Detective Jack Stratton Box Set Page 9

  No one visible. Kitchen empty.

  He listened intently for any sounds in the apartment.

  “Yeah?” The woman alternated from looking at the floor to trying to get a bead on Jack. Her eyes would catch his for a brief moment and then dart away.

  Red mark on cheek. Bruise on arm. Distrust. Fear.

  “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Officer Jack Stratton.”

  “Yeah?” She pulled the baby’s hand from her hair.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I have a few questions.” He kept his tone light. “May I ask your name, please?”

  “Nancy Mulligan.”

  “And this is your apartment?”

  She just nodded.

  “I’m looking for Kevin Arnold. Is he in?”

  “He doesn’t live here.”

  The little kid turned and looked into the apartment. She’s lying.

  “Ma’am.” He gestured for her to step a little outside of the apartment. She stood frozen for a second, but Jack pinned his eyes on her. She faltered and stepped out.

  His training in domestic violence kicked in. Battered women often turned on the authorities when confronted with a perceived threat to their abuser. Better the devil you know…

  Jack leaned in a little. “I know you want to protect him. I’m not asking you to give him up, but he needs help.”

  “Momma?” The little girl tugged on Nancy’s shirt.

  Jack lowered his voice almost to a hum. “Nancy.”

  She looked confused for a second and then looked down at the little girl. She grabbed her daughter and pulled her closer.

  “You want him to get help, right?” Jack nodded. “Everyone needs help sometimes.”

  A soft cry escaped Nancy’s mouth, and she shook her head. She kept her gaze down and whispered, “He’s in the bedroom.”

  That was all Jack needed to hear. He nodded to Donald and stepped into the apartment, motioning for Nancy to leave. She scooped up her children and ran down the corridor. Jack moved into the apartment, scanning constantly. The bathroom door was open. Empty. The bedroom door was closed.

  Jack gestured to Donald and pointed at the closed door. He stood to the side, out of range, and slowly attempted to turn the handle, but it was locked.

  He heard a door open inside the bedroom.

  I knew he’d run. “Police!” Jack yelled, then popped the door with a short thrust from his shoulder. The cheap plywood shattered.

  He caught a glimpse of someone running out to the mini balcony that connected to the one next door. Jack rushed after. He heard a woman scream from the other apartment. Jack jumped over the railing and onto the neighboring balcony.

  “Police!” he warned as he went through the door, his gun at the ready.

  The other apartment’s bedroom was furnished with only a mattress in the corner. A woman sat on it, screaming and frantically pointing.

  Jack raced across her kitchen to an open door and out to the back of the building, paused to listen, and sprinted after the footsteps running down the stairway.

  The sound of barking dogs filled the air, followed by Kendra’s angry shouts. On the second floor, Jack looked over the edge; Kendra was below, Macing an enormous dog that howled in pain but held its ground.

  “Go around!” Jack called as he dashed down the stairs.

  When he reached the bottom, Jack saw Arnold running for the other side of the building. A flash of metal in Arnold’s hand caught Jack’s eye. “Knife!” he yelled.

  Arnold knocked over a chair as he scrambled away.

  Jack’s legs pushed into the ground; adrenaline gave him power. He rounded the corner and saw how much ground he’d gained. Arnold was now less than twenty yards away. Beyond them was an open field.

  “Freeze!”

  Jack grabbed his nightstick and threw it sidearm. The baton caught the creep right behind his legs, and he became entangled. Arnold’s hands went wide, his back arched, and he faceplanted in the dirt. The knife bounced along the ground in front of him.

  Kendra raced around the other corner of the building and tackled Arnold just as he was regaining his feet. Jack snagged his baton and took over holding the guy so she could cuff him. “Way to go, rookie,” he congratulated her. “Nice job taking this guy down.”

  Jack didn’t care who got credit for the arrest; he liked Kendra. She was short on arrests and shorter on confidence. Being a new cop was hard enough, but she was also a woman, and she was pretty, which made it a lot harder for her. The guys hit on her, and the few other women on the force were jealous.

  She pulled Arnold to his feet. A string of obscenities, mixed with don’t and move, poured from her mouth. She was beaming as Donald ran around the corner.

  “I got him. I got him!”

  “You sure did,” said Donald, taking in the scene. “Nice job, Officer Darcey.”

  12

  Try to Outshout Me

  Jack stood with Detective Charlie Flynn behind the two-way mirror and looked into the interview room where Kevin Arnold sat chained to a table.

  “How did you get the guy, Jack?”

  Detective Flynn was fifty-two years old and completely bald but had thick, bushy eyebrows. His brown suit, although pressed and neat, looked to be at least ten years old.

  “I got a tip that he was at his girlfriend’s apartment. We picked him up this morning on an outstanding warrant. Officer Darcey made the collar.”

  Flynn chuckled. “Darcey. She’s the one with the… um, big… eyes.” He practically drooled.

  “She’s the one with the big gun,” Jack said pointedly. “Anyway, she made the collar. This guy looks good for these cases.” Jack patted the folder in his hands. “I put them all in here for you.”

  Flynn took the folder. “Thanks. This is great. Puts him on a silver platter for me. But what did you want again?”

