SHADOW MAN - Angie Bartoni Case File #6 (ANGIE BARTONI CASE FILES Book 1) Read online

“So I’ll have to run him down.”

  “Why Dan, thanks for offering. That’s very considerate of you.”

  “You’re a real hoot Bartoni,” Dan replied as he got out.

  I slid over to the driver’s side and started the car. Dan walked across the street and began jogging up the block. I could see our guy take a phone out of his pocket. He said something then looked behind him. Bam, he was off. Dan took off like a shot as well but the guy had a good thirty yards start and he knew the neighborhood.

  I shot out of the parking place and took off down a side street. I looked up just in time to see him turn towards me. He saw the car and stopped, did a quick 180 degree turn and headed the other way.

  I shot off down the next street over and saw Dan running hell bent for leather. Dan is a long distance kind of guy. If this twit thought he was going to wear Dan down he was in for a heck of a surprise.

  I raced down another street. The perp ran out of the side street, couldn’t quite stop in time and ran into the fender. He flew up in the air, came down on the hood, and fell to the ground on the other side. Dan ran up and jumped on the guy before he could get up and try to limp off.

  I, on the other hand, was looking at the car. There was a dent in the fender and a pushed in area on the hood. At least this one wasn’t totaled.

  “You’re getting slower,” I said to Dan as he rolled the guy over and put the cuffs on him.

  “Well, well, well. Jimmy Dillon. Nice running into you like this,” I said as Dan yanked him up.

  “You got to right to be doin’ this. I ain’t done nothing.”

  “I ain’t done nothing means you have done something, simpleton,” I told him.

  Whoosh, right over the genius’s head.

  “I didn’t rob no store. You got the wrong guy.”

  “What store?”

  “Milton’s Convenience. I didn't have nothing to do with that. I was home sleeping. I got friends can tell you that. You ain’t got nothin' on me.”

  “You know Jimmy, if you were any dumber your head would collapse from the external pressure of the atmosphere.”

  “Hey, up yours and this dumb cracker’s too,” Jimmy said.

  I heard a ‘bonk’ noise then a yelp from Jimmy.

  “Watch your head,” Dan said putting Jimmy in the back seat.

  I could see the red bump starting to form across his forehead. Dan does not take well to insults, especially being called a pig or a cracker. I, on the other hand, will take a few insults but the ‘B’ word isn’t one of them. I draw the line at that.

  **

  We were sitting in the interview room with our visiting genius and the ADA and captain were watching through the glass.

  “So Jimmy, you claim that you had nothing to do with the Milton’s Convenience Store robbery and the shooting of Mr. Milton.”

  “That’s right. Anybody say I did is a liar.”

  “Well here is the thing Jimmy. Three people put you at the store during the robbery. They say you are the one that did the job and pulled the trigger. Why do you think they would say such a thing?”

  “Cause they probably crackers. They always be trying to blame it on the black man.”

  “That’s the second problem. All three are black just like you Jimmy,” I said.

  “Shit. They just be told what to say by the likes of you.”

  “Let’s say you are right. Take a look at these,” I said laying out a row of photographs.

  They showed a man in a black hoodie, black jeans and shoes just like the ones Jimmy had on. He was holding a revolver and it was pointed at Mr. Milton. In the fourth picture you could see the fire come out of the barrel of the gun and Mr. Milton starting to fall back.

  “Looks like you were there and you did shoot him,” I said.

  “That ain’t me.”

  “Oh, here I forgot to show you these,” I said laying down three more photos.

  Jimmy had raised his ski mask and was reaching over the counter to grab the contents of the cash register.

  “Ain’t me,” he mumbled.

  “I guess we will let a jury decide. Jimmy, I hope the thirty-one dollars you got was worth it. I figure that will amount to about a dollar a year. Thirty years, if you are lucky, for thirty-one dollars. Not a very smart trade.”

  “I want a deal,” he suddenly said.

  “Deal? Deal? What could you possible offer as a deal? We have you. You have nothing we want. You’re just a stupid jerk and I hope you rot in jail,” I said, getting up and leaving the room.

  When I got outside the ADA was standing there along with the captain.

  “No frickin deals. He goes to trial. No plea bargains,” I said just a bit more harshly than necessary as I walked on by and headed down the stairs.

  I was absolutely fed up with plea bargains. I don’t want to hear about how it helps the courts. I want to help Mrs. Milton. She is the only thing I care about. Not the DA or the courts. They could burn that little bastard as far as I was concerned.

  “Are you okay?” Dan asked.

  “Why sure Dan. I love the way we spend months living in a car to capture these bastards then the DA’s office just does a plea bargain to make their lives easier. Why should that bother me?”

  “Okay then. How about those Cubs?”

  “They suck as usual,” I replied.

  “Wait until next year.”

  “They have been saying for over a hundred years now,” I replied.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was late afternoon before I had calmed down enough to use my brain rather than my mouth. For once even the captain had been walking a wide berth. Dan had found something ‘important’ to do that kept him gone as well.

  Okay, so I was a grump butt but damn it, in my opinion the worst thing the courts have ever come up with is the plea bargain. I see pedophiles get away with that all the time. If it were up to me there would never be a second chance for them and no plea bargains. I would put them in a hole so deep that oxygen would have to be pumped in.

