly replied.
“Sydney,” Ellis said, leaning forward, “he drug it out of me. The man is a freaking detective.”
“For the record,” Sydney said, shaking his head wistfully at Ellis, “I will be tailing the senator. You guys take Morrell.”
“We should flip for that, Syd,” Ellis suggested.
“Nope—Bradshaw told me not to go after Reed. If I get caught, then it is my ass.”
“That’s bullshit,” Ellis argued. “You see us both sitting here, don’t you? We’re with you on this.”
“Whatever happens, Sergeant Moore, you let me handle it. That is an order.”
Ellis nodded, though far from agreeing.
“Remember, we cannot use the radios. If you need to get a message to me, or vice versa, call the station and check with Gert for messages.”
“Got it,” Ellis replied, lifting his binoculars to his eyes. “I think they should be out any minute. I checked the flight schedule and it’s right on time.”
“That means we should be rolling in the next five minutes or so,” Sydney said, glancing from Ellis to Warren. “Ellis, keep a close eye out for them. I’d hate to lose them right here in the parking lot.”
“What makes it tough is we have no idea what kind of transportation they’ll be using,” Ellis lamented. “I couldn’t ask Terry without causing suspicion.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Sydney said. “I don’t want either of them to know we’re anywhere around.”
“I’m not worried about myself or Warren,” Ellis said, chuckling, “but it’s been years since you’ve been out of your office, off your butt, doing real police work.”
Sydney winked at the two detectives, who were doubled over with laughter. “Mark my words, smartass… if Reed takes a dump, I’ll be able to tell you which hand he used to wipe.”
They laughed at Sydney, who had already turned his attention back to the situation at hand. “So, we can expect bar hopping tonight, correct?”
“If he holds to form,” Ellis said, raising the binoculars once again. “I see Terry, but no Reed yet.”
Sydney raised his own binoculars. “He’s getting a cab. You guys had better move.”
“We’re on him,” Warren stated, putting the car into gear, “like Ellis on a doughnut. Talk to you later.”
Sydney grunted a goodbye, then continued to search for Reed, without success. He glanced down, noting that Morrell had left in a cab, Warren and Ellis following close behind.
A few minutes later, Reed finally emerged, quickly walking to a waiting limousine. The driver of the car walked with him, carrying his luggage. After placing the luggage in the trunk, the driver opened the door for the waiting senator, who then gracefully climbed into the back seat.
“Fucking prima-donna,” Sydney mumbled, as he slowly eased in behind the limo. The driver finally pulled away from the curb. Sydney fell in behind, careful to maintain a comfortable cushion between himself and the limo. Though he had not shown it in front of his fellow detectives, he was actually pretty nervous about his rusty tailing skills. It had been several years since he had performed this most basic of police skills.
Gripping the steering wheel tensely, he made certain to keep the limo in sight, without alerting the driver that he was being shadowed. Sydney soon felt the trained response and memory kick in, proving his worries unwarranted. Traffic being relatively light, and the fact that the limo was moving fairly slowly, aided his efforts immensely.
Sydney stayed from two to four car lengths behind, changing lanes often to avoid suspicion. It soon became apparent that Reed was indeed headed for his estate in upper class Queens. Having no idea exactly where the senator lived, Sydney felt that he was getting close when the houses he passed began to have a very rich, elitist flavor to them. His hunch proved correct, as the limousine slowed in front of Reed’s estate. Turning on his left turn signal, the driver approached the closed gates of the most splendid mansion of the entire neighborhood.
Sydney pulled to the curb, fifty yards or so from the cast iron gates, killing his engine. The gates swung open and the limo advanced up the circular driveway, stopping at the entrance to the kingly manor. Raising his binoculars, he took in the immenseness of the senator’s home. Tudor design, two stories, and at least twelve or thirteen rooms—it screamed old money.
The driver opened Reed’s door, then headed for the trunk. Reed jumped out of the car, making his way quickly to the front door, which had been opened by a portly black maid. Try as he may, Sydney could see no sign of Reed’s wife.
As the door closed, Sydney glanced at his watch. Six o’clock straight up, he noted. He leaned back, bracing himself for what could be a lengthy wait. Surely, the man would spend some time with his wife, Sydney mused.
