The Midtown Murderer (4 page)

Chapter 10

An hour later,
Trent stepped out his front door. His body was sore as hell, his cheek red and swollen, but his head was straight. He figured an early-morning walk in the park while downing a few beers would help soothe his aches.

He was on the loop road near the soccer fields
chugging a Heineken when he came across a petite young woman turning in a slow circle with her hands cupped to her mouth. The immediate loudness of her pain-filled voice startled him. The more she shouted ‘Chloe’ over and over again, the more serious the situation seemed.

She wasn’t anymore than twenty-two or –three, a slender Asian beauty with dark hair clustered with ringlets. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a
dark leather jacket. A colorful butterfly tattoo danced on her neck. He thought she had been crying.

“Hi.
Can I help you?”

She
took in Trent’s reddened cheek and said warily, “I’m Maya Lee. My six-year-old was supposed to wait at the park swings while I ran to the bathroom; have you seen a little girl with short dark hair?”

“No
,” he said, “but I’ll check the tennis courts and the dog park. He added, “Why don’t you hike around the loop road that runs past the Atlanta Botanical Garden and meet me on the Tenth Street side of the park. A deal?”

She nodded. “Sure. And thanks.”

Trent yelled for the child, too, his own voice responding to Maya’s as he hoped for a feeble reply from the park. He couldn’t find Chloe so he climbed the hill to Tenth Street and found the area teeming with police and pedestrians who had gathered around a cordoned-off crime scene.

A
tall, grim-faced woman stood with her arms crossed.

“What’s happening?”
Trent asked.

The lady ga
sped. “A murder!”

Police
cars were perched on the sidewalk; news vans and camera trucks with aerials extended had double-parked alongside them. Reporters were interviewing anyone who would talk while cameramen focused their lenses on a wrinkled gray tarp that lay inside a yellow circle of crime tape.

Fear tentacles gripped Trent’s heart
. He scissored through the crowd and ducked the police tape. A section of the fabric was flexed upward, so he dropped to his hands and knees, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted a man’s lace-up work boot.

Trent dashed down
a sidewalk with dirty snow piled against the curb shouting Chloe’s name-past a hobo holding a cell phone to his ear-but could not find the child. Trent was spent and his voice was horse as he doubled back to the park. He spotted Maya, and the doomsday worry on her face said it all.

“Maya, over here!”

“Did you find her?” she asked worriedly.

“No
.” he said, kicking at a small rock.

“She’s vanished!” Her eyes were red-rimmed
, her voice tight with fear. “You’ve got to help me find my daughter,” she said, a flood of tears choking off her words.

With heartfelt emotion he said, “I will do that.”

Maya’s eyes seemed to go empty as though she were considering the worst. Even in the cold, her skin had a damp sheen of perspiration.

“
Come with me,” he said, angling toward the assemblage.

She removed a lock of hair from the corner of her mouth and said,
“What’s happening?”

There was no way to say it delicately so he blurted out, “
A man was murdered; his body is under the tarp.”

Horror leapt into her face.
“Oh. Oh my God!”

Trent held Maya’s hand and elbowed through the crowd toward
Sergeant Radcliff. His stomach hung over a heavy utility belt loaded down with a radio and a gun and a baton and other cop stuff; everything was held down with leather straps and snaps on them.

“
We have a situation,” Trent said gravely. “Could you direct us to the officer in charge of this investigation?”

Radcliff eyed Trent and Maya and raised an eyebrow.
Then he unsnapped his radio. “Inspector Priest,” he said into the speaker. “Palmer is here . . . yes it’s the same Palmer . . . says it’s urgent . . . really needs to talk to you.” Radcliff then pointed at a stand of oak trees with a half-eaten Milky Way candy bar and said, “Priest will meet you by those trees.”

Chapter 11

It was late afternoon now
. A crisp, cold wind had picked up, and islands of trees swayed in the park. Dark clouds raced across the sky, and the smell of wet mulch and exhaust fumes hung in the air.

