The Witness (43 page)

“If he lawyers up rather than confesses, we’ll still make the case. There will be some trace of him at the scenes. The sweat stains they haven’t identified from the bathrooms, a couple of the unidentified trace hair fibers. You can’t swing a knife like he did for that long and not leave a trace of yourself behind.”

Luke looked at the clock. “Noon tomorrow. It may be a long day once we have news, so get some sleep today. That’s an order.”

Connor smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Marsh just nodded, but Luke would take it as a promise. “Good job tracking this back. Get me the raw notes, and I’ll push for the wiretaps. And I think I’m going to enjoy waking up the editor in chief for this request. Marie will be okay with staying put another day?” he asked Connor, aware plans had been to take Marie to the safe house Nathan had offered as a long-term place for Amy and Marie to stay.

“She’ll stay at Daniel’s another day. Amy?”

“She’s with Sam today. He thinks he may have identified the two guys who had been tailing her since Minnesota; they’ve apparently been asking questions about her around town and asking them of people more inclined to call Sam than answer the questions. Sam wanted to get a visual confirmation from Amy before he pays the two men a visit.”

“Who are they?”

“A couple guys from New York who were around during the days Greg was working for Richard Wise. They’ll be after the cash, I’m guessing.”

“Any idea how they got onto Amy’s location in Minnesota?”

“None, and I doubt Sam asks when he walks up to their table at a restaurant and suggests this town is a dangerous place for them to remain.”

“That’s not going to eliminate the trouble they represent. They’ll be back.”

“Once Sam has their faces and names confirmed, it won’t matter. They won’t be able to go anywhere in this town without Sam knowing about it, and that kind of pressure will end their search for Amy.”

Luke hoped Amy confirmed they were indeed the two men who had tailed her on and off since Minnesota—it would be another problem contained. If he couldn’t remove the danger she faced, then containing it was the next best option.

He got to his feet. “Get your notes together I can use for the wiretap warrants. If the lab has success with that blood sample, we’re going to have a busy day tomorrow.”

They nodded, and he headed back to his office to place a call to the newspaper editor.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“CHIEF.”

The head of the lab was in his doorway, and he was closing the door behind him.

Luke hung up on the mayor. “What do you have?”

“Henry Benton’s son—DNA came back with a match in the database. Kevin Sykes. The reporter isn’t talking to Henry’s son; the reporter is Henry’s son.”

Luke scanned the sheet of paper to see it in black and white as he strode back to his door to pull it open. He stepped out into the outer office. “Margaret!”

She was halfway across the office toward the elevator and immediately turned.

“Connor and Marsh, as fast as you can find them. Then get me the deputy chief.” He looked back at his lab chief and smiled. “Tell me where you want that meal, and you and your wife are eating at the best restaurant in town tonight.”

“Sargetti’s.”

“Done.” Luke flipped around the phone on Margaret’s desk and punched in the number of the SWAT commander.

Luke eased into the cluster of officers a block away from Sykes’ home. SWAT had deployed to give them a quiet look at the house from all angles. “Someone tell me this guy is at home.”

The SWAT communications officer listening in to the radio traffic shook his head. “Sorry, Chief, everything inside is too quiet and his car is not here. Thermal doesn’t show a heat source big enough to be a person.”

“The newspaper office downtown?”

Marsh shook his head. “He’s not there. The deputy chief just sent enough officers into the newspaper’s offices to walk the pit aisles and into every restroom and break room before the editor in chief could protest our arrival and toss us out, and they confirm that Sykes is not at the office. We’ve got men watching every entrance to that building if he does show up. He’s on the street somewhere.”

“We put him as being Henry’s son and doing two murders; he’s not going to be sitting idly waiting for us to show up and arrest him. Anyone else we need to worry about him going after with a knife right now? Daniel? Marie?” Luke asked.

“Covered. Amy too. And we’ve got officers at the Benton estate and the Benton Group offices as another layer of precaution. Where else?” Marsh replied.

“We don’t know enough about Sykes, his parents, places he vacations, friends. Find those facts and assume he’ll be trying to slip away and leave town. We need his phone records.”

“An officer is standing at the shoulder of the employee running them as we speak.”

“Chief, there are lots of calls to a number over on Barry Road,” the officer handling retrieving Sykes’ phone records called in. “I’m looking back sixty days. The calls start a day before the murders and have been steady since then, most between 2 and 4 a.m. This isn’t some sweetheart he’s calling, not in that area of town. And it’s incredibly close to where that Lincoln was found parked: two, three blocks north.”

“He was calling our New York shooter and selling previews of his next day’s news article?” Connor suggested.