  Geez, I’m starting to get an attitude. I guess I need a bigger dose of Zoloft.

  “So what now boss?” Dan asked.

  I just looked at him for a second. He knew Angie’s rule number one was never, ever, ask what was next.

  “Oops. Sorry,” he said.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m being a jerk and I know it. It was a waste of time talking to that moron. We should have just booked him and let the court take care of it. But no. It’s an election year so we are making sure everyone that goes to trial is all tied up neat and tidy. We are wasting our time doing their job,” I vented.

  “We are done with that one. So let’s go get some more bad guys,” Dan said smiling.

  One thing I could always count on was Dan being raring to go get some more scumbags and lock them up. He thrived on it.

  “We need to check in with Stillwell’s probation officer and find out where all of his pals are. I would imagine they have the same one.”

  “That would be so cool,” Dan said rubbing his hands together.

  **

  Twenty minutes later we were pulling up in front of the City Probate Office. Apparently the probation officers were working out of there while their new building was being finished. Must be nice. We were still working out of the death trap we had been using for the past thousand years or so.

  “We are looking for Karen Larkins,” I said to the ditz at the counter.

  She didn’t answer but just pointed down the hall. Probably couldn’t point and talk at the same time. I knocked on the door.

  “Come in. Detective Bartoni?”

  “That would be me. This is my partner, Detective Dan Roberts.”

  “Please have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  Karen Larkins looked nothing like what you would expect a probation officer to look like. She was tall and slender but looked soft with no real muscle tone. I guess she was pretty good looking because I saw Dan drool.

  “We need to kn
ow the location of all of the guys that were released with Bruno Stillwell. You know that he was killed I presume?” I said.

  “Yes Detective Bartoni. I have a copy of the autopsy report right here. I think I know where you are going with this but I doubt any of those guys had anything to do with it. Bruno was the leader. They did exactly what he said. They were afraid of him to a man,” she informed me.

  “I agree but we have to check it out anyway. A waste of time? Probably, but the DA is going to require it.”

  “I guess they don’t mind wasting your time. As for me, I’m personally not sorry to see Bruno gone. The man was pure evil. He should never have been paroled under any circumstances.”

  “None of them were worth a damn.”

  “Here,” she said, sliding a folder over.

  I opened it and found a list of the names and the addresses where they were supposed to be living. If they changed addresses they were required to notify Larkins.

  The list was comprised of:

  Pete Sanders

  Tom James

  Ralph Carry

  Gene Sharp

  Carl Bell

  Sid Peters

  “Boy, this brings back memories. Not good ones mind you, nevertheless, I remember each one of these jackasses.”

  “Holy smokes. You are the one that broke the case. You are the one who got them put away. Man, that is so cool. Geez. I never put it together. Detective Angie Bartoni. I am honored to meet you.”

  “Easy. It wasn’t anything extraordinary. They made a mistake and I just happened to be ready for them.”

  “I followed that case. You were brilliant,” Karen gushed.

  Oh stop it. Really. It wasn’t anything any other genius couldn’t have done. I was determined to only let her go on for a few more minutes. Just kidding.

  “Anyway they were off the streets and that was the important thing. Anything we should know about these guys. I mean, anything new?”

  “You probably already know that, contrary to his name, Gene Sharp, is the dumbest one of the lot. I doubt he can spell his name without a cheat sheet.”

  “Good, I had forgotten that. He would be a good place to start. If he knows anything at all, we will get it out of him,” I told her.

  “I know this is none of my business but would you mind keeping me in the loop about your progress on the case?” Karen asked.

  “I’ll let you know as much as I can. Thank you for the list and your willingness to help,” I said.

  I felt better than I had in several days. It’s amazing what meeting someone who appreciates what you do, can do for your attitude.

  I looked over at Dan as we were leaving. I swear, slugs leave less of a trail, his tongue was dragging the pavement.

  “Quite a looker, huh?”

  “Who?”

  I stopped and looked at him. You know how a big ole dog in the summertime looks with his tongue hanging out. He had that sort of look. I just laughed and headed out to the car.

  I decided I would drive so he could stick his head out the window to complete the illusion.

  **

  Dan had programed the GPS to take us to Gene Sharp’s place. It was a pretty rundown house that had three other convicts living in it as well. Someone had stuck a sign in the yard that said: CRIMINALS LIVE HERE – BEWARE.

  Probably not the nicest thing but it would be hard to blame the people living around them. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t want them living near me. That is especially true of someone like Bruno Stillwell.

  The steps creaked and I was afraid Dan might go right through them but somehow they held. I pounded on the door and a few seconds later a scruffy face looked out from behind the curtains.

  I recognized him immediately as Gene Sharp. I saw his eyes get wide. Yep, he recognized me too. I held up my badge just for good measure.

  “Open up Sharp,” I said.

  “I ain’t done nothin'.”

  Holy crap. Does anyone speak English anymore?

  “Sharp, open the damn door or my big detective partner is going to kick it down and then he will be all pumped and who knows what else may happen? Get my drift?”

