No Good Deed, page 6
part #2 of Lancaster & Daniels Series
“So what?”
Logan had been in the slammer for a long time, and didn’t know the first thing about the many technological breakthroughs that had been made in solving crimes.
“The police have computers with facial recognition applications,” he said. “These computers are capable of identifying a person through a digital image or video frame. The software measures different parts of a person’s face, like their chin and their nose, and compares those measurements to known criminal databases.”
“The cops can really do that?”
“You bet. You don’t look much different than when you were sent away, so it should be an easy match. It’s only a matter of time.”
“What are we talking about? A few days?”
“Try a few hours. Since the crime took place in Florida, the police will start with the Florida databases, and match the surveillance video image to your mug shot. This is not going to end well. I can help you, but you’re going to have to help me first.”
Logan groaned and fell back on the bed. “I need a drink. You thirsty?”
“Now that you mention it, I am. What have you got?”
“Colt 45.”
“Some things never change.”
“What do you mean?”
“That was always your drink. You went around the house singing that stupid slogan, ‘Works every time,’ until Mom got pissed, and yelled at you.”
Logan looked at him and laughed. Pushing himself off the bed, he went to the small fridge tucked in the room’s corner, removed a bottle of Colt 45 malt liquor, took a swallow, and passed the bottle. Lancaster took a sip to be sociable and nearly spit it out.
“That’s awful. How can you drink that stuff?”
“It’s an acquired taste.” Logan returned to the bed. “First of all, I don’t know where the girl is, or if she’s even still alive. She wasn’t the target.”
“You went there for the grandmother.”
“Yeah, only she fought back, so Dexter killed her with a miniature baseball bat called a tire thumper he keeps in his car. We grabbed the girl and threw her in the trunk. Dexter dropped me off here, and left. I don’t know where they went.”
“What’s Dexter’s last name?”
“Hudson.”
“Is that who you were talking to on the phone?”
“Yeah. He called to check up on me.”
“How did you meet him?”
“In the joint. He recruited me to be part of his gang.”
Florida’s prisons were overrun with violent gangs. Many were well funded, with money coming from the outside that allowed their leaders to wield influence inside the prison. Was one of these gangs responsible for the abductions taking place around Florida? It felt like a stretch. Gangs made their money selling drugs and seldom strayed from that endeavor. Kidnapping did not pay the bills unless the victim was a celebrity or rich. As far as he knew, none of the Florida victims were famous or had wealth.
“What was your gang’s name?” he asked.
“The Phantoms,” his brother replied.
The name was vaguely familiar. “They’re out of Central America.”
“That’s right. Started in Colombia and spread to Honduras and Nicaragua. They’re just getting their toe in the States.”
His brother stared longingly at the bottle of beer. Lancaster passed it to him, and watched its contents disappear in one long swallow.
“Is Dexter the Phantoms’ leader?” he asked.
“No, but he could be. Dexter’s smart, used to be with the Outlaws motorcycle gang. When he went to prison, he joined the Phantoms, and ran their smuggling operation.”
“The Phantoms were smuggling stuff out of the prison?”
“No, we were smuggling shit into the prison. Mostly drugs and cell phones, but also laptop computers and hot boxes so we could get internet service.”
“You must have had inside help.”
“That we did. Dexter would bribe a guard to bring in a carton of cigarettes. Then he’d ask the guard to bring in more stuff. If the guard balked, he’d threaten to expose him, which would lead to the guard getting arrested. He turned a lot of guards that way.”
“I’ve been inside Raiford, and security was tight. How could a guard smuggle in a laptop computer, and not get caught?”
“Dexter had an employee in the kitchen on his payroll. The laptops were hidden in a fifty-pound sack of potatoes, and the employee hid the sack in the storeroom. When you’re feeding fourteen hundred guys a day, it’s easy to slip stuff in.”
Logan smothered a belch. The beer had loosened his tongue, and Lancaster decided it was time to find out where Skye was being held. He was going to eventually take Logan to the police, but chances were Logan would get a lawyer, and stop talking.
“Twelve women have disappeared in Florida, including the teenager you and Dexter snatched,” he said. “Were you and Dexter involved in those abductions as well?”
“I sure as hell wasn’t,” Logan said.
“How about your friend?”
Logan’s jailhouse instincts kicked in, and he fell silent. Lancaster thought he understood; this piece of information was Logan’s bargaining chip, and his brother was not going to share it with him, fearing Lancaster might tip off the police and ruin whatever leverage he might have.
“If Dexter wasn’t the gang’s leader, who was?” he asked.
“Cano.”
“Was that his first or last name?”
“I never asked. Cano’s a shaman. He put spells on the guards so they wouldn’t bother us. One time, I saw him wave his hands in front of a guard’s face, and tell the guard to get the fuck out of our cellblock, and the guard walked out. It was crazy.”
“It must have been a trick.”
“No trick. Cano’s the real deal. He had a crystal ball that he used to find people. Cano could track down anyone in the world using that thing.”
“You believed that crap?”
“It wasn’t crap. An inmate paid Cano five thousand bucks to track down some guy who’d stolen all his money. Cano found the guy, no problem.”
