Amelia Cruz: The Dixon Project

"This is Mr. Leonov," Viktor Leonov said, taking the phone from his secretary. "How can I help you?"

"Mr. Leonov, my name is Detective Peterson. I'm with the Burglary and Theft Division out of the San Antonio Police Department's West substation. I'm calling to let you know ..."

"They broke into my house off Culebra Road again, didn't they?" Viktor complained, relatively unfazed that his rental home had been broken into.

"That is correct. I'm guessing this isn't the first time that it has been broken into?"

"No, Detective, it isn't, but you should have all that information. I've filed a police report every time; as a matter of fact, the last time they broke in a patrol car caught them in the act. The detectives insisted that a report be filed, especially under the circumstances."

"And what circumstances would that be?"

"I can't believe you didn't hear about this," Vicktor said, jotting a note down and handing it to his secretary. My house in San Antonio has been broken into again. Find me the best locksmith in town! "The officers followed the men into the house and caught them trying to enter a safe in the garage. What's bizarre is the men were dressed in police uniforms and their fingerprints weren't in the system. They even ran their DNA and got nothing back."

"What were they trying to steal? What's in the safe?"

"Yeah, I have no idea. I buy foreclosures and either resell them or rent them out. As for that house, I bought it for thirty-five thousand dollars under market value and hoped to turn it around and make a quick profit. Unfortunately, I haven't had many interested buyers so I've been trying to rent it out. My last renters moved out right after the first break-in, so it's been unoccupied since then. That seemed to give the scumbags courage because they started breaking in all the freaking time. This is the fourth time they've broken in. Luckily the neighbors are friends, so they've been keeping an eye out for me."

"What's in the safe?"

"I told you, I have no idea."

"Well, we need you to come down here and open it. It could be that the previous owner was into drugs or something, and other dealers or users know, or at least think, there is a stash in the safe. They'll just keep breaking in until they've got what they want."

"They can try, but they won't get it open. After the second break-in I called a locksmith and had him come out to look at the safe. The thing weighs a ton, so it can't be moved, and the safe is one of the best on the market. According to the locksmith it's uncrackable," Viktor said, taking a list of different locksmiths from his secretary.

"Well, I need you to come down here so we can open it up and see what's in it. We can't open it without you here, otherwise we would have to get a warrant."

"Yeah, not a problem," he said, writing another note to his secretary. Cancel my deposition this afternoon. I have to go to San Antonio. "It's going to take me a couple of hours to get there from my office here in Houston. It's noon now, so I'll be down there around four o'clock or so."

Viktor finished talking to Detective Peterson and told his secretary his new schedule. She thought it was a bad idea for him to be spending the night in the San Antonio house, but he insisted it was safe, especially with the police watching the house for further break-ins. He called his girlfriend at work and told her he wouldn't be going home tonight, and called his law partner to let him know he would be running late tomorrow. Before he left Houston for the drive to San Antonio he stopped by his house and grabbed an overnight bag and some bedding - if he was spending the night he might as well be comfortable. It started drizzling as he merged onto Interstate 10, the highway that led straight to San Antonio. The storm clouds blowing into town were nearly black, but they were moving fast. It was unlikely the weather would cause him any heartache, but to be safe he turned on his headlights and slowed a little bit down. The last thing he wanted was to die in a fiery crash on the interstate just hours before he finally discovered what was in the mysterious safe in his garage. The question of what was inside kept him awake at nights, haunting him in his sleep. Now the moment had arrived. He would finally know what was inside.

***

The ringing wouldn't stop.

She threw her hand out dangerously in the dark, blindly searching for the disturbing sound. It echoed in her skull like a child's HELLO in a deep canyon. The sound bore into her brain, chewing at her nerve endings like a sharp toothed parasite clawing through her brain. She finally found what she was looking for and threw it across the room. The alarm exploded in pieces, much like its predecessor the Monday before, scattering across the floor on heaps of dirty clothes and magazines.

The ringing continued, and now she was pissed.

She let out a stream of profanities that could redden the cheeks of generations of sailors as she kicked the blankets off the bed. She angrily threw her pillow at the wall, it falling not far from the shattered alarm. On the nightstand, not far from where the alarm had resided its few days of employment, was a bolted down lamp - the bolts were all that kept it from joining the long list of neighboring alarm clocks. She fumbled at the base for the switch, eventually finding it and casting shadows around the room with its dim bulb.

"What!" She said, she yelled into the phone. "Today's my day off, call someone else."

"Sorry, you're all that's available," the voice on the other end said.

"Where's Detective Allan?" She asked, trying to sit up in bed. The heavy drinking the night before had taken its toll. She couldn't remember how she got back home from the bar, but she was sure she didn't come back alone. "Or how about Detective Cates?

