Speaking for the Dead Page 8

“Get me a wheelchair and we’re gone.”

  “I feel sorry for you, Detective.”

  “You should, she’s my partner.”

  “You poor man,” the nurse shook her head. Moseby headed for Lucy’s room, knowing that the wheelchair would arrive shortly.

  “So how is the Terror of Tampa General?” Moseby asked as he walked into French’s room.

  “More than ready to get the hell out of here,” Lucy fired back.

  “Fortunately for you, the Captain and your doctor agree, though I think the doctor might actually be scared of you.”

  “And well he should be,” Lucy snarled.

  “And this is what you look like in a good mood,” Moseby chuckled.

  “I don’t like being blown up,” Lucy told him.

  “Nobody does.”

  “It makes me cranky.”

  “I can see that. Did you know that there is actually a nurse sitting out there with a rabies vaccine just in case?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. I HATE hospitals!”

  “I’m pretty sure everyone in the building knows that by now,” Moseby chuckled.

  “You find this funny?” Lucy glared at him.

  “Actually I do. You forget, partner, how well I know you. I was glad to get here and see there were no dead bodies in the hallway.”

  “I think I used admirable restraint.”

  “You did.”

  “They should be here with a wheelchair shortly. Do you need help getting dressed?”

  “I think I can manage,” Lucy replied dryly.

  “Then I’ll step out into the hallway and leave you to it,” Moseby told her. He stepped outside and closed the door. He shook his head. Typical Lucy. A young candy striper was pushing a wheelchair in his direction. She was not yet eighteen with yellow blonde hair and blue eyes wearing white scrubs and a white and red apron. A nametag on the apron read Amy.

  “I’m here for Detective French,” she said, smiling at him.

  “She’s getting dressed,” Moseby told her.

  “Is it true that she was in an explosion?” Amy asked breathlessly.

  “It is, but she was actually about thirty yards away from the car when the bomb went off,” Moseby told her.

  “Oh,” Amy said, sounding more than a little disappointed.

  “It’s all part of the job,” Moseby told her.

  “I’ll go in and see if she needs help.”

  “Do so at your own risk,” Moseby grinned. Amy smiled back, knocked on the door and slipped inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  The sun was bright as Moseby and French left the hospital. Lucy was smiling beatifically as Moseby walked her out into the sunshine. His car was parked under the awning and she quickly transitioned from the wheelchair into the car. Moseby closed the door behind her and returned the wheelchair to the lobby before walking out and climbing back into the driver’s seat of the car. He started the engine and put it in gear, easing his foot onto the gas as he headed for the street.

  “Thank you for getting me out of there,” Lucy said.

  “From what I understand, they were glad to be rid of you,” Moseby told her, pulling out into the traffic and heading for the station.

  “Are you saying I was a lousy patient?”

  “Nope, but the nurses did. I had two or three offer their condolences when they found out I had to work with you every day. One even gave me her number,” Moseby grinned.

  “Let me guess, Amy the candy striper?”

  “Lucy, that girl isn’t even legal yet. I have higher standards.”

  “Since when?” Lucy arched an eyebrow at him.

  “How in the hell do you women do that?”

  “Do what?” Lucy asked.

  “Manage to raise just one eyebrow at a time. The only guy I ever saw pull it off was Leonard Nimoy when he played Spock on Star Trek,” Moseby told her.

  “Anything on the asshole that blew up my car?”

  “Not yet, but then you and the Captain are the only ones I have talked to from work.”

  “Who is working it?”

  “Morales and Ramirez.”

  “They are good. So, what have we got on the slasher killings so far?”

  “Nothing new so far, which is a kind of good thing, because it means he didn’t kill anyone last night.”

  “What about the first two killings?”

  “A few more statements in the murder book, but nothing earth-shattering. I’m still working my way through Sunny Cargill’s diary but nothing has jumped out. Both women seemed to be well-liked. Nobody can think of any reason why anyone would want to kill either of them,” Moseby explained.

