Progeny (16 page)

“Seeing as how you’re already out there and all,” Bostok said.

“Exactly.”

“Can we get a copy of that video?” he asked.

“Probably, but this guy can’t do it.”

“Tell him that one of our tech guys will contact him to figure something out. I’ll call Terry.”

“Sounds good.”

I hung up and walked back into the office.

Hank followed me to her listed address, a condo in Clearwater, as Marcy White had said. My navigation in the Cadillac guided me through the neighborhood, telling me I’d reached my destination when I pulled alongside a row of tall condos. Each façade over every garage door was a little different. Some sat a few feet forward, some back, but they were all one big, connected building. They all appeared to be three stories. I saw Hank’s headlights round the corner in my car’s side mirror. I shut the Cadillac off and stepped out. In the driveway was a newer white SUV. The station had told me she drove a silver 2012 Ford sedan when I called in to get her address. I waited for Hank at the sidewalk.

He stepped from his car and approached. “This is the place?” he asked.

“This one here,” I said, pointing.

The beige condo had a white garage door and white front door on the ground level. The rest of the flat front was evenly spaced windows with dark faux shutters. The lights were on inside. As we walked up, I looked through the second-story window and saw a staircase heading up. We walked to the front door, which had an oval window in the center. I thumbed down the doorbell.

“What are you planning on asking her?” Hank asked.

“If she’s been helping Carmen Simms murder ex-jurors from the Redding trial,” I said.

Hank made an odd face and nodded. “Nice and direct. I like that. Maybe try something a little more subtle first, though?”

“You think?”

I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. The door lock clicked, and the door swung open. Marcy White stood before us.

“Mrs. White,” I said.

“What, um… What are you guys doing here?”

“We need to speak with Angel.”

“She’s not here.”

“She’s not here as in you’re trying to hide the fact that she’s sitting upstairs, or she’s actually not here?” Hank asked.

Marcy said nothing.

“Who’s at the door?” a man’s voice called.

I glanced inside past Marcy and saw a man’s legs and feet standing halfway down the flight of stairs.

“The police,” Marcy said.

“Tell them,” he said and walked back up the steps.

“Tell us?” I asked.

She swung the door open the rest of the way and waved us inside. Hank closed the door behind him. We walked through the small entryway foyer and upstairs to the main level.

A man with glasses and short white hair leaned against the breakfast bar. He wore a gray shirt and jeans. He looked at Hank and me. “I’m Bruce White, Marcy’s husband.”

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane, this is Sergeant Hank Rawlings.”

He looked at his wife. “Go on, tell them. You should have told them from the beginning,” he said.

I looked at Marcy.

“I guess Angel has been seeing Carmen. One of our neighbors said she saw the two together last month,” she said.

“We know. That’s why we’re here. We found them together on video at her old job.”

“Old job?” Marcy asked.

“Biddy’s. She was terminated a few months back.”

Marcy was silent.

“I told you,” Bruce said. He shook his head and let out a puff of air. “We stopped in there a couple times, and she always had an excuse for why she wasn’t there when she was supposed to be, or didn’t want us to come. We used to have dinner there weekly.” He held up a couple of opened envelopes. “That explains these—past due on the lease for the condo.”

“Do you have any idea where she is now?” Hank asked.

Marcy collapsed into a leather chair in the living room. “No,” she said. “We’ve been looking. She doesn’t answer her phone. We went to her work, and they told us she wasn’t there. She doesn’t really have any friends. She did kind of mention she was with a man when I talked to her the other day, though.”

Hank, Bruce White, and I walked to the living room. Hank grabbed a seat on the couch, as did Bruce. I remained standing and took the room in. The big leather couch that Hank and Bruce sat on took a space on the far wall—two matching leather chairs, one occupied by Marcy White, sat to the couch’s sides. A glass coffee table stood before the couch. Miscellaneous knickknacks filled the end tables, as well as matching lamps. A few feet to my right was a television mounted to the wall. A stand filled with three framed photos stood below the hanging television. I glanced down at the pictures. I saw two noticeable dust outlines that a fourth and fifth framed picture had recently occupied. The three that remained were of a young woman in a karate—or judo—gi. The photos appeared as if they had been taken at some kind of competition.