“How did you find Elsie Tanner and Skye?”
“I just told you, Cano’s a shaman.”
Cano wasn’t a shaman, he was a con man, and Logan had been conned. He decided to change the subject.
“You said that Cano had laptops and hot boxes smuggled into the prison. Where did he keep this stuff?”
“In our cellblock. Cano used to say that prisons work both ways. The walls keep guys inside, and they also keep people on the outside from looking in.”
“Was Cano running a criminal enterprise inside Raiford?”
“That’s right, little bro. Look, I’ve said all I’m going to say. Now I’ve got something to ask you. Are you going to help me, or not?”
“Yes, I’m going to help you.”
Lancaster’s plan was simple. He would tell the sheriff that Logan had sought him out, and offered to help run down Dexter and locate the missing women. This would put Logan in a favorable light, and let his attorney negotiate a better deal after Logan helped the police. Logan would go back to prison, but not for the rest of his life.
“You’re going to lie for me,” his brother said.
“That’s right, I’m going to lie.”
“Too bad you didn’t do that twenty-five years ago.”
The words stung, and he momentarily looked away.
“Put your clothes on. We need to get out of here,” he said.
His brother got dressed. He wore ragged jeans and a denim shirt missing a button. His shoes were worn out, and he wore no socks. He didn’t own a watch. It was a sad statement for someone who’d been on the planet for as long as he had.
They started to leave. Taking the real estate brochure off the night table, he waved it in his brother’s face.
“What’s this about?” he asked.
“I was going to buy a house,” his brother said.
“With what money?”
“Dexter was going to give it to me.”
He wanted to ask his brother how that worked, but didn’t want to stay there any longer than he had to. He slipped the GLOCK back into his pocket, and they went outside to the parking lot. He unlocked his car, and Logan started to get in.
“We need to tell the manager you’re checking out,” he said.
“Fuck him,” Logan said. “He set me up.”
“We still need to tell him.”
“What are you, a fucking Boy Scout?”
“Shut up, would you?”
The entrance to the motel office was on the side of the building that faced the parking lot. As they got close, a large man emerged from the shadows, and blocked their path. He was dressed in black and cradled a sawed-off shotgun. It was Dexter.
“This is what happens to rats,” Dexter said.
Then he pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER 10
Logan shoved him hard.
Growing up, it had been one of his brother’s favorite tricks. They’d be standing on the playground and Logan would give him a playful shove, sending him a few inches off the ground. Then his brother would laugh like hell.
This shove was harder, and he landed on the pavement, where he rolled over until he was lying on his back, looking upside down at their attacker. Without hesitating, he drew the GLOCK from his pants pocket and returned fire.
His awkward position ruined his aim, and none of his shots hit their target. Dexter wasn’t interested in shooting it out, and he ran to the street, where a black sedan idled at the curb. Dexter tossed the shotgun through the open back window, then jumped in.
The sedan peeled out. By now, Lancaster was on his feet, and he ran into the middle of Nebraska Avenue and got off two more rounds. The sedan’s back window imploded, and the vehicle took a corner on two wheels and vanished into the night. He could hear screaming and saw people on the corner running for dear life.
Back in the parking lot, he found Logan sitting on the pavement with his back against a car. The lower half of his body was blood soaked, his breathing tortured.
Lancaster crouched down, and Logan managed a weak smile.
“You saved my ass,” Lancaster said. Then added, “Again.”
“Guess I’m good at something,” his brother whispered.
Skip came out of the office holding his cell phone.
“An ambulance is on its way,” the manager said.
“Go out in the street, and hail it down,” he said.
Skip lowered the phone but didn’t move.
“You heard me,” he barked.
Skip went and stood on the sidewalk to wait for the ambulance. Lancaster didn’t want him to overhear their conversation, and he lowered his voice.
“How bad did he get you?”
“Bad enough,” his brother said.
Logan shut his eyes and started to fade away.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” he said.
His brother’s eyelids lifted. His eyes were swimming in his head, and he appeared stuck between the here and the hereafter. He took a deep breath and spoke, the words barely a whisper. “A priest once tried to convert me in the joint. He said that Christ saved a robber who was being crucified with him. I guess it’s never too late, huh?”
“You’ve got to keep fighting,” he said.
“It’s over, Jonny. I’m done.”
“Come on. You can do it.”
Lancaster took his brother’s bloody hand and squeezed it. Logan closed his eyes, and his head flopped to one side.
“The ambulance is here,” Skip called from the street.
The EMS team took over. The lead was a feisty woman with short-cropped hair. She looked into his face and instantly knew.
“Was he your friend?” she asked.
“My brother,” he said.
“I’m sorry for your loss. At least you were here to comfort him.”
“I tried.”
He wanted to cry, and retreated into the office. There was a folding chair beside the TV, and he dropped into it, burying his head in his hands. A strange feeling overcame him. Logan was the last relative he had, and now his brother was gone. He was alone in the world, and the feeling made him immeasurably sad.
