Page 11 of Twin Threats In Austin
Chapter Four
“This footage is definitely not going to be admissible in court, let alone be enough for a conviction,” Rochelle mused, keeping her thoughts focused on the case and away from her traitorous body’s reaction to Camden’s touch.
“We can’t even get a warrant with this,” Camden said out loud, explaining what they both knew. “But damned if that doesn’t resemble Kage Durham.”
“Wish we had more to go on,” Rochelle stated, hoping for a miracle at this point. “I guess the only bright spot out of this scenario is that we have a name and, at least, circumstantial evidence. We can watch Kage, and I’ll see if my supervisor will place a request for information from anyone visiting the club on the night in question onto our department’s social-media page.”
“What’s the success rate of those types of posts in the past?” he asked.
“We get mixed results, honestly,” she said, sighing and holding back about the second text she’d sent while he was distracted by food. “Given this is a nightclub environment with young women present, we might get a hit. Women tend to pay more attention to warnings in order to stay safe than our male citizens.”
“Always worth a try,” he said. “If a post takes two minutes to put up and solves one case, then it has the ability to save lives.”
Especially in this case, she wanted to say. She sent a message to her supervisor while they were stationary in the SUV.
“We should make a list of anyone who might have had contact with Red Ball Cap that night,” she said after hitting Send.
“Bouncers can be good resources in cases like these,” Camden said after a thoughtful pause. “Owners, not so much. Kage hasn’t been out long enough to qualify as a regular, and he doesn’t have enough cash that we know of for bottle service and VIP tables.”
“The bartender on duty that night would be a good person to speak to,” Rochelle added. Her cell buzzed. After checking the screen, she said, “My supervisor is arranging for a message to be put up on the department’s social-media page requesting information about a missing person last seen at the nightclub in question.”
“Here’s hoping for a lead,” he said, crossing his fingers. For good measure?
“Are you done?” she asked, motioning toward the fast-food wrappers.
“Yes,” he said.
She gathered her empties. “I can’t stand the smell of fast food in my vehicle. Sticks around for days.”
“I’ll throw all of it away,” he offered. “Toss it in the bag.” He held up the greasy-smelling fast-food bag.
Rochelle dumped her wrappers inside before he exited the vehicle.
He returned and then clicked on his seat belt. “We can swing by the nightclub and talk to the owners and then I’ll check on the warrant I’m here to serve.”
After pulling up the address, Rochelle took note of the owners’ names. “Think we should call first?”
“Nah,” he said. “You never know with these owner types. I’ve witnessed and heard all kinds of things they’ll do to cover up a crime they don’t want associated with their business. In my experience, it’s best not to give them advanced notice beforestopping by. Plus, I can tell a lot about a person from their initial reactions when I show up and ask questions.”
“Guess protecting their business goes with the territory sometimes,” she decided. She’d seen the same with entrepreneurs, too, especially bar owners. Some were on the up and up and were proud of the business they’d created. To others, it was a money machine, and they didn’t care what went on as long as the cash kept flowing. Underage drinkers in the VIP lounge? Not a problem for some places, whereas others checked every ID if you looked younger than thirty-five years old. At thirty-two, she’d been carded while meeting up with coworkers for a drink. She’d felt flattered until she’d been told the establishment ID’d anyone under the age of thirty-five. There were places that encouraged law enforcement to stop by after shift by offering a discount on food. Those places liked having officers around for extra security. Patrons hesitated before stepping out of line in a bar where every other barstool was occupied by someone wearing a badge. Other establishments weren’t so welcoming. They couldn’t refuse an off-duty officer from entering their doors, but they didn’t make the place cozy either.
Rochelle started the engine, put the gearshift into Reverse, and backed out of the parking spot. GPS led her straight to the front door of the nightclub in a matter of minutes.
Knowing a kidnapping had occurred on or near this spot sent an icy chill racing up her spine. Always. There was a dark side to a crime scene that she felt on a deep, unexplainable level.
She parked and exited the SUV. Camden met her around the front before leaning against the bumper. The lot was small and dingy. A couple of forty-ounce bottles in paper bags littered the cracked pavement of the sidewalk.
In the light of day, the nightclub showed its age. An outside wall had a long, crooked line from the corner of the building thatslithered down the side like a snake, a product of being built on ever-shifting clay soil—soil that was not meant to hold up any type of building, not even homes. The turquoise paint probably looked amazing when all the manufactured lighting hit it. The sun made the color look cheap and showed all the dirt.
A couple of rent-by-the-minute electric scooters had been abandoned around the area, a common theme for club hoppers. Uber pricing had gone through the roof. After drinking, there was always a group of young people who thought it would be fun to get on a scooter and hit the next bar. Thankfully, incidents and deaths were still low in Austin, but she always feared that number was like a simmering pot of water about to boil.
“No one appears to be here,” Rochelle said to Camden, who straightened and started walking the perimeter of the empty lot.
“It’s early,” he said. “I figured as much.”
“Should we walk to Kage’s house from here to record the time it takes?” she asked, pulling up the map feature on her phone and checking the distance. “The map thinks it would take us thirty minutes to make the trek. I must be a fast walker because it usually takes me half that amount of time.”
He nodded, agreeing. “Too bad we can’t tell if Justina had too much to drink on the night in question. A fifteen-minute walk with someone who was drunk should’ve drawn attention.”
