Looking Into Darkness Read online

  She wondered where Moseby was? It was unlike him not to have come by to check on her after she was out of surgery. The nurses had told her he had stayed at the hospital until she was out of surgery, and then he had left like a bat out of hell.

  That meant that he was out there somewhere looking for the man that had shot her. She shook her head. Moseby was way too protective of her. Sure, she knew that his previous partner had been shot and killed, but that was a decade ago. She was able to take care of herself. Getting shot this morning was nothing more than dumb luck.

  She hated the idea that she was going to be off the job for at least six weeks. She was pretty sure that she would go crazy with boredom. She also hated the idea that Moseby would be out there alone while she recovered.

  *****

  Cristo opened his eyes, lying still as he surveyed the room with his other senses and determined that he was indeed alone in the room. Then and only then, did he try to sit up. Pain lanced through his shoulder as he stretched both stitches and torn tissue, exploding behind his eyes. He nearly fell back on the bed but managed to grab the mattress with his good hand and held himself up.

  His mouth was dry. He stood and made his way to the bathroom, stripping the cover off a plastic cup and running the cold water for a couple of minutes before filling it and draining it. He repeated that action four times before refilling the cup and setting it down on the counter. He eased his way into the bathroom and pulled his pants down long enough to take care of business. He made his way out of the bathroom and took the cup of water back to the chair sitting next to the exterior window. He took a sip of water while using the remote to tune into a local Tampa station.

  The lead story was about the arrest of numerous out of town groups responsible for the past few days of rioting and the bank robbery the night before. It was followed by the shooting of the cop this morning and the search for a man identified as Evan Cristo. They had pulled up an old mug shot that showed him with his curly dark hair that he had sheared off earlier in the day. Although, his face was very recognizable. He had to do something about that. Which meant he needed to lay low for a few days and let his facial hair grow out. With the short hair and a beard, he would be unrecognizable. Also, it meant that he needed to get out of the hotel and find another place to hide. Someplace that the cops wouldn’t think to look. He pulled out his cell phone and started looking for call girl services.

  *****

  Moseby was exhausted. He had lost track of how many hours it had been since he had slept for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Cristo’s picture was being spread across the airwaves. He shouldn’t be able to go anywhere without somebody spotting him. It was late afternoon and he was tired, dirty and worn out. He needed food. He needed a drink, and most of all, he needed rest.

  Moseby was so tired that he allowed Casey Rawlings to drive him back to the station and from there, back to his small house. “I’ll wait until I’m sure you made it inside before I go,” she told him.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Moseby told her wearily.

  “I know that, Moseby. But your partner isn’t here to worry about you. So, I’m doing it for her,” Casey said, softly.

  “I appreciate that,” he said, meaning it. He turned and trudged up to the door, unlocked it and went inside. Casey watched the door close then headed to take the car back to the police station to pick up her own car.

  *****

  Moseby was glad for the air conditioning that kept his house cool during the heat of the day. He stripped off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt, as he made his way into the kitchen. He popped open the door of the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Killian’s Red and twisted the cap off. The beer went down cold and fast. He drained half the bottle in that first drink.

  He needed to call the hospital and check on Lucy. But he was tired. Moseby sat down next to the telephone. He was one of the few officers on the department that still maintained a land line. Most everyone else had gone digital. Not him. He was something of a dinosaur when it came to technology. He reached over and picked up the phone and dialed the number for the hospital.

  “Tampa General, how may I direct your call?” asked a female voice.

  “Lucy French’s room, please,” Moseby mumbled.

  “One moment, please,” the operator replied.

  “Lucy French speaking,” her voice sounded in his ear.

  “How are you feeling, partner?” Moseby asked.

  “Like I got shot. How are you doing at catching the bastard that shot me?” Lucy asked.

  “Not so good, not yet. I did hit the son of a bitch, but he managed to go to ground. His face is all over the news. So, somebody ought to spot him soon. When they do we’ll nab him,” Moseby told her.

  “How are you doing, partner?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m tired, kid. Really tired,” Moseby mumbled. Lucy heard him softly start to snore and hung up the phone. They both needed their rest. That much was obvious. Lucy leaned back in her hospital bed and closed her eyes. Soon she was sound asleep, as well.

  *****

  Casey Rawlings sat in the task force conference room and looked at the things that they had put on the white board that they knew. Evan Cristo was a former Army Ranger that had been bounced out of the service for disorderly conduct and conduct unbecoming. It was rumored that he had later ‘fragged’ the CO that had brought him up on charges. That CO had gone off base for a weekend after the court martial and a hand grenade that had been wired into his mailbox had blown up and killed the man. Everybody was sure that Cristo had done it, but nobody could ever prove it.

  Cristo had then started selling his services as a mercenary in Africa and the Middle East. He had a fallen out with a warlord in Somalia and had barely made it out of the country ahead of a firing squad. Once back, he had formed a crew of other Vets and started knocking over banks in area that were erupting in racial strife. Casey was now wondering how many of those conditions of racial strife were set up by Cristo in the first place. It was something worth looking into. Casey stretched and yawned. It was getting late. She headed for home. Hoping that tomorrow they would be able to locate the ex-Ranger.

