Looking Into Darkness Page 2

  “I’ll get you one, give me just a moment,” Carly told her.

  Carly got up and left the room. Moseby looked at his partner. She shrugged and settled back to wait. Carly returned with a glass of water. She sat it in front of Lucy French and then took her seat. Lucy took a drink and smiled at the woman.

  “I’m sorry about Charlie,” Moseby said.

  “I know you were one of his friends,” Carly said.

  “I was. Charlie was a good guy. Carly, was Charlie on the take?”

  “What the hell, Garrett? How could you even ask something like that?”

  “I have to ask because of the rumors,” Moseby told her.

  “Even when you know better?”

  “I still have to ask. Charlie was a cop. Somebody killed him from ambush. There has to be a reason for that,” Moseby told her.

  “Then, why the hell are you asking such a question?” Carly demanded.

  “Because it is my job to ask, Carly,” Moseby told him.

  “Get out of my house, you son of a bitch!” Carly screamed at him, launching herself at him like a rocket. Moseby caught her arms and pulled her tightly against him, holding her as she broke down, sobbing and crying and beating at him ineffectually with her tiny fists.

  “Carly, I have to ask. The Rat Squad is going to, and they won’t be near as nice about it. Those guys in IAD have had a hard on for Charlie for the past couple of years and nobody can figure out why,” Moseby told her. Lucy French had risen from the couch when Carly had attacked but Moseby had waved her off with a shake of his head. He had been expecting this reaction from the new widow because he had seen it before.

  When somebody, anybody loses a spouse, especially a cop’s spouse, they are devastated because even if they knew it could happen, they didn’t want to believe it could happen to them. Grief is a hard thing to deal with for anybody, but it is especially hard on the spouse of a cop. The stress of never knowing if they would come back when they left the house each day, it was wearing. So, he had been prepared for Carly Mendez to attack. He held her and let her cry until she had finally, for the moment, had cried herself out. Finally, Moseby released her and helped her back to her chair.

  “Charlie’s grandfather died a few years back and Charlie came into some money. He didn’t talk about it, or flash it around, but rumors started when he paid off all of our outstanding bills and bought this place. “You know how cops talk,” Carly shook her head.

  “I know, kid,” Moseby told her, softly.

  “How are the kids taking it?” Lucy asked, hesitant to intrude on Carly’s grief.

  “They are at my mom’s. I called and had her come and get them as soon as I heard the news. I don’t know how I’m gonna tell them that their daddy won’t be coming home anymore,” Carly replied, tearing up again.

  “If there is anything I can do for you or the kids, Carly, don’t be afraid to call me,” Moseby told her as he and French stood up.

  “Thanks, Garrett. I will,” Carly Mendez told him. Moseby and French headed out the door, leaving the grieving widow behind.

  “I fucking hate this!” Moseby said vehemently, as they walked to their unmarked car.

  “I know you do, Gar. I know that you and Charlie were close, best friends even. I know his death has hit you hard. However, partner, you need to talk about it with somebody,” Lucy said.

  “You mean see a shrink?” Moseby asked.

  “Maybe,” Lucy replied. “If you’re not going to talk to me about it.”

  “I don’t need a shrink, Lucy. I’m fine,” Moseby told her.

  “You say that, Garrett, but I’m not sure I believe you. So, where do we go next?”

  “Back to the station. I want a warrant to pull Charlie’s financials. You know as well as I do that IAD will be going after them. I want to know what might be there first.”

  “You don’t believe Carly about the inheritance?”

  “Right now, I don’t know what to believe,” Moseby told her.

  *****

  Patrolman Robert Dugan swung off the street and pulled into the parking lot of the McDonald’s restaurant. It was lunch time and he was hungry. He called in a 10-10 on the radio while he parked his car in one of the slots. He was getting ready to open the door and get out when the driver’s window exploded inward under a hail of gunfire. Dugan’s head exploded as automatic weapons fire destroyed it. When the gunfire stopped, the only sound was that of a vehicle rapidly accelerating away.

