The World in Reverse Page 8

  “Without a warrant?” Nicola laughed. “I’ve dealt with Cane, okay. He called his lawyer before he capped this dude. Not a judge in the city will give us a warrant based upon the evidence we have and not a lawyer in the city wouldn’t take the case if we fucked this up.”

  “Well, we are running out of options. We have to do something. Okay. My idea is obviously out. So what now?” Johnson asked, scratching the five o’clock shadow staring to form on his face. “We’ve got no video here, but there must be surveillance somewhere in the area that we can use to narrow down who was in this place during the time of the murder.”

  “Let’s go across to the Madison Hotel. I know the manager there. He’s cool people. Maybe he’ll let us view the camera footage from that vantage point and get an idea of who came in and out of here right before and right after the murder without a fucking subpoena.”

  “Good idea,” Johnson said, winking at Nicola. “You might just be useful yet.”

  ***

  Nicola and Johnson only had a small window to snoop unofficially. It wouldn’t be long before Graham and her homicide detectives actually assigned to the case made their way across the street for the same reason. In preparation, Nicola had asked the manager to keep their inquiry confidential. The manager had agreed reluctantly, but owed Nicola a favor from a few years back.

  Quickly, they ran through the tape and found that four cars had come through in the last hour. Twist’s Rover was the second car in, followed by two additional vehicles.

  “The Mercedes Benz that came in before Twist had a man and woman inside. They came across the street to the hotel,” Johnson said, logging the information down in his notebook.

  “Yeah, they’re not who we’re here for,” Nicola said, sucking at his teeth. “The two cars that came in after Twist… they both had tinted windows. A Dodge Ram and a Ford Mustang. Ten minutes apart. Can we zoom in on a tag?”

  The security manager zoomed in on the back of the car. “We lose a little clarity on the Ram, but it’s a Tennessee tag.”

  Johnson wrote down the number. “I’ll have it called in.”

  “And the Mustang?” Nicola asked, leaning closer to the monitor.

  The manager ran the tape forward and then stopped as the Mustang pulled into the garage. “It’s an Arkansas tag.”

  Johnson wrote down that tag number as well.

  “Now fast forward to when they are coming out,” Nicola said, anxiously. He prayed that he had a good shot of Cane’s face.

  He had no such luck.

  Both cars barreled out quickly into the streets, a clear picture unattainable because of the light missing in the front of the building and dark tint. But they could tell that the Dodge Ram had two occupants, both white males. One was heavy set, the other smaller framed. The mustang was being driven by a black woman. From what they could tell, she was alone.

  “We need to find out who these people are, where they are and what they were doing there,” Nicola said more to himself than Johnson.

  “On it. I’ll get it run tonight. Now let’s get out of here before Graham shows up. She’s going to have our asses if she catches us in here,” Johnson said, standing up.

  Nicola stood up also, taking one last look at the screen. “Thanks so much, Richwell,” he said, shaking the older white man’s hand.

  “No problem. Any time,” Richwell said, reaching over to shake Johnson’s hand as well. “You gentlemen have a safe night.”

  ***

  By the time that Nicola got home, everyone in his house was asleep. Inching through the hallways in the dark, he checked the doors and windows downstairs, then rearmed the alarm. Walking slowly up the staircase, he held on to the alabaster banister praying for enough strength to get out of his clothes and into the shower without passing out.

  At the top of the stairs, he went down the left wing of the house to check on his sons. The first bedroom down the hall belonged to his elder boys. He opened the door to find them in their twin beds asleep. The room was a complete mess. Toy soldiers were strategically placed around the room for battle tomorrow. The television had been turned on after Ivy had put them to sleep and turned down low to be undetected. Clothes were thrown in the corner and a huge ball of Play Dough sat top one of the boy’s study tables drying up.

  Nicola went in and kissed each boy on the head, turned off the television and carefully tiptoed out of the room, trying not to fall over anything.

  When he got to his younger sons’ room, the mess was basically the same. Ivy normally got on to them and made them clean up before bed, but he knew that tonight she was exhausted. He nuzzled in to David’s curly black hair and kissed his forehead, tasting spaghetti sauce on his lips. That was his boy…messy as hell. The funny thing is that he probably made it through a whole bath without removing that speck of sauce.

  Michael in the twin bed beside his brother and was hugged up tight to his brown teddy bear, sleeping without a care in the world. Nicola bent to kiss his forehead, then turned off the lamp beside him. Before he walked out of the room, he looked back at his boys and felt a deep since of pride. Nothing mattered more than them. These children and the woman in the next room was his reason for living. That’s why he felt so strongly for the parents of all the victims. He knew that he could not stand in their shoes. He could not have been as strong as many of them had been.

  Courage had many faces. The women and men of the children were all courageous, but they needed someone on their side, someone who wouldn’t tire out, give up or punk out. And he had been tapped by the powers that be to be that man.

  Coming out of the room, he looked down the hallway at his office at the end of the hall and debated whether or not he should go in and check a few emails and do some work, but his body reminded him that in order to do anything for anyone else, he’d first have to take care of him. So he opted to head down to the right wing, where his wife was surely asleep and probably would not feel him when he finally slipped into bed.