  The hooker was young and easy enough to manipulate into doing what he wanted. She took him back to her place to help him hide from the law. She had no clue that he was the man that had nearly sent the city of Tampa up in flames. And now, he was back in Tampa without anyone being the wiser.

  The cops had lost him in Clearwater and so, that was where they were focusing the hunt for him. He had sent the girl, Jasmine, out to buy him some nice clothes since he still couldn’t venture out into the city.

  *****

  Garrett Moseby woke up at five the next morning feeling refreshed and re-energized. His mind felt clean and focused, as he shaved and showered and then headed into the kitchen to put on coffee before getting dressed. He pulled on light gray dress pants, a white shirt and silver tie, and a light gray sports coat. His badge and gun were holstered on his right hip. Moseby filled a travel mug with hot coffee and headed outside. The temperature was already at seventy-five degrees with forty-five percent humidity. He unlocked his personal car and drove to the station, stopping at Taco Bell for a breakfast burrito to go.

  The night shift was still there when he arrived. He headed for the conference room where the task force had been set up. Moseby turned on the lights, sat down at his temporary desk and ate and drank coffee, all the while letting his eyes run over the information on the white board. He noticed that a full background had gone up on Evan Cristo. That had to have been Casey’s work.

  He tossed the burrito wrapper into the trash and took a big drink of coffee before standing and walking over to read the full file on Evan Cristo. There was a lot of information there. Useful information. Stuff that might be able to help him figure out where the son of a bitch might have gone to ground.

  Cristo was smart. That was a given. Moseby was sure the guy was no longer over in Clearwater. No, Crist
o was smart. He had figured out a way to get back across the bridge where he could hide where they wouldn’t be looking for him. That meant that he had come back over the bridge to Tampa. So, how had he done it? Cristo was smart. He had a background in Army Intelligence just from being in the Rangers.

  If he were Cristo, what would he do? Moseby thought about it long and hard. He was good at getting into the heads of the people that he was after. Cristo was good at PSY-OPS. The first thing he would do is change his appearance.

  All the pictures they had and had put out showed the man with long curly hair. But what if he had cut it sort? Started growing a beard? Both were easy changes in appearance. Ones that would drastically alter what he looked like. So, what else would he do? How would he get himself out of Clearwater and back to Tampa? A hooker! Of course, it was text book. He would use an outcall service and then talk the girl into helping him out, for a generous tip, of course. He would play to her fantasies and she would do whatever he asked.

  That made sense. It also was what he would do in Cristo’s place. Just then, Casey Rawlings walked into the room. “You are here early,” she said.

  “I am. I think I might have an idea of what Cristo has in mind,” Moseby told her.

  “I’m all ears,” Casey smiled at him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Evan Cristo was starting to feel like he was in prison. He hated hiding. Hated it with a passion. In the morning he would go back across the bridge to Clearwater and buy a car. He would get something classy like a Mercedes and then he would blow Florida and never come back.

  Considering he was the only one left of the gang, he had enough cash in the two duffels to live like a king any place in the world. He took another hit off the new joint he had rolled. The pot was calming his anxiety and allowing him to think more clearly. He looked over at the hooker sleeping in her bed. He couldn’t leave her behind to be a witness against him. No, she couldn’t be allowed to talk after he was gone. That meant only one thing.

  Still, that could wait until morning. She could still provide him with fun before he had to eliminate her. He took another hit on the joint, holding it in for as long as he could before exhaling and blew a cloud of smoke with it. Yeah, he would relax for the night and then make his move in the morning.

  *****

  Garret Moseby was sitting on the third floor of Club Prana, a well-known Tampa night club. It had five floors, each with a different type of music playing. He was waiting on Timmy Bellows, a regular informant that he had used a lot in the past.

  Bellows was in his twenties with short brown hair, tan skin and a hipster stubble beard. He was wearing a white shirt unbutton at the collar and faded jeans over loafers with no socks. He had a puka shell necklace around his neck.

  Moseby watched Bellows make his way off the dance floor and over to the bar. Bellows took the seat beside him. “Long time no see, detective,” Bellows greeted him.

  “It’s been a while, Timmy. I want the word put out. I’m looking for a guy named Evan Cristo. He’s a bad dude, wanted for murder and bank robbery. He’s also a cop killer,” Moseby replied.

  “I’ll put the word out. I thought you guys lost him in Clearwater,” Timmy said.

  “That’s what we want him to think,” Moseby told him.

  “Got it,” Bellows nodded.

  “Good. You’ve got my number,” Moseby said, as he tossed a ten on the bar and headed for the stairs. It was time to get some rest.

  *****

  Moseby had stripped off his jacket and shoulder holster after arriving at home. He had poured himself two fingers of Jim Beam and added two ice cubes. He kept the bourbon in the fridge, so it was cold and smooth already. He turned on the stereo and Art Pepper started to play. Moseby took a seat on his couch and sipped at his drink. He left the TV off, losing himself in the music as he drained the tumbler in his hand. The combination of music and whiskey relaxed him.