  “So, we have shit. Dammit, Garrett, this guy doesn’t seem to make any mistakes!”

  “He hasn’t yet, Lucy. But he will. They always do. And when he does, we’ll nail his ass to the wall.”

  “You sound pretty sure of that,” Lucy said.

  “Because I am,” Moseby told her.

  “I want this guy, Garrett. I want him so bad I can taste it.”

  “I know, Lucy.”

  “I’ll go through the murder books while you work through the diary. Maybe I’ll see something you missed, maybe you’ll find something I missed.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like a plan.”

  “What can I say, sometimes it happens.”

  “Yes, it does,” he replied.

  Douglas Carrington was in a good mood. He had finally managed to crack the Ice Queen’s shields. She was a good-looking gal and he had a feeling if he played it right, he could end up getting lucky by the weekend. He was looking forward to this evening’s run. It was step one in his plan to get into Tara’s pants.

  He smiled, wondering what she was like beneath the sheets. With the body that she had, he thought she was probably a tigress, given the cold exterior that she displayed at work, haughty and untouchable. It was a challenge, and he loved challenges!

  Tara sat across from Carly Matthews at lunch. “Please, I really need you to run with me tonight!” she implored.

  “But I thought you and Doug were going to run together,” Carly smiled at her.

  “You know his reputation as well as I do. I don’t want to be another notch on his belt or a one night stand as the case may be. I went with you the first time you went out with Owen, and you were glad I was there. You owe me, Carly,” Tara told her.

  “Yeah, I know I do. Okay, I’ll run with you guys tonight. But lighten up, okay? It could be that he just likes to run.”

  “And pigs fly fighter jets on aircraft carriers.”

  “You never know what the future holds,” Carly stuck her tongue out.

  He was seething as he watched her from across the room. Everything had been going well until Carrington had stepped in and ruined his plan. Except maybe he hadn’t. He sat and thought about that while pretending to read a paperback novel that he had brought into work with him. Something by Paul Bishop. He couldn’t concentrate on the book because his thoughts were a frantic jumble.

  He thought about it. Maybe this was something he could use to his advantage. Maybe he could pin everything on old Doug. It was a thought. It made him smile. He couldn’t take his eyes off Tara and Carly. Carly was really sweet, but Tara was rude.

  Tara was his target. She had treated him badly and had to pay for it. She was his current mission in life. He had to make her pay. But he had to make Doug pay as well. That would be fun, he decided.

  Almost as fun as killing Tara. Maybe he would make them a double. That would be interesting. It would also be a test, taking out two people at the same time. He would have to give it some thought.

  Lucy French had settled into her desk and was pursuing both of the murder books for the slasher. Moseby settled in to read Sunny Cargill’s diary. He was hoping to get a call back from some of the folks that he had talked to the day before, but so far his phone had remained silent.

  This case was getting to him. He had never run up against anybody like this o
ne. This guy was really organized. He planned his attacks and executed them with efficiency.

  “Garrett, do we have an ID on the second victim yet?” Lucy asked, frowning at him.

  “I don’t know. When your car blew up, I focused on that and you. I never checked,” Moseby replied, reaching for his phone. He dialed Lisa Blair’s number from memory.

  “Coroner’s Office,” Lisa Blair answered.

  “Do we have an ID on victim number 2?” Moseby asked.

  “Let me check. I thought I sent you guys a report about an hour ago,” Lisa told him.

  “I was picking Lucy up from the hospital and haven’t checked my e-mail.”

  “You should check it. But I’ll go ahead and give you what I found,” Lisa told him.

  “Okay,” Moseby told her.

  “The prints came back to a Tina Harwood. She lived in an apartment complex on the Bay.”

  “Give me the address.”

  “Sure thing,” Lisa said and then she read it off to him. Moseby wrote it down and hung up. He looked over at French. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Should we get a warrant first?” Lucy asked.

