Unlucky 13 (Women's Murder Club 13)

“Exactly like that, Captain. And if this is a fishing trip, we’re trawling for a Great White that’s been spotted in these waters.”

The captain grinned at her. Nice grin, actually.

“I can tell you’re a writer,” he said. “What’s the nature of your lead, Ms.—”

“Please call me Cindy.”

“Okay, Cindy. Explain what you know and spare me the bull, please. I got a limited number of people on my force and none of us are going anywhere until I verify this killer you say is around here.”

Cindy told the captain that the fugitive was wanted by the FBI and had been captured on videotape within thirty miles of Cleveland.

“I’m not going to name my source—not now, not ever. But I scoped out the location this morning, Captain. This fugitive has a small child. I saw a trike on the lawn.

“Maybe that’s nothing,” Cindy said, “but this house would make an excellent hiding place for this individual.”

The captain tapped his fingers on the desk and said, “Cindy, that’s just not enough. We can’t go out to some location where there might be a dangerous felon without doing our own scoping. Give me the address and let me do this right.

“I’ll send out some guys in unmarked cars, vans, whatever, see who is coming and going, do our due diligence, before we show up with guns blazing. You follow me?”

“I understand. And now I have to be clear, Captain. You want to catch this fugitive before she runs. You really do.”

“I hear you. Now give me the name. If there are warrants out, I’ll work something out with you. Do we have a deal?”

Cindy stuck out her hand and the Captain shook it with his good one. Cindy was spelling out “Mackenzie” when Captain Lawrence’s good hand paused over the keyboard.

“Mackie Morales. That’s Randy Fish’s woman.”

“Right. You know about Fish?”

“Went to school with him. He was always a little shit, but I underestimated him. He turned out to be one of the biggest turds to come out of this state in a hundred years.”

“He was ruthless and cunning,” Cindy said. “So is Morales.”

Captain Lawrence said, “I’m on board with you, Cindy. Tell me what you know.”

CHAPTER 13

AN HOUR AFTER meeting with Captain Lawrence in his office, Cindy was sitting in the passenger seat beside him in a cruiser, parked on the same section of dirt road beyond the green house where she had parked earlier this morning.

The captain’s terms had been good enough for Cindy.

She could ride to the location in his car. She had to stay back from any action. Anything he said was off the record unless he said she could quote him. She couldn’t take pictures. She couldn’t hotdog or in any way go off on her own, or the deal was null and void.

In exchange for giving him the lead, Captain Lawrence would give Cindy credit for the tip, and he’d give her whatever advantage he could in protecting her exclusive on the story.

It was a great deal, and Cindy liked the captain and felt sure that he wouldn’t go back on his word.

And the operation was seriously in play.

Minutes after she and the captain were in place, a second cruiser had blocked off the long dirt drive where it branched off toward the Fish house. There was a boat on the lake and two teams of armed men were hidden in the woods.

Now a white van marked ZIMMER CONSTRUCTION came up the drive to the house. The radio in the captain’s car came to life, Sergeant Bob Morrison reporting that he and Officer Barton were going to go to the door.

Captain Lawrence told them to go ahead, then said to Cindy, “I looked you up. That story you wrote about Randy Fish. I read it at the time. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name.”

“That happens. Like all the time.”

“It was good story, and you wrote it well. I keep going back in my mind, trying to picture Randy, asking myself when he turned into such a monster. He was brought up in a good family. Bill Fish was a dentist—”