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I fall asleep thinking of her and how she’s become such an important part of my life. These past few months, we’ve taken things slowly. As a prospect, she worried that a relationship with a cop could ruin her chances of getting patched in. Now that she’s a patched member, I worry that a relationship with a member of the motorcycle club could hurt my reputation. Jesus, we’re fucked up. Logic dictates that we end our relationship before it moves into something serious, but even though we haven’t had sex yet, I feel it’s too late. I can’t imagine not having her in my life. How the fuck did that happen?
The next morning, I have a voicemail left by the head of CPS. She says the words that I really didn’t want to hear. I’ll have to work with Gloria Billock, the bitch of an agent that was helping Wayne. The only good news is we’re holding the meeting at Desdemona’s home in deference to Angelica’s needs. I call Ms. Billock and leave her a message with my contact information, letting her know that I’ll be attending the meeting.
Shaking my head, I log into my computer to review the search I ran on Angela. I don’t find any criminal activity, which doesn’t surprise me. Her apartment is in her name only and is in a part of town that fits the salary of a cocktail server. She’s been at the Horseshoe Casino for over a year. Prior to that, she was working at a diner outside Henderson.
I also run a search on Reggie Carter, Angela’s protector from the previous night. Since he knew about Angelica, I assume he and Angela have more than a working relationship. Maybe I’m going overboard, but I feel a responsibility for the little girl who stole the hearts of Puma and the rest of the club. When my phone rings, I expect it to be Ms. Billock, but it’s dispatch ordering me to attend a suspicious death at a motel.
The motel is exactly what one would imagine when they hear the term ‘seedy motel.’ It’s two stories with an open walkway. The enclosed pool looks like it would put up a good fight against any chlorine poured into it. A young couple dressed in shorts and tank tops hovers outside an open door, which is a handful of doors away from the crime scene. Two cop cars, an ambulance, and the coroner’s van take up most of the parking spaces. There are only three other cars in the lot. Two are pickup trucks that have seen better days. The third is a Mercedes convertible that likely costs more than the property it’s sitting on. The plates are official LVMPD plates. Who the fuck in the police department drives such an expensive car?
“You’re here,” says my lieutenant as he makes his way toward me. I don’t bother hiding my surprise at seeing him out in the field.
“What are you doing here?”
He scowls at me. “Figured I should attend, considering the identity of the victim.”
“Which is?”
“Wayne Turner. Witness called it in. Claimed he saw a blonde woman wearing a leather vest leaving the room after he heard the shots. A tall blonde woman. Said she was close to six feet.”
I narrow my eyes at him as I consider his accusation. He’s implying that Viper killed her father, but I know she didn’t. She couldn’t have. “I’d like to speak to this witness. Was it one of them?” I ask, nodding at the couple observing the commotion.
“No, they slept through the whole thing. Likely drug addicts. The witness called the station.” He says nothing more.
“Who is this witness? I need more than just an anonymous tip.”
“You need to go arrest that bitch,” he insists.
“Are you taking over this case?” I ask him, standing my ground. No way am I going to arrest Viper without more than an account by a single witness, an anonymous witness at that.
“No, but you know who did it. Go arrest her,” he snarls.
“No. I’m not putting my career on the line by arresting someone without evidence. I need to process the scene and talk to this witness you said we have. Then, if the evidence warrants it, I’ll bring her in for questioning.” I push past him, leaving him to sputter behind me. Passing under the caution tape, I climb the stairs and enter the last resting place of the asshole Wayne Turner.
He’s on the bed, lying in boxer shorts, his face angled toward the door. Someone shot him once in the head and once in the chest. I glance around the room and see an open duffle bag on the floor next to the bed and a wet towel on the ground near the bathroom. The smell of copper barely covers the mix of mildew, cigarette smoke, and body odor.
“What have we got?” I ask the coroner.
“Victim’s name is Wayne Turner,” he starts, but I stop him from giving me the details I already know.
“Yeah, we’ve met. I know his details. What can you tell me about his death?”
“Okay. Two gunshot wounds, one to the forehead and the other to his chest. Considering the angle of the shots, I believe the first shot was to the chest while he was sitting up.” He shows the projection of the shot and shows where the bullet exited his back before lodging in the wall. “The shooter was likely standing just inside the room, near the door. He got closer for the second shot. The angle shows he was standing over the victim when he pulled the trigger.”
“Any way to determine the height of the shooter?” I ask, not sure if the information will help or not. Viper’s tall for a woman, but at six feet, she’s a little over the average height of a man.
“The crime scene guys might determine that, but I can’t tell for certain. Although, I’d say the shooter held the muzzle of the gun close to his forehead.”
“What about the time of death?”
“You know how it goes. I can give you an estimate at this time, but I’d say he’s been dead at least eight hours. So sometime between ten and one.”
I send a silent prayer out to the universe, hoping Viper has an alibi for the time in question. The description of the crime tells me what I already know. Viper didn’t commit this murder. If she wanted him dead, she would have only needed the one shot. Right between his eyes. Or if she wanted him to suffer, she’d have hit him in the stomach to let him bleed out. In either case, she’d only need a single bullet. However, his killer needed two shots. He or she took the easy shot first, hitting him where he was widest, before going for the kill.
After ensuring the crime scene team is on task, I head to my car. Not before noticing that not only is my boss no longer on the scene, neither is the expensive sports car. My next stop is the Demon Dawgs’ Clubhouse. Using voice commands, I place a call to Puma. I grip the steering wheel hard until he finally picks up. “Puma, it’s Rafe. I’m on my way to the clubhouse. I need to talk to Viper about Wayne. Is she there?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN: VIPER
When Rafe enters the room, he focuses all his attention on me. It’s something I can always count on from him. His undivided attention. I know I hurt him by taking off yesterday without speaking to him first, but I also know he’ll forgive me. Rafe understands me, and that is something I will never take for granted. Standing, I go to him and wrap my arms around him. Without hesitation, he does the same to me, burying his face in my neck.