He had just begun to remember how much he hated the sheer boredom of surveillance, when, after only twenty minutes, out popped Reed with his driver. Sydney noted that those scant minutes had been spent changing clothes—Reed now dressed to the nines. He found himself despising the man anew. Reed was too damn selfish to spend one evening home with a wife he had not seen in days.
The limo pulled out of the gates, heading back toward the downtown area. Sydney crouched, waiting a few seconds. He then started the engine and whipped the Blazer around. He quickly closed the gap, keeping pace.
Fifteen minutes later, he was not surprised to see the car pull up in front of Mike’s Ribs and Spirits, a popular spot in the high-class bar district of Long Island City. Reed, once again, waited for the driver to open his door, ever Mr. Bigshot, Sydney groused.
Sydney caught sight of Warren’s familiar beige sedan, parked thirty yards short of the restaurant and across the street. He gave Ellis a small wave of acknowledgement, then turned the car around, parking directly behind them. Exiting the Blazer, he quickly walked to Warren’s sedan, climbing swiftly into the back seat.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Ellis said with a toothy smile. He looked at Warren, slapping him on the shoulder. “See, I told you the lieutenant could keep up with them. You said he couldn’t do it.”
“I’ll just bet you took up for me,” Sydney replied sarcastically. “I take it that Morrell is inside, waiting for the senator?”
“He went to his apartment first,” Ellis said pointing down the street, “just a couple of blocks that way. Then he came over here to the restaurant.”
Warren turned, facing Sydney, smiling broadly. “Fat boy over here has had his window down, trying to soak in the odors.”
“Man, that does smell good,” Sydney said.
“Tastes good too,” Ellis added, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I’ve eaten there many times.”
“You’ve eaten everywhere many times,” Warren quipped.
“And you can kiss my ass many times,” Ellis said. He then turned to Sydney. “Did Reed go by his house?”
“No, he went by his mansion. I don’t think he even took the time to give the little woman a peck on the cheek, he was out of there so fast.” He frowned. “That drive got me thinking about Reed’s mobility…”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Warrant said. “It appears he gets chauffeured around like a king, so how does he manage to stalk these women?”
“He wouldn’t necessarily use the driver at all times,” Ellis offered, “so we can’t assume that.”
“His driver could’ve left him, maybe for the night, maybe to return at a predetermined time,” Sydney added.
“Or,” Ellis said, his eyes lighting up, “on the nights of the murders, he could’ve stayed at a hotel.”
Sydney nodded, his interest peaked by the suggestion. “That sounds like a possible lead to me. You guys can check out the hotels tomorrow.”
“Sure thing,” Ellis said.
“I would love to get a crack at that driver,” Warren stated.
“He’s off limits unfortunately,” Sydney noted. “You also need to be careful how you approach the hotel managers. Reed could be thick as thieves with one or more of them, which could very easily blow our cover.”
Ellis shook his head ruefully. “The biggest investigation of our lives—and we’re constantly having to work against ourselves.”
“Sad, but true,” Sydney agreed. “If we can just get something concrete on the guy, we can get Jim on board.”
“I’d like to tie him up, gag the sonofabitch, then give him a DNA test,” Ellis growled. “That way, we could either wrap it up or move on.”
Sydney reached up, rubbing Ellis’ broad shoulders, winking at Warren. “Calm down, big fella. You’re wound tighter than a golf ball. What’s the matter—you not getting any at home?”
Ellis closed his eyes, purring. “You’d better stop that. I’m getting a boner.”
“Be careful, Syd,” Warren said with mock seriousness, “last time that happened, he put out my damn windshield.”
“Warren, you mean that lump under his sock isn’t his backup piece?”
“Hell no,” Warren said, laughing, “that’s where he straps black beauty down so it doesn’t stick out the bottom of his pant leg.”
Sydney and Warren laughed like high school kids, while Ellis just shook his head. “Black guy, big dick… you guys are very original.”
“Just trying to loosen you up, big guy,” Sydney said, slapping him on the back.