Priest
’s eyes went flat when he saw Trent. “What’s your story, Palmer?”

“This is Maya
; her little girl is missing from the park.”

Priest looked at Maya and she nodded. His brown eyes h
ardened. He whistled and three officers huddled around him. “Maya, over here please.”

Trent started to follow, but Priest checked him with his calloused palm.

While Priest talked on his walkie-talkie, Maya turned to Trent. “He instructed those officers to assemble a search team. Now he’s calling police headquarters and issuing an alert.” Maya leaned on Trent’s shoulder and sobbed. “Please tell me . . . that Chloe is alright.”

“She’s just fine
.”

Priest tossed his head, and a
green-gowned man with the letters ME embossed on his smock stepped forward. “The mother and I will be speaking to the press,” Priest said to the medical examiner. “I want the scene-of-crime photos, a copy of the prelims, all the physicals, and anything else that the Midtown coordination people can pool from their databases.” He added with an authoritative nod, “ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” the ME said.
He had a toothy Tom Cruise grin and a stethoscope hanging around his neck; he wore blue latex surgeon’s gloves. A manila envelope was tucked under his arm.

“Palmer,
I’ll need you to make a formal statement,” Priest said, taking Maya’s hand in his as they turned toward the reporters.

Trent nodded
at the tarp and said to the ME, “Any idea who it is?”

“Can’t tell
,” said the man said.

Trent palmed a hundred
-dollar bill into the man’s hand.

The ME
cleared his throat and said, “Under that tarp is a very dead neighborhood junkie; guy had a dozen priors in Atlanta. Burglary, assault, distribution, you name it.”

“What killed him?”

The ME held out a piece of metal in his hand. It was shaped like a bent quarter that had been ground around the edges. “He had a change of heart, as in it quit beating. At least six hollow-point rounds to the chest. Happened an hour ago.”

“Nine-millimeter?”

“Yep.”

“Those bullets crack. Any
witnesses?”

“
None so far. Several people heard motorcycle engines revving and saw bikers drive off. The sounds could have masked the shots.”

“Damn brave. What is it,
four blocks to the Midtown Police Plaza?”

“
You can jump on the interstate from that intersection,” the ME said, nodding toward Tenth and Juniper. “A messy corpse,” he said, handing Trent a photograph.

T
rent tapped the photo with his fingernail. “Tight pattern with the bullets.”

“
It’s damn cold out here,” the ME said, tugging his earlobe. “He was shot point-blank.”

Trent
’s eyes were riveted to the chilling photo. There was a terrible gapping hole in the victim’s breastbone, and the torso was saturated with dark blood. On the shoulder floated a gruesome tattoo of Hansel and Gretel holding hands with Saddam Hussein and bin Laden. They were dancing in a circle, and Satan was in the middle butchering a baby with a long knife. In Gothic script was the word: “Apostles.”

“Gang sign?”

The ME laughed. “What do you think?”

Trent nodded.
“Anything in his pockets?”

The ME looked
around, then opened the envelope. “This is it.”

Trent glanced at
a bus ticket, a cell phone case, some small change, and a pack of cigarettes.

“
Phone?”

“Nope.”

“What do you make of it?”

“
It’s organized crime; an assassination. A hit man got him.”

“
But why here?”

“A park like this is not bad
.”

“
He might have been seen by the workers.”

“Atlanta city workers?” the ME asked with a laugh. “
In December? When did you last see them filing in any potholes? Those guys hurry off to home before lunch.”

Trent ignored the ME’s levity.
“Anything else?”

The ME hesitated
. Trent handed him another bill.

“There was a note pinned to body,” he said, unfolding a small sheet of
blood-stained paper that read: WE HAVE THE CHILD. CLAY WILL DIE. TRIPLE.

