Requite Page 5

  “No, I’ve never heard of them before this.”

  “We believe that they are connected to Jake or Jessica somehow. The names aren’t familiar at all? They never mentioned a James or Margaret that were maybe a little older?”

  “Again, I don’t think so. The names just don’t sound familiar.”

  We went on for another half hour with questioning. He didn’t know anything that would help us. We wrapped up with the judge and headed for the door. Captain Bostok stayed behind. He’d meet Hank and I back at the station after we stopped in at the hospital.

  Chapter 10

  We walked out through the big front doors and hopped in the Charger. We pulled out from Judge Casey’s house and drove back down Birdie Court. A couple turns later, we were on the Interstate, making our way back toward the city.

  We pulled into Tampa General a little after ten thirty. I navigated the Charger through the hospital’s parking structure and slid into a spot. We walked outside and over to the West Pavilion, finding the reception desk once we got into the building.

  The receptionist at the counter finished her phone call and looked up.

  “What can I do for you officers?” she asked.

  “We are looking for Jake Richwood and his attending physicians,” Hank said.

  She clicked a few keys on her computer.

  “Looks like you’ll want to go up to level four. I’ll get Doctor Wallace paged for you and have him meet you guys at the family waiting area. Just follow the yellow line to the elevators.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “No problem,” She smiled up at me from behind her desk.

  Hank and I followed the yellow line to elevator B. We stepped in and hit the button for level four. After a brief stint of elevator music, the doors opened and dropped us out in a long corridor stretching left and right. Hospital staff littered the hall as they came in and out of the patient’s rooms.

  A nurse’s station sat across from the elevator doors. I walked up and initiated conversation with the first person who made eye contact.

  “Can you point us to the family waiting area?” I asked.

  “No problem, Sugar. It’s right down the hall there on your right. Stop when you see televisions and chairs.”

  She pointed ten feet away. I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or helpful.

  We plopped down in the waiting area and I grabbed the first fishing magazine I saw. In the next twenty minutes I learned the finer techniques of using a chatter bait to fish for largemouth bass. That was followed by an article titled: Getting inside the mind of a bass. I looked over to see what Hank was reading. Clutched in his hands was a copy of GQ. He nodded his head as he read along. I smiled.

  “Officers?”

  Hank and I stood to greet the doctor.

  “I’m Doctor Wallace, Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve been treating Jake Richwood since he arrived early this morning.”

  The doctor extended his hand for a handshake. I took it.

  “It’s nice to meet you Doctor Wallace. This is Sergeant Rawlings, and I’m Lieutenant Kane with the TPD.”

  “What can you tell us?” Hank asked.

  “Let’s go down the hall to my office to talk.” Doctor Wallace motioned us to follow him.

  “After you, Mister Style.” I stepped out of Hank’s way and waved my hand for him to take the lead.

  He shook his head, smirked and followed the doctor. At the end of the hall we turned to enter his office. He closed the door behind us as we walked inside.

  “Take a seat.”

  Hank and I each grabbed a chair as Doctor Wallace rounded his desk.

  He sat and leaned back, making a face as if he was deep in thought. “Here is what I have for you Lieutenant.” Doctor Wallace opened a patient file on his desk. “First responders immobilized Mister Richwood when they arrived on the scene. They administered a GCS test, shows here he scored a five. The scale starts at three and goes up to fifteen—fifteen being the least injured on the scale. They began administering a hand ventilator to assist in his breathing and controlled the blood loss. Upon arrival to our facility, we diagnosed him with an acute subdural hematoma. We performed surgery to remove the pressure.” Wallace closed the folder and folded his hands together on top of the desk.

  “How is the outlook?” Hank asked.

  “Sergeant, when it comes to a brain injury like this, we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes up.”

  “Is he going to make it?” I asked.

  “I’m staying positive. We treated him pretty quickly.”

  “What about the cuts to his forehead?”

  “The writing?”

  “Yes.”

  “We got it stitched up. Whatever did it was thin and sharp. I’d guess a small knife. There should be minimal scarring. A cosmetic surgeon should be able to rid him of any signs of the lettering.”

  “Thanks doctor. Did anyone at the hospital get in contact with his parents?” I asked.

  “Pretty sure. Let me check.” Doctor Wallace opened the patient folder again. He ran his finger across the paper in the file. “Oh, guess we didn’t. Looks like we attempted to call Helen Richwood, his mother, twice but never got through.”

  “Do you have a house or mobile number you are trying?” I asked.

  “I have a home phone number and mobile numbers for both parents.”

  “OK, well, can we try a different one than last time?” I asked.

  Doctor Wallace picked up the phone and dialed. He cupped the mouthpiece. “Straight to voicemail,” he said.

  I heard the recording beep into Wallace’s ear.

  “This is Doctor Wallace from Tampa General Hospital. Mister Richwood, we tried reaching your wife earlier. Your son Jake has been admitted to our facility and we are attempting to contact you regarding his condition.” Doctor Wallace hung up the phone and stood.

  “You mind if I get those phone numbers you have listed for them? I’d like to keep trying to get into contact with them as well.”

