Read Online Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission by Michael Norman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Norman
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lean on him. This was a guy with motive, opportunity, and means. We felt that Winkler had told us the truth about most things, but not about her relationship with John Merchant. On a ten-point defensiveness scale, Winkler scored an eleven the moment Kate brought John Merchant’s name into the discussion. She was still involved with him. We felt certain of that. As for us, we were about to find out just how bad Big Bad John really was.
Chapter Twelve
The Satin & Lace Club was located about ten minutes from John Merchant’s home. I radioed Burnham and Owens to find out if anything was happening at the house. Burnham reported that everything appeared quiet with no sign of our suspect or his car.
As McConnell and I got close to Merchant’s home, my radio cracked and Owens said, “The suspect has just arrived home and appears to be in a real hurry. He just jumped the curb and drove across the front lawn. What’s your ETA?”
“We’re just a couple of minutes away,” I replied. “I’ll bet somebody tipped him, and I’ve got a pretty good idea who. Let’s get on him quickly. There’s probably something in that house that he doesn’t want us to see.”
“Roger that,” replied Owens. “We’re gonna follow him right through the front door. There’s an alley running north and south behind the house. You guys come in that way and cover the back. That okay?”
“Sounds good. We’re about there. Be careful with this guy.”
We turned into the alley and spit loose gravel as we accelerated between homes. Before I could bring the car to a full stop, McConnell bailed out and broke into a full sprint crossing into Merchant’s back yard. I cursed, jumped out, and followed her. The only place of concealment was a large maple tree located about twenty-five yards from the back door. Doing what I thought was prudent, I sought cover behind the tree. I yelled at Kate to stop. She either didn’t hear or chose to ignore me. She never broke stride. When she was perhaps fifteen feet from the back door, it suddenly opened, and Merchant launched himself off the porch, gun in hand. Neither person had any time to react. Merchant hit McConnell head on, lifting her three feet off the ground, and dumping her unceremoniously on her backside. She managed to roll away, but lost her weapon in the process. He stopped suddenly and made a half turn back toward her. At that moment, I emerged from cover in a low, combat position yelling for him to drop the weapon. He turned in one motion and raised the handgun. I fired once, striking him in the upper right shoulder. He dropped like a stone.
The next couple of hours were pandemonium. Salt Lake City P.D. responded with a shooting team, Internal Affairs officers, a crime scene unit, and a Department media spokesperson. The Department of Corrections sent the head of Field Operations and a deputy director. TV and print journalists descended on the place like locusts in a corn field. As for Kate, other than having the wind knocked out of her, sore ribs, and a badly bruised ego, she was fine.
***
John Merchant was another story. He had lost a lot of blood by the time he was loaded aboard the life-flight helicopter and flown to the University of Utah Medical Center. I sent Terry with him in case he said anything about this incident or the murder of Levi Vogue. He didn’t.
For us, the bad news didn’t end there. The subsequent search of his home and car produced nothing that would connect him to the murder. Our best hope had been that the search would yield the murder weapon. What we did find was a refrigerator full of beer, more than a kilogram of marijuana, weighing scales, and plastic baggies—all the trappings of a small-time dope dealer. The weapon was a twenty-five caliber Beretta with the serial number filed off. Assuming he survived, Merchant was facing several new felony charges, including illegal possession of a firearm by a convicted felon, multiple drug counts, and assault on a
Chapter Twelve
The Satin & Lace Club was located about ten minutes from John Merchant’s home. I radioed Burnham and Owens to find out if anything was happening at the house. Burnham reported that everything appeared quiet with no sign of our suspect or his car.
As McConnell and I got close to Merchant’s home, my radio cracked and Owens said, “The suspect has just arrived home and appears to be in a real hurry. He just jumped the curb and drove across the front lawn. What’s your ETA?”
“We’re just a couple of minutes away,” I replied. “I’ll bet somebody tipped him, and I’ve got a pretty good idea who. Let’s get on him quickly. There’s probably something in that house that he doesn’t want us to see.”
“Roger that,” replied Owens. “We’re gonna follow him right through the front door. There’s an alley running north and south behind the house. You guys come in that way and cover the back. That okay?”
“Sounds good. We’re about there. Be careful with this guy.”
We turned into the alley and spit loose gravel as we accelerated between homes. Before I could bring the car to a full stop, McConnell bailed out and broke into a full sprint crossing into Merchant’s back yard. I cursed, jumped out, and followed her. The only place of concealment was a large maple tree located about twenty-five yards from the back door. Doing what I thought was prudent, I sought cover behind the tree. I yelled at Kate to stop. She either didn’t hear or chose to ignore me. She never broke stride. When she was perhaps fifteen feet from the back door, it suddenly opened, and Merchant launched himself off the porch, gun in hand. Neither person had any time to react. Merchant hit McConnell head on, lifting her three feet off the ground, and dumping her unceremoniously on her backside. She managed to roll away, but lost her weapon in the process. He stopped suddenly and made a half turn back toward her. At that moment, I emerged from cover in a low, combat position yelling for him to drop the weapon. He turned in one motion and raised the handgun. I fired once, striking him in the upper right shoulder. He dropped like a stone.
The next couple of hours were pandemonium. Salt Lake City P.D. responded with a shooting team, Internal Affairs officers, a crime scene unit, and a Department media spokesperson. The Department of Corrections sent the head of Field Operations and a deputy director. TV and print journalists descended on the place like locusts in a corn field. As for Kate, other than having the wind knocked out of her, sore ribs, and a badly bruised ego, she was fine.
***
John Merchant was another story. He had lost a lot of blood by the time he was loaded aboard the life-flight helicopter and flown to the University of Utah Medical Center. I sent Terry with him in case he said anything about this incident or the murder of Levi Vogue. He didn’t.
For us, the bad news didn’t end there. The subsequent search of his home and car produced nothing that would connect him to the murder. Our best hope had been that the search would yield the murder weapon. What we did find was a refrigerator full of beer, more than a kilogram of marijuana, weighing scales, and plastic baggies—all the trappings of a small-time dope dealer. The weapon was a twenty-five caliber Beretta with the serial number filed off. Assuming he survived, Merchant was facing several new felony charges, including illegal possession of a firearm by a convicted felon, multiple drug counts, and assault on a
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