#

Priest ushered Trent under a spreading oak where Butler was waiting for them. He wore a black leather trench coat and his shoes were wet with dirty snow. The wind blew cold and wintery around them, dimpling the water on Lake Clara Meer. The willows and flooded cypress, some still in leaf, whipped in the wind.

“
The ME autopsied the thugs you shot,” Butler said scornfully. “Chest hits with the rounds striking the heart and severing the spine; a surgeon couldn’t have done a better job.” Before Trent could answer, Butler gripped him by the shoulders. “It smells like a contract killing.”

“Don’t shout Butler,” Trent said, staring at the badge hanging from a gold chain around his neck. “I’m not deaf.”

“He’s a hit man, Priest,” Butler said, pushing Trent away. “You can quote me on that.”

“I’ll explain
how wrong you’ve got it to a Board of Inquiry,” Trent said. “They’ll find I’m telling the truth.”

Perhaps
Priest felt they were being too combative, for he said, “So you met Maya in the park. Is that right?”

“It all began when I
found her searching for her daughter.” Trent described the events, including Maya’s account of leaving Chloe to play on the swings while she went to the bathroom.

“It
could be a kidnapping,” Priest said, his eyes cutting on Butler.

“
Perhaps Triple killed the creep,” Trent suggested. “And Chloe witnessed it. Then he abducted her.”

“
Don’t peddle any of your half-baked theories to us,” Butler said, jamming his hands deep into the pockets of his coat.

“Here’s one to think about,” Trent said.
“You’re trying hard to keep this gang war quiet. If you go public, you think it’s going to cause widespread panic and cause problems for the police force and make the job of those investigating these crimes more difficult. You want to solve these issues on the QT, don’t you?”

Priest was smiling, and perhaps there was some
margin of admiration for Trent’s astute observations.

“We are very concerned about the safety of
the citizens in Atlanta; they are our primary focus,” Butler said, looking at the clouds as if considering escape. There was a crackle of thunder and he turned toward the sidewalk.

Trent said casually,
“I’d beef up Clay’s personal security.”

“
Already done,” Priest said.

When Butler reached his car, he called to Trent.

“Hey, Palmer.”

Trent faced him with a defiant pose.

“There
will
be an inquest into last night’s shootings,” he said. “And I’m writing the final report.”

The wind gusted and a
pear-shaped Christmas ornament dropped from a lamp post above his car and bounced off the hood with a loud bang. He stiffened at the sound, then relaxed and said, “Rest assured that I will put all of the pieces of this puzzle together.”

Before Trent could fish up a response,
Butler slid into his car and drove away.

Chapter 12

Trent was watching Butler drive off when Priest’s walkie-
talkie cracked. “Radcliff here. A search of the park and Botanical Gardens has been completed. The child has not surfaced.”

“Maya,” Priest said gently, “I need you to look at a photo of the victim’s face. If you recognized him, and Chloe was abducted,
perhaps we could better focus our search for her.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she said anxiously.

He wrapped his big arm around her shoulder. “This is for Chloe; all you have to do is look at the picture. I’ll be right beside you.”

The ME handed her a picture.

“It’s Jack!” she cried in a horror-stricken voice. “My ex-boyfriend.” Her knees gave out, and Trent scooped her up.

While Priest talked on his radio,
Trent sat on a bench next to Maya and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. The wind had dropped and the trees were still. From under the dark clouds, long slanting rays of the sun edged the skyscrapers with golden light, leaving the park in a cold gray shadow. Trent turned his face to the light to capture its meager warmth.

“
Jack made terrible choices,” she said sadly, wiping her tearstained face with the backs of her hands. “He was asking to be killed when he went to work for those bikers.”

“How did you meet Jack?”

“When I moved to Atlanta,” she said in a soft voice. “I’d taken my dog to Dr. Lynn’s animal clinic; he worked there part-time cleaning kennels and such.”

“Why Jack?”