Ellis solemnly leaned over, scratching the inside of his left ankle.
“What’s wrong?” Warren asked.
“My damn dick itches,” Ellis said, without cracking a grin. “Do you mind?” The car exploded with laughter, Ellis finally breaking down and joining in.
For the next thirty minutes, the three detectives unwound, cutting up like schoolboys. They were able to momentarily forget the ugly circumstances that brought them together on a rare Friday night. Time flew, as they waited for a possible serial killer to finish his meal.
At eight-fifteen, Reed and Morrell emerged from the restaurant. Sydney began to reach for his door, but Ellis suddenly stopped him. “Hold up, Syd—it looks like they’re just going to the club next door—O’Briens.” They all watched the two men walk into the popular hangout. “Logical choice,” Ellis said, “a perfect place to mingle with the opposite sex.”
“Damn,” Sydney complained, “I wish we could see what’s going on.”
Ellis sucked on his front teeth, a thought forming in his head. “Sydney, neither Reed nor Morrell has ever laid eyes on our boy, Warren.”
Sydney leaned forward, eying Warren speculatively. “Ellis, if ever someone had cop written all over them, it would be Sergeant Burroughs here.”
Ellis reached over, working Warren’s tie from around his neck. The slender detective just sat there silently, a bemused expression on his face. Ellis next tussled Warren’s short, neat, slick hair, finishing by wiping his hand disgustedly on his pants. “Damn, Warren—my wife’s French fries ain’t that damn greasy.”
“Kiss my ass—that’s gel. But then, what the hell would you know about style?”
Sydney reached forward, manipulating Warren’s hair until he found a style he could live with. He glanced at Ellis, tilting his head. “He almost looks like your average, run-of-the-mill citizen. What about the jacket?”
“It has to go—no doubt about it,” Ellis responded without hesitation.
Warren started to remove the suit jacket. “Damn, what about my underwear, fellas? You think I should lose those too?”
“Probably white briefs,” Ellis said, laughing.
“What’s wrong with briefs, oh fashion expert?”
“Nothing, partner,” Ellis said, shaking his head. “You’re a walking GQ ad—Geek Quarterly.”
Sydney smiled, reaching for the top of Warren’s shirt, unbuttoning two buttons. “There, that should do it.”
Ellis faced his partner, nodding at the change. “Try to stay unnoticed by these guys. They’ve never seen you, but they could stumble upon you at the station sometime in the future.”
“You can tell me how to dress, Mr. Kevin Klein, but I damn sure don’t need any detecting advice from you—thank you very much.”
“That’s Calvin Klein, you name dropping sonofabitch,” Ellis said, doubled over with laughter.
Sydney chuckled, squeezing Warren’s shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you, buddy. Calvin Klein, Kevin Klein—who the hell cares?”
After a few more minutes of playful ribbing, Warren turned serious. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“You keep an eye on them inside,” Sydney answered, “and we’ll be ready to ease behind them if they decide to continue down the bar strip.”
“There are two or three more bars within walking distance,” Ellis added. “According to Terry, Reed will hit them all until he reels a woman in.”
“I’m going back to my Blazer,” Sydney said, “just in case they move out quickly.” He winked at Warren. “Good luck, stud.”
Warren nodded, then exited the car, quickly making his way into O’Briens. Sydney made his way back to his Blazer.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Look, Rodney, Burroughs just went into the bar.”
Stump lowered his binoculars, a thoughtful expression on his chubby face. “What the hell are these guys up to?” He noticed Sydney walking back to the Blazer. “Get down, Earl. Shit—Berry’s coming right at us.” The two ducked down, avoiding detection.
“Okay,” a relieved Stump said, “he was just going back to his car.”
“You don’t think he made us?”
“Nah,” Stump answered. “Besides, he’s never seen your wife’s station wagon.” They both laughed.
“Burroughs sure looked strange,” Stringbean noted.
“They de-nerdized the asshole, so he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.”
Stringbean frowned, trying to keep up with the unfolding mystery. “Okay, so we followed Moore and Burroughs from the airport. They are following that young guy, right?”
“Then Berry shows up on Senator Dexter Reed’s ass,” Stump said, frowning. “Why the hell would they be following Reed?”
“Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with the Butcher case,” Stringbean offered weakly.
“Shit, Earl,” Stump said with a scowl, “sometimes I think you’re a fucking retard. You think all three of them would be out here, after hours on a Friday night, unless the damn Butcher was involved in some way?”
“I guess you’re right. Hey, maybe the kid is Reed’s son or something.”
“Yeah, or he could be a suspect. We’ll just have to keep watching.”
Stringbean shifted uneasily in his seat. “Rodney, maybe we should quit pressing our luck and just get the hell outta here.”
“No way I’m leaving,” Stump answered, a vein rising in his forehead. “That bastard has given me—us—the short end of the stick one too many times.” He glared at his partner. “Haven’t we earned the right to be involved in this, Earl?”
Stingbean rarely argued with Stump, but felt the need to register his fears. “Yeah, Rodney, but we’re not really involved. How is sneaking around gonna get us involved? You ask me, it’s just gonna get our asses fired.”
“Dammit, Earl—where’s your fucking ambition? If and when the three fucking stooges up there catch this guy, their careers are made. Hell, that’s why Berry is shutting us out. He and his untouchables want all the fucking glory.”
“You think so?”
“Fuckin’ A,” he said, full of indignation. “But, hey… we’re detectives, right?” Stringbean sat up straighter, feeling a pep talk coming on. He nodded at his excited partner. “We get a couple of leads from these clowns and follow them up on our own,” Stump reasoned, “who’s to say we can’t bring in Chester the Molester ourselves?”
“Then Lieutenant Berry will have our asses.”
Stump shook his head, frowning at Stringbean’s negative thinking. “Bullshit, bonehead. We get the bad guy, Berry will be kissing our asses.”
Stringbean nodded, the frown still present. “I just hope they don’t see us.”
“Those assholes are so concerned about the guys they’re tailing, they wouldn’t notice us if we farted over the bullhorn.” Stringbean smiled, then let a small chuckle escape. Stump reached up and slapped his nervous partner on the back. “Relax, buddy. Would ol’ Rodney ever steer you wrong?”
“Well,” he answered, giving the question serious thought, “there was that time—”
“Water under the bridge,” Rodney quickly interrupted, clearing his throat. “Tonight is the start of better days for New York City’s finest detective team. Are you with me, Earl?”
Stringbean took a deep breath, then nodded his head as bravely as he could. “I just hope we don’t get caught.”
“It’s like having a fucking woman for a partner,” Stump mumbled disgustedly. “If you could cook and gave blow jobs, I’d divorce Irene and marry your pansy ass.”
“Alright, alright, alright,” Stringbean said, throwing his hands in the air, “I’m in, dammit.”
“That’s more like it,” Stump said triumphantly.
After a few moments, a serious Stringbean turned to Stump. “Rodney, maybe Lieutenant Berry wasn’t shading Reed. Maybe they just happened to arrive at the same time. He could’ve just been meeting Burroughs and Moore.”
“You saw Berry at the airport,” Stump said emphatically. “He didn’t take off after this kid because he was obviously waiting for Reed to come out. You saw the way he was looking at the guy when he got out of his car. He was definitely following Reed.”
Earl “Stringbean” Fenney shrugged his bony shoulders, bowing to his stocky partner’s reasoning. He just wished he could shake the uneasy feeling.
◆ ◆ ◆
Warren settled at the bar, surprising the bartender by ordering a soda. A live band played hard rock music, the driving beat working on Warren’s head like a sledgehammer. He felt like a nun at a whorehouse and hoped it didn’t show.
He quickly scanned the room, noting that the majority of the patrons were early to mid-twenty-year-old men and women. As expected, Reed stuck out like a sore thumb, standing in the corner, holding a drink while talking to a young brunette. Morrell was seated at a nearby table, his attention totally focused on Reed and the girl.
Momentarily, Reed moved to another woman, this time a pretty blonde dressed in a mini skirt. Warren turned back to the bar, careful not to focus on the senator for any great length of time. After a suitable period, he once again scouted the area. This particular girl was really enjoying herself with Reed, laughing, touching his arm, making eye contact with him as they talked.
