The Midtown Murderer (23 page)

Chapter 54

Trent
didn’t have a long wait. Two cigarettes later a single headlight illuminated the front window.

When
Lynn opened the door to the apartment, pale-yellow light spilled into the kitchen over Trent’s legs.

Trent didn’t say anything.
Lynn walked right by him to the refrigerator. “Muffin,” he said, “how did you—”

“Muffin needed a milk fix,” Trent said.

Lynn spun and threw his hands out. His lips were drawn tight, and his eyes burned with fear. The twelve pack of Bud he’d been carrying crashed to the floor. Fizzing cans skidded across the lime-green linoleum.

Muffin yowled at the noise
then raced around the corner and up the stairs.

“H
-how did you get into my house?”

“Through the chimney.”

“You dropped off that rib-thin dog this afternoon,” he said angrily.

“
The name is Palmer; I find missing people.” Trent slid a chair toward him. “Sit.”

Lynn slumped heavily, the chair squeaking noisily on the slick linoleum.
Looking frightened he said, “Your picture is all over the news; you’re wanted for the office murders! Get out of here now!”

Trent retrieved a beer from the floor and popped the top. When it quit foaming he took a sip. “How long have you been hooked on heroin?”

Lynn’s breath rushed. “I’m not an addict; I have a license to store pharmaceuticals at my place of business.”

Trent pulled the newspaper aside and showed him the bag.

“I’m calling the police,” Lynn said with absolutely no confidence. “You’ll be—”

“No you won’t. If you did, wouldn’t someone come looking for the
heroin? They’d get rough with you, much rougher than I will if you don’t start talking.”

Lynn
had developed a nervous twitch in one eye. “What do you want?”

“Information about
a missing child.”

Lynn pressed his trembling palms to
the sides of his head. “My lawyer; I’ll call my lawyer.”

Trent leaned across the table and punched
Lynn hard in the face. He tumbled over backwards, tried to stand, but crumpled back to the floor. Trent tossed the kitchen table aside and set the chair upright.

He grabbed Lynn by his lapels and slammed him onto the seat. After Trent had duct
-taped him to the chair, he knelt in front of him.

“Talk, Doctor.”

His head rolled back and forth. “I . . . can . . . explain . . .”

“
Just tell me who and where they are.”

“
D-don’t know—”

Trent opened his handkerchief and showed him the severed finger and ring. The items seemed to suck the breath from the doctor’s lungs.

“The gangsters will torture you to find out who I am; then they will kill you. Now, for the last time, tell me how you contact them.” Trent lighted a cigarette with his well-worn Zippo and blew smoke in the doctor’s face. He added, “It’s not too late to save your life.”

A
fat trickle of blood ran from Lynn’s nose onto his shirt. His breathing was shallow, and Trent could barely make his words. “They come in the evening . . .”

“Talk to me.”

Lynn took a deep breath as if pulling his memory out of the air. “Granddad left me a fortune . . . I-I blew it all on heroin . . . In ten years my habit bankrupted me.”

“Who’s your supplier?”

He looked at Trent with haunted eyes. “Triple. Don’t know his real name.”

“How did he get his hooks in
to you?”

“One summer I rode choppers with
the evil twins. They set me up with a couple of minors. The bastards had a video camera hidden in the closet.”

“Blackmail,” Trent
said.

“Yes. Triple fronts me the cash to keep the business open. I knew it couldn’t last.”

“My money says you run a super meth plant; it’s behind the kennel wall. Right?”

Lynn
looked away. Tears rolled from his cheeks. “Yes.”

“How do they get in?”

“The stall,” he said, having to say it twice, “the stall the black pit-bull is in. A trap door—”

“That hole is for the cooks
; where do they bring the supplies in?”

“No
—”

Trent grabbed him by the ears and yanked him within inches of his face. “Now, Doctor
. Tell me!”

“
N-near a retention pond,” he said in a trembling voice. “East of First Street where the new skyscraper is going up.”