  “We’ll file for one when we get back. I want to get into her place as soon as possible,” Moseby told her.

  “Garrett, we need to do this right. You don’t want this sick son of a bitch getting off on a technicality once we catch him.”

  “Fine, you get the warrant and meet me there,” Moseby told her, heading for the door. French bit her lip as she watched him go. Then she took the paper with the name and address and started filling out the form on the computer. She knew a judge that would be willing to sign off on the search of a murder victim’s apartment. She knew she had to work quickly because she knew that Moseby was not the type to wait once he got a bee in his bonnet. For some reason, the killer had made it personal for him when he blew up her car. Lucy shook her head and got to work.

  Garrett Moseby focused on the road as he drove to Tina Harwood’s apartment. He really didn’t expect to find anything, because it was evident that Tina was killed as a ruse to throw them off. Her murder lacked the passion of the first one.

  It was carried out too coldly and unemotionally. But there was always a chance that she might have had some previous contact with the killer, so he couldn’t leave any possible lead unchecked.

  He had come up with a plan. A plan for a double kill that he could use to place the blame squarely at the feet of Douglas Carrington. It would keep the cops off of his trail, and send them down a false trail, giving him more time to enjoy his calling.

  He would follow the three of them tonight, and make sure that Douglas was seen with them. But he would disable Tara’s vehicle and kill the girls after Doug was gone, making him the last one to see them alive. He smiled at the thought. Yes, it was a good plan. He had never killed two at once before. It should be fun!

  Killing was liberating! He liked how it made him feel. It was empowering as well. For once in his life, he felt like he was in control. He didn’t want to let that go. He also knew where Doug lived, so it would be easy to plant a weapon afterward. He smiled. It was a good plan, and it excited him. He felt himself growing hard just thinking about it. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, thinking of anything else to let the feeling pass. He couldn’t let that kind of excitement show in the workplace. Not now anyway.

  Moseby didn’t have to wait long before Lucy and a uniform arrived with a signed warrant that would allow them to enter and search the dead woman’s apartment. He heard Lucy breathe a sigh of relief as she followed him to the building manager’s office to deliver the warrant. He frowned. Apparently, she hadn’t believed that he would wait for the warrant. He would have to have a talk with her about that later.

  The manager was an overweight and balding guy with a graying comb-over and soft brown eyes. A thick mustache covered his upper lip. He was wearing gym shorts and a dingy wife-beater undershirt and flip flops. The sign on the desk said his name was Miles Overton.

  “Mr. Overton? I’m Detective Moseby from Tampa Police Department. We need to see the apartment belonging to Tina Harwood,” Moseby told him.

  “You got a warrant?” he asked around the soggy stub of a cigar that had long ago gone out.

  “As a matter of fact, we do,” Lucy said sweetly, presenting it to the man. His brow furrowed as he opened the papers and started to read.

  “Aw-right,” Overton grumbled as he pushed his chair back. He left the warrant on his desk as he opened a cabinet on the wall behind him and grabbed a set of keys. He motioned for them to follow him and as he moved past, the odor of stale sweat hung in the air like a cloud.

  Once outside it didn’t get any better as sweat seemed to pour out of his pores, soaking his shirt as he led them up the iron and concrete steps to the second floor. Tina Harwood’s apartment was halfway down on the second floor. Overton shoved the key in the lock and glared over his shoulder at them. “How long is this going to take?” he demanded.

  “Leave the keys. We’ll return them when we are done,” Moseby said coolly, his face like granite.

  “Sure thing,” Overton grumbled as he waddled off towards the stairs at the other end of the floor. Moseby unlocked the door and pushed it open and stepped inside. Lucy followed him in and the uniform took up his post at the door.

