Making it look like he didn’t care, Jimmy said, “Alice Quills? She’s not a real profiler. I mean she didn’t do the full-year training at Quantico. She just went to some in-service classes and then the thing where she rode with the Metro homicide guys. If you want, I’ll call her. And going to her won’t raise any eyebrows.”
Tasker noticed the loss of accent. Maybe too tired to keep up the façade? “Will you check your intel, too?”
“Technically, we’re not supposed to have intelligence files on groups like that.”
“Hey, I don’t know if he’s in any organized group. It was your intelligence files that said he was. I’m just asking you to look.”
Jimmy just nodded.
Camy asked, “Is Sutter still involved?”
“We’re all equal partners in this thing now.”
No one said anything, so Tasker took it as agreement.
Daniel Wells backed his newly acquired Ford pickup next to the small drab building. He’d already found a duplex in Florida City that had a carport in the back to hide the van. He’d settled into his new place with just the clothes on his back and a few things he’d picked up at Wal-Mart. At least now he knew exactly where he stood. These cops were serious and he was obviously wanted. He doubted if even his friend could help him anymore. It definitely meant he had to move on his plan as soon as possible. Since it didn’t revolve around a festival or concert, he could do it any time. He had already decided that a weekday was best, but other than that he had no restrictions, other than gathering all the necessary equipment and putting it in place. The only tricky thing was the big rig. First he had to get one, then he had to drive it. A few more lessons and he’d be good to go.
He hadn’t bothered to booby-trap this place. Usually, tricks like the Mace bomb only work once before someone is careful approaching a house. He also realized that no one knew he was here. He figured the call by the fire department had given him away at the trailer. That wouldn’t happen again.
He tried to watch the little color TV that came with the duplex rental and then tried to read a W. E. B. Griffin novel about marines setting up a weather station in China during World War Two, but he couldn’t concentrate. His urge was starting to consume him. He had to pull this off, and fairly soon, or he felt he might fade away, unrecognized and useless. What scared him was not the thought of his plan for downtown Miami, which he hoped might end his need for chaos, but the fact that he was already thinking of a bigger plan. One involving a pedestrian crowd, like at a mall or a music festival.
He got up and milled around the small rented house. Unable to concentrate on anything but his plan, he sat down at the rickety kitchen table and started to sketch out some diagrams for his escape. He was worried. His special feeling had changed, and changed in a big way. He’d always been able to do other things while looking forward to his little stunts, but this was different. Like entering a long tunnel and not knowing which way to walk to get out. He missed his kids, but even that feeling was muted by his need to go through with his plans. A night with Alicia would help. He didn’t even know where she was. He looked at his sketch and realized that he had drawn bodies on the sides of the streets. He hadn’t meant to, but his hand had a will of its own.
nineteen
Derrick Sutter had covered most of the obvious topless clubs in the city without finding the lovely Alicia Wells. Not that it was unpleasant duty, but he was getting tired. All he could figure was that the doorman at the Tittie Shack had tipped her off and she was long gone.
He pulled his Buick Century, the one issued to him from the now-closed robbery task force, into a spot near the Club Orion off Biscayne near I-395. He still had use of the car until the lease ran out in two months. He was the only guy from the task force left with one. Not that Dooley needed one in jail. As he thought about his former partner, he realized what a crazy few months this had been.
He straightened his tie in his reflection in the car’s window, checked to see if his eyes showed any lingering signs of the Mace attack from yesterday and moved his Glock from his hip to his waist so one of the girls brushing up against him wouldn’t notice it. He stopped in front of the simple entrance to the strip bar, looking up and down the street, trying to figure where the employees might park their cars. Every time someone walked in or out of the bar, a blast of loud music pounded in his ears. The dance club across the street had two uniformed cops at the door. He couldn’t see who they were, only that they were in uniform. Sutter figured he was far enough away that they wouldn’t recognize him.
Just as he was about to walk inside, the door opened and a woman walked out and immediately started up the side street. Sutter wasn’t paying attention but realized it was one of the dancers and saw she was blond. As he started after her, he realized the small lot behind the building held the employee vehicles.
“Alicia,” he called as he closed the gap on the fast-walking woman.
She gave no response.
When he was a few feet behind her, he said, “Alicia Wells,” and reached out for her arm.
She spun toward his touch, and before he could react he had a small canister of OC pepper spray pointed at him.
“No, wait,” was all he got out before she hit the button and covered him with orange spray. He immediately felt his eyes burn. He blinked, but it did no good as he went to his knees. “Jesus, what is it with your family and Mace?”
“Just leave us alone. Daniel didn’t do nothing wrong.” She stared to cry.
He coughed and felt snot pour from his nose. He coughed out, “Just want to talk to him.”
“Bull. He says you’re gonna arrest him.” She started to move away from him. “Please leave us alone.”
One of the cops from the dance club had trotted down the street when he heard both Sutter and Alicia yell. The wide, young black officer saw them on the sidewalk.
Just as the cop arrived, Sutter tried to stand. The cop put his hand on Sutter’s shoulder and said, “Hold on.” Sutter jerked away, not knowing who had grabbed him. Without warning, the cop pulled his own spray. Sutter opened his eyes just in time to realize a cop was with him and he was being sprayed again.
This time the accumulation of different pepper sprays caused him to go to his knees and vomit. He tried to gasp, “I’m a cop,” but it didn’t come out. He heard the cop yell to Alicia Wells, then spit up again.
Five minutes later, he listened to the cop’s apologies after he’d identified himself. Alicia Wells had gotten away without a trace. He was still in distress, but a hose near the parking lot of the dance club had given him some relief.
The young uniformed cop said, “Detective, I didn’t recognize you. I am really, really sorry.”
Sutter didn’t want this incident getting around any more than his earlier Macing. He gathered his breath and said, “If you and your partner can keep your mouths shut, I’ll forget the whole thing. But if someone comes up to me and mentions this, I’ll whip your ass. Understand?”
The young man nodded his head vigorously.
Sutter decided just to head home and call it a night. It had to be close to dawn anyway. As he stood up, his face burned again and he had to reach for the hose.
He thought, What a shitty couple of days.
It had been four or five months since Bill Tasker had been asked to enter the Miami office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. During the time he had worked on the robbery task force, Tasker had been housed in the off-site building a few blocks east. The FBI liked the idea of keeping local cops in a site that didn’t require as much security. The plain FBI building a few blocks south of Northeast 167th Street held a constantly shifting number of agents that nobody ever seemed able to pin to an exact figure.