“Will they come tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Triple?”

He nodded.

“Was Jack spying on Triple?”

Lynn’s face quivered. “No. He was a victim of circumstances; Triple discovered that he worked for Garcia and killed him.”

“The child. Where is she?”

“Don’t know about the child.”

Trent backhanded him across the face. “Think, doctor. A little girl was kidnapped the morning Jack was murdered. Did Triple nab her?”

“No,” he said, blinking his eyes and trying to focus. “Triple bragged that he killed Jack; but he never said anything about a child. That’s all I know. I swear . . .”

“You know more,” Trent said
, slapping a rectangular piece of duct tape over his mouth then dragging him into a hall closet. “I’ll be back. If you want your heroin; you had better talk.”

The doctor’s facial features were contorted in horror as Trent shut the door.

Chapter 55

Now it was
eleven in the evening. Trent had his dinner and was in a somewhat better mood, but Christmas Eve was turning out to be very long, and he had put off this unpleasant chore as long as possible.

Inside
Radcliff’s garage Trent found a rudimentary small-engine workshop. He used his penlight to examine lawn mower engines, gas-powered trimmers, and chainsaws. He hoped to find the evidence he needed before Radcliff arrived home.

He
was inside Radcliff’s jet black pickup truck, admiring the smell of the new leather and looking under the seats, when the overhead florescent lights were switched on.

Radcliff
stepped into the garage from a side door. He wore a black hoodie, black Levis, and heavy-duty lace-up boots. He had a black, back-pack style leaf blower on his shoulders. Flex-tubing ran from the back-pack and connected to a black plastic funnel that he held by a trigger grip on the bottom of the tubing.

“Hey, you, get the fuck out of my truck!”

Trent crawled out of the cab.

Radcliff squinted at Trent and said, “Who-”

“It’s Palmer.”

“
Jesus, Palmer. I didn’t recognize you.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Is this what you’re looking for?” he said, pointing the funnel at Trent’s torso.

“I gotcha,” Trent said
. “You’re the Midtown Murderer.”

“Not gonna live to prove it,” he said, reaching behind with his free hand and yanking the start cord. The tiny motor revved to life, and when he cycled the trigger
, the engine let loose a high-pitched squeal.

Trent covered his eyes with his forearm, but no wind blew from the nozzle.
Radcliff laughed and used his free hand to twist and remove the funnel from its coupling.

Radcliff
was holding the grip of a stubby machine pistol that was fitted inside the flex tubing. His index finger was curled around the trigger. A second trigger had been added to control the speed of the blower motor.

Trent locked eyes with
Radcliff and said nothing, figuring he was going to die. His gaze fell to the pistol and his body shook with a sudden chill.

Radcliff
reached back and switched off the motor.

“Heckler & Kotch MP5 firing nine-millimeter
hollow-points,” Trent said, trying to act cool and indifferent.

“Yeah,”
Radcliff said with a broad smile. “The plastic funnel is lined with a baffle that soaks up the shockwaves. Helluva silencer. When the motor’s revving, the bullets don’t make any noise.”

“Pretty slick,” Trent said admiringly.

Radcliff snorted bitterly. “The entire Atlanta Police Department and the FBI has been running in circles looking for the Midtown Murderer. And what happens? Mr. Peoplefinders.com tumbles to me. Twenty-four hours you said; twenty-four goddamn hours and you’d be gone! I should have arrested you on site!”

“Lieutenant Ramsey and you were married for
sixteen years,” Trent said, weighing his words carefully. “You were instrumental in helping her become the highest-ranking female officer in the agency’s history. At the age of forty-five she was promoted to Chief of Homicide; she would have been a shoe-in for Clay’s job when he retired.”

“
Public knowledge,” Radcliff fired back.

“
Last August thirteenth,” Trent continued, “she led a drug interdiction team on a meth lab bust. The thugs knew the cops were coming; they rigged the lab with explosives and three officers, including your wife were killed; their bodies were burnt beyond recognition.”

