Caliber Detective Agency Box Set 3 Read online

  Williams shook her head. “The Vietnam war ended before we were born. I guess this woman never had the heart to change anything.”

  “What’s our next step?” Shea asked. “Talk to the neighbors?”

  “We’ll work this floor together, then split up to talk to the rest of them.”

  On the way out, Shea checked the door and saw that it hadn’t been kicked in, nor were there any pick marks on the lock.

  “Whoever she let in, she must have known them.”

  “Maybe,” Williams said.

  “So how come you don’t like Kevin’s ma?”

  “She once called me a scheming bitch.”

  “Yeah,” Shea said, “That would do it for me too.”

  Once they were back in the hallway, Shea and Williams met the building manager and his wife. They were Dan Jones and Celia Jones. Dan Jones was built like a former linebacker and had brown hair worn in a crew cut. His wife, Celia, wore a sad expression. She asked the detectives a question that was on her mind.

  “Do you think the killer is still in the building?”

  Detective Williams asked the couple a question of her own.

  “Did Mrs. Hart ever have trouble with anyone that you know about?”

  Dan Jones smiled. “That old lady was a saint, Detective. I can’t imagine anyone ever had a problem with her.”

  “Would you happen to know the names of any of her visitors?”

  “I don’t think she had any visitors,” Jones said. “Not since her sister died, and that must have been three or four years ago.”

  “What about you, how often have you had to go inside the apartment to repair something?”

  Jones shrugged his huge shoulders.

  “I replaced her bathroom faucet about a week ago. She made us cookies, remember that, Celia? They were some of the best oatmeal raisin cookies I ever had.”

  “Do you have a pass key for the apartments?”

  “Sure, you know, for emergencies, but I never needed to use hers, and I keep them locked away in a safe.”

  Williams handed Jones her card. “If anything comes to mind, call us.”

  “I will, and I hope whoever killed Mrs. Hart roasts in hell.”

  After the couple walked away, Shea asked Williams a question.

  “Should I find out if the master key to the apartment is missing?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea, but I think the old lady let in someone she trusted, but shouldn’t have.”

  “I know, otherwise, the door lock would be busted.”

  Williams sighed. “Expect a late lunch break today. This damn place has a lot of apartments.”

  “Whatever you say, partner.”

  Williams smiled at Shea.

  “You’ve got a good attitude, O’Reilly. Hang on to it, or this job will eat you up.”

  “I’m tougher than I look,” O’Reilly said.

  “That’s not what Lieutenant Delaney said about you.”

  “Oh yeah, what did the Lou have to say?”

  “He said you were as tough as they come.”

  Chapter Three

  “It sounds like I’ll essentially be a bodyguard for this guy,” Chris told his grandfather.

  “You’ll protect him, yeah,” the old man said. “But first, you have to track him down.”

  A man named Louis Ortega hired the Caliber Detective Agency to find his employee and friend, Moises Sanchez.

  Sanchez stopped coming to work and went into hiding when he heard that a newly-released ex-con named Francisco Martinez had come to Ortega’s car dealership looking for him.

  Martinez had been convicted of assault and spent a year in prison because of Moises Sanchez’s testimony. Martinez had been beating his wife and Sanchez had seen him slap her in the hallway of their building. When Martinez’s wife had enough of him, she had him arrested.

  “You need to find Sanchez before Martinez does.”

  “Did his boss have any idea where to look for him?”

  “No, but he thinks he’ll be staying in homeless shelters.”

  “Why a homeless shelter? Doesn’t the guy have any friends or family he could stay with?”

  “Not a one, Chris. Sanchez is an illegal whose only friend is Ortega. Ortega says the guy doesn’t have a lot going on upstairs, but Ortega had been friends with Sanchez’s father back in Mexico. He thinks Sanchez is afraid to return to his rooming house because Martinez might be there.”

  “Ortega gave Sanchez a job at his dealership?”

  “Right, the guy keeps the lot clean of litter and does other odd jobs.”

  “Ortega’s a good man to look out for Sanchez, but what if Martinez already found him?”

  The old man pointed at the phone on his desk.

  “He likely hasn’t. Ortega called me an hour ago and said that Martinez was back at the dealership looking for Sanchez again. He said he comes in there every day around nine.”

  The old man passed Chris a photo.

  “That’s Ortega on the right and Sanchez on the left.”

  “Sanchez has a streak of white in his hair. Good, he’ll be that much easier to spot.”

  “One more thing, Sanchez doesn’t speak a word of English.”

  “Great, and I barely know any Spanish. My best bet might be to talk to Martinez. Maybe I can frighten him off.”

  “Maybe, but be ready to fight him. He sounds like a hothead.”

  Chris got up from his seat and headed for the door.

  “I’ll change into some old clothes before visiting the homeless shelters. If I go in there dressed in a suit everyone would think I’m a cop.”

  “Smart boy, and keep me informed.”

  Chris returned to the reception area. Seeing that Lauren was only filing papers and wasn’t on the phone, he stopped to talk to her.

  “I have to find someone before another man does. This other man wants to beat the first man up.”