  The door to the bedroom was open, which was nothing new for Ivy. When Nicola wasn’t home, she always kept the door open to hear the children. She was nearly as paranoid as he was but not about burglars and other criminals, but about fire, falls and mishaps.

  He walked slowly to his side of the bed and noticed that she had pulled back the covers for him and set his pajamas on top of his pillow. Again, even when she didn’t have to - shouldn’t really- she made life easy on him in ways that only she could.

  You’re too good for me, he thought to himself as he watched her sleep. Her hand was up near her face and the other was cupped under the pillow. Her black inky mane splashed across the white pillowcase, so inviting that he wanted to rub through it now, even in his exhaustion.

  She slept quietly in the dark with only the glow of the moon shining through the blinds to light up the room. Her brilliant brown skin, blemish free, make up free and absolutely beautiful. To him, she was his symbol of peace. He stood there for a moment, drinking her in before he picked up his pajamas and went into the bathroom to change.

  Closing the door, before he turned on the light, he slowly released the knob and set his clothes on the chair by the wall. As he was about to pull off his shirt, his cell phone rang, booming through the silence like a thunder bolt.

  “Shit,” he said, fumbling for his phone. “Hello.”

  “It’s Amy down at the morgue,” a woman said in a nasally tone. “Strangest thing. We found a jump drive inside of your vic.”

  Nicola leaned against the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. “A red jump drive?” he asked with a huff.

  “That’s right,” she said, sounding a little surprised.

  “Fuck,” Nicola spat. He was dead dog tired and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Looking at his watch, he wiped the stubble forming on his face. “Can you hang on to it until tomorrow?”

  “Sure thing,” she said, preoccupied with her work.

  “Thanks, Amy.”

  “No problem.”
/>
  With that, he hung up the phone. He knew that in the back of his mind, he would be preoccupied with the jump drive all night, but he desperately needed to rest.

  Dialing Johnson, he waited.

  “Yeah,” Johnson said, answering on the first ring.

  Nicola spoke up louder even though he didn’t want to wake up Ivy because of the background noise from Johnson’s phone. Evidently, he was out partying. “Twist had my jump drive in his stomach,” Nicola said, hoping Johnson might go down and get it right then.

  “He swallowed it?” Johnson asked.

  “Yeah,” Nicola said yawning.

  “What do you think is on it?”

  “Evidently more than I gave him,” Nicola said, wondering if he didn’t need to go on and go himself. It was only a twenty-minute drive.

  “Well, good. Maybe all isn’t lost,” Johnson said, moving to a quieter place. “So we should go down and pick it up tomorrow morning, after the news conference.”

  “Shit, I already forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me. Yeah, we need to do that.”

  Johnson paused to watch a woman walk past him. “I’ll hook up with you after Amway’s thing.”

  “Alright. I’m going to hit the sack.”

  “I’m going to get a lap dance,” Johnson said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Nicola shook his head. “See you in the morning, man.”

  8

  The smell of early morning eggs scrambled with real butter and then covered in three cheeses left a lingering fragrance of a well-balanced breakfast sorely missed in the air as Nicola finally rolled over in bed and realized that he was alone. His hand raked over the goose down comforter before he pushed his head up and looked over at the nightstand. 8:45 a.m.

  Dammit. He had overslept again.

  Grabbing the remote, he flicked his wrist at the television embedded in the wall and turned to CNN. Don Lemon was reporting on the situation in Afghanistan, while outside of Nicola’s large Victorian windows opened to let sunlight through the white plantation blinds, the drizzling rain subsided and blue skies peeked past patches of dark rain clouds.

  He turned his attention back to the television.

  “On another note, Memphis, Tennessee is still in the headlines as they race to find the serial murderer and rapists of elementary children in the area. They are calling these the Baby Boy murders. So far there have been four young male victims ranging in age from six to nine, including two twin boys from Idlewind Elementary school only a couple of blocks from the West Precinct of the Memphis Police Department. The outcry from community has reached fever pitch. A joint news conference with the mayor of Memphis and the director of the Memphis police department is scheduled for later today. Dave Hammond is in Memphis with more. Dave,” Lemon said as the video cut to a backdrop of the police station downtown in Memphis where a man stood with a microphone.

  Nicola grunted and changed the channel.

  Great. That was all he needed - more press meant more pressure.

  Of course, the media was portraying the department as less than competent in finding the person or persons responsible for the baby boy killings, when in fact every resource available was being used to put an end to this continuing massacre. Unfortunately, the department’s public relations department was not nearly as aggressive about controlling the message as the national media was.

  Pictures of the dead and missing children had gone viral on several underground blogs and Twitter; radio shows across the nation were discussing the case and interviewing the parents and every family in the city was scared to death to let their children out of their sight.

  Ivy was right. This was going to be a media circus. He had participated in news conferences before, but none had been this high profile.

  Evidently, he’d need to wear a suit today.

  ***

  Ivy turned off her television, picked up her folders off her well-organized desk and headed to the conference room to meet with her 9:00. Assistant in-tow, she made her way down the elaborate halls of the upscale marketing firm she had worked for since graduation through the glass doors of the conference room of the hall and greeted her boss.