Radcliff
shrugged.

“Every step she took up the agency ladder, you were there for her
. You even set aside your own career and never once felt cheated; you were in a world of hurt after she was murdered.”

“What hurt was the
way
she was killed!”

Very cautiously Trent said, “If her death wasn’t bad enough,
three years ago you lost your only daughter to a meth overdose. It all fits, Radcliff; you went nuts.”

“Goddamn right I went nuts,” he said hoarsely. “My precious daughter took a hot shot of crystal
-meth cut with Drano!”

“
Radcliff, I’m sorry for her.”

“Sorry don’t cut ice
,” he said. “OK, Palmer, before I blast you to hell and back, how’d you tumble to me?”

“The rental house where you blasted the three thugs,” Trent said. “You knew there was a daycare out back
; you called the fire department and had a big red fire truck delivered for the kids to crawl through. Everyone was in front of the school when you took care of business.”

He blinked nervously. “Your word against my nine-mil.”

“I called the number on your brochure. ‘Radcliff’s Superior Lawn Service.’”

Keeping the weapon aimed at Trent,
Radcliff backed up to the window and pushed down a corner of the Venetian blinds. He peered out intently. A siren bleated in the distance. “You’ll never live to prove it.”

“A
wheel-chaired man watched you cut the grass at the rental,” Trent said, holding up a Milky Way wrapper. “I found this where you parked your black rig.”

Cleary shocked by the news,
Radcliff turned from the blinds. The stress had creased his face into a walnut shell. His finger tightened on the trigger.

“
Anima watched you shoot Jack; he picked you out of a stack of pictures,” Trent said, trying hard not to make it sound like a threat.

Radcliff
wet his lips. “Who’s going to believe an old wino?”

“If I don’t pick him up,”
Trent said in a friendly tone, “he’s got several letters addressed and stamped; he’ll drop them in the mail.”

A slight hesitation.
Radcliff was a desperate man under pressure. “Bullshit.”

“
Insurance, Radcliff. Gotta have it. I stashed Anima in a hotel.”

Radcliff
slapped his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes. “Freaking vermin gangsters. ‘Kill ’em all’ is what I say,” he shouted.

“Another day and I’d have found Chloe,” Trent said patiently. “Your wife couldn’t have children
, so you adopted. Your daughter was Asian; when she was a child, I bet she looked just like Chloe. No way you could harm her. You stuck her somewhere; in a foster home or an orphanage would be my guess.”

“Don’t you ever rest?”
he said, cracking his knuckles.

“Let’s talk this over like rational men,” Trent said, slowly reaching for the cigarette behind his ear. “There are several things we need to discuss.”

“Like what?”

Trent felt they were moving toward a temporary truce. He lighted his cigarette
. “Point your gun down,” he said. Then added, “I can’t talk to a pistol.”

Radcliff
stared at Trent for a moment then lowered his weapon.

Chapter 56

“Who benefited the most from your wife’s death?”
Trent said, setting a brown paper bag on the maintenance table.

Radcliff
sounded hostile. “The hell you talking about? The Apostles rigged that lab.”

“
You sure about that?”

“
If the Apostle’s didn’t blow the lab, then who did?”

“
Butler. He was in charge of the Atlanta GID when that lab exploded.”

Radcliff ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully.
“You think Butler killed them?”

“I know he did,” Trent said. “He took out
the GID team in a firefight; then he torched the bodies to erase the evidence. But he murdered your wife separately. I found her body buried on a stream bank close to Lake Lanier.”

Radcliff
snapped and raised the gun. “You fucker!”

Trent held his hands up. “Look in that bag.”

Radcliff’s face was etched with suspicion. He stuck his hand into the bag and pulled out a tiny standard-issue blue police shirt stained with dried blood and caked with dirt. He held it open with both hands and examined the bullet holes and surrounding burn marks.

“It’s hers
, isn’t it?”

Radcliff
nodded. An utterly shocked expression had formed on his face. Wadding the shirt in a ball, he clutched it to his chest.