  Lauren frowned. “Don’t get caught in the middle.”

  “That’s the whole point, to get between them, but I’d better find a good translation App for my phone. One of the men only speaks Spanish.”

  “I speak Spanish, call me if you need any help.”

  “Look at you, Miss multi-lingual. Kelli better watch it or you’ll steal her job.”

  “I’m only up here temporarily.”

  “You’re not leaving us I hope?”

  “No, but once Kelli comes back I’ll be moving downstairs to be your mother’s assistant again.”

  “Good,” Chris said. “I would hate to see you go.”

  “Good luck with your case, Mr. Cal—I mean Chris. Good luck, and be careful.”

  “Thanks, and I’ll see you around.”

  Lauren went back to filing as Chris stepped onto the elevator. He watched her work until the doors closed and blocked his view.

  “This girl has a juvie record, doesn’t she?” Rayne said.

  She was looking at a picture of Andrea Cole, the girl who went missing after her boyfriend began dating her sister.

  “She’s had some minor trouble, such as fighting in school and underage drinking, but how could you tell?” Gail asked.

  Velma answered, as she held up Andrea’s photo.

  “The girl looks like trouble. Even from a photo you can tell she has a chip on her shoulder.”

  Gail hit a button on her laptop.

  “I’ve just sent you both Marsha’s address. She’ll be expecting you. You’ll also be able to speak to her other daughter, Teresa.”

  The women stood and both sent Gail a smile.

  “We’ll find the girl, Gail, don’t worry,” Velma said.

  Once outside, Velma asked Rayne a question as they walked toward the nearby parking garage.

  Rayne had been looking back at the new glass building across the street. Her gaze had been focused on a set of windows on the fifth-floor. They were windows that were directly across from the Caliber building.

  “Do you want to take my car or would you r
ather drive?”

  “I’ll drive,” Rayne said.

  “All right, and Rayne, I guess I’m glad they didn’t fire you.”

  “Right, Velma.”

  Velma stopped walking and turned to face Rayne.

  “I knew you were after Chris from day one.”

  “Um-hmm, but that’s in the past. Right now, all I want to do is find this girl and call it a day.”

  Velma let out a huff in frustration. It was hard to argue with someone when they didn’t want to cooperate.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I want to drive.”

  “Whatever,” Rayne said.

  Velma narrowed her eyes, then began walking again. Her gait had turned from a stroll to a march.

  Teresa Cole looked a lot like her sister, but her face held none of the “I am a bitch,” attitude that her sister’s demeanor radiated, even from a photo.

  Rayne and Velma spoke to the seventeen-year-old as Teresa sat beside her mother on the living room sofa.

  “I liked Mark the moment I met him, but I did nothing about it until Andrea began treating him like crap.”

  “What does ‘treating him like crap,’ mean?” Velma asked.

  “She was always putting him down, dissing his car, asking him why he didn’t get a real job instead of working for his father. Mark’s an apprentice plumber. That’s a great job, but Andrea said it was boring and dirty.”

  “How did she find out about you two?” Rayne asked.

  “We told her. We kissed here on the couch the other night, just one kiss. Mark jumped up and apologized, but I told him that he didn’t have to and that he should break up with Andrea.”

  “Mrs. Cole,” Rayne said. “Has Andrea ever run away before?”

  “Not really.”

  “Could you clarify that?”

  “She left in a huff after we had an argument a few months ago and stayed out all night without calling. The next day I learned that she had stayed with a friend.”

  “But not this time?”

  Marsha Cole dabbed at her eyes with an already damp tissue.

  “No, and I can’t imagine where she is.”

  “That’s why we’re here, Mrs. Cole, and we’re both good at finding people,” Rayne said, and then she sent Velma a slight nod.

  On the ride to the house in Forest Hills, Queens, Rayne and Velma had agreed to separate mother and daughter at some point.

  Velma smiled at Marsha Cole and asked a question.

  “Could I have a cup of coffee?”

  “Oh, yes, and where are my manners. Miss Carver, would you like something to drink as well?”

  “No ma’am, I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be right back, Miss Parker.”

  “That’s all right, I’ll tag along,” Velma said.

  Once she was alone with the girl, Rayne stared at her.

  “What really happened the other night to make Andrea run away like she did?”

  Teresa looked down at her hands, which were clenched together on top of her lap.

  “Teresa, you can tell me the truth, and the more I know, the better.”

  “You won’t tell my mother?”

  “It’s why we’re talking alone.”

  Teresa wiped at tears. “Andrea found us in my bedroom together.”

  “Mark was sleeping with both of you?”

  “No. Andrea and he haven’t… she’s been getting more involved with her drugs. Mark and I will smoke some, you know? But Andrea, I think she’s even tried heroin.”

  “Where does she get these drugs?”

  “There’s a guy who hangs out at the park named Felix. He drives an old red sports car, you know, the one named after a horse.”

  “Do you mean a Mustang?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Who is Andrea’s best friend?”

  “She doesn’t have one, but her and a girl named Diamond X used to be tight.”

  “Her name is Diamond X?”

