Low men, p.30
Low Men, page 30
"Good idea," Slade said. "The captain is sending a forensics team over. They may as well do a full sweep." He glanced at the broken windowpane. "What do you make of this?"
"Obviously a break in but not much seemed disturbed," Kim responded.
"Except for this," Shanda said. She led Slade into the bedroom. "Take a look under the bed."
He kneeled down on hardwood floors and immediately noticed how dusty they were. He looked under the bed, noticed two square spots were cleaner and had drag marks out from under the bed. He stood up and dusted himself off. "That explains why that evidence was left here. She, assuming it was Selina, took two cases she kept under the bed."
"Seems that way," Shanda said. "Probably on foot, at least part way, so she could only carry the two and by the size, they might have been heavy."
"I didn't see any sign of packing up personal stuff or lady’s bathroom supplies, so she probably had a go bag," Kim said.
"And a bag of cash," Slade said. "If this is like the others."
"She probably saw the stakeout and broke in from the back to get the bags," Shanda said.
"Probably long gone by now," Kim added.
“A lot of probably’s.” Slade shook his head, frustrated. "See. If I could have gotten in last night..."
"Wouldn't have mattered," Shanda said. "We did not have a warrant."
"And the killer, or at least an accomplice, has walked free," Slade said and stormed out of the house.
❖
Back at the lab, everyone mulled around, unsettled.
Kim's phone dinged a text notification. "My contact in the stock market says that it looks like VRTactuals stock has bottomed out. The short position has been returned to the lender. Whoever did that just made a pile of cash."
Everyone let out gasps and curses.
"What the hell are we doing here?" Slade yelled. "How are we getting outmaneuvered like this?"
Before anyone answered, a desk phone rang. Shanda grabbed it. "Yeah." She listened for a few seconds and a look of shock washed over her face. "We'll be right there." She hung up.
Everyone looked at her while she paused. "Frank Dionisi has just been found dead in his car, in the parking garage of his building."
Without another word, they filed out. Slade was last to go. Dread festered in the pit of his stomach. He remembered Helena's words last night: "...Frank... has become more deviant and paranoid... I don't feel like I know him anymore. He scares me. I'm not sure he'll let me go." And her note this morning, "I need to take care of something. For us."
The words echoed in his mind as he followed the team downstairs, outside, and to the cruiser. He was happy to see them taking control of the investigation. Slade felt a little unmoored, the weight of his covert meetings with Helen taking their toll on his focus. He hadn’t anticipated how it would affect him, withholding from his team like this. It seemed to be driving a wedge into already taxed relationships. They had stood by him during Melody's death, and his subsequent depression afterwards. He felt thankful to have had them, but also felt their bonds crumbling as they moved through this investigation. He suspected that somehow, they all knew.
He wouldn't be able to keep this under wraps much longer.
They pulled into the crime scene, which had already been taped off by the responding officers. Owen and Shanda took the lead and interviewed him while Slade and Kim inspected the crime scene. Slade stood by the front fender of the Aston, looking through a window that had been blown out into the parking garage by a shot from inside the vehicle. The left side of his head had been blown out by the exit wound, bits of his skull and brains lay scattered on the concrete. Frank's body leaned to the side, head hanging out the window slightly. He was held upright by his seatbelt. His eyes stared wide, in a frozen state of shock. By the angle, it looked like the shot was from the passenger seat. There was no sign of struggle. He had known his shooter. He was buckled up and ready to drive away with them.
Shanda approached him while Owen continued with interviews. "This happened about an hour ago. No witnesses. The security cams were down."
"How do we know that so soon?" Slade asked, already knowing the answer.
"It was the first thing local PD sought out. They found the head of security for this building and had him look. All cams on the first floor and garage and outside were showing gray fuzz. They are trying to figure out why," Shanda said.
Slade looked over at Kim. She rolled her eyes. "I'm on it."
