A Beautiful Ending
“Shit.” I say.
“Holy cow.” Dana exhale, catching he breath in her palms that covers her face.
The buzzing in the precinct is not a positive vibe. Its that of something unbelievable, something we never saw coming.
Keith Rockwell?
Nah.
No way.
But you can't tell with spoilt rich kids.
With my hands stuffed in my pockets, I'm standing over Dana's shoulder as she runs the trace once more. The monitor’s line is a jagged green pulse that keeps skipping and won't stop.
A young man named Leo who wears glasses thicker than his wrists, Fallen personal techie because he says Liam gets too playful. As soon as Fallen had got wind of this, he had sent Leo over. He still doesn't trust Liam.
“Got him,” Leo says. Despite being quiet his voice pierces the noise in the room.
As the digital map finally settles on the large screen at the front of the room, his eyes narrow and focus with such intensity that his face appears older.
Unquestionably a single red line blinks steadily. “You won't —”
“We got a location,” I say still wondering why Fallen loves this whole stress. “Tell us what yours says.”
“The Fifth Avenue. Rockwell's penthouse.” Leo points at the screen.
The whole precinct falls silent for a moment. The tapping feet stop moving in mid-step and the phones cease ringing. A silence that felt like a bomb had just dropped, even the old air conditioners hum feels louder all of a sudden.
Dana slowly almost robotically spins around in her seat to face me. Her expression is one of complete disbelief and shock and her eyes are wide.
At first she didn't real believe Liam due to his playfulness but now. It's fucking true.
With the name lingering in the air like poison she murmurs.
“Keith Rockwell? The mayor’s son?”
I still can't believe it either. Keith can be stupid but killing those women. Those lawyers?
Damn.
I try to relieve a knot of tension that has taken up residence in the back of my neck by reaching up and rubbing it. Before I can force an answer, I pace the length of Dana's desk and back once.
“Not at all. He can't be the one.” Dana whispers.
But it is. The evidence is staring back at us as it mocks her denial.
A digital X that had left us in disbelief is showed by a bright blinking red on a city map. That address is where the murderer's taunting calls which have been keeping us up for weeks originated.
Our captain Fallen bursts into the squad room at that very moment. As if sensing the impending storm, he moves like an angry bear.
“Talk to me,” he say immediately,his eyes instantly lock on the screen. It's Dana who responds, her professional clipped voice showing none of the shock I know she feels.
The caller—the one we think is the murderer—the trace points to Keith Rockwell, sir.”
The captain makes two blinks. He then gives a slow deep exhausted shake of his head as though he thinks that if he keeps denying it long enough it will just cease to exist.
“Do you realize what you're saying Detective? The mayor, the who signs our paychecks? His own son?”
“We didn’t choose this Captain,” I interrupt sounding harsher than I meant to. “The proof did.”
The room erupts abruptly. Voices rise and overlap in a panicked chorus of worry and terror.
An officer murmurs about the mayor's influence over the media and how by morning he could have us portrayed as inept clowns. Another begins to discuss his impending reelection campaign and how a scandal of this nature would be career suicide for us and political suicide for him.
A low irritated sound is made by someone else as they curse under their breath. The debate has shifted from being solely about the case to being about politics, reputations and the very real possibility that if we are wrong, accusing the mayor's son could destroy us all.
However I don't give a damn about politics. Greta and the other women deserves justice not some stupid politics.
As usual Dana expresses my thoughts and steers the conversation in the right direction.
“He’s got a history,” She assertively states, her voice breaking through the background din. “A particular kind. Since he was in college, Keith has only dated women who were years older than him. The rich kid with a mother complex has been a common joke in the tabloids lately.” She says and Fallen folds his arms.
“Consider dating them and showing them a lot of attention but what if it's more than a joke? What if it's his pattern? Date them and—”
“ Kill them,” I finish in a low growl for her. There is another silence in the room. Dana's words are too full of truth to ignore. It makes too much damn sense for anyone to argue. It is a perfect fit for victimology.
With a deep, heavy sigh, Fallen presses his palms against the closest desk as though he must bear his own weight.
“For the past 48 hours Big Ray has been confined to a holding cell. If Rockwell is our guy then we have been looking in the wrong direction.”
“And an innocent man is in jail,” Dana continues adding sharply. “If this new evidence proves to be as strong as we believe we cannot keep him in there.”
I gaze at the red on the screen that is blinking again. I get a tight icy knot in my stomach. It feels like we've crossed a line that we'll never be able to get back and everything about this feels essentially incorrect.
On the other hand it's the most obvious lead we've had in weeks. Keith Rockwell is more than simply a guy with a famous father and a pampered wealthy child with bad habits. We have something substantial on him at last and he is a predator that is hiding in plain sight. After making up his mind Fallen stands up straight.
