Page 15 of Under the Radar
9
Officer Winters slid Mo’s key into the lock on her apartment door. Detective Brewster stood to the side with his gun drawn. Winters nudged the door open with his foot and leaned back. The stifling heat whooshed through the doorway as Brewster flattened himself against the narrow hallway wall, keeping his eye trained for any unfriendly greeting. It took them a couple minutes to clear the place. No one was there.
“What a friggin’ disaster.” Brewster holstered his weapon. “Whoever did this wasn’t messing around. They were looking for something. Want to take an educated guess about what they were looking for?” He popped a piece of spearmint ice gum in his mouth and put on his latex gloves.
Winters called out from the bathroom. “This crime scene is going to keep your guys busy for a day or two. Come take a look at the mirror.”
Brewster leaned his head into the bathroom and gave a low whistle. “No wonder she took off.” He snapped a picture with his phone.
Winters pointed a finger toward the tub. “Look at all those pretty shoes swimming in there. This crime has a personal vibe to it. Got any idea where our girl would go after an invasion like this?”
Brewster cleared his throat. “I don’t know. We told her to stay close by so we could interview her again in a couple days. We wanted to make sure her story stayed the same. See if she introduced any additional facts or insight.” He stepped over strewn items in the hallway and walked into the kitchen. He bent to look at something glistening on the floor.
Winters followed behind him. “How’d the interview go on Friday night? Did her lawyer finally show up?”
“Eventually. He kept her waiting for hours. I could smell the ambition on that one. He’s a hot shot from somewhere out in the county. Jones did most of the interview. As usual, he got a little carried away with his conspiracy theories.”
Winters groaned. “Dammit, Brewster. Mo Reardon’s a nice woman. She called us. I hope you guys weren’t too hard on her. She’d had a helluva day.”
“Yeah, I know, but she wouldn’t be the first rich kid to run a ring just to spite her daddy. We’ve gotta ask the tough questions; watch her body language to see if she’s hiding anything. Her high-minded lawyer put an end to the questioning pretty quick when Jones tried to get tough on her.”
“Well, while you’re compiling the facts, maybe you should check the word about her on the street. That’s what I did on Sunday. I nosed around with the neighbors on my beat. Her reputation is solid. They consider her one of their homies. Several mothers told me how she helped them out with their kids, helped them get daycare, picked up medicine, shuttled them to doctor’s appointments, and made sure they got into educational programs. I even found an old veteran who claimed Mo drops off fresh produce to him every Monday because it’s hard for him to get to a grocery store. The woman is an angel of mercy in the hood.”
“There’s blood on these shards of glass.” Brewster stirred the broken scatterings with a pencil from his pocket. “I hope it isn’t hers,” he mused with a twinge of guilt as he bagged the bloody pieces. “Do you know the name of the messenger company that delivered the letter to you?”
“Right here in my pocket.” Winters pulled it out. “Speedy-Zip.”
“Find out when the delivery service received the pickup order and where it originated from. I don’t know what gang or dealer she crossed, but we’ll find out. I need that letter too, to verify that she wrote it. We’ll get a handwriting specialist to compare it with her paperwork on file at the precinct.” Brewster’s lips were a grim line as he glanced at Winters. “I hope she’s on the run and wasn’t nabbed after she sent you that note.”
Winters pulled out a plaid bandana and mopped his sweaty brow. “From your lips to God’s ears, brother. Where are you going to start looking for her?”
“With her family. They might know something, and they’ve got enough money to hide her for a second ice age.”
Brewster pulled out his cell and called for a crime scene team to detail Mo Reardon’s place. He needed security footage from every camera in the area and her apartment dusted for fingerprints. Reardon had no record but her prints would be on file with the city school system. He’d access them for comparison.
Brewster glanced around the living room. Every one of Mo Reardon’s belongings had been ruined or destroyed in some way.
He didn’t blame her one bit for running like hell.