Wrath (The Lieutenant Harrington Series Book 1) Page 10

  I unclipped Lucky’s leash, and she dropped her ball. She sat and waited for me to pick it up and throw it. I did, albeit after a few fakes. She went running after it. My cell phone rang, and the screen showed a number that I didn’t recognize.

  I clicked Talk. “Hello.”

  “Yes, is this Lieutenant Harrington?” a man asked.

  “Speaking,” I said.

  “Hi, Lieutenant. This is Chris Mercer. My neighbor passed your number on to me. He mentioned that you’d been out at the house today. You were looking to speak with my wife and me regarding something?”

  “Um,” I said. It took me a moment to get my bearings, Mercer was literally the last person that I had expected to be calling. I had a million questions yet figured if I started anything with him over the phone, he’d clam up or simply hang up. I needed only one or two questions answered at that moment: Where was he, and how long had he been there? “Hello, Mr. Mercer. We did stop at your home earlier today. We have some questions for you and your wife. Are you both there now?”

  “Not at the moment,” he said. “I stopped in briefly and then had some other things to attend to. That’s when I bumped into our neighbor, John, and he told me that you’d stopped by. What is this all about now?”

  “Do you know where your wife is?” I asked.

  “At home. Now, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on here or what?”

  Lucky ran back with the ball. I switched hands with my phone, scooped up her ball, and tossed it as far as I could. Lucky went running, kicking up white sand.

  “Mr. Mercer, what I’d like to do is put you into contact with my night shift lieutenant. His name is David Ramirez. He’s going to be able to fill you in on some details and get something set up to meet with you and your wife.”

  “We’re not meeting up with anyone anywhere until we know what the hell is going on. I mean, police officers show up to my neighborhood, knocking on my door, and then ask my neighbors about me. I’d like to know what the hell for. Do you suspect my wife or me of a crime? Do you have a warrant? If so, for what?”

  Mercer’s questions flew fast. The agitation in his voice was more than noticeable. I took my phone from my face and sent a quick text message off to our tech department. The message was brief: Get me a GPS location on the number Mercer is calling from. I went back to the call. I needed to keep Mercer on the line. “Mr. Mercer, where were you yesterday, specifically last night?”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “The employees at your store said you were out of town.”

  “I was.”

  “Where were you?” I asked.

  “Out of town.”

  “Right. What time did you return yesterday?”

  “Sometime,” he said.

  We already knew where he was, Atlanta, and when he returned, around noon. I wanted to see if he’d at least confirm the facts, which apparently he had no interest in doing. I shook my head. He wasn’t going to give me anything. “Mr. Mercer, I’m going to have Lieutenant Ramirez call you back. He’ll be able to explain everything to you. You should get his call in a few minutes.”

  “Whatever,” he said. The line went dead.

  I took my phone from my ear and looked down at it. I hadn’t received a text back from Tech. “Damn,” I mumbled and quickly jabbed Dave’s number into my phone. I clicked Talk.

  “Ramirez,” he answered.

  “Hey, it’s Harrington. Mercer just called my cell phone.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I sent a text off to Tech to try to get a GPS signal on the number that he called me from.”

  “What was the number? Was it the one you were using to try to contact him?” Dave asked.

  “Um, hold on.” I ran through my call log and found the numbers I’d used earlier to try to contact both Mercers. The number he called from was not a match. “Different number.”

  “Let me get it.”

  I spouted off the number. “He said his wife was at the house the last he saw her. What was going on with those patrols from Miramar?”

  “We got the word that no one was home, and I haven’t heard a peep since. Let me get back into contact with them and get a couple of the guys here ready to take a ride out there. I’ll call you back with an update when I have one.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” I said.

  “Talk soon,” Dave said and hung up.

  I stuffed my phone into my pocket and looked down. Lucky was back with the ball, sitting before me, waiting.

  “Drop it,” I said.

  She didn’t. It appeared as if she wanted to move on from fetch to tug-of-war with the ball. I obliged. She growled and jerked and kicked as she tried moving backward.

  CHAPTER 18

  Seated at the edge of the garden tub, Chris clicked off from the call. He threw the cell phone back at John, the neighbor. The phone bounced off John’s chest and landed in the pool of blood that surrounded his body. John lay slumped against the wall just inside the doorway, his eyes open, dead. A blood pool a couple of feet wide covered the tile from cabinets to closet. Blood spatter covered the bathroom vanity, sinks, and mirror.

  John had returned to Chris’s house with the phone number for the cop a few minutes before. He had also returned with a slew of questions and a determination to see and speak with Grace. Chris had thought that maybe John’s wife had put him up to it. Perhaps the neighbors had thought Chris was a danger to Grace.

  Chris had given John an excuse or two for why he couldn’t see his wife—she was lying down and taking a nap because she hadn’t been feeling well. John continued asking. His final request came with the stipulation that if he wasn’t allowed to speak to Grace, he’d call the police himself because he believed something was going on. After allowing John inside, Chris led him upstairs to the master bathroom. John froze in the bathroom doorway when he laid eyes on Grace’s plastic-wrapped body in the tub. With John’s attention drawn to Grace’s corpse, he never saw Chris’s hand with the knife coming around his head. Chris stabbed John in the center of his throat and yanked the blade to the side, opening his carotid artery. John collapsed to the floor a split second later.