  “I just want to know his whereabouts before Christmas. See if he was anywhere near the university.”

  “You got it.” Flynn was flipping through the folder. “Yep, he looks good for the other cases in here. He matches the description, right down to the tattoo. I think we may have found our guy.” Flynn was smiling as he walked out to grill the perp.

  Jack leaned back against the wall and watched. Flynn methodically picked apart the guy’s alibis, and it wasn’t long before Arnold started to squirm.

  “So where were you before Christmas?” Flynn asked.

  “I was in rehab,” Arnold said.

  “Rehab?”

  “Court ordered.”

  “You know the probation office would have that in their system. There’s nothing in your file here.” Flynn shuffled through the folder.

  “I was out of state in Sanderson County Rehabilitation for four weeks. Check it out with them.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.” Flynn looked over toward the two-way glass and nodded.

  Jack stormed out of the room and over to his desk. He called the rehab and got them to pull up their records. Arnold’s story checked out. And it was a county lockup, not a country club rehab, so there was no way Kevin Arnold could have snuck out of it unnoticed. Dead end.

  He was surprised he could even drive—his right leg was twitching, both hands were trembling, his head was ringing.

  Get a grip, Jack.

  In the field, adrenaline was like a drug that pumped him up. But when it was over, he crashed—total withdrawal. Then the fear and doubt would drag him toward the pit of memories. He couldn’t fill the abyss and he couldn’t seal it up, either.

  Jack stared straight ahead and tried to remember the young soldier’s name. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

  Iraq. I was on patrol with two other soldiers. Jimmy Tanaka. Tank. He was there.

  Jimmy was only five foot five, but he was a powerhouse, and he never, ever backed down.

  Me, Tank, and the kid.

  The kid. Short red hair and freckles. So young, at most nineteen. Always chewing gum. That day they had to search a buil
ding with three doors along the front. Jack, the kid, and Tank each picked a door. They let the kid go first, and he went to the left. Tank chose the right; Jack ended up with the middle. On the count of three, they were all supposed to kick the doors open. The kid died on two. Enemy machine-gun fire blew the door apart and killed him instantly.

  I can’t even remember his name.

  Jack pulled to the side of the road and put his head down on the steering wheel.

  As soon as Jack walked through the door to his apartment, Replacement was in his face.

  “You went after him without me? Without me?”

  “When did you become my partner? Back off,” Jack snapped.

  Replacement froze. The problem was, she froze angry.

  “Argh… I just walked in the door.” Jack threw his hands up.

  “You said—” she growled.

  “I didn’t say I’d take you.” He headed into the kitchen.

  “You did!” Now she was shouting.

  Go ahead, try to outshout me.

  “I didn’t say that!” he yelled louder.

  “I’m sitting around here on my ass while Michelle is out there.” Her lip trembled. “You promised you’d take me. You—”

  Loud hammering on the door interrupted her. They both stopped. Replacement marched over and opened the door.

  Jack listened while he got a glass of water. He couldn’t make out who Replacement was speaking with, but a few seconds later, Mrs. Stevens, flushing beet-red, marched into the apartment ahead of Replacement, who was twitching her head spastically.

  Not again. Jack shut the water off.

  “Mr. Stratton,” Mrs. Stevens puffed. “While I do appreciate how stressful law enforcement can be, I cannot permit you to yell at this poor, unfortunate girl.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched as he tried to control himself.

  “Jack sorry.” Replacement hopped over to him at the sink. “Jack, very sorry. Jack, you sorry?” Jack glared at her.

  Replacement’s arm went around his waist, and she poked him in the side. He had to force himself not to laugh.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. Okay?” Jack smiled thinly. “Mrs. Stevens, my… apologies.”

  “Mr. Stratton, I’m trying to look out for her best interests.”

  “Well, thank you. You’ve been very kind.”

  “Remember, she’s an angel, and when you deal with her, you need patience and love. Patience and love.” Mrs. Stevens must have concluded that her work here was done, because she turned and waved as she headed out of the apartment.

  “Patience and love. Patience and love,” Replacement repeated as she shut the door and ran back into the kitchen.

  “Well, thank you,” Jack whispered fiercely. “Now my landlady thinks I’m a jerk.”

  “No, she doesn’t. She likes you. She just thinks you make poor choices in women and drink too much.”

  Jack’s mouth fell open. “Have you been talking to her? Stop, okay? I’m serious.” He paused. “How could she know I drink too much?”

  “She goes through your trash.”

  “She told you that?”

  “She thinks I’m slow.”

  “You are.” He headed into the bedroom. “I wanna take a shower, since it’s free for once,” he teased.

  “Jerk, wait. You didn’t tell me what happened,” Replacement protested, following.

  “Fine. Hold on.” He shut the bedroom door to close her out. “We caught the guy,” he yelled.

  Replacement whipped open the door. “What? Awesome.”

  Jack stood there bare-chested. “Get out.” He tossed his shirt at her.

  Replacement didn’t shut the door, but she did turn around.

