Boneyard (29 page)

Making a snap decision Dwight flicked on his turn signal, eased off the gas and pulled over onto the shoulder. The patrol car stopped about ten feet behind him. He watched the driver in the rearview mirror—state police, and only one of them in the car. He shifted carefully, reaching under the seat until his fingers brushed against what he was looking for. Grabbing it, he straightened up, tucking it by his right side, glancing around as he did. He’d pulled over in the perfect spot. The bank he’d parked on dropped away into a gorge, black water haloed by a growth of algae. The ruins of an old sawmill perched above it. He remembered coming here back in high school to get drunk. The pit was supposed to be hundreds of feet deep.

The cop was getting out of his car cautiously, weapon drawn, edging forward. Dwight measured him with his eyes: just shy of six foot, probably a hundred-seventy, older, but tough looking.

The guy was hollering for him to put his hands on the steering wheel. Dwight complied, keeping the object tucked just inside his hand. He smiled as the cop approached. Didn’t look like he’d called the car in, but it was hard to say. He probably only had a few minutes. As the cop came up to his window, barking orders, Dwight held up a finger of his left hand and gestured to the radio, which was blaring one of his favorite songs by Boston. The cop nodded, and Dwight reached over to turn it down with his left hand. As he leaned forward, his right hand shot underneath his left elbow and the barbs leaped forward. The cop jumped, body twitching, his gun exploding as he dropped to the ground.

Twenty-Eight

Jake fingered the ring in his pocket, feeling like an idiot. He’d been sitting on the same damn rock for over an hour, staring out at the placid pond. He watched as a series of ripples appeared, then with a quick splash a bass broke the surface, gulping at insects before diving back down. A good-size one, too, from the looks of it. He should’ve brought his rod. From the trail markers, he guessed this was the area where the hiker had come across that first arm bone. Hell of a shock that must have been, Jake thought to himself. His smile faded as he sank back into a reverie.

He’d purchased the ring on a whim. When he passed the store window in Zurich, it had seemed to propel itself toward him from a bed of velvet. Which was funny, because he’d never once in his life noticed anything in a jewelry store. As a rule of thumb he gave them a wide berth, especially when he was with a chick trying to steer him inside. Jake definitely considered avoiding precious stones to be one of his résumé skills. But there was something about that ring. The minute he saw it he thought of Kelly, how the rubies would match her hair. They’d never discussed it, but he didn’t figure her for a diamond girl. The ring reminded him of her: it was traditional yet modern, elegant but warm. It had also cost a month’s salary, but he’d had the girl box it up without even stopping to consider what buying such a ring might mean.

And that had got him thinking. When he’d found out Dmitri wouldn’t be needing him for a week or so, Jake had decided to surprise her. He’d hoped she’d have some time off, but it didn’t really bother him that she’d been working pretty much nonstop. That was the job—he’d been there himself in the past. When a case was fighting to get away from you, you had to chase it down. Hell, it was one of the things he loved about her, her single-minded tenacity when it came to her work.

But now he had the feeling she was deliberately avoiding him. The truth was he didn’t usually have long, unbroken blocks of time to do nothing but think. And he wasn’t enjoying it. He was an action guy, liked to be on the move, busy. Sitting around brooding like this wasn’t him, but he couldn’t seem to snap out of it. It was ironic. He’d spent years dodging the nets of the various women attempting to snare him. He’d finally met someone he could imagine spending the rest of his life with, and she just wanted to keep things casual.

“Jesus, I am turning into a chick,” he said aloud. Another fish broke the surface of the water. He picked up a rock and tossed it sideways, sending it skimming across the series of ripples left in the fish’s wake. He took out the ring, turned it over once, watching the light shimmer through it as it rested in his palm. It glowed like an ember. He closed his fingers around it, tucked it in his pocket and turned back toward the woods.

“Did Doyle check in yet?” Kelly asked the stout dispatcher.

The woman shook her head, avoiding Kelly’s eyes. Kelly repressed a sigh. Clearly, the whole Berkshire State Police unit was colluding against her. Funny how that used to hurt her feelings back when she was a rookie—now it was par for the course. When the locals were cooperative it surprised her.

“Where’s his car?” she asked.

