The Runaway Reporter (A Police Procedural Mystery Series of Crime and Suspense, Hyder Ali #3) (2 page)

Hyder quickly headed for his car.

THREE

Detective Marina Lopez parked in front of a two-story house and got out.  She wore a dark blazer over a white blouse, and lighter-colored pants to contrast with her black boots.  Her brown hair was tied back.  She took off her sunglasses, revealing hazel-colored eyes.

There was already yellow police tape around the building. Lopez scanned the area, looked at her watch, and made a face.

Should I wait, or should I go inside?
She thought.

She was about to go when she spotted an old red Ferrari drive up and park next to her Acura. A man got out, acting like he was a celebrity.

Detective Angelo Pascale had thick, slicked back black hair, a day old growth of beard on his cheeks, and large round sunglasses over his eyes.  Instead of his usual black leather jacket on top of a white shirt and black pants, today he wore a three-piece striped suit.

“What’s with the getup?” Lopez asked, looking him over.

“I thought I’d come to work in style.”

“You call that
style
?” she said with a smirk.  “Oh wait. That thing stuck in your mouth is
your
style.”

Pascale pulled the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it away.  “What’s with the jabs?”

“What’s with the car?” she retorted.

“It’s a classic,” he replied, shrugging.  “You don’t like it?”

“Come, we have a lot of work to do,” she said, wanting to get on with business.

As they made their way up to the front door, Pascale said, “Are you not impressed by me?”

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “You dressed up to impress me? Why?”

“I’m mean, what’s wrong with me?” He adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket.

She rolled her eyes. “Is this about Nolan again?”

“Of course,” he replied with an arrogant smirk.  “I’ve got good hair, a great sense of fashion, and I’m not a drunk.”

“That’s hitting below the belt,” she said. “You know exactly why he had started drinking in the first place.”

“I know, I know.” Pascale raised his hands.  “He lost his wife in an accident and because of that he went on a long bender, but still, come on, I’ve got a lot going for me.”

“First off, I wouldn’t call applying half a dozen products to your hair as being good.  And as far as what you’re wearing right now, I don’t know whether you’re going to invest my money or steal my money.  Either way, you look like some lowlife crook from another era.”

“Now look who’s hitting below the belt,” he said, sounding not the least bit offended.  “But seriously, why not me? I’m a catch.”

“You really want to know?” she replied, sighing.

“Yeah, I do.”

“It’s the revolving door of girls, Pascale.  You’re always with someone different whenever I see you.”

“I just haven’t found the right girl.  You could be the one to make me want to settle down.” He raised his eyebrows.  “Maybe even have a couple of little Pascales, you know.”

She shook her head.  “Let’s go inside before I shoot you.”

They were met at the door by a uniformed officer named Terrance Miller.

“How many have we got?” Lopez asked.

“Three,” Miller replied.

“Three victims?” Lopez was surprised.

“I’ll show you.” They followed him through the side of the house and into the backyard.

Lopez noticed short stairs leading to the basement, a door leading to the house on the main floor and then a flight of long stairs leading up to the second floor.

“I’ll show you the upstairs first,” Miller said

They went up the metal steps and stopped inside the front door.

Lying in the middle of the hallway was the body of a young woman.  She was covered in blood, with a thick pool accumulated next to her body. She lay on her back with her arms and legs apart.  Her face was tilted to the side and her eyes were closed.

Lopez leaned closer and realized the victim was still dressed in her pajamas.

“What’s her name?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Miller replied.

“You haven’t identified the victims?” Pascale snapped.

“I didn’t have time,” Miller replied.  “I was checking to see if anyone was still alive when you guys showed up.”

Pascale made a face as if to say, “Amateur.”

“Can you please find anything to ID the victim?” Lopez asked.

Miller went back inside the apartment.

Lopez went back to examining the body.  “It looks like she was stabbed.  There are multiple wounds on her arms and chest.”

“I don’t see any signs of forced entry,” Pascale said, scanning the door.

“So she must have opened the door for her assailant,” Lopez said.

“Looks like it.”

“The cuts on her arms indicate that she tried to shield herself, but the blows were too much and she collapsed where she died.”

“What is this?” Pascale asked, leaning down. The print was in red. “Looks like a heel of a shoe.”

“On the way up, I noticed blood stains on the steps,” Lopez noted.

“The attacker stabbed the victim and ran away.  I say, we find the shoe, we find the perpetrator,” Pascale said.

Miller returned.  “Irma Ronston,” he said.  “Age twenty-one. She goes to the Margrove College of Arts.” He held up a student ID card.

“Did it look like anything was taken from the apartment?” Pascale asked.

Miller shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“So we can rule out robbery,” Lopez said, knowing what Pascal was thinking.

“Then it has to be a jealous boyfriend,” Pascale said.

“We’ll dig into her relationships later. Let’s go see the other victims first.”

FOUR

“They’re in the basement,” Miller said, leading the way.

“What about the main floor?” Pascale asked.  “Where is that tenant?”

“You’ll see.”

They went down the narrow steps.

Just like the main floor, the hallway was covered in blood.  But instead of finding a body, they saw a stream of blood which stretched from the entrance and into the apartment.

“Look,” Pascale said, pointing.  There was blood on the walls.

Miller led them inside the apartment.  Two bodies lay on the living room floor, both men.  One lay on his back with a knife stuck in his throat, his hand still tightly gripping it.  The other lay on his side, a telephone dangling from the cord next to him.

