Cross-Over Murders by Frank F. Atanacio Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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“Sometimes luck steps in, you know,” O’Brien managed as he sat in the passenger seat of the captain’s unmarked cruiser. The pair were on their way to a parking lot near the University of Bridgeport off of Austin Street and Myrtle Avenue.
“And how’s that?” the captain asked.
“Well, we almost had a survivor to the suspect, but he died on us, and now we’re going to visit a young woman who said she saw a contractor threatening a Mexican teenager over there on North and Madison.” He explained, but an inner voice whispered in his ear, not to count the eggs before they hatch. “She said she got the plate number, and that the teenager got into his truck.”
“So?”
“So? Can’t you see the writing on the wall?” O’Brien said. “He slipped up, and we are right here ready to catch the son of a bitch. It’s that simple.”
“Nothing is simple, Pete.”
“True, but this is.”
“If I didn’t have a little glimmer of hope,” said the captain. “You would have been making this trip alone. I just want the killing to stop.”
“So does everyone else in this city.”
The captain grimaced.
“It just seems that when a killing spree starts,” O’Brien continued. “It takes the effort of every citizen in order for us to stop it. This was true with that Kill and Search gang, and the crazy sick freak who had Zoraida tied to a chair in the basement. It goes on and we just have to be ready for it.”

There was truth in what O’Brien was saying, and the captain knew it. He had seen many crazy killers come and go, but when they left, there was such a nasty mark left behind on the City of Bridgeport. This certainly wasn’t a different story.
He stopped for a light on State and Park and turned to face O’Brien. “We are in the process of meeting a witness who says she has some information for us. Yet, she wouldn’t give us the information over the phone. Everything that is happening around us doesn’t give you a sense of false hope? Perhaps we’re going to meet a kook who just wants attention.”
“Listen, I know you’re my boss, and I got to give you all the respect you deserve,” said O’Brien. “But whether or not this woman is a kook makes no difference to me. She either has something tangible, or not. I’m not going to dismiss this away. And you’ll be a fool if you do.”
“We could have sent black and whites.”
“But we didn’t.”
The captain nodded.
“There is nothing wrong with what we’re doing sir,” said O’Brien. “In fact, it’s nice to be driving with you. Reminds me of the good old days.”
The captain smiled.
“Those were the simple and honest days, captain,” said O’Brien while he watched the light turn green. “It was the time of no false conclusions, and people respected the police.”
“And the police respected the people,” the captain added.
“Why have things changed so much?’ O’Brien asked as the thought tormented him. He had vowed to be a public servant, and an honest cop. He wanted and longed for the good old days. It’s what he wanted to pass on to the new police officers fresh out of the academy. It’s why he respected Captain Frank Roque so much.
“Here we go,” said the captain as he slowed near the parking lot.
“I don’t see her,” O’Brien chimed in.
“Me neither.”
The captain pulled into the parking lot and turned the car off. He touched his police issued revolver, but O’Brien shook his head from side to side indicating no.
“We don’t know what to expect,” said the captain.
“That’s right,” said O’Brien. “Lets lead by example.”
The captain nodded.
“There she is,” said O’Brien as he climbed out of the car slowly. “Over here captain.”
The captain followed.
There was a yong black woman was a very clear face. She had thin lips and a small nose. O’Brien thought it was an odd facial description for a black woman, but he dismissed it quickly.
“I’m Captain Roque.”
She offered her hand for shaking and the captain gladly accepted.
“I’m Pete.”
She smiled.
“So what information have you gotten for us?” asked the captain.
“I have a plate number.”
The captain smiled.
“Wait, why call us here?” O’Brien asked.
She looked down at her feet.
“You’re going to sell it to us?” O’Brien half-shouted.
“No,” she replied quickly. “I’m going to give you the information. I just want a small donation. You see. I’m a single mother and I need to make some money so my baby could eat.”
“Captain?”
“Give her some money.”
“All I have is a hundred dollar bill and..”
“Give it to her.”
“What?”
“Just give her the damn money!”
O’Brien reluctantly handed the bill to the young woman and took the piece of paper she held out with her other hand.
“Thank you,” she said softly and turned around.
“Is that it?” O’Brien shouted.
“That will tell you everything, right?”
The captain nodded.
“Are we just going to let her go without running the plate first?”
“Trust the public,” said the captain.” That’s what you wanted.”
“Trust, hell!” Shouted O’Brien. “We paid some good money for this plate number, and it better be good.”
“I think it is,” said the captain in a faint whisper.
“We’ll see.”
O’Brien called in the plate number and the information he wanted was indeed favorable. They had their first real lead, and they did it without Nick PT Barnum.