  Inside the fast food joint, people were screaming as they huddled on the floor where most of them had dived when the first bullet had shattered a window. The manager was dialing 9-1-1.

  *****

  Moseby and French diverted to the McDonald’s when the call came over the radio. They were the first officers on the scene, beating the uniforms by at least three minutes. Lucy French watched as Moseby walked over to the car. He looked inside and winced, before standing and taking a few steps away.

  She was worried about him. Moseby had been a cop for going on ten years. He had seen a lot, but this case was getting to him. He was looking into the abyss and French was afraid that the abyss was looking back. This time, cops were dying.

  It was getting to him in a way that she had never seen anything get to him before. Not in the five years that they had been partners. It had been bad enough last month when they were chasing the Tampa Slasher.

  Lucy walked over to the uniforms and had them start stretching out tape to establish a perimeter and then headed inside to talk to the people in hopes that maybe somebody had seen something . . .

  *****

  Captain Luke Stanley got out of his car and walked over to the shattered police car. This was the second one of his cops to die by ambush. It made him angry. It was his job to watch over his men, to protect them. Now, two had been gunned down from ambush and his two best detectives didn’t seem to know what the hell was going on.

  They had been spinning their wheels so far. It didn’t help that Rebekah McCabe was a person of interest in the murder of Danny Ross and that she had vanished. He was pissed right now.

  “What the fuck, Moseby? Do you have a clue yet as to who is behind this?” Stanley demanded as he approached his top detective.

  “Nothing concrete, Captain Stanley. There was a BLM graffiti at Charlie Mendez’s ambush site, but so far, nothing to say that this is connected except for the method in which it was carried out,” Moseby explained.

  “So, what is the modus operandi of the killer, Garrett?” Stanley asked.

  “The attacks seem to indicate military precision, which says that these guys know exactly what they are doing. We didn’t see anything at the scene of Bob Dugan’s death to indicate that it was BLM or Antifa, but that doesn’t exactly prove that they weren’t behind it,” Moseby said.

  “Do you have any suspects?” Stanley asked.

  “None that we can name.”

  “Then you’re not working hard enough!” Stanley snapped.

  “That’s not true, Captain and you know it,” Lucy French said softly. Stanley looked abashed. “I know. But my people are being killed and I don’t know why. It’s frustrating.”

  “It is for us, too,” Moseby spoke up, still smarting from Stanley’s ill-timed rebuke. “We were barely getting started on Charlie’s murder when we got diverted here. Now, Bob Dugan is dead, too, killed in the same way. Somebody is targeting cops, but we have no idea why.”

  “I know, Garrett. I shouldn’t have blown up at you,” Stanley said, by way of apology.

  *****

  Claude Dahmer wiped the sweat from his face. They had carried off the second part of the plan without a hitch, and he had to admit Fonesco was proving just as good a wheel man as Cristo had claimed. He had coolly driven the van away and into traffic without anyone even realizing where the shots had come from, thanks to the state of the art suppressor on the end of his M-4 assault rifle.

  Dahmer was hoping that Cristo would use somebody else for the third strik
e. He needed a break. Fonesco was headed for the compound, as Dahmer started putting his weapon back inside its foam-lined hard case. He wanted something harder than a beer when they got back.

  *****

  “That was unpleasant,” Lucy said, as they watched the captain climb back into his car.

  “It was. This was a hit using military style weapons. That means trained operators,” Moseby replied, reaching up to pinch the upper part of his nose between thumb and forefinger. It was something that he did when he was in deep thought.

  “You think Black Lives Matter has hired mercenaries to gun down cops?” Lucy asked.

  “At this point in the investigation, anything is possible,” Moseby admitted.

  “So, what do we do next?”

  “Let’s head back to the station.”

