Boneyard (34 page)

They were standing in Dwight’s room. Despite his military aspirations, the guy was a slob. Dirty plates were circled by a smattering of flies, and piles of filthy laundry lined the periphery of the room. The tangled bedsheets gave off a rank odor.

Jake looked at Kelly. The circles under her eyes testified to her exhaustion. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and stray copper-colored strands danced around her face as she scanned the room, hands on her hips. She was wearing her bulletproof vest over a tailored blue camisole. Thanks to the heat, sweat stains were seeping down the sides. He’d seen that look in her eyes before, that grim determination in the face of long odds. He had to physically resist the urge to take her in his arms. “Monica call in from the armory yet?”

Kelly nodded. “Nothing there. They’re going to the next site on the list.”

“How many units are out now?”

“The one from Boston just got here, so four.” Kelly pursed her lips. Chris Santoli had given them a list of twenty locations the search and rescue unit had trained at in the past few years, and one of the other members had added a few more sites. At the rate they were going, it would take the rest of the night to check all of them.

Jake examined her. “Nothing on the APBs?”

She shook her head. “No. They’re supposed to call me if any stolen cars turn up in a fifty-mile radius.”

Technicians were scattered throughout the house collecting evidence. Dwight’s computer had already been removed by the lab techs, and other uniformed cops were poking through drawers and cabinets.

“What the hell is going on here?” a ragged voice said.

Jake followed Kelly down the dank hallway with its cheap faux-wood paneling to the kitchen. A rangy-looking woman was holding open the screen door, squinting at them. “Where’s Nancy?”

“Who the hell is Nancy?” Jake asked, but Kelly held up a cautionary hand.

“You’re a friend of Dwight’s mother?” Kelly asked, stepping forward.

The woman eyed her warily. She was the wrong side of fifty. Years of smoking had hollowed out her cheeks and painted her teeth a shade of yellow that almost matched her dye job. Scrawny bowed legs poked out from spandex bike shorts, while her T-shirt proclaimed that Mohegan Sun had the loosest slots. “That’s right. Supposed to pick her up for bingo.”

“When was the last time you saw Nancy?” Kelly asked.

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” The woman looked her up and down. “Don’t look like a cop, that’s for sure.”

“Special Agent Kelly Jones with the FBI.” Kelly extended her hand. The woman acted as if it was something that had just turned up on the bottom of her shoe. “And you are?”

“Doris Greene. FBI? This about Dwight?”

Kelly weighed her words before responding, “Yes, it is.”

“Yeah, he always said they’d have to do a background check before he joined up.” The woman leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I gotta say, I’m surprised to see you. I always thought Dwight was bullshitting, didn’t think the FBI would take a nut-job. Don’t tell Nancy I said that, though.”

“Sure, we’ll keep that between us.” Kelly pulled out a kitchen chair and gestured for the woman to sit. “So when did you last see Nancy?”

“We went down to Foxwoods the weekend before last. I won fifty dollars at blackjack,” the woman said proudly. “Nancy is still pissed off about it.”

“And you had plans tonight?”

“Yep. I always pick her up for bingo. She somewhere with Dwight?”

Kelly glanced at Jake, then said, “Do you know if they have any other family?”

The woman shook her head. “Nah, her husband took off when Dwight was a baby, and her sister died a while back. No other kids, neither.”

“Anywhere else they might stay, like a hunting cabin?”

The woman barked a laugh. “You kidding? Nancy can barely hold on to this place.”

“So you don’t know where she might have gone?” Kelly asked.

The woman looked from one to the other of them. “Nancy is okay, right?”

Kelly rubbed the back of her neck. “Honestly, we’re not sure. Any other friends who could help us find her?”

Doris shook her. “Nancy ain’t what you’d call the social type, I’m pretty much it. She used to talk to Rose at bingo, but they got in a hissy fit a few years ago, haven’t spoken since.”

“What about a cell phone number?”

Doris shook her head again. “I’ve been telling her to get one. Took me an hour to find her once, casino security finally paged her so I could get the hell out of there and head home. She thinks they cause brain cancer.”

Kelly smiled thinly. “Thanks for your time, Doris. Would you mind giving me your name and number, in case I have any more questions?”

Doris pushed back her chair and stood. “Sure. You call me when you find Nancy, all right? She’s a mean old bird, but in a good way, you know?”

“Sure,” Jake agreed, and stepped forward to guide her out by the elbow. Now that she was in the house Doris seemed reluctant to leave, probably sensing there was more going on.

She turned back at the door. “Hey, agent lady? You make sure to think long and hard before hiring Dwight. I’ve always thought that boy was trouble.”

After she left Kelly surveyed the room. With one hand she reached out and batted the carton of cigarettes strung up to the ceiling fan. The carton swung back and forth before settling into an uneven pendulum. Jake watched Kelly follow it with her eyes.

“I’m guessing we won’t be getting any sleep tonight,” he said after a minute. “You hungry?”

Kelly shook her head. “Can’t eat.”

“What do you want to do? Want to catch up to one of the tactical units? We could bust down some more doors, I know how you enjoy that.”

Kelly cast him a warning look, then grinned in spite of herself. “Do not.”

“Oh, sure you do. I’ve already decided to get you a battering ram for your next birthday.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Really? A battering ram?”