“You have to understand things,” she said in an exasperated tone. “I grew up in a country town so small it didn’t make the maps. I had Chloe when I was sixteen. The father didn’t want her, and my parents hated me for it. What I wanted was to never go back.”

“So you moved to Atlanta.”

“Yes.”

“What happened then?”

“In the beginning Jack was fun to be with. He had charisma. And cash. So I was his live-in girlfriend.”

“What happened?”

“Jack had a nose for cocaine. But it didn’t like him back. He owed everybody. Last week a huge, hideous man came to the apartment to collect. Some kind of loan shark, Jack said. The man said that he’d peddle Chloe like a used car if Jack didn’t pay. But Jack was scared for himself, not us. That’s when he applied for membership with the Apostles; they admitted him, but to get their protection he had to deliver meth to Atlanta nightclubs.”

“Why were you in the park?”

“It was past time to get out of that relationship. And I was terrified that man would come back and make good on his word,” she said, surrendering to sobs and dabbing her watery eyes with a shredded Kleenex.

Trent took h
er hand and squeezed it gently, feeling a ponderous weight of responsibility to find Chloe.

Priest waved Trent over. “Maya will be staying with our protective services,” he said
, handing Trent a card. “You can reach her at that number. And don’t forget that statement.”

“
Yes, boss.”

#

Trent was walking to his apartment when he saw Radcliff in his driveway leaning against his patrol car. The setting sun had gouged ragged holes through the overcast, and shiny gold pins of light spilled onto the frozen ground.

“How about
an Irish coffee?” Radcliff asked as they shook hands.

“
Coffee is fine, but hold the Irish.”

Radcliff poured Trent a steaming cup from a stainless steel thermos.
He nodded at Trent’s puffy cheek and said, “What happened?”

Trent sipped his coffee.
“Slipped on the ice.”

“
You say so,” Radcliff said doubtfully, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a pint of Baileys. He unscrewed the cap with one thumb and poured a slug into his coffee. “So what went on in the park with Priest and Butler?”

“
Butler thinks I’m a freelance triggerman.” There was smoke rising from the chimneys in the neighborhood. The cold had reddened his hands.

“
He thinks you’re operating at arm’s length for one of the cartels,” Radcliff said with an edge of sarcasm.

Trent blew on his fingers to restore circulation and said, “Well,
I’m not; and it shouldn’t be difficult to check out.”

Radcliff
sprayed his mouth with breath freshener and said, “I believe you. What else did they talk about?”

“
Maya and her daughter. Then they hashed out the park murderer.”

Radcliff pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, blowing the first puff out in a thin jet. “I think
Triple left that body in the park as a warning. Perhaps to frighten someone with an office around here.”

“Th
at murder might not be related to the drug war. You need to make an arrest first.”

“Either way, it’s a nasty business,” Radcliff said.

“I agree. So where do the Apostles hang out?” Trent was thinking that if they didn’t kidnap Chloe, then they might have information about her he could trade for.

“
The Whiskey A-Go-Go Lounge is their private clubhouse,” Radcliff said. “It’s in a seedy neighborhood out in Lawrenceville; the cops try to avoid the place. Don’t go snooping around without a buddy.”

In a tone of gloom Trent said, “Couldn’t be too bad in the daytime.”

“Your call, but it could be bad for your health. The Apostles kill. Keep that in mind.”

“I just want to find Chloe.”

“So do I.”

As
Radcliff sped off, Trent spotted Rikki and her father walking into the park. He was speaking to the media and she was chatting with an officer, pausing occasionally to brush her hair back from her eyes. She was long and lanky in a plaid skirt and a sweater top, with an easy grace and a smile to match.

God, how
I miss being with a woman like that, Trent thought, breaking from his reverie when someone grabbed him from behind and someone else swung a baseball bat hard into his stomach. Then they dragged his doubled-over body to the curb and dropped him in the trunk of a car and shut the lid. He heard the driver’s and passenger’s doors shut as the car pulled away from the curb.