Slade looked into the car, took one last look at his childhood friend, his longest known companion, and stifled short sob. A single tear streamed down his cheek. Whatever Frank might have been, they had been close at one point. Slade had never wished this for him. The guilt of what he'd done with Helen settled on his shoulders. Guilt, a well-known companion that had ridden him down to his knees after Melody's death, was back now to take its toll for Frank's death.
Could she have done this? He hadn't seen Helen with a gun since he'd known her. But then again, he really didn't know this version of Helen outside their brief encounters. Maybe I never really knew her.
Shanda picked up on his reflection and walked up to stand beside him. She knew he didn't like to be touched, so she stood there in silence. Slade appreciated her for that. He looked up and nodded. "I'm okay."
"I know," she said and searched his eyes. "But you are different now."
He looked up and noticed the recognition in her eyes.
"Wherever you go from here, Mark, I wish you well." With that, she turned and went back to Owen, leaving Slade alone with his thoughts and the body of his dead friend, staring back at him from the seat of his Aston Martin.
❖
Slade let his team know he would walk back to the precinct. It was only a couple of blocks, and he needed to clear his head. Before he left, Owen had filled him in on a few facts. There was only one shot to the head from the passenger seat. Since no one had heard it, there was likely a silencer. There were no casings found. They were in the process of fingerprinting the door handle and the rest of the vehicle, but the passenger handle looked to have been wiped. The team was coming in for DNA samples, which hopefully would yield something if the killer had indeed sat in the front seat.
He pushed through the front door of the precinct and took no notice of the looks from the bullpen. He took the stairs leading to the second-floor lab two at a time. Once inside, he found his desk and fell back into his chair. He couldn't remember feeling so tired his entire life. The wine, the all-night sex, the stress of the past few days were mounting. Then he remembered the meds and the doctor's words. "Use these if you're feeling tired."
He hopped up and made a beeline for his downstairs office. He found the bottle of methylphenidate in the drawer, popped one in his hand, studied it for a second, then tossed it in his mouth and washed it down with a bottle of water. He grabbed one of the Ziplocs he’d made yesterday, with one of each dose, and shoved that into his back pocket. Then he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He wrestled with the idea of coffee as he tried to breathe deep. He was shocked awake by the landline in his office. It never rang. Curious, he answered.
"Detective Slade."
"Detective," the man on the other end said. "This is Greg from the forensics team assigned to analyze the fingerprints on this mini organ case. We've been trying to reach someone on your team. We had several prints on this case. And one set that could not be identified. I've emailed the results to your team, but I wanted to follow up and make sure you have them since I was told this is urgent."
"Let me check," Slade said. "Yeah, got it." He scrolled through the results. "What insight can you give me?"
"Well, we have 4 sets of prints total. The dominant print was from a Selina Berry. I believe she is a person of interest," Greg said. "Two more were identified as employees of the manufacturer. They require fingerprints of all employees. They weren't hard to track down. The fourth set remains unknown. Not present in any database."
"Okay," Slade said. "Anything else?"
"Not unless you have a question," Greg replied.
"For now, I'm good. Thanks for rushing this," Slade said and hung up the phone.
He sat back in his chair. His mind had kicked into gear. He took a deep swig of the water, then forwarded the email to his DEA contact. Done with that, he texted Sparkman. "Just emailed you fingerprint results. There is one unknown. Can you access Interpol?"
Sparkman replied in a matter of seconds. "Yeah, give me a few minutes."
