Her Final Breath (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 2) (17 page)

“Can they distinguish between the different types of rope?” Tracy asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’m waiting for a guy to call me back. We got phones?”

“Working on it,” Kins said. “Use your cell for now. We got reception.”

“Supervisor says they can track purchases through employee numbers,” Tracy said. “See if you can get records of any purchases made in the last six months by an employee named David Bankston.”

Mayweather wrote down the name, then picked up his backpack and took his slice of pizza to one of the remaining open desks.

Kins stood and dumped his paper plate in the trash. “I’m going to call Taggart’s employer and see if he’s been around.”

Tracy’s desk phone rang. “We have phones,” she said, answering it. “Detective Crosswhite.”

“Detective, this is David Bankston.”

Tracy checked her watch. “Yes, David. Thank you for calling.”

Kins gave her a look, and she nodded.

“Yeah, um, I’m not going to be able to come in today after all.”

“No?” She shook her head to let Kins know Bankston was backing out.

“My mother-in-law is sick, so she can’t watch my daughter. I have to get home.”

“Won’t your wife be home?”

Bankston paused. “She got called in early, so that’s why she called her mother, to cover until I could get home.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“I can’t tomorrow. I got to watch my daughter, and I’m working the night shift.”

“Tell me what day works for you? We’d really like to get you cleared.”

“I’ll have to call you back after I find out my schedule and talk with my wife.”

“Will you call me tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll try. I have to go now. I’m still at work. We’re not supposed to be making personal calls.” Bankston disconnected.

Tracy looked to Kins. “Says he can’t come in; he has to watch his daughter.”

“Maybe he figured out we’re not just looking to clear him.”

CHAPTER 24

B
radley Taggart’s last known employer told Kins that Taggart had called to quit and asked for his last paycheck. “Employer offered to mail it, but Taggart said he would come in and get it,” Kins told Tracy.

“Did he say when?” Tracy said.

“This afternoon. We just missed him. Employer said Taggart was amped up on something and was glad to get rid of him. Called him ‘dark.’”

“Did he have any idea where he was going?”

“He didn’t, but one of the guys in the marine shop said on paydays Taggart likes to drink at a place in Pioneer Square called The Last Shot.”

“Might be ours.”

The Last Shot, in one of the low-rise brick buildings on First Avenue, was already displaying signs that it would have a decent crowd for a midweek evening. People sat in booths nursing beers and shot pool in the long and narrow space at the back of the bar. Tracy recognized Taggart from his driver’s license photograph. He was seated on a barstool, sipping an amber-colored drink, with a bottle of Budweiser on the bar. Taggart’s attention was directed up, at a motorcycle race on one of the overhead televisions, watching the competitors skid and slide dirt bikes around a track. He had a small frame, but Taggart’s tough-guy attitude came through loud and clear in his clothing choice—black leather vest, black biker boots, and black jeans with a prominent wear mark in his rear left pocket, indicating he liked to chew tobacco. Tracy noted a knife sheath attached to his belt.

She went back outside and discussed the situation with Kins, who’d double-parked, while they waited for backup. Within minutes two patrol units arrived. Tracy directed one to the alley at the back of the building and the other to the corner, where it wouldn’t be seen by someone looking out The Last Shot’s plate-glass windows.

She and Kins entered the bar together. Tracy took the barstool one removed from Taggart on his right. The stools on Taggart’s left were occupied by a couple, so Kins sat at the end of the bar, near the back door.

“Bradley Taggart,” Tracy said.

Taggart gave her a cool glance and picked up the bottle of beer. His eyes were glassy, but his knee was bouncing beneath the bar. Taggart either needed a fix or was coming down off one. “Who wants to know?” He tilted the bottle to his lips. Tattoos of colorful flames ran down each of his forearms. A dagger tattoo dripping drops of blood adorned his right biceps.

Tracy showed Taggart her badge and ID. Taggart smirked and went back to watching motocross, but Tracy sensed by the way he’d slid forward on the stool to lower his boots to the floor that he was considering bolting. “There’s an officer at the end of the bar and two more at the front door,” she said.

Taggart looked to where Kins now stood. “So?”

“So I’m going to ask you to put both hands on the bar where I can see them.”

“Why? I’m not doing anything.”

“You have an outstanding warrant.”

“Bullshit.”

Taggart had a habit of running his hand through his hair. “You missed a court date on a possession charge.”

“My attorney handled that.”

“Apparently not very well. You also broke one of the conditions of your parole when you quit your job.”

“Maybe I got a better job.”

“You should share that with your probation officer. You still have that warrant.”

Taggart tipped the bottle to his lips. “I’d like a lawyer.”

“I thought you said you had one.”

“I’d like a different one.”

“You’ll have to make those arrangements after you’re booked. Where’ve you been the last couple days?”

“Grieving.”

This was going nowhere fast. “So what’s it going to be, Mr. Taggart?”

He exchanged the bottle for the glass. “I haven’t finished my drink yet.”

“That’s not going to happen today.”

Taggart slammed back the liquid and gave her a defiant smirk. “Any other predictions?”

“One. You’ll walk out that door in handcuffs. You can do it standing, or with me dragging your ass across the floor.”

“Ain’t you under some federal indictment for police brutality?”

“I’m asking you again to place your hands on the bar. You have an outstanding warrant. I have the legal right to bring you in.”

“You gonna frisk me, Officer?” He winked. “’Cause I’m packing heat down the front of my pants.”

She nodded to Kins, who approached. Taggart glanced over his left shoulder, sighed, and put down the bottle. He raised his hands in an exaggerated motion of surrender and slapped them on the bar loud enough to draw attention. The couple on the barstools to Taggart’s left quickly moved out of the way. Tracy walked behind Taggart and reached around his right side. She slipped a handcuff just below a silver bracelet shaped like a snake with two red stones for eyes. When she pulled Taggart’s hand behind his back, the stool rotated. Taggart’s left hand shot up and grabbed her crotch.

