Memphis Streets 4: Skeletons

Chapter 27- Hydeya

"Nothing." I toss up my hands and then collapse back into my chair. Lieutenant Fowler shrugs and then moves from hovering over my shoulder.

"Well, what's a couple of more hours wasted in the grand scheme of things?"

"I don't know why you're laughing. You know that when I get a feeling about someone, I'm never wrong," I gloat.

"Never? Never ever?"

"Whoa! I was right about that asshole!" Fowler gives me a look.

"Okay. So maybe he wasn't technically a murderer."

"Which was the whole point since we were investigating a murder." Fowler drops into the chair across from my desk, snickering.

"You nearly blasted an innocent man's head off because you thought that he killed his son."

"You're right. He didn't kill him. He only molested and prostituted him and his other children to feed his lifestyle and drug habit. My bad. He was still a bad guy—and that's the same vibe I'm getting from Mr. Diesel Carver." Fowler sighs and shakes his head.

"You shouldn't patronize me. I'm your boss now, remember?"

"I have a feeling that you're never going to let me forget it."

"Damn right." I smirk.

As far as colleagues go, Fowler is all right with me. He has this weird ability to come off easygoing and aloof when in fact nothing is further from the truth. He's tenacious and as dedicated as they come. He takes his job seriously and he doesn't bend to the hard blue line that often pits cops against the very people that they're sworn to protect. The us-against-them mentality that's prevalent in most urban cities' police departments.

"So now what? Crazy lady went ballistic and went on a kidnapping and killing spree? Case closed?" I shift in my chair, uncomfortable putting the case in a neat box. "I'll take that as a no," Fowler says.

"I didn't say anything."

"Didn't have to. I know that look—it resembles the one my wife gives me when I ask for sex on my birthday."

"It might have something to do with the fact that you're divorced."

"See? You're even starting to sound like her." Laughing, I shake my head while reviewing things in my mind.

"We need to take another tour through Captain Johnson's residence. There's gotta be something there that better explains all of this. We don't have that much time. I'm already getting hints that the mayor wants this case to go away as fast as possible."

Knock. Knock.

"I was told to deliver these forensic tire and shoeprint reports to you."

"Great." I wave her in and take the report. "Thanks, Detective." She flashes a smile and leaves.

"Which case is that?" Fowler inquires, while I prop open the folder.

"The Terry-Gibson case." He shakes his head.

"Another seriously fucked up case."

"Are there any other kind?" I ask, not tearing my eyes from the report. "At least we got a brand from the molds. Firestone Destination ST."

"So we're looking for an SUV?"

"That should narrow things down to about a million." I hand over the top report and pictures in the folder. "Get on the phone with Firestone and find out what car shop or dealership where this DOT number was shipped to. Maybe we'll catch a break and find whose car those tires belong to."

"Unless they were stolen." I cut him a sharp look.

"Are you going to be Debbie Downer all day?"

"Sorry. It's hard to control my pessimist side sometimes."

"Try a little harder. Look at this." I hand him the next report and set of photographs.

"Shoeprints. Five different sets—two belong to our victims."

"Three killers. Definitely gang activity." He shrugs.

"We already knew that."

"Monica Terry was from Shotgun Row. Given her arrest record, I'd bet my house that she was a Queen G."

"And Tyneshia Gibson? She lived closer to the Ruby Cove area."

"Cartel Lord Cartier's. Oil and water." I lean back in my chair.

"Shoeprints are small, suggesting they're females."

"Or very dainty men?" Fowler jokes. I rub my pulsing temples.

"We're looking for either a group of Cartier's or a group of Queen Gs— or a collection of both."

"We can't rule out that it could be another group that doesn't like either those gangs. The Crippettes or the Blood-ettes or—"

"Get out of my office," I snap. "I don't need you popping my bubble every time I think I'm on a roll."

Fowler laughs and then tosses the reports and photographs back onto my desk. "I thought that we were brainstorming."

Knock. Knock.

Sighing, I look up again to a different detective, hovering. "Yes?"

"Captain Hawkins, there is a James and Theresa Gibson here to see you." The names don't set off any bells.

"The Terry-Gibson case," Fowler jogs my memory.

"Oh. Of course. Send them in." Fowler heads for the door.

"Wait. Stick around. You're going to be lead on this." He nods as the Gibsons are escorted to my door.

I climb to my feet and extend my hand. "Mr. and Mrs. Gibson, please come in. Have a seat." Fowler vacates his chair in order for the victim's parents to sit down.

"We've been calling to talk to you, but they kept telling us that you were out of the office," Mrs. Gibson begins.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry about that. How may I help you?" She hesitates and then glances over at her husband.

"We want to know how the investigation into our daughter's case is going. The news stations aren't saying much of anything and we'd hope that you would've called us back by now."

"Yes, ma'am. Let me reassure you that we are working diligently on Tyneshia's case. We have a few leads, but I got to warn you that this is going to be a very long process. We're not going to be able to solve this case overnight."

The couple glances at each other, and I get the distinct feeling that they want to tell me something.

"What is it?" Theresa grabs hold of her husband's hand for strength. "We'd like for you to talk to Tyneshia's friends."

"Oh?" My gaze slices to Fowler as I retrieve a pen and pad. "And what are their names?" They hesitate again.

With my hand poised over the paper, I resist rolling my eyes and snapping at them. It doesn't matter how old people are, the rules in the streets remain the same: no snitching.

"Mr. and Mrs. Gibson, do you want us to find your daughter's killers or not?" James Gibson's chin lifts with renewed resolve.

"Shamara Moore, Adaryl Grant, and Shaniqua Barrett."