The woman tapped her computer screen, then shook her head. “It’ll take me a few minutes to track him down.” She glanced up, her eyes almost completely concealed by folds of flesh.

Kelly stared her down. “That’s funny, with your equipment it should come up right away. Why don’t you try again.”

The woman hesitated, then tapped a few keys. “Looks like he’s just outside the city limits.” She frowned. “It’s a residential area.”

“Color me shocked,” Kelly said. “Radio him again, explain if he doesn’t respond in the next five minutes I’ll come after him myself.”

Kelly stalked back to the command center. Based on his insubordination today, she had half a mind to march over to IAD with the files proving that Doyle had buried at least four murder investigations. She ran a hand through her hair, aggravated. They were coming up against a wall in this case. Monica’s background check into the victims’ ex-boyfriends wasn’t eliciting anything new. Jordan had confirmed that Gino Brondello wasn’t the guy who chased him off the property. However, he balked at sitting down with a sketch artist, said he didn’t want to get involved and was leaving town that evening anyway. And the landlord didn’t seem to know anything. The minor infractions Colin was tracking down had turned up the same plates over and over, most of them people they’d already investigated, regulars at Club Metro who had alibis or had already left town. The trail was going cold. Unless something major happened, she might just have to ride out the rest of the investigation knowing in her gut that the boys’ murders would be relegated to the cold-case pile. Same thing had happened with the Tylenol Killer in the eighties, and a serial killer who had targeted young male athletes in Wisconsin just a few years ago. She was looking for one killer who had murdered almost a dozen boys and, if Dr. Stuart was correct, another who had taken the lives of two more. Three fresh bodies found in the past few weeks, and even then they hadn’t caught a break. Both killers were careful to leave no trace evidence behind, just the puzzling stack of pennies. And there was no way to track those.

Kelly realized she’d read the same sentence over and over without processing it. With a sigh she tossed the file on the desk, tilted her chair back and put her feet on the table. At a tentative knock on the door, she glanced up.

It was the overweight dispatcher. She was wearing a uniform stretched taut at the seams and an expression of concern. “Agent Jones?” she said, a surprisingly kittenish voice issuing from her large frame. “I’m a little concerned about Lieutenant Doyle.”

“Why? Because he hasn’t called in all day?” Kelly asked, raising an eyebrow.

The woman paused, then said, “But that’s just the thing. He had been calling in, to me, and then the calls just stopped…and his car hasn’t moved for a while.”

Kelly lowered her head and gave the woman a withering look. The dispatcher’s mouth quivered. Kelly considered upbraiding her, then decided it would be a waste of breath. “What did he say when you last spoke to him?”

“He was having me track down the owners of sedans with body damage.”

“Really?” Kelly said, surprised. She was expecting to hear he’d been visiting a strip club or a bar while on duty, but this…it sounded as if Doyle might actually have been running down Sam Morgan’s lead about the car. Colin had officially clocked out but was working on his own time, trying to compile a list of vehicles matching that description. Now it turned out Doyle had spent the day doing just that. And of course had opted not to share that information with her, she thought, fuming.

The dispatcher shrugged. “He didn’t say why.”

“So I’m guessing you’ve got an address for me now?” Kelly asked, arching an eyebrow.

The dispatcher flushed bright pink, walked forward and handed her a slip of paper. “I—I wrote it down for you,” she said haltingly. “It’s been in the same spot for at least three hours.”

“All right, Officer. I’ll look into it,” Kelly said dismissively. The dispatcher waddled out, head down. Clicking open her cell, Kelly punched in Monica’s number. “Hey, I’ve got a present for you. I need you to track down Doyle and give him hell.”

“You know, I almost became a cop,” Dwight said pensively as he wrapped another length of duct tape around the cop’s legs.

The cop’s response was a grunt muted by the tape covering his mouth.

“Yep, you’re right, I would’ve made a good one. Sure as hell got the jump on you, didn’t I!” Dwight said, rapping him playfully on the shoulder before straightening to admire his handiwork. The cop was lying on his side on the cot, arms and legs bound behind his back. Dwight had parked the squad car down the street from the Captain’s house. The wife had made it home from tennis and then went somewhere else with the kids. He’d watched as she’d piled them in the car and waved goodbye to the Captain, who drove off in his truck a few minutes later. Dwight debated following him, but the police car was too hot, he couldn’t chance being seen in it. He should’ve just stashed the cop in the trunk of his Tercel, but he’d been unable to resist the lure of the police car. He’d spent his whole life dreaming of driving one.