  A buzzing sound came from John’s side. Chris’s eyes went to the cell phone vibrating and spinning in John’s blood covering the floor.

  “Shit,” Chris said.

  He pushed himself up from the edge of the garden tub beside his wife’s body and leaned forward to get a look at who was calling John. The number didn’t seem to have an ID attached to it. Chris figured it was the lieutenant that the other guy, Harrington, had said would call. Chris debated answering for only a second before reaching for the phone and scooping it up. He needed some answers. He wanted to know what they knew and how much time he had to take care of the bitch who’d started everything. He wiped the dripping blood from the back of the cell phone on John’s shirt and swiped the button to talk. “Hello.”

  “Mr. Mercer?” a man’s voice asked.

  Chris took a seat at the edge of the garden tub again. “Speaking.”

  “Lieutenant Dave Ramirez with the Miami-Dade Homicide Bureau.”

  “Homicide Bureau? Who died?” Chris asked.

  “Well, we know the who. It’s the why and how that we’re trying to get to the bottom of, Mr. Mercer.”

  “Okay. I don’t know anyone recently deceased, so I guess I’m not quite sure how I can help you. You said that you know the who, so who is it?”

  “This conversation would be better in person. With your wife as well.”

  “Is it about a family member? A relative? The other cop that I talked to was really vague as well. You guys need to tell me what the hell this is about right now or we’re done here.”

  “Do you know a man by the name of Nick Ludwig, Mr. Mercer?”

  “Nick Ludwig? No. I’ve never heard of him. Who the hell is Nick Ludwig?”

  “You’re certain?” the lieutenant asked.

  “I’m pretty good with names. I’ve never hear
d of him. What does he have to do with my wife or me?”

  “Again, this is what we’re trying to get some answers to. We know for certain that your wife knows the man.”

  “Okay. A client of hers or something? The name doesn’t ring a bell as far as someone she works with. It doesn’t sound like someone that she’s ever brought up to me.”

  “Is your wife with you now?”

  “She is not.”

  “Do you know where she is?” the lieutenant asked.

  Chris looked over his shoulder at her plastic-wrapped body lying in the tub. “As far as I know, at home. Probably in the tub.”

  “And you are where?” the lieutenant asked.

  “I don’t really see how that is any of your concern. Where are you?” Chris asked.

  “At the Miami-Dade police headquarters in Doral. Mr. Mercer, we are going to need to meet with you to talk. We’re fine with coming to you.”

  “I’ll be in the Orlando area for the next few days. The best I can do is to get into contact with you when I get back. If you need something prior to that, you can refer your questions to my attorney. Did you want his name?”

  “We’ll get it from your wife,” the lieutenant said. “Take care, Mr. Mercer. We’ll talk soon.” The cop clicked off.

  “Shit,” Chris snapped. He tossed the phone back onto the floor. Just a moment later, he heard banging on the downstairs front door. Chris stayed low and moved to the bedroom windows that faced the street. He saw a lone patrol car parked out front. “Son of a bitch,” Chris mumbled. His mind raced through his options. He didn’t know if he should answer the door or not. Chris didn’t know if they’d simply leave if he ignored them or if more would arrive. One cop, he could kill, but two or more would be a problem. He got another good look at the patrol car—a Miramar cruiser. Both lieutenants he had spoken to were from Miami-Dade.

  Chris shot across his bedroom and went to the lockbox where he kept his gun. He opened the box, snatched the small revolver, and went to the stairwell. At the bottom, Chris headed to the front door. He heard the banging from outside again.

  “Miramar Police! Open up,” he heard from the other side of the door.

  The voice belonged to a woman.

  Chris crouched beside the door and listened. He didn’t hear the cop talking to anyone else as she waited.

  CHAPTER 19

  I hadn’t heard anything from Dave in an hour. I’d been back at home, sitting on the couch, staring at the TV. Lucky was curled up on the far end of the couch. Some show about murderous wives was coming to an end. The featured woman, who had killed her husband and stepson, had already been caught. After the commercial break, I would learn what her sentence would be, and it was going to be two concurrent life terms; I’d seen the episode before. The crime and punishment channel was one of the few things I tuned in to aside from sports.

  My mind bounced from one thought to the next as I stared at the TV. I was considering lighting a fire out back as soon as the show was over. Staring at some flames and listening to music with a drink or two didn’t seem like the worst idea. I adjusted myself on the couch, arranged a pillow under my head, and stretched out flat facing the ceiling. Lucky gave my feet an annoyed look for encroaching on her area. I wedged my toes under her belly and closed my eyes. I should be doing something, I thought. Since Amy had moved in, there hadn’t been too much free time for myself aside from when she visited her sister.

