I strolled midway between the front and back yards. “Over here,” I called to the officers as they vaulted from their squad cars. I flashed my shield and identified myself when a rookie’s twitchy fingers hovered over his holster.
“Officer involved shooting?” an older cop, Jimmy Flynn, asked.
I shook my head. “Gang retaliation,” I lied without a glimmer of remorse or hesitation. I tipped my head toward the rookie. “Call it in.”
“All these bullets for one guy?” Flynn asked as he followed me to the backyard and tiptoed around shell casings.
I shrugged. “I was late to the party.”
Flynn whistled. “Holy shit, how many times was he hit?”
“Once that I’m aware of.”
He shook his head in disbelief, then tipped it toward the road. “Any idea why that car is upside down and in the middle of the street?”
“I haven’t a clue,” I managed with a straight face. “It was there when I arrived. Call a tow truck and secure the scene, will you, Jimmy? I have to make a call.”
Remembering my promise to Reed’s brother, I jerked his card from my pocket and punched the number into my cell. He answered on the first ring. After fabricating a story about an undercover detail Christina had been assigned, I assured him she’d be in touch once the assignment ended. He seemed relieved, expressing his gratitude before ending the call.
Then I placed a call to Police Chief Bernard Stapleton, deciding he should be the one to inform Dylan that the men who had killed Celine, the woman I believed to be his younger sister, were dead. I didn’t offer any details, but I hoped that someday Dylan would learn that it was his older sister, Christina, who had avenged Celine’s death.
Romano rolled up twenty minutes later, just as the tow truck was wrenching the car in the road onto a trailer. She waited inside her Lincoln Town Car until the forensic team arrived. The man driving the Lincoln got out, opened the passenger door, and Romano stepped out after gathering the hem to a slinky evening gown.
“Fritz, would you get my kit from the trunk?” she asked the driver as her stiletto heels sank into the damp ground. She smiled after him as he trudged around to the back of the car. “Thanks, honey,” she said when he returned with her bag.
She hiked up her gown and secured the modified length by wrapping Fritz’s belt around her waist twice. Because he had the belt ready, I assumed this was something they’d done before. Then she swapped her heels for flats and tugged vinyl booties over those. Following a sharp whistle, which caught Cheyenne Foraker’s attention, Romano communicated something in sign language and Foraker ambled over, carrying a plastic jumpsuit. Romano wiggled into it, then spread open a hairnet, stretching it as she covered her head, mindful of her time-consuming coiffure.
Somewhat out of breath, she said, “What have you got, Detective?” Before I could respond, she threw a hand in the air. “Never mind. I just love a surprise.”
Fritz chuckled and said, “We have four of them waiting for us at home.”
The team had already set up the LED lights near the victim. The crime scene looked more like a movie set. Romano surveyed the perimeter surrounding the body. Satisfied, she stooped beside the dead man. “You found the body?” she asked me over a shoulder.
“Yes,” I said without squirming.
“Interesting,” she mumbled under her breath. “Too bad you didn’t arrive sooner. He doesn’t appear to have been dead long. I suppose you noticed the tattoo.”
“I’m fairly confident he’s the fifth of five men wanted for the rape and murder of three women . . . that we know of,” I added, more to myself.
“So this is a vendetta?” Flynn spoke behind me.
I had to throw the cops off Reed’s trail and keep them off. “Those five men were also responsible for robbing and executing drug dealers. So, yeah, I’d call it a vendetta.” I tipped my head toward Cheyenne who had just bagged a twelve-inch knife lying next to the body. “And I bet the analysts will recover DNA from several of the victims on that knife.” I doubted it. I’d reluctantly scrubbed it with bleach I’d commandeered from the house before the first responders arrived. Discovering Reed’s blood might have proven difficult to explain. Besides, I suspected there was more than one knife involved, and we’d find it inside the house—if the killers hadn’t disposed of the additional murder weapons. I leaned over Romano’s shoulder. “Any ID?”
“That seems to be your catchphrase, Detective. Yes. Kyle Renner, born March 20, 1989.”
“Did he live here?”
She held up a gloved hand. “I was getting to that. If his driver’s license is accurate, yes, he lived here.”
I pushed off the grass and got to my feet. “Flynn—”
“Secure the scene?” he finished with a wink.
I patted his shoulder. “I would appreciate that. With any luck, I’ll be back with the search warrant within the hour.”
As I rounded the house, I ran into Captain Burke. “Crenshaw, please tell me that body is connected to our unsolved homicides.”
“I was waiting for all the forensic results before I updated you, but, yes, I think the five men responsible for not only the gang-related homicides but also the rape and murder of three young women are now dead.”
“I’m told you signed several hundred thousand dollars and illicit drugs with an even higher street value into evidence.”
“Yes, sir. I have a feeling we’ll find more inside,” I said, hitching my thumb toward the house. “I was just on my way to get a search warrant.”
“Did the vic live here?”
I nodded. “He listed this address when he obtained his driver’s license.”
“Then screw the search warrant, Detective. I’ll take full responsibility. The sooner we give the mayor something to chew on other than me, the better. Franklin’s responding to a domestic hostage situation. Give Detective Reed a call and have her lend a hand.”
I clicked my tongue. “Uh, I wish that were possible, Captain, but she’s out with the flu. If it’s the same strain I had, she probably won’t be in for the rest of the week, if then.”
Despite Captain Burke’s assist, Flynn, a few other officers, and I managed to clear the house within an hour. Renner wasn’t nearly as creative as his murder buddies. I found several bundles of cash and narcotics hidden within a false wall behind the washer and dryer and two other knives. He wasn’t much of a handyman either; the section of paneling concealing the loot was mismatched and cut crookedly.
I waited for everyone to disband, then glided over rooftops, plucking Reed’s 9mm handgun from one of them as I soared toward the alley where she had secluded her Mustang. Grinding the gears—I didn’t have much experience with manual transmissions—the car shuddered and lurched as I headed toward Reed’s apartment. Once I had parked it in her reserved spot, I floated over Thirty-Ninth Street, then over Broadway, dodging a Life Flight helicopter and an owl as I soared over Saint Luke’s Hospital. My feet contacted the deserted motel’s parking lot, where I collected my car and headed home.