Warren took a good look at the woman, guessing her age to be twenty or twenty-one. He caught himself shaking his head at Reed’s childish lifestyle, amazed that such a man had managed to gain the public trust. He wondered how a man could just throw his luggage in the house he shared with his wife, then rush to a bar to hit on girls barely out of high school.
His gaze shifted back to Morrell, who made no effort whatsoever to hide his preoccupation with his employer’s activities. The expression on his face suddenly changed to one of concern, causing Warren to glance back at Reed.
The senator was leaving. Reed gave Morrell the thumbs up sign and a satisfied smile, the young beauty on his arm. Warren watched futilely as he left, hoping that Sydney and Ellis were ready. He wanted to follow, but noticed that Morrell had similar ideas. Waiting until Reed had cleared the door, Terry headed after the twosome.
Warren sat tight.
◆ ◆ ◆
Ellis was the first to notice Reed emerge with the pretty blonde. He quickly glanced in his rear-view mirror, noting that Sydney, too, had seen the couple. Reed walked in the direction of the detectives, on the opposite side of the street, his attention totally on the girl. Ellis fought the urge to follow them, Sydney being responsible for the senator.
Sydney waited until Reed had walked several feet ahead, before finally opening his door. Ellis was surprised to see him then quickly shut the door, obviously perturbed at some new development. The answer to the riddle was soon apparent, Ellis noting that Terry Morrell had emerged from the bar, looking very intent on tailing his boss.
“Dammit, Terry,” Ellis groused, “go on home.” Glancing in his mirror, he noted that Sydney, too, was irritated by the unexpected stumbling block. Ellis crouched in his seat, trying to avoid detection by Morrell. He soon realized the effort was needless, Terry totally zoned in on Reed and his catch, oblivious to anything except his own amateur sleuthing.
A few seconds later, Warren came out of the bar, quickly making his way to the car and climbing behind the wheel. “Where did Reed go?” he asked frantically. “Why the hell is Sydney still here?”
“Reed went that way,” he replied, pointing over his shoulder. “We had to sit tight because Terry is following the sonofabitch.”
Warren could barely make out Morrell, some two hundred feet in the distance. “They’re walking?”
Ellis nodded, noting that Sydney had left his Blazer and was approaching their car. “Quick, roll down your window,” he instructed Warren.
Sydney stuck his head to the opening. “Warren, you strike out on foot. We’ll follow in the cars.”
“Gotcha,” Warren said, quickly jumping out to pursue the wandering threesome.
Sydney climbed behind the wheel of Warren’s car, facing Ellis. “I’ll leave the Blazer here. Things are breaking too fast to maneuver all these vehicles into position. If they split up, we follow Reed. You see any other way to play it?”
“He’s the only suspect I’ve seen tonight,” Ellis said, shaking his head.
They watched Warren, shading Morrell from a perfect distance. Sydney finally started the engine, shifted the car into gear, then slowly u-turned, easing the sedan behind the foursome, careful to keep a healthy distance between himself and Warren. “At least there’s not much traffic tonight,” Sydney said.
“Yeah, thank God. Did you get a look at Reed’s companion?”
“Twenty, maybe,” Sydney said, shaking his head in disgust. “Let’s just hope he slips up tonight and we’re there before it gets ugly.”
“Down boy—all we got now is a dirty old man out on the town.” He glanced at the steering wheel, noting Sydney’s hands gripping it mercilessly. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe we will catch us a bad guy tonight.”
◆ ◆ ◆
Stringbean and Stump raised back up, as Sydney finally pulled past them. “Start the damn car!” Stump yelled. “Don’t lose them.”
The blue station wagon roared to life, and Fenney quickly made the turn, falling several car lengths behind Warren’s sedan. “Rodney, they’re moving awful slow. If I creep up behind them, it’ll look pretty suspicious.”
“Pull over to the curb every few feet, wait a couple of seconds, then pull back into the street. Hell, they’re following a group of walkers. It ain’t like they’re gonna get away.”