I walked to the free chair and sat. My cell phone rang in my pocket. I slid it out and checked the caller ID—Rick. I sent the call to voicemail and gave the Whites my full attention. “Why were you looking for Angel?” I asked.

“We had a heated conversation about Carmen earlier,” Bruce said. “She kicked us out. We were looking for her to try to talk some sense into her—that, and hopefully make amends.”

“Define ‘heated conversation.’” I asked.

“We told her that we knew she had been seeing Carmen. She denied it. When we told her that Carmen was wanted for murder, she just kind of dismissed it. I raised my voice a couple of times. I could tell she was lying. She wouldn’t tell us anything. She just sat there filing her nails. I hollered a little more, and she kicked us out,” Bruce said.

All I heard was him mentioning her nails. My phone buzzed again, in my hand. Rick had sent me a text message. I clicked the screen to read it. We had a confirmed ID on Carmen Simms from her fingerprints but nothing on the fingernail. I slid my phone back into my jacket pocket. “Happen to see the color of her nails?” I asked.

The two looked at each other, apparently confused by my question.

“Why?” Bruce asked.

Hank held out his hand toward me, letting me know he’d field the question. “I can see how that may seem like an odd question. It’s just that we found a couple of red fingernails that we need to find the owner of,” He said.

“Not Angel’s,” Marcy said quickly. “She always wears black. I think they call it goth or something.”

I glanced over at Hank and stood. “Well, we were just in the area looking to speak with her. She has an interview scheduled with us tomorrow morning. We’ll talk with her then.”

Hank followed my lead and stood.

“Well, if we speak with her first, she’s damn well going to tell me where Carmen is,” Bruce said.

“We know where she is now. We just need to know where she’s been staying and how she’s been getting around,” I said.

“You know where she is? Where?” Bruce asked.

“She’s deceased,” I said.

“Deceased? How? When?” Marcy asked.

“I’m sure you can probably find some coverage of the incident on the news,” Hank said.

Hank and I headed for the stairs to leave.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us,” I said.

Neither of the two replied.

We left the front of the condo and headed toward our cars. Hank came toward mine, but I waved him away.

“Follow me,” I said.

I hopped in my Cadillac, drove down the block, and turned from the neighborhood. A mile up, I pulled into a convenience-store parking lot and got out. Hank pulled his pink hybrid in next to me. I leaned against the back of my car and waited for him to walk over.

“What’s up?” Hank asked.

“I just wanted to get away from the front of the condo in case the parents were eavesdropping.”

“Don’t trust them?”

“Not really. And they’re parents. Who knows what they’ll do to protect their daughter?”

Hank nodded. “So what’s the plan?”

“We need her picked up as soon as possible. There’s too much to ignore her involvement. We need her in a room for some serious questioning, at the least,” I said.

“Right now, those two parents are probably calling her nonstop.”

“I know. We need to get someone on her phone and get the word out to have her picked up.”

“What do you want me to do?” Hank asked.

I let out a breath. “Go home.”

“Huh?” he asked.

“I got it.”

“Nah, I got a couple hours in me,” Hank said.

I looked at my watch. It was almost ten thirty. Everything we needed to do could be done over the phone—everything except trying to get a location on her via her cell. If I told Hank I was going back to the station to try, he’d insist on coming with. I was positive he was already looking at a few days of silent treatment from Karen, so I decided to try to spare him an entire week of it. “I’m just going to make a couple calls and get a BOLO for her and her car running statewide. It’s about all we can do.”

“What about her phone?”

“I’ll call Faust. It will be easier than dragging Terry in,” I said.

Faust was out of state on vacation. I’d spoken with him a few days prior.

“Okay. Do you need me in the morning?” Hank asked.

“I’ll call you if I do.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me?”

“I’m good. I’ll send you a text if I get anything. Tell Karen it was my fault.”