  “How are you today, Ivy,” Mr. Letiwich said, raising his head from the executive summary that Ivy had submitted.

  “Doing great, sir. How are you this morning?” she asked, pointing at her assistant to set out the portfolio folders with the integrated strategy that she had been working on for the last three weeks.

  “Just doing some damn-good reading. This is thorough. The client will be happy. Sorry that I couldn’t read it before and give you feed back. I just got back in town from D.C. early this morning. Plus, I knew that I could count on you.”

  “I’m happy to lighten the load, sir,” Ivy said, pleased that he was pleased.

  “How’s the family? How’s the husband?” he asked, taking off his reading glasses and setting the brief in front of him. His well-manicured hands brushed over the leather cover.

  “We’re great, but Nicola was just assigned to the Baby Boy murders,” she said so with a certain amount of pride in her husband and frustration that such a case even existed.

  “Wow, high profile,” Mr. Letewich said, wheels spinning. “Sounds like Amway needs a PR firm to help back him on this one.”

  “You have his ear,” Ivy said, sitting down. “You should give him a call.”

  “Wouldn’t be a conflict of interest in anyway, and this firm thrives off crisis communications," he said, talking himself into the call.

  “Yes, sir,” Ivy answered, unsure of what else to say.

  “I’ll give him a call this afternoon. Tell Nicola congrats for me, will you. That’s a big case. If he solves it, which I’m sure he will, there will be a significant promotion involved, I imagine.”

  “Hopefully something that puts him behind a desk,” Ivy said half-hearted.

  “Well, either way. You and Nicola and me and Barbara need to get together for dinner soon. It’s been a while,” he said with finality.

  “Absolutely. I’ll have Marsha check your schedule,” she said, cueing her assistant to make a special note to do that today.

  Ivy’s assistant placed a cut of hot green tea in a simple white mug in front of her and stepped away. The steam billowed out and wafted up to her nose.

  “Thank you, Lisa,” Ivy said softly.

  Letewich continued. “Now, on to the other piece of business, the Blue Top Brewery is scheduled for 9:00. What do you have in store for them besides this amazing executive summary?”

  “A fully integrated strategic plan ready to implement after they select us from the RFP pool and some superb mock-ups. Also, I had Warren develop a possible App for them,” she said, ready to pitch.

  “We’ve got a few minutes. Run it back to me,” he said, motioning at his assistant, who sat in the corner quietly, to close the door.

  ***

  Nicola hated news conferences. Everyone had to stand around each other listening as the speakers read their notes from the podium and the news cameras watched them like a hawk with their nosy lenses. After which, they were bombarded with a hundred questions and then the media took all the coverage back to the studio and twisted it all up.

  As he stood quietly in the holding room with Johnson before the infamous news conference with the mayor and director, he listened to the communications director go over the order that they were to speak in, the questions that they could and could not answer and the time limits. Honestly, he could not see how Ivy did this every day. It was annoying. Too much talk, too little action.

  In fact, he felt like they were wasting time by the minute. The time that they were spending talking to the cameras, he should have been tracking down leads, starting with the jump drive the coroner pulled out of Twist’s stomach.

  May Upton, the communications lead, fully dressed in her official blue police uniform looked over at Nicola and waved him over from the corner where he stood by the refreshments. He stepped across t
he room quietly, past the mayor and his people, Director Amway and his people and half a dozen other suits and took the paper that she handed him.

  “Okay, Agosto. We have a simple statement for you to read. Here it is,” she said, waiting for him to look at the paper.

  “I have to talk out there?” Nicola asked, immediately wanting to leave.

  “Yes, you’re the lead detective on this case. The public will want to hear from you,” she said in a stern tone as if saying don’t even think about trying to get out of this.

  Nicola pursed his lips together.

  “What? You nervous?” she asked with a smirk.

  “I don’t like speaking in front of cameras,” Nicola protested.

  “Tough, you’re doing it. The mayor and the director’s office want you to speak. You’re speaking. It’s real simple. You just say what’s on that paper, no more, no less.” She watched his pensive stare as he snatched the paper open and read it. She couldn’t help but admire his statuesque, carefree swag. He wore his black suit with poised grace. The fabric fell over his rippled muscles, cut to show the perfection of his tanned, perfect body.

  “This is it?” he asked, trying to make sure that he wasn’t expected to say anymore. He looked up at her and saw her eyes snap from his wide shoulders to his eyes.

  May blinked hard. “That’s it. Any questions will be answered by Director Amway or the mayor,” she said, patting him on the back. She had to get away from the man with his faint but sexy cologne and his black locks. It was a sin for a cop to look that good and be married.

  Johnson walked over, eavesdropping the entire time. He had forgone the suit and wore dark jeans and a black t-shirt with his badge hanging on his chest.

  “Nothing for me to say?” he asked May before she could get away.

  May huffed, suddenly put in a very sour mood. “Not dressed like that. This isn’t a rap video. Just stand where I tell you and keep your mouth closed, Johnson.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You’ll do fine, Agosto, just read those lines” May said, walking off.