Luke nodded. “We need something else as a match before we send SWAT to knock down a door. Review the phone-tip lines for sightings in that area, get a photo spread together, and put a couple plainclothes on the street showing it around. I don’t want a visible cop presence in the area until we are ready to seal the area and go knock on a door. What time was the most recent call?”

“Three this morning.”

“Yes, I think Sykes just led us to our shooter, and he was at that number this morning. Watch the details, people, and the security. Let’s get this guy on the first try. Marsh, Connor—you’re with me. I want a long-distance look at that building while we get the facts in place to go breaking down another door.”

The SWAT team began to reassemble, and officers stationed to watch Sykes’ home for his possible return fanned out. Luke began to feel hope that this was coming to a close. “Connor, you drive. I remember the last time I offered the keys to Marsh.”

His officer smiled but took the key ring.

They would find Sykes by day’s end, Luke thought, if only because he had too visible a face to hide. People thought reporters were someone to notice. And to get the shooter the same day—it would be sweet. Change locations, get SWAT set up, study the layout to confirm where the shooter’s room was at, and go in and take him down.

Sykes was their guy: it explained the depth of his knowledge about Henry and the sisters in his early news stories; it answered the question how he had the crime-scene photos and knowledge of the note text when they hadn’t been able to find a leak within the department. Sykes’ contact with the shooter out of New York also explained why they hadn’t been able to locate word of him on the street. He’d been able to lay low and still have everything he needed to know about the sisters’ movements fed to him.

All of it because of money. Money Richard Wise wanted to stop Amy from turning into the authorities; money Sykes thought was his due as Henry’s son. Daniel’s comment that on some days he just wanted to burn the cash and be rid of it fit what Luke was feeling now. This had all been senseless. But it would be over soon. They would get the New York shooter, and they would locate Sykes. Hopefully without another officer ending up shot.

Luke turned to the SWAT leader as they moved back to their vehicles. “Let’s get a couple SWAT officers watching this address on Barry Road immediately. I don’t want our shooter slipping out of town before we’re set up to go in and get him. News of our search for Sykes is going to be on the air soon, and our New York shooter will know his location is blown.”

“I had the same thought. I’ve got two spotters already on the way over there now.”

“Chief, I’ve got Kevin Sykes exiting the back door of that apartment building and walking west.” The remark from the SWAT officer watching the building with a spotter scope electrified the gathered cops preparing to make a move in on the apartment. They were half a block away, taking advantage of the fact abandoned buildings were common on this block.

“He drives a blue four-door Chevy or a white Dodge company car,” Marsh alerted the officer.

“White Dodge, east side of the street; he just unlocked doors,” the SWAT officer confirmed. “He’s going to be heading west on Park Avenue, and that will put him into one-way traffic at Lincoln Avenue. You’d best stop him before that merge or he’ll be able to use the heavy off-ramp traffic to his advantage.”

“Mayfield, take him as soon as he passes Piedmont Road,” Luke ordered.

“10-4.”

Luke looked at his SWAT leader. “Move inside the apartment building and take that room as soon as you’re in position.”

“Yes, sir.”

Luke moved forward with the communications officer to the SWAT departure point and watched the team slip into the apartment building and head for the third floor. The waiting began.
Four minutes
, Luke thought, able to think through the moves he had made so many times himself in the past.

Shots rang out.

Irishman, that was Luke’s first impression, and the second, overwhelming relief. There wasn’t an officer down.

“He was shooting before we popped the lock on the door—two through the wall, four into the door as it opened. Frank took him down with one shot to the chest. Sorry, Boss. He’s not going to be able to help us identify his employer.”

Luke’s own assessment of the scene was showing more personal courage than that concise review wanted to assign. The men had not hesitated to deal with the incoming fire and respond as a unit; that spoke of solid leadership and honed teamwork. “You did the job with dispatch and no one else hurt. I’d say that was a solid success. Tell your guys to debrief separately with the deputy chief, then stand down; they’ve got my personal thanks.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Jim?”

“Sir?”

“Tell them to give me their personal wish lists on equipment and training. I might as well use the mayor’s coming praise for the success as a way to push for a dollar-amount thank-you in the budget.”

Jim smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Luke took the smile in the way it was intended. He’d been co-opted to the politics of the job, but it no longer felt like a burden—it was a necessary part of the job. He was beginning to feel comfortable being the chief. Sending the SWAT guys in had been his weight knowing one might take a bullet, and dealing with the politics of the shooting was also his job. Maybe Amy would understand when he tried to explain it to her tonight. He thought she might. He figured she was right—it would take a forced retirement one day due to old age to get him to leave the job.

“Marsh, Connor, where are you?”

“Watching the doors, sir.”

“Don’t grouse at me, Marsh. I let you stay within a city block as promised. Join me back at the station. You’ve got a conversation to have with Kevin Sykes, and I intend to be on the other side of the interview glass when you do.”