Read Online ABSOLUTION (A Frank Renzi novel) by Susan A Fleet - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan A Fleet
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yourself.”
Ruing his involvement with her, he got a bad feeling in his gut as she climbed into her Neon and drove off. He should have heeded Miller’s words: Get a reporter on your ass, nothing but trouble ahead.
His cellphone chimed. He punched on and heard Miller say, “He got another one. They found her an hour ago, posed in bed, tongue cut. Better get your ass over here. Got a new wrinkle this time, not that Norris will be talking about it in his press briefing. The killer left a message on the body.”
“ What did it say?”
“ Catch me if you can . Norris went ballistic when he heard.”
“ I’ll bet he did. Who’s the woman?”
“ Patti Cole, lives in Metairie near the Best Buy on Vets Boulevard.”
“ I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
_____
A traffic jam on the I-10 delayed him and it was almost two when he arrived at Patti Cole’s apartment in his Mazda 626, the car he’d driven down from Boston that now had more than 95,000 miles on it. Miller was waiting for him in the Crown Vic, as jazzed as a racehorse in the starting gate.
“ The forensics team found blood under her fingernails. Get the DNA analysis, run it through CODIS, we’ll nail the son of a bitch!”
Frank knew the feeling, the euphoric rush cops got when a lead surfaced on a tough case. But a DNA sample was useless if they didn’t get a hit on CODIS, the FBI’s Combined DNA Index System that collected DNA profiles of criminals from police agencies nationwide. Or match it to a suspect. Sometimes nailing a killer boiled down to luck. Or a gut feeling.
“ She fought him,” he said, imagining how helpless she must have felt, her growing desperation. “That’s not in his script so he’s angry. Two vics in a row didn’t go the way he wanted. He’ll do another one soon.”
“ And now he’s taunting us. Catch me if you can .”
“ Could be. Or maybe he really does want us to catch him.”
“ Not what Norris thinks. Man, was he pissed.”
“ He can’t handle the pressure he shouldn’t have taken the job. Let’s go up to Patti’s apartment, see if we can sneak a peek at the crime scene.”
They slogged through the soggy heat to the stairs that led to Patti’s apartment, Miller saying, “Had to be noise if she fought back, but the guy that lives below her works nights, didn’t get home till midnight. We talked to everyone in the building. Nobody heard a thing.”
They climbed two flights of stairs, sweltering inside the airless enclosed stairway. On the third floor landing a Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s deputy stood outside a door sealed with yellow police tape, his arms folded over his chest.
“ Sorry guys. No one gets in without permission from Norris.”
They did an about-face, descended the stairs and stood in the shade of the stairwell. “Norris keeps us in the dark,” Frank muttered, “only shares with his FBI cronies. You think we ought to tell him about Kitty? The sketch Monica worked up today is worthless. Could be anybody.”
Miller frowned and passed a hand over his shaven pate. “Why get the man riled up for nothing? We got a tip and it didn’t pan out.”
“ Kitty thought the guy might have been a priest.”
Miller stared at him, incredulous. “I’d keep that quiet, I was you. Float a theory like that in this town, you’re asking for trouble. Did you call Charlie Malone about Lynette Beauregard’s priest?”
“ Yeah, I’m meeting him tonight at six.” He stifled a yawn, the day stretching ahead like an endless highway. His ex-wife had phoned him at one A.M. during another of her frequent panic attacks, saying she didn’t know who else to call. How about your friend Myrna, he wanted to say, the woman that sabotaged our marriage? But he didn’t. He still felt responsible for Evelyn, his wife for twenty-four years, the mother of his only child: Maureen, the jewel of his life. So he let Evelyn pour out her fears, soothing her with phrases her therapist had suggested, didn’t
Ruing his involvement with her, he got a bad feeling in his gut as she climbed into her Neon and drove off. He should have heeded Miller’s words: Get a reporter on your ass, nothing but trouble ahead.
His cellphone chimed. He punched on and heard Miller say, “He got another one. They found her an hour ago, posed in bed, tongue cut. Better get your ass over here. Got a new wrinkle this time, not that Norris will be talking about it in his press briefing. The killer left a message on the body.”
“ What did it say?”
“ Catch me if you can . Norris went ballistic when he heard.”
“ I’ll bet he did. Who’s the woman?”
“ Patti Cole, lives in Metairie near the Best Buy on Vets Boulevard.”
“ I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
_____
A traffic jam on the I-10 delayed him and it was almost two when he arrived at Patti Cole’s apartment in his Mazda 626, the car he’d driven down from Boston that now had more than 95,000 miles on it. Miller was waiting for him in the Crown Vic, as jazzed as a racehorse in the starting gate.
“ The forensics team found blood under her fingernails. Get the DNA analysis, run it through CODIS, we’ll nail the son of a bitch!”
Frank knew the feeling, the euphoric rush cops got when a lead surfaced on a tough case. But a DNA sample was useless if they didn’t get a hit on CODIS, the FBI’s Combined DNA Index System that collected DNA profiles of criminals from police agencies nationwide. Or match it to a suspect. Sometimes nailing a killer boiled down to luck. Or a gut feeling.
“ She fought him,” he said, imagining how helpless she must have felt, her growing desperation. “That’s not in his script so he’s angry. Two vics in a row didn’t go the way he wanted. He’ll do another one soon.”
“ And now he’s taunting us. Catch me if you can .”
“ Could be. Or maybe he really does want us to catch him.”
“ Not what Norris thinks. Man, was he pissed.”
“ He can’t handle the pressure he shouldn’t have taken the job. Let’s go up to Patti’s apartment, see if we can sneak a peek at the crime scene.”
They slogged through the soggy heat to the stairs that led to Patti’s apartment, Miller saying, “Had to be noise if she fought back, but the guy that lives below her works nights, didn’t get home till midnight. We talked to everyone in the building. Nobody heard a thing.”
They climbed two flights of stairs, sweltering inside the airless enclosed stairway. On the third floor landing a Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s deputy stood outside a door sealed with yellow police tape, his arms folded over his chest.
“ Sorry guys. No one gets in without permission from Norris.”
They did an about-face, descended the stairs and stood in the shade of the stairwell. “Norris keeps us in the dark,” Frank muttered, “only shares with his FBI cronies. You think we ought to tell him about Kitty? The sketch Monica worked up today is worthless. Could be anybody.”
Miller frowned and passed a hand over his shaven pate. “Why get the man riled up for nothing? We got a tip and it didn’t pan out.”
“ Kitty thought the guy might have been a priest.”
Miller stared at him, incredulous. “I’d keep that quiet, I was you. Float a theory like that in this town, you’re asking for trouble. Did you call Charlie Malone about Lynette Beauregard’s priest?”
“ Yeah, I’m meeting him tonight at six.” He stifled a yawn, the day stretching ahead like an endless highway. His ex-wife had phoned him at one A.M. during another of her frequent panic attacks, saying she didn’t know who else to call. How about your friend Myrna, he wanted to say, the woman that sabotaged our marriage? But he didn’t. He still felt responsible for Evelyn, his wife for twenty-four years, the mother of his only child: Maureen, the jewel of his life. So he let Evelyn pour out her fears, soothing her with phrases her therapist had suggested, didn’t
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