  Wallace turned the sheet of paper with the numbers on it toward me so I could copy them down.

  I scribbled them into my notepad. “Thanks.”

  Hank and I got up to leave.

  “I’m going to leave you my card Doctor Wallace. Can you make sure to give me a call if there are any changes with him?”

  “Sure, Lieutenant.”

  Wallace took my card and examined it. He smiled. “I guess your number should be easy enough to remember?”

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s the same as my daughter’s but the last two numbers are reversed.”

  I nodded.

  Wallace looked up from the business card at me. I noticed his eyes were fixed on the side of my head.

  “You know we have cosmetic surgeons here that could clean that up a little.” He leaned in to get a better look at my scar.

  I pulled back and ran my hand across the scar. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Alright. You officers have a good day.”

  Hank and I walked to the elevator. He reached out and hit the button to take us down. “You should grow hair on that cue ball head of yours if you don’t want people staring at that zipper.”

  “I tried. It doesn’t grow right.”

  “Maybe a hat?”

  “No.”

  “Hairpiece?”

  I gave him a look and grabbed the time from my watch—it was a quarter past eleven. “Want to grab a quick bite before we head back to the station?”

  “Sure, where do you want to go?”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. We walked inside.

  “Someplace I can grab a salad,” I said.

  “Well, I’m going to eat garbage wherever we go. I haven’t had a decent meal in two weeks. Karen has been on some new fad diet. The other night we had kale chips for dinner. I figured it was punishment for something. Then, this morning she made me a spinach smoothie for breakfast. I ser
iously think she’s trying to poison me.”

  “Did she eat any of it?”

  Hank thought for a moment. “You know, she did have something else.”

  “Yeah, she’s trying to poison you.”

  Chapter 11

  Tom pulled the van back into his shop and shut it off. On the wall, he hit the button to close the overhead door and made his way to the back office. He unchained the door and entered. She hadn’t budged. He used an entire roll of duct tape to bind her to the office chair. Her head darted from side to side at the sound of his entrance. Tom approached and crouched in front of her.

  “I’m going to take the tape off your mouth. No screaming. Do you understand me? Nod if you understand.”

  Jessica nodded.

  He ripped the tape from her mouth as hard as he could. He showed no remorse. Jessica winced from the pain but stayed quiet.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  Tom leaned in, putting his face inches from hers. “Justice.”

  She choked at her words. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ll understand soon enough.” He stood and pushed the side of her head. Tom walked a circle around her. “Now Jessica, can you think of any reason why you’re here?”

  She began to cry. “No.”

  Tom grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. “Nothing?”

  She shook her head and gasped for air from her mouth. “No.”

  “So you’ve never done anything wrong to anyone?”

  Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I’ve never done anything. Why are you doing this?”

  “You’re about to find out. Are you ready?”

  “What do you mean ready? For what?” Her voice came in between short breaths from her mouth.

  Tom rolled Jessica from the office to the drain in the floor at the back of the shop.

  He took the corner of the duct tape that covered her eyes and ripped it from her face. The tape took chunks of her eyebrows with as he pulled it away.

  She yelled out in pain before opening her eyes. Tom stood before her. He smiled.

  The look on her face was that of immediate fear. “Oh my God! Help! Help! Someone!” she screamed.

  Tom reached back and punched her square in the nose. It burst into a spray of blood as she ripped back and forth in her chair. Tom stuck his finger in her face. “No screaming, Bitch!”

  She didn’t obey. “Help! Help!”

  Tom placed his left hand over her mouth to contain her outburst.

  She tried biting at his hand.

  He reached in her mouth, grabbed her tongue and jammed his fist between her teeth. “If you don’t shut the hell up I’m going to take this knife and cut out your tongue.” Tom pulled the knife from his pants and flicked open the blade.

  She quieted. Tom flipped the knife closed and jammed it back down into his pocket.

  “Looks like you know why you’re here now, don’t you?”

  She nodded. She tried mumbling something. He’d imagined it was some kind of plea. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.” He let go of her tongue and took his hand away.

  “It wasn’t my idea,” she said.

  “I wasn’t kidding about cutting out your tongue. Now zip it.” He walked to the bench. “Remember this?” He slid the tire iron from the top and started back toward her.

  Jessica shook her head. “Please no. Please God no.”

  He knelt back in front of her. “Did you think I’d forget? Or do nothing?” Each word out of Tom’s mouth was followed by a tap on her head with the tire iron.

  Jessica winced with each smack. “Where’s Jake?”

  Tom put his mouth an inch from her ear and whispered. “The morgue.”

  She began to cry. She squinted her eyes. Her tears mixed with the blood from her nose and streaked down her face. Her shoulders bounced from her erratic breathing. Tom watched her emotions.

  She opened her eyes. A look of anger crossed her face. “You were supposed to die you piece of shit!” She jerked at the duct tape binding her. Blood ran from Jessica’s nose down into her mouth. She gathered it and spit it at him—hitting him in the side of his pale, uncovered face.