The blue station wagon followed the beige sedan. The beige sedan followed Warren Burroughs. Warren Burroughs followed Terry Morrell. And Terry Morrell followed Senator Reed and the anonymous beauty.
The strange procession finally ended at the Regency Hotel. Reed and his lovely companion entered the upscale hotel, pausing briefly at the front desk. Terry lurked outside, able to see the senator take a key from the attendant, then escort the young lady to the elevator.
After the door had closed, Morrell entered the hotel lobby.
Warren stopped sixty or seventy feet from Morrell’s location. Sydney and Ellis could make out, through the use of binoculars, that the trail had led to the luxury lodging. Sydney pulled over, killing the engine and lights, waiting for further developments. Stringbean and Stump parked even further back, helpless to know what was happening ahead of them.
After watching as Morrell advanced into the lobby, Warren cautiously worked his way to the spot Terry had just vacated. He glanced in, noting that Morrell was nervously sitting, thumbing through a magazine, his eyes constantly roving. Warren saw no sign of Reed or the girl, explaining Morrell’s preoccupation with the elevator.
He decided to check in with Sydney and Ellis, covering the distance quickly, then climbing into the back seat. “Reed’s obviously been given a room,” Warren reported. “Our boy, Columbo, is in the lobby, nervous as a new bride.”
“He shouldn’t be worried,” Sydney said. “Reed isn’t stupid enough to do anything to her in the hotel—not with the front desk clerk as a witness.”
“Dammit,” Ellis growled, “why couldn’t Terry do what I told him? Warren could be inside right now.” He glanced at Sydney. “We could always let Terry know we’re out here.”
Warren leaned forward, placing his arms across the back of the seat, trying to get the attention of both detectives. “Ellis, you’re gonna fight me on this, but let me tell you why I think that’s a very bad idea.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Who the hell’s to say that Terry Morrell doesn’t make a habit of following the senator around on his various romantic interludes? And who’s to say that he doesn’t, then, murder these women?” Sydney nodded, obviously able to buy the theory. Ellis shook his head, dismissing it altogether.
Warren glared at his stubborn partner. “Hell, he could be in there right now, waiting for Reed to finish with her. You told him last night that we wouldn’t be here, so maybe he thinks the coast is clear.” He shook Ellis’ shoulder. “Admit it, big fella—it fits.”
“Yeah, if you were writing a book, he’s your man. But baby,” he continued, rubbing his large belly, “my gut says no way.”
“You and that damn gut,” Warren growled, slumping back in the seat.
“The hell with his gut,” Sydney said defiantly. “Morrell looks like a pretty damn good suspect to me.”
Warren shook his head sadly, obviously losing faith in the theory. “Syd, he doesn’t rub that disgusting spare tire too often. You can scratch Morrell off the list. The gut don’t lie.”
“Thank you, partner,” Ellis said, a smug smile on his face. “I knew you’d come around.”
“Ellis and his magical gut aside,” Sydney interjected, “I’d sure like to be a fly on that hotel room wall.”
A few minutes later, Ellis pointed to the back seat. Sydney turned, noting that Warren was leaning against the right back door, his eyes closed, his mouth wide open. “Big murder investigation,” Ellis said, smirking, “and sleeping beauty back there is dead to the world.”
Sydney reached back, running his hand back and forth in front of Warren’s closed eyes. “I would love to have this man’s blood pressure.”
“I’d love to have anyone else’s blood pressure,” Ellis joked.
They settled back, waiting for the strange pair of suspects to make a move, Warren’s soft snoring the only sound breaking the silence. After several minutes of quiet introspection, Ellis suddenly turned to Sydney. “Just how big is this knife supposed to be?”
“Bernie said he couldn’t be sure,” Sydney answered, shrugging, “but he guessed that the handle would be very sturdy, judging by the depth of the wounds.”
“Okay, let’s say the grip is a good five or six inches,” Ellis said, glancing at a nodding Sydney. “Then let’s assume the blade is at least six to eight inches long.”
“That’s assuming a pretty damn big knife.”
“Twelve to fourteen inches total,” Ellis said, nodding. “Reed was wearing a trench coat. They have pretty damn deep pockets.”
“Yeah, good point. And wasn’t Morrell wearing a windbreaker?”