"Well, Detective Sanchez and Detective Yen are over at Cowgirls Dancehall investigating a shooting, and Detective Cates is with Officer Martinez in court all day, and Detective ... you know what, I don't have to explain why I want you here. Get your ass out of bed and get over to 8764 Shallow Creek, we've got a body," Captain Parker barked, hanging up the phone before Detective Amelia Cruz could respond.

Amelia sat up and fruitlessly rubbed her temples. She slowly climbed out of bed and pulled her clothes on from the day before; they were a little musty, since she'd worn them for a week now, but a spritz of perfume and no one would tell the difference – and even if they could, she didn’t care. She found the man she had brought home the night before passed out on her couch. He was ruggedly handsome, a higher quality than what she was used to finding. She gave him a push and he fell off the couch with a loud thud.

"What the hell!?"

"I've got to go, so that means you do too," She said, buttoning the last button on her blouse. She grabbed her side arm off the kitchen table and pulled the slide back to make sure a round was chambered.

"Whoa! Hey, everything we did last night was consensual," he said, grabbing his clothes and dashing for the door. "I didn't do anything you didn't want me to."

"Relax, asshole, I'm a cop," Amelia said, grabbing her badge from the countertop and showing him. "I've got to go to work, so you've got to get out. I'm not leaving a complete stranger in my apartment alone."

"Well, I'm not really a stranger," this was the second time we've been together. "I'm David, remember."

Amelia vaguely remembered bringing him home before, but couldn't remember the exact details. This was against her rules. She never slept with the same guy twice, and never got them attached. This guy was looking at her with a stupid grin on face, which was both pissing her off, and tell her he was getting attached.

"Well, it's not going to happen again, so get out," she said, shoving him towards the door. "I'm late."

"Yeah, that's what you said last time," David said smiling, giving her a quick kiss on her cheek as he left the apartment. Amelia had a fleeting thought that she might have approached him last night because she remembered him, but she wasn't quite sure.

She stopped for Coffee before heading to the crime scene. There was a small mom and pop coffee shop near her apartment that she frequented. The coffee was nothing spectacular, but the couple who served it was amazing. They reminded Amelia of her grandparents who passed away in a car accident a few years before. She visited the shop so often that they knew how she took her coffee - two sugars and a little cream - and had it ready for her every morning as she headed into work.

"So what do we have?" Amelia asked as she dipped under the yellow police tape and approached the house a little over an hour later. Her partner, Detective Casey Spatz, was already there. "It better be something freaky or amazing, otherwise I'm heading back to bed."

"Nice to see you too, sunshine," the junior detective said, handing her his notes. Detective Spatz was new to the division. He joined their ranks three months back, only after three years of patrol duty - which was unheard of. Some officers spent their entire career trying to make detective and he did it in less than five. The rumor was that the Chief of Police was a family friend, and that the mayor was a distant relative twice removed - or something like that. Amelia didn't care though; she didn't pay any attention to rumors, only because they were normally about her. A sealed juvenile record, a stent in rehab, two suspensions, excessive force complaints, and the latest was alcohol abuse. She was suspended for two weeks a few months back and took some personal leave in conjunction with it. Many thought she was abusing prescription meds again and was in rehab, but in reality she was seeing the department shrink. It would seem breaking an informant’s arm because his information was bad can put you on the captain's shit list. So, as she strolled into the crime scene reeking of booze and perfume, which wasn’t in and of itself unusual, Detective Spatz showed some concern. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, that's how I feel," she said, glancing over his notes quickly. "Who's our victim?"

"Well, his name is Viktor Leonov. He's an attorney out of Houston. Mr. Leonov failed to show up for a deposition yesterday afternoon, so his firm reported him missing. Seems he was coming down here to meet with a detective to discuss a break-in at his rental home."

"Who was he meeting?"

"A Detective Peterson, from the South Substation," Detective Spatz said, checking his notes as Amelia handed them back. "According to the secretary they were supposed to be opening the safe in the garage."

"I don't know a Detective Peterson," Amelia said, finally reaching the body on the living room floor.

Viktor was strapped to a chair. His Arms and Legs were bound to the chair with heavy tape, and his clothes were removed and folded neatly in the corner. The body showed obvious signs of torture. Five of his fingers were missing, two on one hand and three on the other, and there was postmortem bruising on his face, abdomen, and legs. His left eye looked like it had been half way removed, the eye awkwardly hanging just outside of the socket, but still partially inside.

"This was personal," Amelia said, crouching down next to Viktor's body and examining some of his wounds. "What’s the time of death?"

"About twenty-four hours ago," the medical examiner said. "Cause of death is more likely suffocation."

Amelia stood up and looked at Viktor's head. A black zip-tie was wrapped around this throat so tightly it cut into his skin. She shook her head and walked around the body, noting all the injuries that were evident.

"I want to speak to Detective Peterson," Amelia said, turning to Spatz. "If he was the last person to see him alive, I want to know what they talked about."

"Well, that will be difficult won't it seeing as there is no detective in the San Antonio Police Department named Peterson."