Hank shrugged. “All right, and I already planned on blaming it on you.” He walked to his car.

I got in my Cadillac, fired it up, and headed downtown.

The gas station where Maria Flores worked butted up against a high-traffic strip mall. Angel had made a pass through the gas station’s parking lot earlier. A sheriff’s car was parked in front, engine running, cop inside. Angel didn’t know if the cop was there to keep tabs on Maria Flores or it was coincidence.

Angel had pulled behind the gas station and was sitting in her car, in the strip mall’s parking lot. She was focused on the back door of the gas station. She’d seen the woman come out once for a smoke an hour prior—a coworker had accompanied her.

At present, the businesses in the strip mall were just closing. Workers were walking to their cars—they stood in the parking lot and chatted. Someone would have spotted her attacking the woman. Angel was sitting tight for the moment but couldn’t any longer. Carmen had always preached how smart the cops were. Sooner or later they would put it all together and come looking for her. She needed everything completed before they did. The next time Maria Flores took a cigarette break, coworker or not, witnesses or not, cop out front or not, she was leaving with Angel.

Angel looked at the screen of her phone and hit the button on the side to light it up. The photo of her father and a pregnant Carmen was her screen saver. The battery indicator light showed a two-percent charge left.

“Damn,” Angel said.

Her eyes went to the back door of the gas station. She saw it crack open. Angel quickly pulled up the cell phone’s GPS, hoping the battery would last long enough to complete her ruse. She stepped out of the car.

She started across the parking lot. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Angel said.

Maria Flores’s face glowed orange as she lit her cigarette. Her eyes met Angel’s. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you could help me with this,” Angel said. She was just fifteen feet away.

“With what?”

“I think I’m a little lost.” Angel stepped next to the woman. “Um, I have a map on my phone here, and it keeps taking me to the wrong place. Do you know where this address is?” Angel held out the phone for Maria to look.

“Well, let’s see.” Maria took the phone in her hand. “I don’t see an address on here, hon. Where were you trying to go?” She looked up at Angel just in time to see Angel’s elbow coming at her face. The blow sent Maria stumbling. Her cigarette bounced and sparked off the cement.

Angel took two steps forward and delivered a front kick into the woman’s chest, and Maria careened backward. Angel’s cell phone, which Maria was holding, launched into the air and shattered as it hit the cement. A curb caught the back of Maria’s heel and sent her falling into the gas station’s back wall. The back of her head bounced off the cinder block with an audible crack.

Maria rolled herself over and reached out for the back door’s handle. Angel was on her in a single step.

“I don’t think so,” Angel said.

She grabbed Maria by the hair at the back of her head and slammed her face into the cinder-block wall next to the door.

The woman dropped. Angel wrapped her arms around Maria’s unconscious body and pulled her across the parking lot to the trunk of her car. She popped the lid and dumped the woman inside. She started the motor and crept forward, but then she clamped on the brakes.

“Shit. Phone,” Angel said.

Angel put the car back in park and got out. She headed back over to where the phone lay. She crouched, picked it up, and turned back toward the car. She stared down at the phone as she walked. The screen was shattered. Angel thumbed the button on the side, but the cell phone did nothing.

“The hell with it,” Angel said.

She tossed it near the bushes behind her car and got back inside. Angel pulled out of the lot and headed back toward her house.

I’d just completed my round of phone calls to the captain, Terry from tech, and Callie. I gave the captain the highlights from our conversation with Angel’s adoptive parents. He agreed we should get her in sooner rather than later. Terry let me know that he’d gotten in contact with the restaurant manager and was in the process of getting us a copy of the video. I told him that I needed him to guide me through tracking a phone from tech’s computers. He said that wouldn’t be a problem and I should call when I got to the office. My talk with Callie was short. I apologized that I was working so late and told her that I loved her and I’d be there when she woke up in the morning. She, as usual, said it wasn’t a big deal.

I walked into the station a few minutes after eleven. My first stop was at our night-shift patrol office. I walked up to Sergeant Mueller’s desk.