“An FBI agent and a sheriff’s detective are visiting the ambulance services, asking for lists of the drivers. I think they’re looking for me.”
“What did you do?”
“My girlfriend put a restraining order on me for beating her up, and I violated it.”
Renaldo ended the call knowing he was in trouble. The FBI did not chase men who slapped around their girlfriends, but they did pursue those who cut people’s heads off. He’d pulled into a fast-food restaurant. He worked with two medics named Harry and Tommy. Harry and Tommy got out of the back of the ambulance, and went inside to get something to eat. They asked him if he wanted anything. Renaldo said no.
Turning on the radio, he dialed through the Spanish-speaking stations until he found one playing traditional rumba music, and turned the volume up high. He’d grown up listening to rumba, and it helped him think.
He had known that this day would eventually come. You could not kill prostitutes for as long as he had, and not expect to get caught. Only fools believed that the police would never find them.
Renaldo was not a fool. He had prepared for this day. Inside his house was a shoe box filled with cash; in his garage, a 4-wheel drive SUV with tags registered in his sister’s name that he renewed every year. His getaway car.
He would flee.
He had a place to escape to – a small, cinder block house in the center of the state, not far from a migrant farm camp where his dark skin blended right in. He’d been visiting that little house for years, stocking up on canned food, installing solar panels and a generator, getting ready for the day when he’d need to get off the grid.
That day had come.
But first he needed to cover his tracks.
The police did not know which ambulance company he worked for. If they had known, they would have already arrested him. The police would have to comb through the lists of drivers, and pick “persons of interest”. Then, they’d winnow those lists down to a few names, and haul those drivers in. That was how the law worked.
It would take time, and time was always on a criminal’s side. He had read that somewhere, and committed it to memory.
He would use that time to facilitate his escape.
His shift ended at midnight. His employer, Emergency Medical Services, was located on a back street in Sunrise. He parked the ambulance in the garage behind the building, and said goodnight to Harry and Tommy. Going inside the main office, he signed the log sheet, and struck up a conversation with Joey, the dispatcher.
“I hear the police have been sniffing around,” Renaldo said.
Joey had a cup of coffee in one hand, a smoldering cigarette in the other, his eyes ringed from lack of sleep. His wife had given birth a few weeks ago, and the baby was keeping the parents up at night.
“Who told you that?” Joey asked.
“A driver from another company called me,” Renaldo said.
“They haven’t been by to see me, I can tell you that. It’s probably nothing.”
“You’re probably right.”
Joey took a call on his cell. Renaldo stepped away from the desk, his mind racing. The police and the FBI had not visited EMS yet. It gave him an idea.
Joey told his wife he’d be home in a few hours, and hung up.
“No one told me having kids was this hard,” Joey said. “You have any kids?”
“A son,” Renaldo replied.
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
“A teenager, huh. He give you much trouble?”
“No, he’s a good boy.”
“You’re lucky. I hear teenagers are murder.”
“Why don’t you go home, and help your wife? I’ll take over for you.”
Joey perked up. “Seriously? You know how to handle the calls?”
“I’ve subbed before. Go,” Renaldo said.
Joey did not need any more encouragement. He grabbed his cigarettes and cell phone off the desk and was out the door in a flash. Renaldo stood by the window and watched Joey’s car peel out of the lot. He told himself it just might work.
Renaldo went outside. Harry and Tommy’s vehicles were gone. Popping the trunk of his car, he removed the Taurus.410 handgun, and went back inside.
He sat at Joey’s desk, the chair still warm. He placed an upside-down waste basket beneath the desk, and rested the Taurus on top of it, within the reach of his hand. Then he waited for the law to come calling.
Twenty minutes later, a blue Audi drove into the EMS lot and parked. Two shadowy figures sat in the front seats. Renaldo picked up the phone on the desk and pretended to be talking, his eyes glued to the figures.
The passenger door on the Audi opened. A light came on, illuminating the car’s interior. Behind the wheel sat the cute blond FBI agent he’d seen outside the Broward Library. She was very young-looking, and perky. A keeper, he decided.
A man climbed out of the Audi, and headed up the path. The man had a detective’s badge pinned to the pocket of his sports jacket, and had also been outside the library.
Renaldo continued to talk into the dead phone. For the first time, he noticed the framed wedding photograph of Joey and his wife sitting on the desk. If the detective came into the office and saw it, he’d know Renaldo wasn’t the dispatcher.
Renaldo cursed silently to himself.
The detective suddenly turned around, and walked back to the Audi. He gave something to the cute FBI agent, which led to a brief conversation. Renaldo slipped the framed photo into a drawer.
The detective came back up the path. Renaldo detected a slight lift to his step. Did the detective want the FBI agent? It certainly looked that way. Knowing this made her that much more desirable to Renaldo, and strengthened his resolve to possess her.
The detective entered the office. Renaldo said goodbye and hung up the phone.
“Can I help you?” Renaldo said pleasantly.
“I’m Detective DuCharme with the Broward Sheriff’s Department,” his visitor said. “I need to get a list of your ambulance drivers.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’ll ask the questions, okay?”
“Certainly. I’m happy to help if I can.”
“What’s your name?”
“Joey Gonzalez,” Renaldo replied.
“What do you do here?”
“I’m the dispatcher. My father owns the company.”
“How long have you worked here, Joey?”
“All of my life.”
“How well do you know your employees?”
“Very well.”
“I’m looking for a Cuban ambulance driver who’s been linked to a series of abductions of teenage boys. Two of the boys ended up dead.”
“How horrible.”
“We need to find this guy before he kills again. The driver is in his forties. He’s about my height, and powerfully built. Ring any bells?”
“That description matches several of our drivers. Can you tell me anything else about him?”
“He’s a loner, and probably isn’t married,” the detective said. “He may have gotten into trouble with the law before.”
Renaldo leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. It surprised him that the detective hadn’t asked to see some form of identification, but instead had chosen to take him at his word. The detective was either very tired, or very stupid, Renaldo thought.
“There’s a driver named Renaldo Devine who matches your description,” Renaldo said. “He’s a bit of strange one. Always talking about beating up women.”
Detective DuCharme perked up. “Has he ever been arrested?”
“I don’t know. If he has, he didn’t tell me.”
“Does he live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Ever married?”
“No. He has no close friends that I know of.”
“Have you seen Devine recently?”
“He ended his shift a half-hour ago. Said he was going to a bar down the road for a beer. He likes to drink.”
DuCharme smiled knowingly. He’d swallowed the bait whole.
“How about taking us to this bar, and pointing Renaldo out?”