Startled, Tracy instinctively swung her elbow across Taggart’s face and heard bone on bone. She grabbed the back of his head and shoved it hard against the bar. Kins moved in quickly, using his body weight to help pin Taggart, who had started to struggle and to swear a blue streak.

“You’re all witnesses! I didn’t do nothing! Police brutality!” Blood ran from Taggart’s nostrils, coloring his teeth.

“Hey!” The bartender had stepped back behind the bar from wherever he’d been. “Is that necessary?”

Tracy managed to get Taggart’s left arm behind his back and finished cuffing him. She removed the knife from his belt and handed it to one of the patrol officers who’d joined them, then patted down Taggart for any other weapons.

Finding none, she said, “Get up.”

She yanked Taggart from the seat, but he continued to resist and his foot slipped on the blood and spilled beer. Before Tracy and Kins could right him, Taggart fell, smacking the back of his head hard against the tile floor.

“There’s no need for that,” the bartender said.

“I want a lawyer,” Taggart yelled from the ground. “You’re all witnesses. Police brutality!”

The crowd had become interested, never a good thing, and was rapidly becoming animated, voicing its disapproval and hurling profanities. Sensing a bad situation about to get worse, Tracy and Kins lifted Taggart and slid him out the back door, kicking and screaming, to the waiting patrol car.

CHAPTER 25

T
hey decided to let Taggart cool down in a cell at King County Jail. The way he’d continued to carry on in the back of the patrol car and throughout booking, Tracy figured that could take a week. It took much less time for word about the confrontation in the bar to spread through the Violent Crimes Section. Billy called to give her a heads-up that Nolasco wanted to see her in his office and that he didn’t sound happy. Tracy had little hope she was going to get any sympathy from the man who’d once grabbed her breast to demonstrate a pat-down to a room full of recruits. Kins accompanied her, though he hadn’t actually seen Taggart grab Tracy because Taggart had rotated his stool. He’d only witnessed her response.

The venetian blinds were down, but Nolasco’s office door was open. He sat talking on the phone. When he looked up at them, his face was crimson and his jaw clenched. He pointed emphatically to the two chairs. Tracy and Kins sat.

“Yes, sir. I understand. Yes, I will,” Nolasco said before replacing the receiver. He took a moment to run a hand over his face, then spoke with his eyes shut. “Please tell me you did not just break a man’s nose in front of a bar full of witnesses.”

“A suspect,” Tracy said.

Nolasco lowered his hands. “What?”

“I broke a suspect’s nose in front of a bar full of witnesses.”

“Are you freaking kidding me, Crosswhite? The guy is screaming he’s going to sue everyone.”

“We know. We were there.”

“Yeah, well, did you know we’ve got five calls already and not one of them is going to bat for you? They say you slammed his face into the bar, then cut out his legs and let his head hit the floor.”

“That’s not what happened, Captain,” Kins said. “The guy grabbed her.”

“I want to hear it from her, Sparrow. You’ll get your chance to fill out a report. And, trust me, you will be filling out a report, because I guaran-fucking-tee you OPA is going to be crawling up my ass on this. In fact, get out of here.”

“Excuse me, Captain,” Kins said, “but I believe I can corroborate—”

“That’s my problem, Sparrow. I don’t want you corroborating shit. If there is an inquiry, they’ll claim you just parroted whatever she says here. So get the hell out of here and fill out a report.”

Kins stood, gave Tracy a look, and started out of the room.

“And shut the door,” Nolasco said. When the door closed, he said, “Do you know who that was on the phone?”

“No, Captain.”

“That was Martinez. He called to let me know that with the Justice Department’s report still hanging over our heads, this is just about the worst possible time to have something like this happen. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Tell him Taggart resisted arrest.”

“Who’s Taggart?”

“Veronica Watson’s boyfriend. His employer called and gave us a lead that Taggart drinks at a bar in Pioneer Square. We ran him and found out he has an outstanding warrant and violated his parole when he quit his job. I asked him three times to place his hands on the bar. I told him I intended to leave the bar with him and that he could either walk out in handcuffs or be dragged out. He put his hands on the bar.”

“So he complied.”

“No.”

“You just said he put his hands on the bar.”

“He did, and I got the cuff on his right wrist. Then he rotated the stool and grabbed me.”

“Grabbed you where?”

“My crotch.”

“Did he have a weapon?”

“A knife.”

“In his hand?”

“No.”

“Do you have any physical injuries?”

“No, Captain.”

“And nobody saw it.”

“You’ll have to ask them.”

“The bartender said he saw you slam the guy’s face into the bar.”

“The bartender walked over after Taggart grabbed me.”

“So you did slam his face against the bar.”

“I applied an armlock to immobilize him.”

“How’d his head hit the floor?”

“When we pulled him from the barstool, his boots slipped.”

“And no one was in a position to catch him?”

“Apparently not.”

Nolasco ran a hand through his hair. “With everything going on, you couldn’t find the ability to control your temper?”

“My temper had nothing to do with it. He provoked the confrontation. He had a knife on his belt, and he told me he had a gun down the front of his pants.”

Nolasco leaned forward. “Did he?”

“No.”

“Anything else?”

“No, Captain.”

Nolasco stared at her. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything, Captain.”

“You’re thinking I’m not going to go to bat for you.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

“Well, I’m not going to make it that easy on you.”

“Sir?”

“You wanted to be the lead on the Cowboy Task Force. You’re not getting off.”

“I didn’t ask off.”

“Because when you screw that up, you’re not going to be able to blame me and say I had it out for you because of what happened twenty years ago.”