“He called it in?” Lopez asked.

“Yes,” Miller said.  “The dispatcher relayed the message and all he said was, ‘help me.’  By the time I arrived, he was dead.”

“Go find his ID.” Pascale said with a wave, as if shooing him away.

Miller disappeared into the bedroom.

Lopez turned to Pascale. “Why do you have to be mean?”

“I’m teaching him the right way to do things.”

“Alright, then
you
go find the other guy’s ID,” she said.

Pascale looked at her and then shrugged. “Yes, boss.” He said as he left. Lopez examined the first victim.  The man was wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and rubber slippers. His eyes were wide open and his fingers were wrapped around the knife’s handle. Lopez was certain the knife was what had killed him.

She moved to the other victim.  His eyes were closed, but there was a massive pool of blood underneath his body.  His robe was covered in blood as well. Like the victim on the second floor, he, too, was stabbed in the chest.

Miller came back.  “The victim next to the phone, it’s his apartment.  His name is Bernard Haddon, age twenty-one, and he also goes to Margrove College of Arts.”

“Makes sense,” Lopez said.

Margrove College of Arts was only a couple of blocks from the house.  It was convenient for students to rent units surrounding their college.

“It looks like there was a struggle here,” Miller said, looking at all the blood.

Lopez nodded in agreement.

Pascale appeared in the hall. Before he could say anything, Lopez said, “I think we know who the perpetrator is.” She pointed to the first victim’s shoes.  “I’m certain it’ll match the print we found upstairs.”

“You won’t believe this,” Pascale said, sounding flabbergasted.

“What? What did you find?” Lopez asked.

“The one who looks like the perpetrator…”

Pascale paused.

“What about him?”

“His name is Rudy Ross Jr.”

Lopez’s mouth dropped.  “Call the Sergeant,” she said.

FIVE

Hyder took the stairs up to the third floor. The First National Building was owned by Hollings Incorporated, which also owned the
Daily Times
.  The building was an eyesore. It looked like a concrete cinder block stood upright.

There were talks to give the building a facelift, but when the numbers were crunched, it was decided to leave it as it was.

Of the twenty-five floors, Hollings Incorporated took the top six. The next fifteen were leased to external commercial ventures, while the bottom five were devoted to the
Daily Times
, with the basement used as the press center to print the newspapers.

On the third floor, Hyder headed for his cubicle and placed himself behind a laptop.  As he turned it on, he sensed a large shadow behind him, he looked over his shoulder.

Lester Glasgow was standing just outside his cubicle entrance.   Lester was black and close to two-hundred and fifty pounds.  While Hyder worked for the city desk, covering stories around the city, Lester worked for the technology desk, covering all
tech
related stories.

Lester was munching on a large bag of chips.  Suddenly, a realization flashed across his eyes. “Bro, my bad,” he said as he hid the bag behind his back.  “I forgot you were fasting.”

“It’s okay,” Hyder replied.  “Seeing other people eat isn’t going to push me to start eating, you know.” He added with a wry smile.

“Yeah, but it might mess up your mind and make you think about it.”

“True,” Hyder conceded.

“I should start fasting too,” Lester said, looking down at his protruding belly.  “I could afford to lose a few pounds.”

“A few?” Hyder raised his eyebrows.

“A few…
dozen
.”

Hyder logged into his laptop. “Haven’t you been saying you want to lose weight from the moment I met you?”

“But this time I’m serious.”

“What’s different now?”

Lester looked around to make sure no one was listening.  “I think I’ve got a girlfriend.” He finally said.

Hyder blinked. “You
think
?”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t met her yet, but we talk online.” Lester admitted.

Hyder put his hand up.  “Be careful, Lester.  For all you know it could be a man you’re talking to.”

Lester made a face.

Hyder checked his messages, and got up.  “Veronica wants to see me. I’ll see you later.” He left Lester to think about their conversation.

Veronica Ainsworth was Hyder’s boss and editor-in-charge.  She was in her early forties, slim, with jet black hair.  Years of running around the city for stories had etched her face with wrinkles.  But it was her enthusiasm for the job that gave her a youthful attitude.

“Have a seat, Hyder,” she said, not looking away from her desktop monitor.

Veronica’s office was sparingly decorated.  There was a desk and a couple of chairs and nothing else.  Whenever he asked her when she would furnish it, she always gave the same answer: “It’s not furniture that makes a great office, it’s the people who work in it.”

Hyder shifted in his chair.  While furniture didn’t make a great office, good furniture did make for comfortable seating.

She turned to him, smiled.

Veronica wasn’t just Hyder’s editor, she was also his strongest advocate.  When Hyder had started at the
Daily Times
, it was Veronica who had taken him under her wing and had mentored him. He was deeply loyal to her, and she, he knew, was deeply loyal to him.

“Your article on interns was brilliant,” she said.  “We’re still inundated with responses from readers. In fact, our subscriptions have increased following its release.”

The
Daily Times
had struggled over the years because of scandals and mismanagement, but now it was in the black.  Strong, social-conscious, and thought-provoking stories were leading the
Daily Times
to a whole new generation of readers.

Hyder had heard about the plight of interns, where some were paid nothing, or even if they were paid, it was a pittance, and also where some were forced to work dangerously long hours.  Hyder had reported on a young intern who had worked seventy-two hours straight with little or no sleep.  After the young man had finally gotten to go home, he had collapsed from exhaustion while taking a shower, hit head had hit the edge of the bathtub, and died.