Thirty-Four
Kelly had already paid the building’s security office a visit not long after she had arrived on scene. It was located on the first floor and consisted of two tiny, side-by-side offices. Her point of contact was a man by the name of Johnny Cash, who shrunk a little after the introduction. She was used to encountering this response because of the badge, but she guessed his had more to do with his name. She’d wager he wasn’t a fan of the country legend. She gravitated more toward pop music herself.
“Got it ready for me?” she asked as she breezed into his office. Based on its size, it may as well have been a cubicle. He just had the benefit of real walls, but that actually made the small space feel even more cramped.
“They’re both queued up,” Johnny said. He had a laidback manner to him. He marched to the beat of his own drum, as they say, or so it seemed. He was aware of what had transpired up on the twentieth floor, but he struck her as indifferent—not that she thought he was involved in any way. He was probably just hardened by all the news stories and cop dramas on television.
Kelly sat in a chair beside Johnny and the seat dropped a few inches. “Holy shi—”
Johnny winced. “Sorry, I should have warned you.”
Yeah, a warning would have been nice.
She smoothed out her pants and caught her breath. Nine monitors were mounted on the wall, laid out in a three-by-three grid. The middle screen and the one to its right were paused. One was a view of the law office and the other was the building’s lobby.
“I’m ready when you are,” she said.
“Which one first?”
“The law office.”
Johnny started the video, and she watched the events play out on-screen. The others would see it later, but she wanted a sneak peek at what they were dealing with.
The video was time-stamped 9:08:15 AM. The camera was facing the front desk. Off to the side—or what she could see of it given the angle—the lobby was empty.
The delivery guy approached the counter, and Donna glanced up at him.
“Can you zoom in more?” Kelly asked.
Johnny did so.
Donna’s brow wrinkled as she scrutinized the delivery guy. She clicked a button on her headset and addressed him. There was no audio, but Kelly imagined Donna was asking how she could help him. The man set the box on the counter and held a slip toward Donna.
She waved her hand as if rejecting the delivery, but her movements slowed, then stopped altogether. She started laughing. She then reached for the paper and signed.
Their interaction was casual. He wasn’t acting rushed or jittery, looking around. He tapped the top of the box before he turned to leave, and a few frames later, he was at the elevator and looking right at the camera.
“Stop the video,” she said.
Johnny did as she said, capturing a still of the delivery guy staring back at them.
He wasn’t the man from the restaurant. He was younger—a twentysomething for sure. He probably had no clue what was inside the box. Most likely, he’d been paid in cash to drop it off. If he had given the contents any thought, he could have surmised it was a prank or a gift for someone. Regardless, they needed to find this man.
“Can you print that and send it to—” she reached into a pocket and pulled out the card Jack had given her with Nadia Webber’s information on it “—this person.” She handed Johnny the card. “If you could just write down her name and e-mail? That’s my only card for her.”
“Sure.” Johnny pulled a notebook and scribbled on the lined paper.
“Also, please send it to my e-mail.” She gave him her card. “That one you can keep.” She smiled at him.
“Can do.” He clicked here, clicked there, and a printer whirred to life.
She returned her attention to the screen. Who is this guy?
“Is there anything else I can do?” Johnny asked.
“Ah, yeah. Send a copy of the entire video to Nadia, as well.” She wasn’t looking at the security guy; she was still fixated on the screen.
“Here you go,” Johnny said.
She pulled her eyes away from the monitors, and Johnny had a colored printout extended toward her.
“Thanks.” She studied the picture. The kid had scruffy blond hair that stuck out from behind his ears. He was wearing a T-shirt, loose shorts, and a Miami Dolphins baseball cap. Just your average Joe Schmo. Except he wasn’t. He could be the key to finding the killer she’d been hunting for years.
She fought the impulse to run from the office before watching the other video. The camera in the lobby covered the front doors, looking out, and that one could help determine which way the delivery guy had gone when he’d left.
She pointed to the screen. “Let’s watch the next one.”
Johnny hit “play,” and just as she’d hoped, it showed the delivery guy going out of the building and heading right.
“Thanks,” she called over a shoulder as she hurried out of the security office. “Send that video to Nadia, too.”
She heard Johnny call out an affirmative and headed for the first officer she saw in the lobby. The two of them, who had been there when she’d led the FBI through, were still kicking around but were no longer talking to the two men in suits. They were now seated, and given their scowls, they were feeling more than a little pissed at this disruption of their day.