“So where the hell would he conceal a knife like that?” Ellis asked, pleased to score a point for Morrell.
“I’ve seen holsters for knives,” Sydney replied. “He could have it strapped to his leg or back. And we’re just guessing as to the size of the knife.”
“He’s wearing jeans,” Ellis said stubbornly. “A fucking machete strapped to his leg would be tough to conceal.”
“Now it’s a machete?” Sydney said, laughing. “In another few minutes, it’ll be a damn sword.”
“Okay, take away three or four inches—you’re still talking about a mother of a knife.”
“Reed is dressed right for carrying a large knife,” Sydney conceded. “Now, explain how he concealed it in early August, with temperatures around the century mark.”
“I can’t figure out everything. When the hell are you gonna start pulling your weight?”
Sydney closed his eyes, leaning back. “I’m just a blue collar, dumbass flatfoot. I’ve never won a game of Clue in my life.”
Ellis grunted a laugh, knowing full well that Sydney Berry was the best damned detective he’d ever known, bar none. “You are one dumb sumbitch.”
◆ ◆ ◆
At ten fifty-six, Terry Morrell came rushing out of the hotel. After rounding the corner of the building, he stopped, scoping out the front doors.
“Hey, we’ve got action,” Ellis said, punching Sydney’s arm.
Sydney sat bolt upright, his eyes taking a moment to focus. “Yeah, I see Morrell. Where’s Reed?”
Ellis lifted his binoculars, scanning the entrance. “Nothing yet, but the way Terry was moving, he’ll be coming out any minute.”
“Look,” Sydney said, pointing, “the limo’s pulling up.”
It stopped in front of the hotel. After only a few seconds, Reed walked out briskly, climbing quickly into the back seat. Sydney and Ellis watched helplessly as the limo then swiftly pulled away from the curb. Terry Morrell stepped out into the open, kicking the ground in disgust.
“Look at Terry,” Ellis said, pointing him out. “If that doesn’t prove to you that he’s after Reed—not the girl—then nothing will.”
“Dammit,” Sydney growled, “I should’ve gone back and gotten my Blazer. Hell, we have to stay here with the girl now.” He looked at Ellis seriously. “We need to keep an eye on her the entire night if we have to.”
“Not just tonight,” Ellis said. “We need to be her shadow until his ass is back in Washington.” He made eye contact with Sydney. “You’re not the least bit concerned that the woman hasn’t made an appearance yet?”
“Not really—too sloppy and totally against form.” He noticed Morrell re-entering the lobby. “Man, I don’t like him where we can’t keep an eye on him.”
Sydney turned, looking at the sleeping Warren Burroughs. “Fucking Rip Van Winkle slept through the whole damn thing.” He slapped Warren’s knee. “Hey—wake up.”
“Yeah,” he said, yawning. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Ellis said sarcastically. “Reed left in his limo without the girl. Morrell is back in the lobby, doing God knows what. The girl is somewhere in that big ass hotel. Oh, and your lazy ass slept through the whole damn thing.”
“What are we doing?” Warren asked, ignoring Elli’s gibes.
“You go into the lobby,” Sydney said. “Just make it look like you’re waiting for someone. Grab a magazine or something. We need to keep an eye on Morrell. If Ellis and I have to leave in a hurry, you take my Blazer and keep up with Morrell.” Sydney took out his keys, tossing them to Warren. “If we get split up, you call the station to leave or receive messages. Got all that?”
“Yeah, but I think Morrell might get spooked when he sees me come waltzing into that lobby.”
“We’ll have to risk it. Technically, he’s still a suspect, so we have to keep an eye on him.” Warren nodded, then exited the car.
Sydney turned to Ellis. “I blew it. I fucking blew it. I thought that Reed would leave the hotel with the girl and that one of us could jump out and tail Morrell.”
“At least we still have the bait,” Ellis responded. “I just wish she’d make an appearance, so we’d know for sure that she’s still live bait.”
Sydney groaned, reaching for his antacid tablets. “You had to go and say that.” He placed two of the tablets in his mouth, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to drain the blood from his hands.