  “Frickin police,” I heard him mutter but he opened it.

  “Gene. Long time no see. Wow, you look like crap. I hope life has been treating you really shitty,” I said.

  He just glared at me and folded his scrawny arms across his chest.

  “This is my partner, Detective Roberts, and even a dimwit like you has to realize that this isn’t a social call. Now Sharp, you have two choices and only two, so listen carefully. You can answer my questions here or I can drag your butt down to the station. See how nice I am? I’m letting you decide.”

  “Big deal. What do you want to know?”

  “Bruno Stillwell.”

  “What about him?”

  “Don’t pull that crap with me or Detective Roberts may have to adjust your attitude. You do not want him to adjust your attitude. Get it?”

  “Look I don’t know anything about that. Somebody pushed him off a building. All I know is what I saw on TV. Sounds like he really pissed somebody off.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Hell I don’t know. I been stayin' away from that psycho ever since I got out. Don’t never want nothin' to do with him again. The son of a bitch didn’t even try to help us out in prison. Tell you one thing, none of us is sorry he's gone,” Sharp said.

  “Well you see that is part of the problem,” I said.

  “What the hell you talkin' bout?”

  “Maybe you guys got together and decided to get a little revenge. Beat the hell out of him and throw his butt off the building.”

  Sharp broke up laughing.

  “Yeah, that gonna happen. You of all people should know he could eat us for breakfast and be hungry again at noon. I can tell ya we didn’t do it. Hell, none of us wanted to ever see the bastard again.”

  “Where were you the night before last?”

  “At work. I work swing shift at Pesco Plating Company on Fall Creek. You check my time card and ask my supervisor.”

  “Write the address and supervisor's name down,” I said handing him a pad of paper and my pen.

  He just looked at it.

  “Okay, just tell me. I’ll write it down.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sharp had been telling the truth. We checked his time card and with the supervisor. I was also pretty sure he was right about not wanting to have anything to do with Stillwell since they had gotten out. I also doubted that any one of them would try to take him on alone. That put a different spin on things. It didn’t mean we could take any shortcuts. We would still have to talk to the remaining five.

  The next two days were a total bust. We talked to each of the parolees and all of their alibis checked out. To a person they didn’t ever want to deal with Stillwell again.

  We dragged our butts back to the station about 9:00 p.m., tired and cranky. It had been two sixteen hour days and we had absolutely nothing to show for it. Wait, that’s not true. We knew who didn’t do it.

  I sat down at my desk and let my chin drop to my chest. Dan had laid his head on his desk. We were both pretty whipped.

  “Come on, let’s call it a night,” I said just as my phone rang.

  Quandary. Answer it or not? I mean we could have just left or not even been there for that matter. We should just walk out.

  “Bartoni,” some dumbass said into the phone.

  “Hey Bartoni. You should get off your rear and get over to 133 ½ Franklin Street.”

  “What do you have Sorenson?” I said.

  “Carl Bell.”

  “Whoa,” I said sitting up.

  Dan raised his head and looked over at me.

  “I guess I should say parts of Carl Bell.”

  “Parts?”

  “You should see for yourself. It’s right up your alley,” Sorenson replied.

  “We are on our way.”

  “Our Carl Bell?�
� Dan asked.

  “Unless you know another one,” I said heading to the car with Dan in tow.

  **

  “Hope you haven’t had lunch yet. This one is ugly even by our standards,” Sorenson said when we got out of the car.

  Now Doc Sorenson has seen a lot of bad stuff. More than you can possibly imagine. If this one upset him, it had to be bad.

  “You want to go in with me or stay out here?” I asked Dan.

  Dan had a weak stomach and it didn’t take a lot to set him off. The last thing I wanted was the smell of barf to go along with the pungent odor of death.

  “I’ll wait out here.”

  It was actually a good call. Dan was a big enough man to recognize his weaknesses.

  As always, the smell hit you first. Sorenson rubbed camphor under his nose and handed the jar to me. The place was more of a shack than a house. It was dark and dingy inside and the floors creaked as we walked over to the wall where the body of Carl Bell was hanging .

  I mean that literally. He was spread eagle and at least a hundred nails were protruding from his body. His hands, feet, and genitals had received the most.

  “Man,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Sorenson replied.

  “He pissed someone off big time.”

  “You could say that. Looks like they sliced his Achilles tendons first to make sure he couldn’t run. Then he was dragged over here and nailed to the wall. An air nail gun was used. See how part of the head is missing from each nail. That’s how air guns work.”

  “So they shot nails at him?”

  “No. That crap is just in the movies. The gun has a safety device that keeps it from firing unless it is touching the object. In this case Bell. The safety device will keep it from firing until it is depressed.”

  “So they have to shove it against him and then pull the trigger.”

  “Correct.”

  “So where do they get the air from?”

  “Probably a portable air compressor. They make little pancake compressors for just such devices.”

  “Nailing people to the wall?”

  “Don't be a wiseass Bartoni, you know what I mean.”

  “So it took a hell of a lot to kill him. I mean, none of those were lethal except for the one through the eyes. I would imagine that finally killed him,” I speculated.