Run For Your Life Read online

  We entered Camille’s and found a quiet table by the window in the bar area. The waiter approached and asked what we would like. Liza spoke up before I had the chance. “We’ll have two whiskeys, neat.”

  She was direct and to the point. I had to give her that.

  “So, tell me about your family,” she said.

  I ran through my life, including the fact that I had a mom and two married sisters, each of whom had two kids. Marie lived in Garden City, Meg lived in Port Wentworth, my mom lived in a retirement community, and I lived in our family home in Thomas Square.

  “How long have you been a cop?”

  I was flattered that she wanted to know so much about me. I’d noticed from the few women I’d dated that they liked talking about themselves. “Twelve years but only eight as a detective and six with my current partner, Devon Rue.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  Her question made me wince, but she wasn’t in law enforcement, and I figured most curious people might ask the same question. “I have but only in self-defense or when defending somebody else.”

  “Did I hit a nerve?”

  “Nope, I just don’t get asked questions like that on a regular basis. So, how old are you, Liza, and what do you do?”

  She frowned. “I’m twenty-seven, and I have fun.”

  “I meant to support yourself.”

  “I work at a nonprofit. Speaking of that scavenger hunt—”

  “Were we?”

  “Yeah. So it’s twenty bucks for the entry fee, and of course there are donations and pledges, too, but whoever finds all the items on their list first gets to decide what charity or foundation they want the winnings to go to. The expenses come out before anything else, but I’ve been to a few of those events, and it’s always nearly five hundred bucks that gets paid out.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a decent thing to do.”

  “Yep. They have them every month. You’re coming, right?”

  I rubbed my forehead. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all, and the scavenger hunt could be fun and for a good cause. “Where’s it taking place?”

  “That’s always a secret until an hour before the event just so nobody has a chance for an unfair advantage by scoping out the venue beforehand. That’s when a group text with the address goes out to the people who have already signed up.”

  “Then how will I know where to go since I won’t get that text?”

  She laughed. “I’ll pick you up, silly. That way, you can’t back out or just be a no-show. It’s for a good cause, remember?”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted her to know where I lived, but in today’s world, that information was easy to find online. “And what time should I expect you?”

  “I’ll be there at nine o’clock sharp.”

  I checked the time—it was getting late. “I think we should call it a wrap. Can I walk you to your car?”

  “Why? You want to see if I drive a piece of shit?”

  I pulled back. “Of course not. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. That’s all.”

  “I’m good. You’ll see my car when I pick you up anyway.” She got up, kissed my cheek, and walked out of Camille’s without looking back.

  I rubbed my cheek as I watched her disappear into the night.

  You’re a strange one, Liza Montclaire. That’s for sure.

  Chapter 4

  I was home by eleven o’clock and glad to be there. Because I had an odd feeling about Liza, I logged on to the internet and did a search of her name in Savannah. Liza Montclaire wasn’t the most common name, so I wasn’t expecting to see more than one entry—and I didn’t. It had to be her. The age was right, and her name did come up. So far, so good. The address that popped up was on East Henry. I looked it up on Street View and found the neighborhood filled with small but clean bungalows.

  Not bad.

  I pulled up the DMV database and typed in her name. Nothing came up.

  That’s odd. She said she had a car, but maybe she’s borrowing one for Saturday night. She could be embarrassed that she doesn’t have her own.

  I knew I was overthinking things. Many people who lived in the city rode public transportation everywhere. They saved plenty by not paying car payments or auto insurance premiums every month. I closed the website and thought about my next move. It was frowned upon by upper management without a legit reason, but I needed to know so I wouldn’t be wasting my time. I typed Liza’s name into the criminal database and found she had a clean record with not even a speeding ticket. I let out a relieved breath, logged off, and put my laptop on the breakfast bar. I’d been worrying about the evening’s events for nothing, and although she was edgy and impulsive, she was a woman ten years younger than me who was just out to have fun and possibly test my loyalty to my job. I couldn’t see anything beyond a friendship with her, but she could be fun in small doses.

  “Come on, Gus. It’s bedtime. Tomorrow is another workday, at least for me.” I laughed when I looked back and my porky bulldog was waddling up the stairs behind me.

  As I watched the news in bed—not something I should do, especially when breaking news was usually bad—I learned that another teen drive-by shooting had taken place just forty minutes earlier. Instinct made me want to head to the station, but our night shift detectives were more than capable, and they would pass the information on to us first thing in the morning. Because the shootings took place in our jurisdiction, I had no doubt that Rue and I would be working the case tomorrow. It could very well be a clear message to people in that neighborhood—and related to the gang shootings we were already dealing with.

  I grabbed the remote, clicked the power button, and shut down the TV. Gus climbed the two-step ladder to my bed and settled in. I shut off the light, said my thanks for another day that I was alive and healthy, and closed my eyes. Before I dozed off, I reminded myself to call Mom tomorrow when I had a spare minute. I hadn’t talked to her in a couple of days.

  I woke early that next morning to the sound of doves cooing. Folklore said that the soothing sound was a call to seek and find inner peace, yet others believed it was a direct message from God. No matter the belief, I enjoyed the sound every time I heard it. My alarm hadn’t gone off yet, so I relished the comfy time in bed. I still had seven minutes before I needed to get up.