"So it was a fake name. He was lured here," she said, putting her gloves on and digging through the pockets of his pants. "You said there were previous break-ins, what was stolen?"

"So that's where it gets good," Detective Spatz said, sitting down on the window seat. "So, the first break in took place shortly after Mr. Leonov purchased the place from the bank. The Suspects came in through the back door. The reports says they got in by drilling out the lock. Luckily, the neighbor has a hard time sleeping. A patrol shop rolled up and scared the guys off. He ended up renting the place out to a nice couple, but they got scared off after the second break-in. This time they came in through the garage. They figured, what the hell, who cares if we make a lot of noise. So they plowed through the door in a stolen truck and tried to load a safe that was sitting in the middle of the garage. This is the first time the safe came to everyone's attention."

"What was in the safe?" Amelia asked, her attention finally peeked. She left the body and headed into the garage. The safe was sitting in the middle of the floor with the forensic team examining it closely. "Is it his or the previous owners? Or the renters'?"

"It wasn't the renters' safe or the victims. Turns out it was here when he purchased the house. The safe in question, as you can see, is a fashionable lady. She weighs in at 1,500 pounds, is bolted to the concrete with foot long two inches thick bolts, and is advertised as the world's only uncrackable safe."

"How do you know that?" Amelia asked, taking his notes from him again. "Why would someone have a bank safe in the middle of their garage? And this thing can't be cheap?"

"Oh no, this fine damsel is not your average lady," he said, showing her his phone where he had googled the safe. She normally only associates herself with the rich and famous, and to ensure that none of us commoners find ourselves in her company she prices at well over a million dollars."

"This safe costs over a million dollars? No wonder people were trying to steal it," Amelia said, finally taking a look inside as the forensic team cleared out. "We have to get this back to the lab. Was there anything in it when you got here?"

"Nope, completely empty. The first units to arrive said they found it wide open and dry as a bone," Spatz said, squatting down next to her and peering inside. "Makes you wonder, huh?"

"What's that?"

"Well, our victim was tortured, we have an open and empty safe, but the safe, worth millions is still in place," he said, taking some witness reports from a patrol officer. "If they were after the safe, why didn't they take it with them? The victim supposedly told the nosey neighbor he was in town and not to worry about activity over at the house, so they had plenty of time to load this naughty girl onto a truck and take her away. If they had the combination, which it appears to me they did since the safe is open and empty, they could fence this sucker for a few thousand bucks."

"Yeah, here's the problem with that. Why torture our victim? He's had this house for over a year, it has been broken into half a dozen times, everyone trying to get to the safe. Yet, he tells our officers that he doesn't know the combination because the safe was here when he bought the house. Check out the fourth burglary report," Amelia said, handing him back his notes and files.

"The Department hired a locksmith the open the safe, but it couldn't be done," Detective Spatz read slowly. "Our victim consented to the opening of the safe, he even granted them permission to break it if needed."

"Right, he didn't know the combination, so why torture him. It looks like they got the thing open anyway, so they had the skills to crack it," Amelia wondered. She went back into the house and walked around. There was no furniture, only the chair in the middle of the living room. In an upstairs bedroom she found Viktor's overnight bag and bedding. "He was planning on spending the night."

"Yeah, he left Houston at noon and planned on heading back early in the morning for a deposition in the early afternoon," Detective Spatz said, looking through some papers he found in the bag. "Look what I found."

"What's that?"

"Looks like a list of locksmiths. I bet he called the wrong one, they cracked the safe, saw what was in it, and killed him for it," he said, dropping the page in a plastic bag and marking it.

"You're right, and the locksmith lured him here by calling him and pretending to be a police detective, and just knew that his chances were good that our victim would pick his name off a list of eight locksmiths in the area."

"Hey, I'm just thinking out loud, you don't have to be a bitch about it," Detective Spatz said, showing her the plastic bag. "I'll look these up and see if he called any of them. We might get lucky and find that one of them came over here to crack that thing open. In the mean time, we might want to talk to Detective Bement over in gang unit."

"Why?"

"Well, if you had finished reading those reports you would have discovered that a patrol car caught two guys during break-in number five. They were dressed as cops, but got nothing on their prints or back from CODIS."

"Are they locked up?"

"We can check," Detective Spatz said as they walked out of the house. "Bement ran the investigation, but he didn't have much. All he could find was a piece of paper that he retrieved from ... well, let's just say the guy tore it up and ate it right in front of him."

"That's gross," Amelia said, knowing exactly how they retrieved the paper. There was nothing more disgusting than having to dig through another person's waste. "What was on the paper?"

"He was only able to get a few words off of it, the rest of the document was destroyed," Detective Spatz said as he climbed into his car.

"Which were?"

"The address of the house and the word 'Liberty Bell.'"

"'Liberty Bell'. What's that mean?"

"That, Detective Cruz, is name of the Safe."