James Grippando - Last Call

"Are you saying they took him away during the lockdown search?"

"Uh-uh. He left this morning."

"So he got reassigned to another cell?"

He lowered his magazine, as if Theo's interrogation was getting on his nerves. "Moses had a court hearing to reduce his bail a week or so ago. Judge's decision came down this morning. He's a free man, dude. Outta here. Get it?"

It took a moment for the words to register. Theo looked away, speaking more to himself than to Moses' old cell mate. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I think maybe I do."

The orange and yellow swirl of police beacons led Andie Henning through the darkness. Rural crime scenes tended to be large, and this one stretched almost the entire length of dirt road that jutted from the main highway Andie flashed her credentials to the deputies working perimeter control, ducked under the yellow tape, and headed up the dusty road for a closer look. It was one of those lonely trails to nowhere in the middle of a pasture. On the other side of the barbed-wire fence a herd of cattle slept while standing, which made Andie think of high school and late-night adventures in "cow tipping" back in her home state of Washington. Little mental diversions like that helped her cope with the grim side of her job.

Homicides were always a priority, but even off-duty law enforcement volunteered their services when a state trooper was murdered. Andie also noticed more gray hair than usual, a sign that a few retired officers were kicking in their time as well. They worked in the glow of portable vapor lights that all but turned night into day. A long line of uniformed officers and volunteers paced across the surrounding prairie, searching methodically for a murder weapon or other evidence that the shooter might have tossed or dropped. The suspect's vehicle was long gone, but investigators were making a cast of tire tracks that had been left: behind. The center of activity was the Florida Highway Patrol vehicle. The driver's-side door was open, and Trooper Stratton's body was still in the front seat, slumped over the steering wheel. His face happened to be turned away from Andie, which was just as well. Blood was everywhere, telling of a grievous wound, and glass pellets from the shattered windshield glistened beneath the spotlights. An investigator was snapping photographs as Andie approached. The lead homicide detective stopped her before she got too close, introducing himself as Lieutenant Peter Malloy. They had already met by telephone, so he dispensed with the pleasantries.

"You should see the videotape," said Malloy.

All FHP vehicles were equipped with dashboard video cameras, and Andie was eager to see the tape. "Do you have a copy for me?"

"Techies will have some extras ready in thirty minutes or so. You can watch mine."

He led Andie to his unmarked car, took a video camera from the front seat, and held it at eye level. Andie watched the three-inch LCD screen as the action unfolded in silence, the image shaking from the vibration of a high-speed chase up the turnpike. The trooper blew past one car, then another, before making a quick exit. He didn't slow down a bit on the county highway, but the red car was nowhere in sight as the trooper cut a sharp turn onto a dark, dusty road. Suddenly, he came over a small hill and the red car was right in front of him. The patrol car skidded to a halt. In a split second, a gun emerged from the driver's side window, and the trooper's windshield exploded. Tires spun and the red car spit dust as it pulled a one-eighty and sped away.

Lieutenant Malloy turned off the camera.

Andie said, "Looks like the shooter sat there and waited for him with the driver's-side window open. Probably kneeling in the front seat and facing backward when he fired his gun."

"I've watched it half a dozen times, and I agree," said Malloy. "Even so, that was one hell of a shot."

"The file on Moses tells me that he knows how to handle a firearm," said Andie. "That's just one more factor that points toward him as the shooter."

"Unfortunately as you just saw with your own eyes, there's no clear image of the shooter's face, and the license plate is completely covered in dust and cow manure. I've got our tech people trying to work through that crap, literally"

"I can get the FBI to help with that."

"I'll let you know if we need it," said Malloy.

Her phone rang. She recognized the incoming number. It was Jack. She excused herself and stepped away from Detective Malloy to take the call.

"Where are you?" said Jack.

"In the middle of nowhere," she said.

"You were supposed to call me an hour ago with an update."

"Sorry. I got diverted." She paused to remind herself that all dealings with Jack had to be on a need-to-know basis. This, she decided, was something he needed to know. So she told him.

Jack said, "Any doubt in your mind who the shooter was?"

"We're waiting to confirm some things."

"Did the lockdown search for the O-Town Posse tattoo turn up anything?"

She knew he wasn't changing the subject – just coming at her from another angle to get a response to his original question. "No," she said, just answering his question.

"You mean Theo didn't see what he thought he saw?"

"Not exactly. The warden ordered an inmate-by-inmate search just to see if more than one prisoner had the same tattoo. Somebody who the guards might have missed when they inventoried scars, marks, and tattoos upon each prisoner's arrival."

"So it was in the inventory?"

"Yeah. We pegged it to a guy named Moses Carter."

"I'm confused. If the tattoo was in the inventory, why didn't the guards find it when they searched the inmates?"

"Moses was released this morning."

"I assume you're going to bring him in for questioning."

"That's going to be difficult."

"Why?"

Andie could almost hear the wheels turning in Jack's head, and he spoke before she could frame a response.

"Do you think this Moses shot the trooper?" said Jack.

Again she paused to assure herself that this was something he needed to know. She wasn't sure, but with Theo working undercover, she gave Jack the benefit of the doubt. "I'm thinking bigger than that."

"How do you mean?"

"Let me put it this way" she said. "So far we have Trooper Stratton's videotape of a red car that meets the description in our BOLO from Theo's shooting. The symbol for the O-Town Posse is clearly visible."

"But Moses was in jail when Theo was shot."

''The rest of his gang wasn't. Could have been done on his order."

"A good connection, if you can make it."

Andie was on a roll, her theory continuing to gel, and the words kept coming even though she wasn't certain that Jack was in the need-to-know circle. "I'm not saying there's any connection yet," she said. "But for no reason I know of, just this morning the judge reconsidered Moses' bail, and suddenly the leader of the O-Town Posse is out on the street."

"But he's forbidden to leave Miami-Dade County," said Jack, seeming to follow her chain of thought.

"Exactly. Which means that if Trooper Stratton hauled him back to jail for violating his terms of release, he would have been facing thirty years in prison on charges that are a slam-dunk conviction. Not even a lawyer like Jack Swyteck could help him beat the rap."

"Sounds to me like Moses never had any intention of coming back to stand trial. His only hope was to make a run for it."

Andie glanced toward Trooper Stratton's body, which the medical examiner's team was now pulling from the vehicle. "Yeah," she said softly. "And shoot to kill anyone who gets in his way."

MOSES AND HIS RED car were in an Orlando chop shop before midnight. The O-Town Posse leader had contacts in every major Florida city. Organization was the key to success.