  My phone’s alarm buzzed, and I groaned. It would be nice if every day was a Sunday, but I’d worked plenty of them too. I pulled my leg out from under Gus’s twenty-pound head, pushed the blankets aside, and rose. He grumbled that I’d disturbed him then went back to his usual snoring. Downstairs, I started the coffee, went back up, and showered and dressed.

  Twenty minutes later, I poured my coffee and ate a bowl of cereal, then I heard the tap, tap, tap of Gus’s toenails against the hardwood floor. He was making his way downstairs, would go out to do his business, then be ready for his breakfast—our usual routine. I checked my phone for messages as I sipped my coffee and watched Gus through the window. I was surprised to see a text from Liza that had come in after midnight. I obviously hadn’t heard my phone vibrate, but chances of me responding to anything other than work-related issues at that time of night were slim.

  Her message was short and to the point. “Thanks for the company—it was fun. See you at nine o’clock Saturday night.”

  I pocketed my phone, finished my breakfast, fed Gus, and poured a cup of coffee to go. I would hear from our night crew about what went down last night and where they were in the investigation. Before I even arrived at the office, I was pretty sure my day was already planned.

  I met up with Rue in our parking lot, and we walked in together.

  “Hear about the drive-by last night?” I asked.

  He nodded as he licked the glaze off his fingers from the doughnut he’d just devoured. “Yep. I should stop watching the news at night.”

  “Same here, but at least we know what’s in store for us the next day.”

  “How’s your headache?”

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sp; “Huh?”

  Rue gave me a suspicious glance. “That headache you had last night. The one that prevented you from having a beer with me.”

  “Oh yeah. Humph, it’s totally gone. Must have gotten it from all the hours of interrogating those punks yesterday.”

  “Yeah, we can probably expect the same thing today too.” Rue held the door open as I passed through.

  “Thanks, pal.”

  As we walked toward our office, we met up with Royce in the hallway.

  “Updates in ten. You’ve got more shooters to interrogate today. What the hell is going on in this city anyway?”

  “Too much gang violence. Sooner or later, it’ll end, though,” I said.

  Royce scratched his balding head. “How do you figure?”

  “They’ll either all be in jail or completely wipe each other out.”

  Royce grunted. “Doubt it. They teach the young kids the ropes at an early age, and by the time they’re fifteen, they’re ready to take over. It’s a real shame.” He jerked his head toward the lunchroom. “Gotta grab a coffee before we begin.”

  Rue and I continued to our office. We would get the overnight updates from our second shift detectives at our morning meeting. I took a seat, woke up my computer, and had just enough time to finish my coffee and grab a pen and paper before we headed to our meeting.

  When we entered, Sergeant Bleu and Royce were already seated. Our night shift detectives, Bob Prentice and Ricky Bloom, walked in minutes later, with Detectives John Lawrence and Curt Bentley on their heels. Bleu coughed into his fist then went over what had occurred during the night.

  “The ambush took place within a block of the shootings from the previous night. Last night’s killing claimed the lives of two eighteen-year-olds sitting on a porch at the Kayton Homes subdivision on Draper Street.

  I huffed. “That neighborhood needs a larger police presence.”

  “Maybe so,” Bleu agreed, “but the police aren’t welcome or even safe in that area. They stand the risk of being shot too.”

  I frowned. “Then what’s the alternative? Break up the gangs?”

  Bleu continued. “That would be a good start, although it isn’t our department. We just swoop in after the fact like vultures on carrion and try to clean up the mess.”

  “That’s a grim analogy. I’d prefer to call it trying to solve the crime and put the killer or killers behind bars,” Royce said.

  Bleu apologized as he rubbed his forehead. “It’s been a long few nights, but something has to happen. The gang wars are getting out of control. There are still good people who live in those apartment complexes, and they don’t need to be hit by stray bullets.”

  Rue took his turn. “So what have we done at the scene?”

  Prentice spoke up. “We were called in after Patrol secured the area. Two young men were lying on the lawn, both shot in the chest, both deceased. The only people who would talk to us were the residents of the apartment. The mothers of the deceased were there—sisters, they’d said—making the dead teens cousins. There were three other people in the apartment—an eleven-year-old boy, a thirteen-year-old girl, and another girl, aged six.”

  “All living there?”

  “Nope. The aunt, her deceased teen, the eleven-year-old boy, and the six-year-old girl were visiting, but apparently, they only live a few blocks away. The mother who lives at the residence said they heard five rapid pops, and then the living room window exploded inward. They hit the ground, and as soon as the gunshots stopped, they looked out to see both boys dead on the lawn. They must have tried to run but didn’t get farther than ten feet off the porch.”

  “No other neighbors gave statements?” I asked.

  “Nobody would answer their doors,” Bloom said. “You know how it is. Fear has a good way of keeping people quiet.”

  I took notes as they described the scene. “Rue and I will try again today. Maybe daylight hours and a night to think about it will make some folks a little braver. One would think they’d be getting really tired of the killings by now.”