It hardly mattered anyway. There were only so many places the Captain could be holding Ma, and Dwight felt confident that given a day or two he’d be able to sniff them out. After all, he’d grown up here, knew every inch of this county. In the meantime, though, he needed to keep the sick bastard away from her. And to do that, he needed a little outside help.

Dwight stepped back and surveyed the room. He’d pulled the locker away from the wall, revealing the hooks behind it. He’d also drawn arrows on the floor with a Sharpie, pointing out dead giveaways that this was a hell of a lot more than a bomb shelter. Now he bent to the level of the cot and looked the cop square in the eye. “Listen up, okay? The guy that owns all this?” He jerked an arm backward to illustrate. “He’s the one you want. Son of a bitch killed all those boys. Me, I’m just a good citizen trying to help out. You got it?”

The cop looked pissed, he just glared back. Dwight examined him for a minute, then said, “You should’ve seen this place a few weeks ago, hooks coming out of the walls and ceilings. He killed them right here. I promise, you look around, you’re gonna find something. Now, don’t you worry, I’d never hurt a fellow officer.” He glanced at his watch. “Kinda funny, though, that no one’s come looking for you yet. Car’s got GPS, right?”

He waited, but the guy didn’t respond, just kept staring at him. “Huh. Well, once I get clear I’ll call it in anyway. They’ll be here soon enough. You just kick back and relax.”

He gave a two-finger salute and climbed the ladder, covering the hatch with the mat and tossing a few of the motorcycle parts on top of it. That way, if the Captain came home early, he might not notice that his garage had been messed with. All Dwight had to do now was hike a few miles to where he’d stashed his Tercel. Then he’d drive to the pay phone outside the Burger King on Route 2. After that he could get down to brass tacks, start looking for Ma. If he was lucky, he might even catch the Captain with her.

Twenty-Nine

Kelly’s phone rattled across the table. Jake rolled his eyes as she checked the number. “We’re never going to get through a full meal, are we?” he asked, a hint of resentment in his voice.

Jake had insisted that they finally try to have dinner out at a nice restaurant, and in this neck of the woods Twenty Water Street in Williamstown was supposedly the best. So far, unfortunately, the service had been abysmally slow. It had taken almost an hour for their main courses to arrive, and there was still no sign of the bottle of wine they had ordered. Jake’s leg bounced impatiently under the tabletop. This wasn’t going at all as he had planned.

Kelly gave him a warning glance and turned her head to the side as she clicked her phone open. He raised both hands defensively. “I’m just saying, your food is going to get cold. If it isn’t already,” he grumbled, picking up his fork to poke disconsolately at gummy-looking ravioli soaked in pesto sauce.

She said, “Jones here.”

“Kelly? It’s Monica.” Worry flooded her voice. “We’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands. I got Doyle’s car here, but he’s nowhere around. And the front desk sergeant just got a crank call, some guy claiming he stowed a cop at the killer’s house. The guy said we’re going to have to work a little to find him, but that he hasn’t been hurt.”

“Crap.” Kelly wrinkled her brow. “Where are you now?”

“At the address you gave me. And here’s the weird thing, Kelly.” Monica lowered her voice. “Doyle’s car is parked in front of Sam Morgan’s house.”

Sam Morgan eased to a stop at the corner and waved across the elderly couple in the crosswalk, nodding and smiling at them. It had been a busy day. Sylvia had insisted they go out for an early dinner before she took the girls to the local cinema. It was hard to shake the feeling she’d been looking at him funny, ever since she discovered the trapdoor in the garage this afternoon. His grip on the wheel tightened and his teeth ground against each other when he pictured that clod violating the sanctity of his space. Sam had managed a quick lie, told her he’d only discovered the trapdoor himself that morning when he’d moved the floor mat to clean up an oil spill. He’d joked that now they’d have somewhere to go in the event of a terrorist assault on the Berkshires. She’d laughed with him, but as she slowly scanned the room he’d seen doubt in her eyes.