  “Anyway, he’s a sexual predator, but he didn’t have anything to do with Michelle.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He was in a lockdown rehab for four weeks in another state. He went in three weeks before Michelle went missing and was there for a week after. He couldn’t have had anything to do with it. I checked myself and confirmed it. Can you get out now?”

  Replacement kicked the wall, and half her foot disappeared into the drywall. “Oh...” She knelt down and tried to pull the cracked piece back into place. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice trembled.

  “Forget it. I’m pretty good at patching walls. I’ve had a little practice.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I can fix it.”

  “Not just for that.” Replacement paced around the room. “I’ve been a psycho. You’re right. I’m a little… mental, lately.”

  Jack laughed.

  “Thanks for agreeing.” She sniffled.

  He hesitated before replying, torn between whether to keep his tone light or more serious. Finally he said, gently, “Everyone’s a little mental. Apology accepted. Can I take that shower now?”

  She seemed relieved and calmer. Without asking, she sat down at the end of the bed beside Jack.

  “So, I was working on the computer. Carlos wrote you back. He went to Western Tech and asked around, but Michelle has never been out there. He showed the picture around. Carlos said maybe she signed up electronically.”

  Jack had to think for a second. Carlos Rodriguez, Sonoma PD. “How do you know he emailed me?”

  “You use the same password for everything. That’s not smart.”

  Jack blinked, incredulous. “You read my emails?”

  “I needed to see what he wrote. I found something else, too—an entry in the error log of the police database.”

  “In the error log? How could you get to the error log? Isn’t that on the back end of the system?”

  “Once you’re in a system, it’s easy to move around.”

  Jack glared at her as the meaning hit him. “You hacked the police database?”

  “No. I just gained access to the back end.”

  “You hacked the database!”

  “I don’t call it that.” She crossed her arms. “I exploited a security flaw.”

  “Did you use my account?”

  “No. I made my own.” As his eyes widened, she twisted back and forth. “Don’t sweat it. They won’t know. Their security sucks. I used my laptop, so they have no way to trace an IP even if they did suspect something. I mask my IP, then go through a VPN, and then double-jump high-anonymity proxies. The second proxy is offshore, so don’t sweat it. No one is following my butt.” She grinned.

  “Okay, never mind. I can’t believe this. I can’t tell if you’re helping me or… whatever.” He shook his head to get back to the beginning. “Anything else you found out while you were casually committing felonies on your laptop connected to my computer?”

  No question about it, she looked proud of herself, not ashamed in the least.

  “Someone started to run a site inspection on Michelle’s car. I don’t know—”

  “A site inspection? Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. It was only one line; two codes in an error log. The license plate number partially matched, and the purpose field said ‘Site Inspection.’ I think they didn’t put in enough information, and it errored out.”

  Jack jumped off the bed. “I have to go.”

  “Where? What’s a site inspection?”

  “That’s police-speak for an abandoned vehicle in an accident. If you find an abandoned car that shows signs of being in an accident, you have to do a site inspection. You first run the plate. Someone started one. Did it have a date?”

  “No. Just those two fields.”

  “I don’t know what went wrong, but if a cop ran a site inspection, the next step is the car gets towed. There’s only one impound they’d take the car to.”

  13

  Killer Reindeer

  Jack had to keep forcing himself to slow down as they raced out to Sullivan’s Auto and Salvage, a gigantic auto yard at the west end of Darrington County. Sullivan’s was the main towing company the police used, and the official impound yard. If they towed a car, they’d take it there.

 
I should have checked there first.

  He was also seriously questioning his judgment for having allowed Replacement to cajole him into taking her with him. She’d made it sound like a matter of life or death if she didn’t get some fresh air. It was forty-two degrees outside, but she had her window half open and kept popping her head out like a puppy out for her first ride in a car.

  He pulled down the visor mirror and glared at himself. His reflection glared right back. Jerk.

  He flipped the mirror up.

  It was starting to get dark, so once they got out of town, he punched it. The Impala’s gas pedal was as sensitive as a moody teenager; the difference between twenty and one hundred twenty miles an hour was about half an inch. He decided to give Replacement the look that said, “Don’t worry, I can handle driving at this speed.” One glance at her and he could tell she was grateful they were getting there fast.

  They towed Michelle’s car. That means she hasn’t had a car for a while. That isn’t a good sign.

  It made no sense she’d go to California, but part of him wished she had. The alternative was not good.

  He barreled into a turn, and the car strained against the chassis. Too fast. He was going into a slip. Everything slowed way down. His adrenaline kicked in, and the world seemed to freeze. He loved this feeling. Cut the wheel, go with the skid. His training was taking over—kinesthetic muscle memory. Dancers, athletes, martial artists all strive for it. If you perform a motion often enough, you teach your muscles. When the time comes, the muscles repeat the motion on their own, almost independently of the brain.

  Jack smiled, but when he glanced at Replacement, he saw that both of her hands were holding onto the door. He accelerated into the turn. It went against instinct to speed up as the car was going into a slip, but if you don’t, you spin out.

  As they straightened out, he relaxed his grip on the wheel, but Replacement didn’t settle back into her seat. Her whole face was white, even her lips. He forced himself to slow down.

  “I—I’m sorry about driving so fast. I just… I just want to find Michelle.”