  I heard the show come back on from commercial, but my eyes stayed closed. The longer I lay there, I began to think a nap was in order. A moment later, as I was about to fade off to sleep, I heard my phone buzzing and vibrating across the coffee table. I opened my eyes, leaned forward, and scooped it up. The screen said it was Dave. I’d also received a couple of text messages. It was a few minutes after nine, so I must have actually fallen asleep for a half hour. I swiped to answer and brought my phone to my ear. “Yeah, Dave.”

  “We have problems,” he said.

  I sat up on the couch and put my feet flat on the floor. “What problems?”

  “Chris Mercer, and ‘two dead bodies in his house’ kind of problems.”

  “What? Two dead bodies? Who?”

  “We’re still waiting to get everyone out here, but right now, it’s looking like one is the neighbor.”

  “Male, tall, dark hair, thirties? Lives right next door?” I asked.

  “That would be him. John Stanley.”

  “Damn. I talked to that guy earlier today.”

  “The local PD is dealing with the neighbor’s wife in the yard as we speak. She said he came over here to try to speak with Mercer’s wife, Grace.”

  “Is she the other one who’s deceased?”

  “The wife is still unaccounted for, but I’m leaning toward this being her from what Mercer said on the phone. The body is wrapped in plastic up in the master bedroom bathtub—the size looks too small to be a man.”

  “What do you mean, what he said on the phone?” I asked.

  “I called him after you and I talked. It seemed like he was fishing for information about what we had. Long story short, he made some tongue-in-cheek comment about his wife probably being at home in the tub.”

  “A little humor from a murderer. That’s nice. So what’s going on with him? Please tell me we have him.”

  “I wish I could. He’s missing. We have an arrest warrant in the works. That’s not all of the bad news, though.”

  “What’s the rest?” I asked.

  “There’s a Miramar patrol car on the scene. The officer’s whereabouts are unknown. She last reported that she saw lights on at the property and was going to attempt to make contact.”

  “Shit,” I said. “This just keeps getting better.” I let out a big puff of air. “How did this all go down?”

  “After I got off the phone with you, I called Mercer. He basically told me to screw myself, but he did say that he wasn’t at home. Said he was in Orlando and wouldn’t be back for a few days. Well, after I got off the phone with him, I checked in with Tech. They were already tracking the number you sent them as a text. The location came back to the Mercer house. The phone belonged to John Stanley, the neighbor. Tech told me and sent you off a text.”

  I took the phone from my ear and quickly verified that I did in fact get a text from the tech center. It said the location for that number was Mercer’s home address. There were another two text messages from Amy asking what I was up to. “Yeah, I see that I got the text here. I’d dozed off.”

  “We left the station as soon as Tech gave me that, so we were on it right away. Mercer lied. He was at home. I figured it was enough for Chestnut and me to take a ride. As we drove, I got in touch with the Miramar PD and told them that we had him there. They responded that an officer had noticed lights on at the home and had reported stopping ten minutes or so prior. Chestnut and I get there, and there’s no Mercer and no police officer. We call back to Miramar PD. They hadn’t heard anything back from the officer that stopped. We gained entry into the home and found the scene.”

  “He had to have left in, what, a ten-minute window right before you got there?”

  “Something like that,” Dave said. “His vehicle is missing from the garage, so we have to assume he’s in that. Patrol is searching the area for it. We know that he was here when we were on the phone with him. That was about an hour ago now.”

  “Any good news?” I asked.

  “The only good sign right now is we don’t see any blood that we can associate with the female patrol officer.”

  “Yeah, but where the hell is she? Any leads?” I asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Dave said. “I got a phone number for her from dispatch and have the tech center working it for a location. I’d just called them with that before calling you.”

  “You said that it was you and Chestnut out there? Where are Malone and Burns?” I asked.

  Chestnut, first name Alan, was Dave’s sergeant. Malone and Burns were the night shift detectiv
es.

  “They’re at another scene. They’ve been out there for an hour or two now. Female, stabbed in front of her home.”

  “What’s the story with that?” I asked.

  “I’m not really sure at the moment. No murder weapon. No signs of robbery. No witnesses. That was the early report from the scene. Hopefully, we’ll be getting more information shortly.”

  “All right,” I said. “Do you have the crime lab and Skip on the way?”

  “Yeah, the crime lab should be here in just a few minutes. I think Skip was done for the night, but someone from the coroner’s office is coming out.”

  “What a shit storm,” I said. “We haven’t had bodies like this dumped on us since the Tim Wendell thing last year.”

  Tim Wendell had stirred the city into a frenzy when he went on a vigilante killing spree the prior year. Miami-Dade, helping out the FBI, had brought him to justice. We never did get an exact body count that we could attribute to him. Our evidence said one thing, and Wendell himself claimed about five more killings than we could confirm. The city was split over his actions since all of his victims had committed some form of heinous crime in the past.

  “Must be something in the air,” Dave said.

  “I can cruise over there if you need another set of hands on the scene,” I said.

  “I think we’re okay for the moment. If something changes, I’ll give you a buzz.”

  I could hear someone else on Dave’s end of the call. What was being said, I couldn’t make out.

  “Hey, let me give you a call back in a bit, Harrington. It looks like we’re getting something here.”