“She
was hit by a fusillade of bullets,” Trent explained. “She died instantly.”

Radcliff’s
voice emerged in dry sobs. “Are you sure about this?”

“There’s more.”

Radcliff lifted out a thin gold-plated lighter with a dent in the side.

“It was in the shirt pocket,” Trent said. “That crease has to be from one of the bullets.”

Radcliff pulled his lighter and held it next to hers.

“A matching set,” Trent said.

Radcliff’s arms flopped to his sides. “I bought the set on her thirty-fifth birthday.”

“Did she ever travel without her lighter?”

“Never,” Radcliff said. “But why would Butler kill her?”

“I’m guessing she figured he was crooked. Maybe she confronted him or was building a case.”

“Butler. I don’t know . . .”

“He’s played both ends against the middle,” Trent said. “He was working with Jack to shut
down the Apostles; then he cut himself into Triple’s operation.”

“What’s his ultimate goal?”

“I’d say he wants to merge both rackets; that way he can monopolize the Atlanta meth business.”

Radcliff
sighed. “So, how did you find her?” He reached in the bag and removed a clear plastic baggie with a lock of dark hair in it.

“It happened the morning I went to the
Whiskey A-Go-Go Lounge. When Garcia verified that I killed Triple’s brother, he gave me the location of the body; said the trail might lead to Chloe.”

“Why would
Garcia tell you that?”

“He said he wasn’t responsible for killing the GI
D team. He wanted the slate cleaned.”

“So you dug her up?”

“Yes.”

“The rumor I heard is
that you must have had something substantial to trade Garcia for the information.”

“I did.”

“Which was?”

“A
current GID report I lifted from the interview room.”

Radcliff
guffawed. “Everyone at that precinct underestimated you. So how did Garcia know where she was buried?”

“Some thug probably helped Butler kill her
; maybe he squealed to Garcia. Who knows, someone could have followed him into the woods.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“What I do know is that Butler is deeply involved with Triple. Has been for months.”

Radcliff
was considering this when Trent said, “They were waiting to kill Jack the morning you blasted him in the park.”

“How do you know?”

Trent held out the bloodstained phone. “When you came down the sidewalk, Butler and Triple hid in the bushes. They panicked when you shot Jack, and Butler lost his phone. Anima picked it up. Butler is the reason Garcia’s meth labs keep getting popped.”

“Who’s trying to kill you?”
Radcliff asked.

“Butler’s behind it. When he found out I went to the
Whiskey A-Go-Go Lounge, he sent a goon squad from the precinct to kill me in the park.”

Radcliff
blew a low whistle. “This is like a bad B movie; ‘The Murdering Midtown Cops of Atlanta.’”

“Roe, Dana, and
Butterson were the cops. They killed Winston in my apartment then attacked me at the Wire Tap Lounge. I cut Butterson during the scuffle; he took a leave of absence. That left Roe and Dana.”

“They were killed yesterday
evening in a convenience store shootout,” Radcliff said. “It’s been all over the news.”

“
Priest and I took them out. He suffered broken ribs in the firefight so I drove him to Midtown and called an ambulance. I ran because I couldn’t afford to get tied up at the station.”

Radcliff
chewed on that. “Jesus Palmer, I do believe a life of murdering lowlife scumbags suits you. Who knew?”

“Very funny.”

“Is Clay aware that I’m the Midtown Murderer?”

“I’ve no clue. He didn’t hear it from me.”

Radcliff’s eyes hardened. “Did Clay tell you to come here and say all this, hoping I’d confess?”

“
Radcliff, I’m alone. Look up and down the street. You think the cops are out there, counting the minutes before they bust down the garage door? If that was my intent, you’d already be in cuffs sweating it out.”

Radcliff
’s shoulders slumped. “Ah man, Butler; that two-face bastard is a madman.”

“So,” Trent said, hoping against all hope, “if you turn yourself in you can plead down.”