“Any idea who shot him?” Montalvo asked.
“The shooter’s name is Dexter Hudson,” he said. “My brother and Dexter were in prison together. Dexter knew my brother was going to rat him out, so he shot him.”
“Rat him out over what?”
“Dexter murdered Elsie Tanner.”
“Did your brother tell you that?”
“Yes, he did.”
Montalvo flipped a sheet on the notepad and kept writing. “Could you identify Dexter Hudson if you saw him again?”
“Yes.”
“Describe him.”
“About six feet tall, two hundred fifty pounds, a Fu Manchu mustache and sideburns. He has a muscular upper body but thin legs.”
“Sounds like you got a good look at him.”
“There’s a surveillance video from the Citrus Park Mall that shows him following Elsie Tanner. Deputy Stahl at the District III sheriff’s office has a copy.”
“You know Deputy Stahl?”
“I introduced myself to him earlier tonight.”
Montalvo flipped the notepad shut. “I know how difficult losing a brother is. I lost my own brother last year from an overdose. If you can find it in you, I’d like you to come down to the station house, and give us a full statement. It will really help our investigation.”
Lancaster was impressed. Montalvo had revealed a piece of himself in order to gain trust. This told him that Montalvo wasn’t just after a promotion, but had connected on a deeper level, and would leave no stone unturned finding his brother’s killer.
“I’d be happy to help you,” he said.
“Great,” Montalvo said. “Would you mind waiting inside the motel office until we’re done here?”
“Sure thing.”
Two dark SUVs pulled up to the curb, and their doors opened. Four men and two women climbed out and stood on the sidewalk beneath the harsh streetlight. Each wore a navy windbreaker with the initials FBI stenciled above the pocket. The cavalry had arrived.
“For the love of Christ,” Montalvo said under his breath.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I thought the FBI were the good guys.”
“Not this crew. I’ll be right back.”
Montalvo grabbed his partner and went over to talk to the FBI agents. It was not a pleasant conversation, and the agents rudely shone flashlights into the police officers’ faces, and ordered them to stand down. The officers meekly obeyed.
He scanned the agents’ faces and found Beth Daniels. Her hair was tucked under a ball cap, and her eyes bore a fury that came from a dedication to her work unlike any he’d ever seen. During their first date, she’d told him that most men didn’t find this side of her attractive. He’d realized later that she liked that.
Daniels moved to Logan’s body and crouched down. Holding a flashlight in one hand, she lifted the sheet and folded it back. With the same hand, she pulled back the collar on Logan’s shirt, revealing a crude tattoo on his neck. It was the kind of tattoo guys in prison got because they had nothing better to do. It said 666, the same numbers spray-painted on the victim’s driveway in Lakeland.
Daniels removed a digital camera from her windbreaker, and took several shots of the tattoo. She put the camera away and replaced the sheet. She rose to her full height and took a long look around the parking lot. A creepy-looking person had drifted in off the street. He looked like trouble, and refused to leave when Daniels told him to.
“You must be hard of hearing,” Daniels said.
The creep outweighed Daniels by fifty pounds and was a half foot taller. But that didn’t stop Daniels from twisting his arm behind his back, and marching him away from the crime scene. She gave him a shove, and sent him tumbling down the sidewalk.
“Don’t come back,” she warned him.
She took another look around. She still hadn’t noticed him.
Lancaster felt anger boil up inside of him. She’d never returned his messages or answered his texts. He’d been jilted by women before, and had gotten over it. But this time had really stung. Perhaps it was because Daniels had told him how much she enjoyed being with him. Most law enforcement officers had a hard time letting their guard down. But it had been easy when they’d been together. It had felt real.
A hand touched his shoulder. It was one of the other FBI agents.
“Did you see what happened?” the agent asked.
He nodded.
“Go inside the office. We’ll get a statement from you soon,” the agent said.
He glanced at Montalvo and his partner, who now stood beside the cruiser. Montalvo could not hide his disgust and shook his head.
“Fuck you,” Lancaster said.
The agent recoiled. “What did you say to me?”
“I said, fuck you, asshole. That goes for your whole team. You’re a bunch of god damn dickheads. Show the cops some respect, and you might get some in return.”
A flashlight’s beam hit Lancaster’s face. Daniels was pointing it at him.
“Jon? What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.
He glanced at Logan’s body, then back at her.
“He’s my brother,” he explained.
Chapter 11
Daniels pulled him into the motel office and slammed the door. She went to the window facing the street and struggled to lower the blinds. They came down crooked, and she let out a stream of obscenities that would have made a sailor blush.
He faintly sniffed the sweet smell of pot. A half-rolled joint and a bag of weed that he hadn’t noticed before lay on the counter, and he guessed Skip had been getting ready to light up a number when he’d heard the shotgun blast and stopped what he was doing to come outside. Back when he was a cop, he’d turned a blind eye to small quantities of dope when he’d run across it, believing that it was foolish to arrest people for a product that came out of the ground.
He scooped the joint and the bag off the counter and tossed them into a trash bin. Daniels was still messing with the blinds, and he went to assist her.
“Sit down. I’ve got it covered,” she said.
“You could have fooled me,” he said.
“Don’t be a wiseass, Jon. I’m not in the mood.”
He moved the folding chair into the middle of the room and parked himself on it. Daniels muscled the blinds down and turned to face him. Her cheeks were a pinkish salmon color, a clear sign that she was flustered.
“I didn’t know Logan was your brother,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“How long have you been chasing him?”
“Your brother’s been on our radar for several days. I need you to explain what you’re doing here. I don’t want to hold you any longer than I have to.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Holding me?”
“Yes. The FBI believes Logan was an accomplice to a murder and a kidnapping. Since he was your brother, you might have known what he was doing. That’s enough for me to hold you. If I don’t like your answers, I can arrest you.”
“Would you do that?”
“If I thought you were involved, yes.”
“But I wasn’t involved. Come on, you know me better than that.”
“I’ll be the judge of your involvement.”
He shook his head in disbelief. He liked Beth and would have trusted her with his life. He obviously hadn’t left the same impression on her.
“Now, tell me what you’re doing here, and don’t leave anything out,” she said. Her words felt like a slap to the face. He removed a pack of nicotine gum from his pocket and popped a piece into his mouth. He’d smoked when he’d been a cop but eventually quit. When he was tired or feeling down, the cravings reared their ugly head, and he had to fight them off.