Detective Reed launched her personal car, a pristinely restored 1970 Ford Mustang, over the crumbling concrete and brought it to an abrupt stop, the engine emitting one final growl before she switched off the ignition.
“Busy night,” she said. “I came as soon as I could.”
I fed her the details, particularly those pertaining to the possible involvement of a gang, and awaited her input.
She shifted her weight and parked one hand against a hip. “There’s a lot of chatter on the street about a drug war between the KC Crusaders and their rivals, the Main Street Ghosts. In fact, I had just given up on an all-night stakeout near the Ghosts’ headquarters, when a call came in about a possible home invasion two blocks east. Like I said, I came as soon as I could.”
“This can’t leak to the press. I don’t want to tip off the perps.” I waited for the words to sink in. “Do you have any intel on a street gang embracing a satanic cult affiliation?”
Her expression surprised me and was difficult to read. She seemed angry? Or was that surprise I saw on her face?
“It’s unusual,” she stammered past a squint. “What does that have to do with what happened here?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t have anything to do with it. I received some unusual eye-witness testimony to a kidnapping case, and I wanted your opinion.”
“What kind of testimony?”
“An atypical tattoo—an inverted cross.”
Reed’s lips twitched sarcastically. “And you think your guy is not only a gang member but has, what, a satanic fetish?” She emitted a guttural laugh. “It could have been a depiction of the Cross of Saint Peter—the Petrine cross.”
I shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible. But we’re talking about five abductors. So, you can see why I thought a gang may have been involved.”
“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. Gangs don’t usually participate in serial abductions. Rape, sure, but once they’re finished with their victims, they usually release them, unharmed.”
Unharmed! I chewed the inside of both cheeks and wondered how much time, if any, she’d spent with victims of rape. “Well, you know what they say: There’s a first time for everything.”
Reed shortened the distance between us. “Do me a favor, Crenshaw: don’t stir the hornet’s nest on a speculative assumption. I’m this close,” she said, pinching her fingers, “to a massive weapons and fentanyl bust.”
I wagged my head and pressed my palms her way. “You got it, Detective.” Unless I happen upon some damn compelling evidence.
“And in return, if I spot a banger with a similar tattoo, I’ll let you know.”
My instincts convinced me she wouldn’t tell me shit until after she’d made her arrests. Reed wasn’t only a lone wolf, she was a glory hound—proficient in accumulating collars and marking her territory. “You do that.”
“How’s the officer?” she said, tipping her head toward the bar.
“He didn’t make it.”
Her eyes scanned the perimeter and then widened, like a terrifying thought had just occurred to her. “I don’t see your partner. It wasn’t him, I hope.”
“No, but he’d known the murdered officer and for some time. He insisted he be the one to tell his wife.”
She nodded, her gaze flying to her shoes. “Shit, that’s never easy.”
Officer Kennedy Baker swept past, hand in midwave as she headed for her patrol car, Officer Lewis trailing behind. “Officers, I’m going to need a lift back to the station,” I called after them.
Baker nodded her acknowledgement.
“Be careful out there, Detective,” Reed told me passively, then squared her shoulders. “And remember what I said about not stirring the hive.”
All the way back to the station, the things Reed had said, and her attitude in general, continued to rub me the wrong way, and I was counting the minutes until end of shift. My shoulders slumped when I found Captain Burke waiting near my desk when I slunk into the Detectives’ Den. He looked as if he’d left the house without so much as a glance in the mirror. His hair stood on end, reminding me of an agitated rooster in the midst of a cockfight. A circular red glob, midway between the collar and hem of a misbuttoned shirt, suggested he had a fetish for ketchup and a loathing for drycleaners.
“This won’t take long, Detective,” he began. “Chief Patterson expects me to release a statement to the press, and I could use some firsthand intel,” he said, motioning for me to follow him into his office.
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, still trying to come up with any explanation that didn’t include an overzealous vampire brother.
“Real shame about Officer Schmidt,” he said, wagging his head. “He was a damn fine cop.” He motioned for me to take a seat while he perched inches away on the edge of his desk.
“Go, Detective,” he said rolling his hand. “Tell me everything you can, aside from the identification of the shooters. I’ve already been briefed on names, gang affiliations, et cetera.”
“Okay,” I said after clearing my throat. “I went around to the back of the building and took the staircase to the second floor. Once inside, I had to disable an assailant—the guy guarding the interior stairway to the lower level. We had a brief altercation, which led to him falling down the stairs. He hit his head on the door and lost consciousness. I disarmed and cuffed him.”
Burke nodded along. “Then what happened?”
“I saw a second gunman crouched down in the corner across the room, bleeding from, I assumed, a gunshot wound. I cuffed him then attempted to provide assistance.”
“Did the bullet come from your gun?”
“No, sir.”
“Where was his weapon at the time?”
“Beside him. He wasn’t a threat by that point.”
“What about the men in the parking lot?”
“I have no idea, Captain. It was too dark in the apartment. I heard some sort of struggle, but I never saw anything.”
Burke scratched his chin until I thought it might bleed. “Is it possible there was someone else in the apartment?”
Oh, it was possible all right. “I suppose it’s possible. Like I said, it was dark.”
He scrubbed the back of his head and puffed his cheeks. “Both men found inside weren’t fatally injured, as I’m sure you know, Crenshaw. But because the two scraped off the parking lot are currently playing footsie in the morgue, Internal Affairs may have a few questions. Make yourself available, Detective.” He tipped his head and fixed a hard stare. “Any reason you need to get your union rep involved?”
Not unless someone witnessed my out-of-control brother toss two gang members through an opening as if they were Frisbees. “I can’t think of a single one, sir.”
“Looks like that’s it then.” He slapped his thighs and launched off his desk. “Oh, one more thing.”
I knew what Burke was about to say. Thompson’s arraignment sat on the docket, scheduled for the following day, and I assumed Burke wanted to make sure I’d be there, my presence to bolster the prosecution’s argument against bail if necessary. The court had its fair share of lenient judges, but I seriously doubted any one of them would grant bail to an alleged mass murderer.
“The nightclub shooter—Thompson. He’s got the best lawyer money can buy, and I need you in that courthouse tomorrow. If this guy makes bail, I’ll never hear the end of it. So, let’s pull out all the stops. Whatever it takes, Crenshaw. He comes from a wealthy family with the means to extradite him to a foreign country. Make damn good and sure the judge is aware. And his father owns a private jet, which increases the flight risk. Eleven a.m., sharp. No excuses. Go home and get some sleep.”
I couldn’t imagine the DA failing to make those talking points, but I kept my opinion to myself. “Who’s presiding?”
He crinkled his nose and searched his pockets for an antacid, and I knew it had to be Judge Raymond “Boys-will-be-Boys” Lemont.
“Just be there, Detective.”