Feeling better, Slade made his way back up to the lab. His team would be on the murder scene for some time, so he sat back at his desk and began rewinding the past few days events, making notes to see if he had misplaced any facts. The confessions with Helen had been confusing, but damning when it came to Selina and Frank. They hadn't had much time to theorize about the muscle suit Selina had stashed. Slade had been turning over a theory in his head for some time. If Selina wore that foam muscle suit and wore the right clothes, covered her face, she could look like a man on security cams. He recalled her muscular form standing in front of him when he initially tried to see Helen. With her experience in theft, she could have done these jobs, especially if she got inside help. Frank seemed the most likely culprit. With his company flailing, he'd been hiding a lack of progress while he philandered in his virtual sex kingdom. Maybe he'd been colluding with Selina to steal his own code, sell it and then take off. Maybe they had set up a shell corporation to short the stock. A little insider trading wouldn't matter if they reaped tens of millions from all this. Then maybe they met in the parking garage to finalize business and she shot him, not wanting to share. He turned this over in his head, but it left one question unanswered, the huge Skunk Ape theater. How could Selina pull that off? She was fit, but could she walk on stilts to make herself seem taller with the weight of a fake suit on? It puzzled Slade as he tried to consider this incongruity.
He also wondered about Vasiliy's role in all this. For all his history, he seemed to be on the fringes of these machinations. Before he made any progress on the thought, his phone dinged with a text notification. "See email. Unknown prints match Vasiliy Kuznetsov." Slade sat back. Holy shit. Of course.
A second text came in from Sparkman. "Got time for an update?"
Slade sent a quick reply. "Things are moving fast right now. Will catch you later."
Slade went to work on his computer. He brought up Vasiliy's file. He knew it was a long shot, but he tried a trace on the number that was listed for him. He came up with no results. Most likely it was either a land line or Vasiliy had the phone that matched that number turned off. Slade tried to think like a cybersecurity expert, which wasn't that hard for him. He searched over Vasiliy's file, then noticed something that caught his eye. The address for Vasiliy's cybersecurity company had the same zip code as the victim's house, Johanas. Slade did a quick search of the address and the location for his company came up. A residence adjacent to the house Johanas was killed in. He zoomed in on the map and saw that it was across the swampy lake not two houses north. How the hell did Kim miss that? Slade could see that Vasiliy had easy access to get into the house from the back, commit the crime, and make it back home in time to clean up and return to the scene at Frank's request.
Pieces began to fall into place. If Vasiliy had leverage over Selina and her brother, he could have been running them. He also would have wanted to eliminate Frank. And that would mean Selina was on the run, fearing for her safety. Before he could process it all, his burner phone notified him of a text. He sighed with relief, knowing it could only be from the flip phone he had passed to Helen. "Are you ready to start our new life?"
Instead of answering right away, Slade ran a quick trace on her number. She was on the road that led to Vasiliy's cybersecurity address, the house on the swampy lake across from Johanas. Helen was heading either towards or away from his house. He wondered if Vasiliy had her captive and was baiting him. Since they used regular SMS, flip phones couldn’t display read receipts, so the sender wouldn’t know if the message had been read. Slade mulled it over, then decided not to respond. He could drive out and, if he was careful, approach the residence without Vasiliy knowing it. He ran down to his car and tore out of the parking lot. Soon he was heading across town, winding through traffic, lights on, pushing 100 mph. As he drove, his mind went wild with jealousy as he tried to make sense of this connection between Helen and Vasiliy.
Chapter 29
Helen parked her plain white compact rental car on the side of the garage and walked around to the front porch. She stood at Vasiliy's door and took a deep breath before turning the knob to enter. She set her purse on his counter, pulled her thin leather gloves off and put them in the purse and made her way through the kitchen to the living room, which was empty.
"Back here," he called from the bedroom.
She walked in to find Vasiliy going over his bags, checking to be sure he had everything.
She looked down and saw the two large rolling suitcases sitting unzipped on his king-size bed. They were overstuffed with bundles and rolls of cash. She knew by the sight of them that Vasiliy had completed their deal, as well as emptied his safe.
"I assume everything went off without a hitch," she said.
"You assume correctly," he said.
"What of the Outfit?" Helen asked. "Have they completed the stock short?"
"That is not my business," Vasiliy replied. "But I assume so."
"I am happy to have this behind us. It has taken a long time," Helen said as she walked around the bed, running her hands over the cases of cash.
"Da," Vasiliy said. "It has. But it has been worth it, wouldn't you agree?"