  “I’d assume the shootings are over drug territories,” Rue said.

  Bloom shook his head. “Not according to the moms. They say their sons weren’t into that sort of thing.”

  I huffed. “Parents are always the last to know.”

  “Okay,” Royce said. “Cannon, you and Rue can comb that neighborhood, bang on doors, and find out who saw what, and Lawrence and Bentley can interview our guests again.” Sarge looked at Devon and me. “I’m sure you won’t mind having a break from the interrogations.”

  Devon chuckled. “You can say that again.”

  Chapter 5

  After going over the recorded interviews from yesterday and passing off the files to the lucky detectives who would take care of the second round of interrogations, Rue and I left for Draper Street.

  The apartment complex consisted of eighteen buildings over three streets—Draper, Cape, and Brewer. It was a depressed area, and not much good happened there.

  It was eleven o’clock by the time we reached the complex where the second night of shootings had taken place. Two buildings down, remnants of police tape still hung on the railings at the building’s entrance from the shootings the night before. I parked along the curb, and as we took the sidewalk to the front door, we passed the crime flags still poked into the lawn where the two eighteen-year-olds had taken their last breaths. We continued on, and I pressed the buzzer for apartment number three.

  Larita Jones, the mother of Trace—and the renter on record—answered the door, asked what we wanted, and reluctantly allowed us in. Her sister, Keesha Grant, sat at the table, her eyes bloodshot, probably from crying over the loss of her own son, Aaron.

  “Ladies.” I tipped my head and paid my respects. Rue did the same. “The only way to apprehend the shooter or shooters of your sons is if somebody is brave enough to talk. We’re hoping in the daylight hours and with time to think about the number of deaths on this block over the last two nights, somebody will step up and do the right thing. Luckily, the people who committed the first shootings were apprehended, but apparently, they aren’t the ones in charge. I’m betting people from the same crew shot your sons last night. Whoever’s giving the orders wants to make sure there isn’t anyone left who’s either competing in whatever activity he’s involved in or trying to take over his business.”

  Larita cried out as if she needed someone other than the shooters to blame. She chose us. “If the police patrolled here more than they do, these killings wouldn’t happen!”

  “Ma’am, I understand your frustration,” Rue said, “but nobody is willing to tell us why the shootings are occurring and who’s pulling the strings. Looks like turf wars to us but over what?”

  The women remained silent.

  Rue sighed. “Short of setting up police stations on each of the three blocks back here, we’re never going to be at the right place at the right time. Patrol can cruise one block while somebody rolls up on this one and takes out a teenager. We’ve had officers here the last two nights asking for help, and nobody will answer their doors, and even if they do, they say they don’t know anything. That’s why the shootings will continue, because nobody is willing to protect their neighbor.”

  “They’re trying to protect their own by staying out of it!” Larita yelled.

  I knew it would sound harsh, but I had to say it. “And how did that work out for your son?”

  The women cursed at me and ordered us out. I placed a card on the end table, and we left.

  “You really made an impression, partner,” Rue said with a huff.

  “Seriously? What the hell? They want protection, but they aren’t willing to work with us. You can’t have it both ways.” I jerked my chin at the apartment next door. “We’re going to knock on every door until someone answers and talks to us.”

  After going to two more units without any luck—even though I could hear TVs playing on the other side of the doors, no one answere
d—we moved on to unit four. We planned to hit all the lower apartments first then move up to the second floor and start again.

  Devon knocked, and we waited. A minute later and to our surprise, the door inched open, and a middle-aged woman stared out at us. Rue already had his badge in hand.

  “What do you want?” She cautiously looked left to right then ushered us in.

  I took the lead. “Ma’am, the shootings in this area aren’t going to end unless we get help from the people who live here. Anyone can accidentally be hit by a stray bullet as they pass their window or even when they’re sound asleep in bed. The only way to nip the killings in the bud is to know why this area has been targeted and who the shooters are.”

  She shook her head, and I was sure she was reconsidering the decision to let us in. We would be asked to leave any second.

  She let out a low groan and pointed at the couch. “You were probably seen coming in, so the damage is already done. I’ve only heard gossip, so I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t, but I’ll tell you what people are saying.”

  “And that’s all we can ask of you. Whenever you’re ready, ma’am.”

  “My niece, Noelle, knew Trace, the boy from next door who was shot last night. She’s said he and his cousin, Aaron, ran with a bad crowd. Those other boys who were shot the night before recruited them.”

  “Recruited them to do what?”

  “Sell drugs to school kids. Those shooters had their own bunch of school peddlers and caught wind that they had competition in this neighborhood. Word was out that they were going to shut down the Draper Street business any way necessary.”

  “But who’s in charge of the drug enterprise here, and who runs the business that did the shooting?”

  She shrugged. “All I know is the ‘boss’”—she made air quotes—“doesn’t live in our neighborhood.” She snickered sarcastically. “Too dangerous for him but okay for his minions.”

  “Mrs. Taylor, do you know any names from either group?”

  “Don’t know whose team he’s on, but somebody named Daman, but everyone is told to pronounce it Da’Man, runs the show either here or there, according to Noelle.”