  He wouldn’t let anyone else in unless the two detectives authorized it. Moseby flipped the light switch. It was definitely a woman’s apartment and a large black cat watched them from atop the kitchen counter, regarding them with large green eyes. A white flea collar encircled his neck. The cat stood and Lucy walked over and started stroking his neck. The cat purred very loudly. “Are you hungry?” Lucy asked. The cat meowed at her and jumped down as she opened a pantry door. There were several cans of cat food stacked inside. Lucy opened one and put it down for him, then went and opened a cabinet and removed a glass. She filled it with cold water and refilled the cat’s water dish. The cat meowed at her again as if to say thank you. Lucy walked over and closed the door so the animal wouldn’t bolt for freedom. Lucy looked at Moseby. “Tina planned on coming back,” she said.

  “Probably. Let’s toss the place, and then we’ll figure out what to do with the cat,” Moseby sighed.

  “I may take him,” Lucy replied. Mosey rolled his eyes and moved towards the bedroom. What was it about women and cats?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “This was a bust,” Moseby sighed after they had finished searching the apartment and finding nothing.

  “Not entirely, we saved her cat’s life,” Lucy told him.

  “A small win, then.”

  “Garrett, it would have starved to death before Overton came up here. It is a boy and I’m gonna call him Binx. I’m going to take him home with me. Bag up the cans of food please.”

  Moseby rolled his eyes and did as she asked. He was not an animal lover but it was obvious that Lucy was. They exited the apartment with Binx wrapped in a towel for transport and Moseby carrying the bag of food. Lucy headed for his car and Moseby knew that he would be chauffeuring her and the cat back to her house. The Uniform headed back out on patrol after being released by the pair of detectives.

  “So, other than Tina was a cat person, what did we learn?” Moseby asked as he guided the car through the streets of Tampa to Lucy’s home.

  “We learned that she was a random victim. She had gone out looking for a good time and paid for it with her life so a killer could confuse us and get us off track,” Lucy replied.

  “That is a good working theory. So, what is our killer going to do next?” Moseby asked.

  “He is probably selecting his next victim, learning her routine,” Lucy replied.

  “What if he already knows what her routine is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it. Sunny Cargill had all the markings of being a personal kill. Tina did not. I have a feeling that the killer knew Sunny from somewhere. He liked what he did to her. He is going
to want to capture that again. So, he will find another target, one that he would normally consider unapproachable. But he will find a way to approach her. If she lives or dies will depend on how she reacted to him,” Moseby explained.

  “That sounds accurate,” Lucy nodded while she stroked the cat’s head.

  “I get the feeling that he is choosing his real victims from people that he knows.”

  “So, we look at the victim’s employers.”

  “That seems like a good place to start.”

  “First, we take this guy back to my place and drop him off,” Lucy ordered. Moseby sighed and rolled his eyes and said the only thing he could say.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  He kept checking the time. It was moving with agonizing slowness. He smiled at himself as he watched the clock on the computer screen in front of him. He understood that it was the anticipation of the evening events. Looking forward to what he had planned for the park. He smiled again. He had the cops reeling already, but tonight might just send the city into a full-blown panic, and he would be able to lay it all at the feet of Douglas Carrington, leaving him free to find other targets.

  “So, what have you guys got?” Captain Stanley asked, dropping into an empty seat next to their desks.

  So, far, we’ve rescued a homeless cat from the second victim’s apartment. That’s about it,” Moseby sighed.

  “Rescued a cat? I thought you guys were working a serial murder and you rescued a cat?”

  “My idea, Captain,” Lucy cut in. “I couldn’t let it starve or go to animal control to be euthanized.”

  “What the hell is it with women and cats?” Stanley rolled his eyes. “So, do you have anything at all on the killer?”

  “We believe that Sunny Cargill was someone that he knew, that he had targeted her specifically. We think that he killed Tina Harwood strictly to throw us off. Lisa Blair over at the ME’s office can confirm that.”

  “Okay. So, what do you plan to do next?” Stanley asked.