  “She’s Sheila Watkins, but that’s what she calls herself. Sheila wants to be a singer. You can probably find her at the grocery store on the corner of Queens Boulevard and 69th street. Her parents own the place.”

  “This is the same friend your mother mentioned?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you, Teresa, and is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Yeah, please find Andrea. The drugs have made her weird lately, but I love my sister.”

  Rayne smiled. “We’ll do our best.”

  Chapter Four

  LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

  Sammy Sloan, the son of famed private eye, Sam Sloan, was startled along with the other customers in the bank. Three armed men had entered the building while firing shots into the ceiling.

  “Everybody get down on the floor, now!”

  Sammy complied along with everyone else, including the bank guard, who was wise enough to not reach for the gun on his hip.

  While one of the robbers disarmed the guard, and kept a shotgun leveled on the customers, the other two masked men jumped over the counter and started grabbing the cash.

  One of the female tellers was beautiful. After grabbing the money she had, the man gripped her chin and kissed her forcibly as she struggled to get away. As the man ended the kiss, the mouth seen in the cut-out of the mask was smeared with red lipstick.

  “Damn, that was good, but now I’m gonna try for a little tongue,” the man said, and as he spoke, he pawed the woman’s breasts.

  “Leave her alone!” Sammy said.

  The man turned his head and smiled at him, the black mask and the lipstick making him look grotesque.

  “Oh, shit. We have a hero.”

  The man left the woman and bounded over the counter. After tossing a bag full of money at one of his partners, he reached down and grabbed a handful of Sammy’s long hair, to yank him to his feet.

  Sammy Sloan was about six feet tall, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. The hair was plentiful, reached down to the middle of his back, and was joined by a full thick beard.

  Once the man had Sammy standing, he shoved him back against the counter, moved in close, and stuck the barrel of his gun beneath Sammy’s chin.

  “Give me some shit now, hero,” the man said.

  When Sammy remained silent, the man laughed.

  “That’s what I thought, you got no balls.”

  One of the other robbers tapped the man on the shoulder.

  “Bro, there’s no time for play, c’mon, we gotta git.”

  The man released Sammy, then he kicked his feet out from under him to send Sammy crashing to the floor.

  “Stay down, bitches!” the man said, and followed it by sending a shot into the ceiling.

  Sammy made it to the door in time to see what they were driving. It was an old muscle car with a gray primer paint job. The car peeled away from the curb and Sammy stepped outside.

  Sirens were growing near by the time Sammy made it to his car in the parking lot. After driving only two blocks away, he parked, then opened his laptop.

  He was looking for an App he had installed which would could give him the last known location of his phone.

  Sammy no longer had his phone. He had slipped it into the jacket pocket of the bank robber while the man was threatening him.

  The app told him that his phone was still headed east. Sammy drove to that position, where he once again looked up the last known location of the phone.

  A half hour later, he was staring at the muscle car with the primer paint job. It was sitting beside a construction trailer out in the Nevada desert. The trailer was up on blocks and had blacked-out windows that were covered with wire.

  Sammy was viewing the scene from a cliff by using a pair of binoculars he always kept in his glove box. Another item taken from the glove compartment was an old Smith & Wesson revolver that had belonged to his late father.

  The last known location of his phone had been reported as being back out on the highway. Sammy had feared that his phone h
ad been discovered and tossed away. But as he moved slowly along the shoulder of the road while looking for the bank robbers’ car, he’d seen tire tracks leading off into the desert.

  Those tracks were faint in a layer of sand that covered what had once been a road. Sammy had followed the tracks until he’d spotted the trailer in the distance.

  There were four men inside the trailer, the three men that had been inside the bank, along with the getaway driver.

  Sammy Sloan considered his options. He could leave and go find a cop or a phone, but the men could be gone when the police arrived. Maybe sending an email to a friend on his laptop would work, but he couldn’t be certain they would open it soon enough to be of help. He supposed that the cops had an email account, but who the hell knew what it was?

  Sammy left the cliff where his car was parked out of sight and moved on foot toward the scene below.

  As he crawled closer to their car, Sammy could hear the men’s laughter drift out of the trailer. That was good. If they made a lot of noise, they’d be less likely to hear him moving about.

  He had just used his knife to puncture the driver side tires when the door on the trailer burst open.

  “I’ll be right back. I left my smokes in the car,” said a voice.

  When the man walked around to open the driver’s side door, he noticed that the tires were losing air fast.

  “What the hell?” he whispered to himself.

  An instant later he was on his back. Sammy had reached out from beneath the car to grab the man’s ankles. The thug went down hard while grunting. Sammy scrambled out from beneath the car, crawled over the man, then brought the butt of his gun down hard on the middle of the punk’s forehead.

  When the man opened his mouth to cry out, Sammy hit him again, and the man went limp. The guy was stick thin, and too short to have been any of the three men who entered the bank, so he was the driver.

  Sammy checked the guy’s pockets, and yes, the man had a phone.

  No signal. Not even one bar.

  Sammy had feared that would be the case. It explained why his own phone’s last known location was back by the highway. That was the last place his phone had been near a cell tower, where it could receive a signal.