  He refilled his drink and went back to the couch, letting everything go as he sipped his drink and let the music flow over him. Soon, before he even realized it, the drink was gone, and he was fast asleep.

  *****

  Lucy French was home, but she wasn’t sleeping. She was sitting in front of her home computer. She was watching online footage of the riots that had taken place earlier in the week. The more she watched, the more she was sure that the violence had been instigated by outsiders. So, what did that mean for the team of robbers?

  It was something to think about. Why would somebody want to stage violent counter-protests? That was the question. She had a feeling that this had to do with more than just the bank robbery, but she wasn’t sure how.

  Lucy lifted her glass of cranberry juice and vodka and took a long drink of it. It felt good going down. She wondered where Moseby was and what he was doing.

  *****

  The sun was rising when Moseby opened his eyes. He staggered to the bathroom and took care of his morning business, turned on the shower and adjusted it to his satisfaction. When it was ready, Moseby stepped inside, washing his hair and then his body. He conditioned his hair and rinsed, turned off the water and stepped out to dry off.

  Today was the day that he would end Evan Cristo. The man was evil through and through. Moseby dressed, made coffee and headed for the station. The sun was just coming up and the temperature was already over eighty degrees.

  The squad room was empty when he got there and that was what he wanted. He opened the Army file on Cristo and began to read, committing parts of it to memory. He came across a picture that showed Cristo in a short military haircut. He looked much different with short hair. Add a few days growth of beard and he would look nothing like the pictures that had gone out to newspapers and television and released on social media.

  Everybody would be looking for the long-haired version. But Cristo was trained in deep cover operations behind enemy lines. He would know how to change his appearance like a chameleon. It was a standard part of his bag of tricks. So, what would he do to get out of town? Moseby took another drink of coffee as he eased back in his chair to think.

  *****

  Evan Cristo was awake much earlier than Carmen, the young hooker he had been hiding with. The sun was coming up. It was time to start cleaning up the remaining loose ends, of which Carmen was one. There were several ways, of course, but most of them would be messy. No, he would keep it simple and easy. He walked over to the bed and picked up his pillow, holding it for a few heartbeats, and then he pushed it down over her face and pressed hard.

  She started to struggle, but she had realized too late what was happening to her for her struggles to amount to much. She was dead inside three minutes. Cristo removed the pillow from her face and made sure. Then he went to shower and dress in the nice suit that she had bought for him.

  Cristo stuffed a hundred thousand dollars in a white envelope and put it into an inside pocket of his suit jacket. He had put gel in his hair and spiked it up and put on a pair of dark sunglasses. He would drive Carmen’s car back to Clearwater and abandon it close to a Mercedes dealership he had spotted over there. A Benz would let him ride out of town in style. Hell, it would let him ride out of Florida in style.

  He walked out and climbed into her Chevy Lumia and fired it up. The Mercedes dealership opened early. So, it would already be open when he got there. He was feeling lucky today.

  *****

  Moseby was in Clearwater by eight o’clock. He was cruising the streets like a shark looking for the man that he was going to kill. He had considered just taking Cristo down but had then decided that the killer owed too big a tab for that. No, Cristo needed to die in order to get justice for the cops he had killed. It was the only way.

  Casey Rawlings arrived at the station shortly before nine o’clock. She was surprised to find that Moseby wasn’t there. It was only after asking a few people that she discovered that he had already come and gone. Fuming, Casey headed for her car. She had a pretty good idea of where she would find him. Across
the bridge at Clearwater Beach. She headed for her car.

  *****

  Sandy Ammerman looked up from her desk when the man walked into the dealership. He had on an expensive suit, carried two duffle bags, had spiky brown hair and dark glasses. He radiated confidence and money. She stood up and hurried over to greet him.

  Evan Cristo was pleased that his salesperson was a woman. She had shoulder length brown hair with a few blonde highlights. She was very attractive, and he liked her friendly welcoming smile. “I’d like to buy a car, and I need it today. I can pay cash,” He told her. Her name tag read Sandy.

  “I’m sure we can find something for you,” Sandy smiled at him again, making him feel like he was the most important person in the world.

  *****

  Garrett Moseby pulled up to the curb in front of the Mercedes Dealership. He had a feeling about the place. This was where Cristo would come to get a getaway vehicle. Moseby parked his unmarked car and climbed out.

  He didn’t bother to button his blazer when he walked across the street. It would just get in the way when he needed to go for his gun. He was pretty sure that the bank robbering murderer didn’t know what he looked like, despite their near face to face encounter at the bank. There had been too much smoke and dust in the air. That gave him an edge as he pushed open the door and walked inside the dealership.

  He spotted Cristo right away sitting at a desk with an attractive brunette. It looked like they were closing a deal. Moseby moved around looking at the cars on the showroom floor, studiously avoiding other salespeople while keeping an eye on Cristo and the brunette. He watched as Cristo pulled out and envelope and counted out a number of bills to the girl. She took them and recounted them and began typing on her computer.