  *****

  FBI Special Agent Casey Rawlings was at police headquarters. She had been sent to form a task force to investigate the execution of the two dead police officers. Tampa’s Mayor had called the FBI in saying that the police would give the bureau their full cooperation, overruling the police chief.

  Casey was a size four, wearing a pale blue chic designer slacks, over a white dress shirt and a pair of sensible flats. Her mane of red and black hair was pulled up in a pony tail. Her .40 Sig was holstered on her right hip. She was leaning on the wall next to Captain Luke Stanley’s office door when he returned to the station.

  “Can I help you?” Stanley asked her.

  “Special Agent Casey Rawlings, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m here to help on your cop killings at the mayor’s request,” she told him.

  “Yeah, the chief called me to informed me. I’m surprised there is only one of you,” Stanley told her, making it clear he didn’t appreciate her presence.

  “If the situation gets worse, more agents will come in. But for now, you have me and all the resources that I can bring to bear on the situation. Who are the lead detectives on this?” Rawlings asked.

  “My two best. Sergeants Moseby and French. They should be along as soon as they are done at the scene of the most recent shooting.”

  “Do you have a room we can work out of?” Rawlings asked.

  “Sure, down the hall. Let me show you,” Stanley told her leading the way. The room was a large conference room with a long table a whiteboard and four computer terminals set up. “I’ll have Moseby and French come here as soon as they get back.”

  Rawlings watched him go, shaking her head. The captain was clearly undergoing a lot of stress at the moment. More than just from having two of his officers gunned down within a twenty-four-hour period. So, what was causing it? It was something she would have to look into.

  She wondered about the two detectives that were assigned to the case. Stanley had said that they were his two best. So, she wanted to check on them. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the local field office.

  *****

  “Who besides BLM would hire mercenaries to kill our officers?” Moseby asked.

  “Good questions, Garrett. I wish I had answers. Right now, we just don’t have enough information,” Lucy told him.

  “I know that, too. I just don’t know where to go to find answers.”

  “We hit the streets, put word out to our informants, have them ask around. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t believe it is racially motivated.”

  “Tell that to the captain. He thinks it is.”

  “Then, we need to change his mind.”

  “I wish we could,” Moseby told her. They arrived back at the station.

  “You hear that he suspended Mario Ramirez because he questioned him about the APB on Rebekah McCabe?”

  “I heard about that. It does seem like he’s letting his personal feelings get in the way of his job performance,” Moseby admitted.

  “It does. And that is getting in the way of our investigation, because it means we are shorthanded. Mario is a damn good detective. We could use him on this.”

  “I know that too, Luce.”

  “So, what are we going to do about it?” Lucy asked.

  “We work the case as best we can and hope that no other cops are killed before we can get a handle on things. We have no guarantees about that, but we do what we can,” Moseby told her.

  Luke Stanley was waiting on them when they stepped off on the homicide floor. “You two are now part of a joint task-force looking into the killings of our officers. Special Agent Casey Rawlings is waiting for you in the conference room down the hall. The mayor promised our full cooperation,” he told them.

  “Swell,” Moseby replied.

  Chapter Four

  “Special Agent Rawlings,” Garrett Moseby said, as they entered the conference

  room. He had been expecting a man and was surprised to see a young woman in a pale blue designer suit with red and black hair turning to face him. She turned to face him, and he was struck by how pretty her face was. It left him momentarily speechless.

  “Sergeant Moseby? I’m Special Agent Casey Roberts,” she stepped forward extending her hand to him, Moseby took her hand, shaking it, still a little dumbfounded.

  “Uh, yeah,” Moseby mumbled letting go of her hand and stepping aside so that Lucy French could follow him in. It didn’t help that she looked amused at his discomfort as she greeted the Federal Agent.

  “Sergeant Lucy French. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she introduced herself to Agent Rawlings.

  “He doesn’t talk much does he?” Casey looked at Moseby, appraisingly.