Helen stared down at the cash with a longing that ran deep. "We can start a new life," she finally said. "A reason for celebration." She sauntered up to Vasiliy and hung her arms around his neck. "Wouldn't you agree?"
"We do not have time," he replied.
"It has been a while," she said. "I'm sure it will not take long. I will make us drinks." With that, she stepped back and headed out of the bedroom to the kitchen.
"Has your boyfriend been keeping you busy?" he asked after her.
From the kitchen, she answered. In the small home, it was easy to hear around the corners. "He is not my boyfriend," she replied. "Only tool for diversion."
The drinks only took a minute. Vodka, dirty, simple. She took the drinks back to the bedroom. Helen noticed he had zipped up the money cases and moved them off the bed to the floor next to the door, along with his other bags.
She handed him his drink. "Dirty, just like you like it."
"Da," he replied. "This worked very good for us." He raised his glass and so did she. "To our health," he said.
Helen nodded and watched as he downed his drink in one pull. She did the same and took his glass, setting them down on the dresser. As he always did, he waved a hand to let her know it was time to undress. She complied, shirt first. Then she slipped off her shoes and pants. Standing in her underwear before him while he did the same, she looked down and saw he still had his boots on. He sat on the bed, and she kneeled to help him take them off. He laid back on the bed and let out a deep sigh. Then she helped him out of his pants. He flinched as the waistband moved over the knife wound on the side of his leg.
“Careful,” he complained.
She paused for a moment to marvel at the size of him. He looked down at her and smiled for the first time.
"I never get tired of this." He let out a devious laugh and let his head fall back.
Helen moved up and began to do her job. Within minutes he had finished, and she lay beside him, still in her underwear, a hand resting on his chest, a look of disgust on her face. She watched as he fell into a deep sleep.
❖
Slade pulled over a few yards short of the address matching Vasiliy’s cybersecurity business. It looked like a remote house, just like all the others that circled the swampy lake. He creeped by the end of the wooded driveway and looked out the window to see what he could. He couldn't make out much but did see a compact white car, looked like a rental. He knew that if he pulled up the driveway, it would announce his presence. So, he drove past the entrance, parked, silenced his phone, and got out of the car. He picked his way through the wooded perimeter, gun drawn. The sounds of the woods seemed to engulf him as he approached the house from the left side. The covered porch was deserted, and all shades were drawn. He couldn't see inside. As he neared the house, he heard an insistent beeping from inside. Motion sensor alarms. He pushed himself up against a wall and listened to the rustling inside. Then he heard a man yell loud. "Son of a bitch!"
More rustling from inside as he peered around the front edge of the house to see if anyone was coming out. He didn't see anybody, so he made the front porch and approached the door on his left, then passed it and paused, trying to determine what direction the noises inside were heading. He heard heavy footsteps. They moved across the front and into the garage. He heard another loud curse, this time in Russian. More loud crashes and rustling, then the front door opened. Slade spun to face it. Vasiliy burst out with one bag slung over his right shoulder, carrying another with his left hand. He stood there in black jeans, boots pulled on but not laced and a long-sleeved shirt half buttoned up. He looked like he had just woken up.
"Freeze!" Slade shouted. "Police! Put down the bags and put your hands up! Do it! Now!"
Vasiliy stepped away from the door, further out onto the porch. He stopped in front of Slade, turned, and glared at him with that same hard look. Several seconds passed as they locked eyes. Slade furrowed his brow and sunk deeper into his stance, a natural reaction from years of training.
Vasiliy surprised him by chuckling. "She has screwed us both."
"Fuck you, Vasiliy. Put those bags down and get on your knees."
"Fucked you literally and me metaphorically," Vasiliy said as he lowered the bag he had been carrying in his left hand. "Relax detective, don't get too jumpy." He let the strap of the other bag slide over his shoulder and down his arm until he caught it with his right hand. "Helen is quite the woman. Wouldn't you agree?"