◆ ◆ ◆
“Why didn’t they follow Reed?” Stringbean asked.
Stump shrugged, straining to follow the action from much further than he would have liked to have been. He lowered the binoculars momentarily. “They must be planning to tail the kid. He must be the suspect.”
Stringbean squinted to see what was unfolding in the distance. “What’s happening now? Who’s that going inside?”
“That’s the kid going back in.” Stump moved the binoculars to Warren’s car. “Those assholes are just sitting there while he does it. He could be going in there to gut her right now.”
“Shit—you think so?”
“If he is, I can’t wait to ask Berry why he sat on his thumbs while the bastard did it. I wonder what Mr. Wonderful’s answer would be to that one?”
◆ ◆ ◆
Terry Morrell rose from the chair and paced. He noticed a tall, lean stranger enter the lobby, sit, and casually leaf through a magazine. Damn, he mused anxiously, what should he do? He couldn’t wait in the lobby all night. Deciding to take action, he headed for the elevator. He stared at the floor panel, trying to decide which floor to start searching.
The door suddenly opened. It was her. She gave him a “go to hell” look, no doubt because of the way he was gawking.
After brushing past him, she quickly made her way to the front doors, swinging them open and gracefully exiting the hotel.
Terry walked briskly, trying to keep her in sight. He opened the doors just in time to see her entering a waiting cab. Then, she was gone.
◆ ◆ ◆
Sydney had started the car the second the young beauty had exited the hotel. He and Ellis had been alerted by the waiting cab, hoping that she would be the passenger. He quickly fell in behind the taxi, catching a parting glimpse of Terry Morrell, who was once again kicking the ground in disgust.
◆ ◆ ◆
“What do we do now, follow her or stay here?” Stringbean asked.
“Hell, let’s stay here and see where the kid goes. My guess is that Dickless Tracy is gonna be tailing him too.”
“Dickless Tracy,” Stringbean repeated, chuckling, “that’s pretty good.”
Stump shook his head, continuing to stare through the binoculars. “I’m thrilled I could fucking amuse you.”
◆ ◆ ◆
Terry Morrell slowly made his way to his apartment, rarely looking up from the pavement. He was obviously dejected and dispirited. He never saw the detective behind him, following first on foot, then in Sydney’s Blazer. Arriving at his apartment, he climbed the six steps to his front door, unlocked, then entered through it.
Warren watched from the parked Blazer, the open curtains giving him a good view of Terry Morrell’s movements inside the street level, one-bedroom apartment. Spending just a few seconds in the front room, he then moved to the bedroom. Through the slightly parted curtains, Warren could then see Morrell making a phone call. He squinted, wishing Sydney had left his binoculars in the Blazer. He could barely make out Morrell’s lips moving. After a few seconds, Terry hung up the phone.
He turned to walk away, but returned to the phone, once again picking it up and dialing. Warren watched closely as Morrell appeared to get no answer, hanging up after waiting about thirty seconds. He then left the room for two or three minutes, only to return, turning off the bedroom light as he entered the room.
After waiting around for several minutes, Warren felt satisfied that Morrell was no longer a concern. Taking one last look at the apartment, he started the Blazer, then headed for the station.
◆ ◆ ◆
Stringbean watched Warren drive away. He turned to his partner. “What now, Rod? Let’s me and you call it a night.”
“That putz wimped out,” Stump replied, shaking his head stubbornly. “Hell, it’s only been a few minutes since the kid turned his lights out.” He once again shook his head. “No, I’m staying right here—all night if I have to.”
“All night watching a guy sleep?” Stringbean said, groaning.
“Maybe, maybe not. You can go if you want. I’ll just stand over in that alley.”
“Yeah, I’m going to leave you in an alley… in New York City… all night. Forget that.”
“That’s the spirit,” Stump replied, smiling broadly. “I’ll even let you grab the first couple hours of shuteye.”
Frowning, Stringbean leaned back, stretching his lean frame as best he could. “Okay, you win. Wake me up when it’s my shift.”
Stump raised the binoculars to his eyes, studying the dark apartment. He was determined to break the case. Something big is going to happen tonight, his mind insisted. Something very big.