  Tom licked the spit away from the corner of his mouth. “I think it’s time for you to check out.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth he raised the tire iron over his head. Jessica’s eyes looked up at the blow coming. She only saw the first one. The impact knocked her out cold. The second strike was fatal. Tom wasn’t through. He raised the tire iron in the air again, and again. Blood ran from the top of her head down onto her shoulders. Tom dropped the tire iron to the ground and grabbed Jessica by the bottom of the face. He pulled the knife from his pocket and held her head steady so he could work. The tip of the knife sunk in, stopping when it hit her skull. The letters flowed from Tom’s knife through her skin. He was getting better with practice. He put the knife away and stepped back. His chest heaved in and out as he sucked in huge breathes of air. His heart banged against his ribs. He closed his eyes and drew in breaths—in and out, in and out, each breath slower. He let his rage fade a little more with each filing of his lungs. He opened his eyes.

  “Your father is next.”

  Chapter 12

  We arrived back at the station a little before noon. Hank and I made our way through the cubicles of the bustling bullpen and parted ways—he headed off to his desk and I walked in to my office. I plopped down in my big leather chair, took in a deep breath and tried to get my bearings. It had been a long morning. I grabbed my notepad from my pocket and went over to my to-do list I started earlier. I needed to check and see what Forensics came up with, get out to the crime scene and get interviews set with the witnesses.

  The top of the list was as good a place as any to start. I got on the horn with Rick in our Forensics Department. The phone rang a couple times before he picked up.

  “This is Rick.”

  “Hey, it’s Kane. What do you have for me?”

  “Put together a folder from the parking structure. It’s mostly just blood evidence. I’ll have one of the guys bring it up.”

  “You guys didn’t get anything more from the Miller’s house?”

  “Pax brought over a report. He said that there wasn’t anything more than what he showed you at the scene.”

  “Sergeant Rawlings said something about tire tracks?”

  “Still working them.”

  “OK. Thanks Rick. Let me know when you get something on those tire marks.”

  “Will do.”

  I hung up with Rick and checked get forensics info off my list. I dialed up Hank’s desk.

  “Sergeant Rawlings.”

  “Hey, it’s Kane. Get on the phone and get something scheduled with those witnesses. I want to go to the crime scene and have a look around. Be ready to go in ten, I’ll meet you at your desk.”

  The ten minutes was enough time to cruise past the lunch room and see what kind of mood the coffee machine was in. An early morning mixed with little sleep was starting to take its toll. An espresso for the road would be just the ticket.

  I opened my office door and caught Captain Bostok walking into his office. I headed over.

  “Anything new, Cap?”

  “I just walked in the door. I had fliers made up with a photo I got from the judge’s house. He said it was the most recent photo he had. Here, take a stack.”

  He handed me a pile of around thirty fliers with all of Jessica Casey’s information. I looked the sheet over. She was twenty-two, blonde with big green eyes. She smiled in the photo showing perfect white teeth—an attractive young woman that came from money.

  “Get anything else out of the judge?” I asked.

  “I got a list of a couple of her friends that we can contact. Small list though, guess she spent most of her time with her boyfriend. What about you? Find out anything at the hospital?”

  “Well, we talked to the attending. He seemed optimistic the Jake would make it.”<
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  “That’s good. What are you guys working on now?” the captain asked.

  “Hank is getting interviews set with the witnesses from last night. Until then, I want head over to the crime scene and have a look around. We’ll see, maybe one of the nearby businesses caught the vehicle coming or going. It’s worth a shot.”

  “Keep me updated,” Bostok said.

  I nodded.

  I took the fliers with me and closed his door. I made my way to the station’s lunch room to try my luck with the coffee machine. From down the hall I could hear a familiar sound coming from the lunch room—banging. I rounded the corner and entered. The machine was occupied by a handful of officers beating on the sides of it.

  “Damn thing is broke again!”

  “What wrong with this piece of crap!”

  “Give me some damn coffee!”

  The officers shook the machine and rocked it from side to side. I turned around and continued back to Hank’s desk, there would be no espresso. Hank sat waiting as I arrived.

  “Get appointments set?” I asked.

  “Yup. One at three o’clock here, and one at five in Brandon.”

  I looked at my watch. We had enough time to get what we needed from the crime scene and still be back in time to meet with the witness.

  Hank tapped a folder on his desk with his finger. “Forensics just dropped off the file.”

  “Let’s take it with. Here, toss these fliers I got from the captain in there. Grab the case folder too.” I handed Hank the stack of papers.

  “What are these?”

  “Jessica Casey fliers with a recent photo and info,” I said.

  He looked a flier over and stuck the stack, plus the file from Forensics, into the folder for the case. We grabbed my unmarked Charger from the station’s lot and drove the four blocks to the scene. We pulled in and made our way up to the second floor. Brown stains of blood on the concrete confirmed the spot the attack took place. We parked and walked over.

  Hank opened the folder our Forensics Department put together. We spent a few minutes looking at the blood stains, trying to recreate what happened.

  “Looks like the drips start here and continue a few feet to here.” I pointed to the ground as I walked and the drips stains to the large puddle.