She stopped about two feet away from one of the officers—McGuire, according to his badge. He was good-looking with chiseled features, nicely sculpted biceps, and broad shoulders. The way he was regarding her was with a mix of curiosity and lust. He hooked his thumbs on his waistband.
Keep it in your pants, cowboy…
“This is the man who delivered the package.” Kelly handed the photo to McGuire. “I need a bunch of officers canvassing the area to see if they can find out where he went from here, maybe even where he came from. What I do know is that he left through the main entrance and headed right.”
“You got it, but—” McGuire’s gaze went from the printout to her eyes. “Do you have more copies?”
She pulled out her phone and opened her e-mail app. The message from Johnny, complete with attachments, was there. “Your e-mail, Officer?”
He smiled at her. “If you want to meet up for drinks sometime, just say so.”
She stared him down. “I don’t know how long you’ve been on the job, but your behavior isn’t appreciated, nor is it professional. A woman is dead. You do realize that?”
His cheeks flushed. “My apologies.”
She wasn’t sure whether he was being sincere or sarcastic. “E-mail?” she prompted.
McGuire gave his e-mail address to her, and he took out his phone.
“Let me know when you get it.” She forwarded the photo of the delivery guy, and a few seconds later, McGuire confirmed receipt. “Share it with the officers canvassing the area,” she continued. “But hurry.” She glanced at the clock in the lobby, and it showed it was creeping up on eleven thirty. The head was delivered over two hours ago now. “We’re already more than a couple of hours behind this guy.”
“I’m all over it.” McGuire hurried off.
Her phone rang and startled her. She answered. “Marsh.”
“Sergeant Ramirez,” he said, formal, tight, and pompous—his trademark.
She’d take it over the phone if she had to. It was a small miracle he wasn’t there, underfoot. Maybe his embarrassment with the mayor bursting into the conference room had made him reconsider getting in Jack’s face again. But that would be assigning the sergeant a conscience and she wasn’t sure he had one.
“What’s the latest news?” he asked as if they hadn’t just spoken about getting officers out on the street to hit up the pharmacies.
“It’s still early.” She wasn’t inclined to share information on the delivery guy unless—or until—she absolutely had to. Technically, the FBI was lead on this so for once she could circumvent her boss. If Ramirez got ahold of the guy’s picture, that was one thing, but she didn’t want to be party to him flapping his gums to the mayor—and who knows who else.
“Give me a little more than that, Detective.”
“We have a lead, and we’re following it,” she said curtly. “I’ll update you when we have more.”
“Should I come down there?” he asked as if she needed micromanaging.
Her hand squeezed around the phone; it saved her palm from digging fingernails. “Officers are canvassing the area to see if they can find the delivery guy.”
“There, now was that so hard?”
Smug, arrogant bastard.
“I really need to go.” She didn’t wait to see if he was going to say anything else. She hung up and was on the move.
She tucked the printout under an arm, took out Nadia’s business card and called her. Jack would either approve of her initiative or be irritated that she didn’t run it by him first, but it’s said that it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
“Nadia Webber.”
“Nadia, this is Kelly Marsh, the detective in Miami working with Jack on the Kelter case.”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“You’ll be getting an e-mail from a Johnny Cash,” Marsh told her. “It will include a video and a still of—” Kelly stopped. Nadia might not have been kept up-to-date on the case.
“Of what, Kelly?”
Kelly smiled. Nadia seemed polite and down-to-earth. Kelly gave her a brief recap of the day’s events so far.
“Damn. I was hoping…”
“That makes two of us,” Kelly said, certain Kelter’s husband and the FBI team could be added to that list.
“So the pic coming to me will be the guy who delivered Kelter’s head?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll run it through the databases, see if we can get a hit with facial rec.”
“Thanks, Nadia.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Kelly detected the smile in Nadia’s voice. Speaking to the analyst had made Kelly’s mind go back to what her life could have been if only things hadn’t transpired the way they had. With that thought, she remembered Clark West’s gratitude for her taking his son’s murder case seriously, keeping the perspective that Kent had been a person, not just a file number or a toe tag. If her path hadn’t led her to Miami PD, where would she be right now? And if it wasn’t here, maybe that would mean this killer would remain free.