  “Not usually, but when he does, it is usually worth listening to. We’ve been partners for the past five years,” Lucy explained.

  “Good, that kind of familiarity can help on the streets. So, how about bringing me up to speed on what you have so far?” Roberts asked.

  “Not a whole lot, except that we know the assailants are using military style weapons and have executed the ambushes with precision tactical awareness,” Lucy said.

  “Anything in the background of either officer that would lead you to believe that they would be targeted?”

  “Nothing. We did find some Black Lives Matter graffiti at the scene of the first ambush site. My gut says it’s not tied in with the ambush.”

  “What about your gut?” Roberts looked at Moseby, expectantly.

  “At first, I wondered. Now, it just doesn’t feel right. Why kill a cop in Tampa for a shooting in Minnesota?” Moseby asked.

  “No relation that I can see, and that, by the way, is a damn good question. So, tell me, what do you think is behind it?”

  “We don’t know. But it feels like a distraction,” Moseby shrugged.

  “Why do you say that?” Roberts looked at him with an uncomfortable intensity.

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”

  “Do you agree?” Casey looked at French. Lucy nodded her agreement.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have the murder books?” Casey asked.

  “I’ll go get what we have so far on Charlie Mendez,’ Moseby said, heading for the door.

  “We are just getting ready to start the one on Officer Robert Dugan. We just got back from the scene,” Lucy told her.

  “That had to be hard, him being a fellow officer.”

  “No death is easy, Agent Roberts. But yes, it is especially hard when it is a brother officer.”

  “I get that, Detective French.”

  “Call me Lucy.”

  “And you can call me Casey. So, what’s the deal with your partner?”

  “Garrett is a bit shy around a beautiful woman.”

  “He seems okay with you.”

  “It took about two years, and me shooting a murder suspect off his back that was attacking him to get there.”

  “So, you’re saying that trust doesn’t come easy to him?”

  “You could say that,” Lucy laughed.

  *****

  Corey Jones was walking in Ybor City. It was late afternoon. He had just picked up a sta
sh of drugs from his boss and was heading for the clubs to sell them. The late afternoon sun was hotter than hell, and he felt like he was walking across the devil’s armpit. That was the bad part about living in the city instead of on the bay. Inside the concrete canyons there was no breeze. Corey was twenty years old and black.

  He kept the sides and back of his skull shaved with a two-inch rectangle of hair atop his head. He wore a sleeveless hoodie over a wife-beater tank top and baggy shorts, ankle socks and Nike running shoes. He wasn’t sure what he had done to attract the attention of the cop, but the guy had tooted his siren and pulled to the curb. The cop that climbed out of the car was white.

  “Awe, hey man, why you hassling me?” Corey asked.

  “I know you, Corey. You still muling for Mike Rollins?” The cop asked.

  “Who? I don’t know nobody by that name,” Corey said, dropping his hands towards his pockets. The cop reacted faster, drawing his weapon and putting two rounds into Corey’s chest. The kid hit the ground, drugs spilling out of his pockets, but no gun. Rollins called it in, not knowing that he had just lit the fuse on a powder keg.

  *****

  Moseby had just returned with the murder book for Charlie Mendez when the call came over the radio. Tom Jefferson had shot an unarmed black pusher in Ybor City. Moseby and French headed out the door with Casey Rawlings on their heels. Captain Stanley was already on the way.

  *****

  The camera crews from all the news stations arrived before the captain and the others. Already the talking heads were hyping the fact that a white cop had shot a young black man. They paid no attention to the fact that the kid had been carrying drugs. All they were focused on was race. It was as if they were hoping to incite violence.

  Moseby and French had seen it before and neither of them liked the implications of what they were seeing. This meant that BLM supporters and Antifa supporters would soon be streaming in from all over the country. That was the last thing that they needed right now. Moseby was getting a bad feeling and after looking at his partner, he knew she felt it too. This had just become a no-win situation.