I flash my badge. “Detective Lobos, Tampa PD. I need to ask you some questions about a Heckler & Koch 9mm you purchased on January 3rd, 2018.”
He shrugs. “What about it?”
“Mr. Cooper, have you loaned your firearm to anyone recently or told anyone you own a firearm?”
He crosses his arms. “Am I going to need an attorney before I talk you any further?”
“A cop’s wife and two daughters were murdered last night. We believe your gun was used in the murder.”
He cocks his head to the side. “That is not possible, Detective.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I was in Atlanta last night, and I took my gun with me.”
“Okay, do you have something or someone corroborate that?”
He steps back into his house and brings out his phone. He brings up his email showing the payment receipt for the ticket. “See. And as for my gun, no one knows about it but me and my wife.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cooper. That’ll be all?” I turn and head to my car.
“Do I need an attorney?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Save your money. Take your wife somewhere nice.” On my way to the car, I spark another smoke and take a deep drag. Well, shit, another dead end. I thought MK using a gun would be a game-changer, but the more things change, the more they stay the goddamn same.
I am almost to the Raging Leprechaun Pub when the dispatcher comes over the radio. “Unit 37. Come in, Unit 37.”
I pick up the mic. “Unit 37, go ahead?”
“We got a call from a Father Boyd at the church on Twiggs. He said he has more information he would like to share.”
“I’m on my way.” I do a U-turn and head to the church.
Chapter 8
I arrive at the church at noon, looking for the priest. I see that same janitor, he stops and stares at me. “No! Out! I will not help you, Gestapo thugs anymore.” The priest’s voice filled with fake anger and real fear.
I scowl at the priest, stomping toward me from the front of the church. “Father, what’s wrong?”
Fear buns in his eyes. “He’s here,” he whispers.
I undo the snap on my holster. “Where?” My voice low.
He nods toward the janitor as sweat breaks on his forehead.
I glance around the priest and see the janitor by the back exit of the church sweeping. I notice he has a striking resemblance to Drake just with black hair rather than blond. “Father, listen to me and do not turn around. I’m going to ask you again… are you sure that is, in fact, David Drake? Smile if you are sure and cough if you’re not.”
His eyes gleam with fear as he manages a smile.
Almost an instant after the priest smiles, the janitor draws a semi-automatic handgun. I tackle the priest knocking him out of the line of fire. I’m not about to have another lead snatched from me and spend another month chasing my own ass. I pull my gun and return fire — the bullet pings off the metal door, forcing him to dart out the back door. I get to my feet and race to the back door, and out in the alley. He turns to fire. I quickly duck behind a corner. Bullets pelt the corner chipping away parts of the brick wall. My gun cracks off several rounds missing him. He starts running again, and so do I. He turns and fires at me in the middle of the street. A round snaps over my head. I pop off a couple of rounds in vain. I get on my radio. “Shots fired at the cathedral on Twiggs Avenue. In pursuit of David Drake. Suspect is armed and dangerous.”
The chase goes from the alley to a busy intersection where I’m dodging both traffic and bullets. I get back on the radio. “Suspect is now heading down East Twiggs toward Plant Park.” The chase is now on to a busy sidewalk, filled with people.
Just great, that’s all I need is this asshole to start opening up on me in the midst of these people.
He raises his gun again but doesn’t fire. I duck behind a bus stop. People run for cover as he blazes his pistol at me. The glass shatters as bullets rip through the bus stop sitting area.
Strange. He doesn’t seem to be trying to kill me. He waited till the civilians were out of his line of fire...odd behavior for a child killer.
Police helicopters buzz overhead squad cars zip by with their sirens wailing. The chase carries over into Curtis Hexon Park. He’s making for the river. He is losing steam, as am I.
Damn cigarettes.
He stops at the water’s edge and turns to fire at me, but he’s empty. Panic shines in his eyes. “Time to call the quits, Drake. Drop the goddamn gun! Get down on the ground and place your hands behind your back.”
His mouth stretches into a smile like a predator revealing his teeth. “Did you enjoy my little art project on your partner’s wife?”
I should put a bullet through his head and move on to the next case for that remark, but why did he just mention the wife?
“Don’t tempt me. Get down on the fucking ground now! I order, inching closer to him.
He tosses a Glock on the ground, a different gun than the murder weapon. He probably swapped weapons.
“It’s a shame I missed Father Boyd. He could really screw up my mission.”
“Your mission is already screwed. Now lay on your stomach and put