The captain is now back in command.
“Okay. We'll follow the book and this is how we do this. Each t is crossed and each i dotted. No press leaks. No blunders, no errors. We put the DA on standby but first we make a move. He followed our trail and he is aware that we have him now. He will disappear if we wait even an hour.”
In a matter of minutes we load up. The sirens were turn off and the SUVs leaves the garage, blending with the evening traffic.
Headlights and neon smear the city as it passes by the window. Every block we close feels like a drumbeat.
I can already hear the music when we pull up a block from the address. Vibrating through the pavement and up into the car's frame is a deep thumping bass. The penthouses’ enormous glass windows let light in and project the dancing shadows of the bodies within, onto the street below, giving it a lighthouse-like glow against the dark sky.
Dana swears to herself next to me.
“A stupid party.”
“ Of course,” I murmur as I hold my weapon in my hand. He is concealed by the noise and has become a part of the chaos. In a room full of a hundred chaotic children who is going to spot a murderer?
Sticking to the shadows, we move swiftly but covertly as we spread out. Our uniformed officers converse with the doorman who appears to have seen too much tonight. He swipes us access to the private elevator while holding the warrant, his hands clearly trembling.
“Apartment 5, top floor,” He stutters, avoiding eye contact. “The penthouse. He's up there.”
The elevator ride seems to go on forever. Tensed bodies fill the tiny mirrored box. Everyone is silent, their hands are in their holsters and their eyes are fixed on the red numbers that are rising steadily.
Dana has a clenched jaw. I see her in the mirror and I know we're both thinking the same thing: if Keith is dangerous and conceited enough to call us and taunt us he's dangerous enough to do anything when he's cornered. We hear a wall of noise as the doors softly chime open.
The air is heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, smoke and alcohol and the music is loud. Students who appear to be barely old enough to legally consume alcohol fumble about with glassy distracted eyes and red plastic cups. Someone yells thinking we are additional partygoers.
We push our way through the body sea. I ignore a girl who is covered in glitter as she brushes against me and giggles incoherently. I search the enormous packed room for Keith Rockwell hoping to spot him.
After that I notice it. There is movement on the mezzanine that looks out over the main party on the second-floor landing. Observing our unmarked cars on the street below a figure stands at the window. The lights flash on his face.
Rockwell Keith.
“Second floor,” I yell at Dana and the group. We run up. Dana is ahead of me pushing past children who are too drunk or preoccupied to notice what's happening and slicing through the bodies with an efficiency I've always admired.
One by one we ascend the sweeping glass staircase. We see a long corridor upstairs with doors that open to reveal more mayhem—couples making out against walls, teenagers dozing off on expensive couches. And Keith was running at the far end of the hall.
“Rockwell! Police! Stop!” Dana screams in a voice strong enough to break through the background music.
He doesn't however. At the far end of the hall, he slams a heavy wooden door causing it to crash loudly against the interior wall. We pursue him .
My feet thud against the glossy hardwood floor as I exert more effort, my lungs burning. The bass of the song rumbles through my shoe soles causing the ground beneath us to tremble. Keith looks back over his shoulder once and in that brief moment I see it—the raw unadulterated haughtiness.
This smirk indicates that he believes this is a game and that he can outrun and outsmart us just as he has done to every woman he has previously seduced and deceived. No, not tonight. This time it can't abd won't happen.
He just vanished into the stairwell we hit. It's a concrete cold service stairwell. Without hesitation, Keith pushes a drunk man who was leaning against the railing out of his way as he charges down the stairs.
We didn't stop even though the biy yells after him in confusion and rage. We spiral down, my hand gripping the cool metal rail as our boots clang against the metal steps creating a reverberating sound in the small space. With a jarring sound, the rear exit door crashes into the alley's brick wall. The cold night air bursts in, slicing through my perspiration. Keith scuffs his expensive shoes on the filthy pavement before pushing off again after stumbling on it.
“Freeze!” I yell as my gun comes out and the sounds of the city drown out the command.
Keith didn't freeze though. He sprints more quickly, dodging through deep shadows and overflowing trash cans. The tall buildings on either side of the alley feel like they could swallow him whole making it feel like a narrow pitch-black labyrinth.
Dana is right next to me breathing in ragged gasps but she has razor-sharp focus. We are catching up to him. I sense it. With their voices resonating off the brick walls, the rest of the team bursts out into the alley somewhere behind us. The sirens on the street ahead then come to life, their shriek piercing the darkness. His only means of escape is blocked when red and blue lights start to strobe washing the damp alley in violent color bursts.
Keith turns around once more but this time he is not grinning. The haughtiness has vanished and in its place i
s bloody animal panic. I find out at that point.
He's more than a killer.
“Damn you.” He says and pulls out a gun and I see him press the trigger.