Skip fixed him a cup of coffee from a pot that had been brewed hours ago. He sipped the hot liquid, thinking back to the cell phone he’d found on the bed in Logan’s room. Logan had been talking to Dexter when he’d come into the room, and he guessed Dexter had heard enough of their conversation to decide to take Logan out of the picture.
“I saw you shoot at that car through the window,” Skip said. “Did you get those sonsabitches?”
“I’m pretty sure I nailed the driver,” he said.
“They’ll get theirs. The bad ones always do.”
He finished his drink. Logan had told him a lot of crazy stuff, and he needed to write it all down, and share it with the police. He was still no closer to finding Skye, and realized that her rescue would have to wait while he dealt with Logan’s murder.
He got his courage up, and went outside. EMTs had covered his brother’s body with a white sheet. It made Logan look like a ghost, and he shuddered.
A police cruiser was parked sideways in the entrance, its bubble light flashing. A pair of uniformed cops were busy roping off the area with yellow police tape. The officers wore rubber gloves, so as not to contaminate the crime scene.
Skip came outside, and identified himself to the cops. One of the officers pulled Skip aside to get a statement. There was no rushing the process, and Lancaster leaned against a parked car while he waited his turn.
His thoughts drifted back to his childhood. Logan had been screwing up for as long as he could remember, but their parents had always given him a pass. He guessed it had something to do with Logan rescuing him at the mall. Logan had saved the day, and every bad thing he’d done after that had been ignored.
The officer finished with Skip and approached him. His name tag said Montalvo, and he was a Latin guy of about thirty. Montalvo asked to see his ID. As he produced his driver’s license, Montalvo spied the detective’s badge attached to his wallet.
“Are you a cop?” Montalvo asked.
“Retired. I’m doing a private job,” he said.
“For who?”
He handed him a Team Adam card. “I was working a case in which Logan was involved, so I came to talk to him.”
“The motel manager said the deceased was your brother.”
“That’s right. I hadn’t seen him in twenty-five years. He was recently paroled.”
“What was the job you were working?”
“I was trying to find a teenage girl that was abducted in Keystone four days ago. Her grandmother, Elsie Tanner, was murdered.”
“Your brother was involved in that?”
“Afraid so. I was going to turn him in, but he got shot.”
Montalvo scribbled furiously into his notepad. It was every uniformed officer’s dream to one day become a detective. That promotion often hinged on how the officer handled a high-profile case. If the officer did an exemplary job, the top brass would notice, and he’d get rewarded. Logan’s murder was such a case for Montalvo.
“Any idea who shot him?” Montalvo asked.
“The shooter’s name is Dexter Hudson,” he said. “My brother and Dexter were in prison together. Dexter knew my brother was going to rat him out, so he shot him.”
“Rat him out over what?”
“Dexter murdered Elsie Tanner.”
“Did your brother tell you that?”
“Yes, he did.”
Montalvo flipped a sheet on the notepad and kept writing. “Could you identify Dexter Hudson if you saw him again?”
“Yes.”
“Describe him.”
“About six feet tall, two hundred fifty pounds, a Fu Manchu mustache and sideburns. He has a muscular upper body but thin legs.”
“Sounds like you got a good look at him.”
“There’s a surveillance video from the Citrus Park Mall that shows him following Elsie Tanner. Deputy Stahl at the District III sheriff’s office has a copy.”
“You know Deputy Stahl?”
“I introduced myself to him earlier tonight.”
Montalvo flipped the notepad shut. “I know how difficult losing a brother is. I lost my own brother last year from an overdose. If you can find it in you, I’d like you to come down to the station house, and give us a full statement. It will really help our investigation.”
Lancaster was impressed. Montalvo had revealed a piece of himself in order to gain trust. This told him that Montalvo wasn’t just after a promotion, but had connected on a deeper level, and would leave no stone unturned finding his brother’s killer.
“I’d be happy to help you,” he said.
“Great,” Montalvo said. “Would you mind waiting inside the motel office until we’re done here?”
“Sure thing.”
Two dark SUVs pulled up to the curb, and their doors opened. Four men and two women climbed out and stood on the sidewalk beneath the harsh streetlight. Each wore a navy windbreaker with the initials FBI stenciled above the pocket. The cavalry had arrived.
“For the love of Christ,” Montalvo said under his breath.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I thought the FBI were the good guys.”
“Not this crew. I’ll be right back.”
Montalvo grabbed his partner and went over to talk to the FBI agents. It was not a pleasant conversation, and the agents rudely shone flashlights into the police officers’ faces, and ordered them to stand down. The officers meekly obeyed.
He scanned the agents’ faces and found Beth Daniels. Her hair was tucked under a ball cap, and her eyes bore a fury that came from a dedication to her work unlike any he’d ever seen. During their first date, she’d told him that most men didn’t find this side of her attractive. He’d realized later that she liked that.
Daniels moved to Logan’s body and crouched down. Holding a flashlight in one hand, she lifted the sheet and folded it back. With the same hand, she pulled back the collar on Logan’s shirt, revealing a crude tattoo on his neck. It was the kind of tattoo guys in prison got because they had nothing better to do. It said 666, the same numbers spray-painted on the victim’s driveway in Lakeland.