“Uh-huh. Thought you could use an extra.”

Kelly’s phone rang, chasing away her grin. She clicked it open and said authoritatively, “Jones.”

Jake watched as her expression shifted, eyebrows knitting together in consternation. Without realizing it he held his breath.

“Where?” Kelly asked. “We’ll be right there.” She snapped the phone shut and looked at him “They found something.”

“Zach?”

But she was already out the door.

Thirty-Five

After a ten-minute drive they pulled into a large semicircular driveway. Behind it loomed a hillside, blades of grass flashing red and blue in time to the silent strobes flickering from emergency vehicles. Kelly pulled to the curb behind an ambulance, and they got out without saying a word to each other. In spite of herself, she repressed a shudder. The cars parked at all angles to each other, the lights, being with Jake—it was all too reminiscent of a similar night about a year ago, the night when they returned to the command center to find her partner Morrow dead in a pool of his own blood…

At the point where the driveway curved back to meet the street, a concrete entrance had been carved into the hillside. Two sets of doors gaped open, the first glass, the next reinforced steel. Inside, an open metal lid sat to the side of a hatch in the floor. A spiral staircase led down.

“What is this place?” Jake asked, looking around. A dusty photo of Lyndon Johnson was mounted on the far wall next to a bare flagpole.

“Former civil defense bunker,” Kelly murmured. “Let’s get going.”

At the bottom of the staircase they found themselves in a circular chamber composed of concrete. Another set of blast doors, then the room widened. Doors opened off it, like a rabbit warren, each leading to a dark corridor. They followed the sound of voices. Someone had set up emergency lighting, and huge floodlamps hunkered down on the floor, piercing the darkness with blinding triangles of light. In silence they walked through an enormous cafeteria, empty save for a few broken plastic chairs lying on their sides. The next room held a number of cots scattered around, tufts of cotton poking out of striped mattresses. Finally, a swinging door led to the bathroom. The outer room had sinks along one wall, toilet stalls lining the other. Monica sat slumped at the far end of the room, holding her head in her hands.

Kelly knelt down beside her. “Zach?”

Monica shook her head, then raised it to look at her. When she spoke her voice was completely flat, stripped of emotion. “He’s not here, but there’s someone else,” she said, gesturing to the next room. “They think maybe Dwight’s mother. But they found this.” She held up her hand. Dangling from her fingers was a plain rawhide cord with a shark’s tooth hanging from it. Her voice broke as she continued, “It was my Daddy’s, always claimed he caught and killed the shark with his bare hands. Zach never took it off. Never.”

Kelly examined the necklace, then took Monica’s hand in both of hers and squeezed it. “We’re going to find him,” she said in a low voice.

Monica didn’t answer, just dropped her head again.

Kelly stood and crossed to the archway that led to the showers. A naked pile of flesh in the far corner glowed every time the photographer’s flash strobed. The other techs stood to the side, waiting until he was finished, murmuring in low voices.

“What have we got?” Kelly said loudly, stepping forward.

They looked toward her. “A hell of a sick fuck, you ask me,” one tech answered.

“Where’s the coroner?”

“Outside puking, last I saw him,” the same guy replied after a minute. He held a work case in his hand: fingerprint tech, Kelly thought to herself.

She repressed a sigh and turned to the photographer. “You almost done here?”

He nodded. “Two more shots.”

Kelly waited, Jake silent by her side, as the photographer shifted and got shots of the corpse from a few other angles. When he stepped back Kelly pulled on a pair of gloves, a hairnet and booties. Skirting puddles of blood and excrement, she carefully edged toward the woman.

She was lying in a puddle of her own urine. Kelly’s nose wrinkled as she eased off the sweater draped over her upper body. The woman’s face was frozen in a rictus of horror, eyes gazing blindly up and to the right, mouth agape. There were bite marks on her face, the rats had already started on her. A chain still looped through a fold of flesh at her waist, fastening her to the wall. Her body was cold but still limp: rigor hadn’t set in, so she’d probably only been dead a few hours.

At the signs of trauma mottling her flesh, Jake winced. “Sweet Jesus,” he breathed. “I gotta second that emotion. Whichever of your guys did this, he’s a sick fuck.”

“Killer A,” Kelly said with certainty. “These marks are too meticulous.”

“You think? Because meticulous wasn’t the first word that came to mind. I mean shit, just look at her feet.”

Kelly carefully shifted toward the lower half of the body. The woman’s feet were purple and swollen, almost twice normal size. A few of the toes had been broken and veered off in strange directions. Kelly pursed her lips as she stood. “Do your jobs, then leave her,” she ordered the techs. “I want my guy to oversee transport. She’s going to the task force morgue in New York.”

Jake followed her back into the other room. She knelt by Monica again. “Monica, listen. I’m going to have an officer accompany you home. I need Howie here, to deal with the body. You go home and wait for Zach, okay?”

Monica shook her head and struggled against the wall, jerkily rising to her feet. “No, I’m okay,” she snuffled, wiping her face with the back of her free hand.

“You’re not. Go home,” Kelly said.

“All due respect, I don’t work for you,” Monica said coldly. “That’s my kid out there. I’m not going home until he’s found.”

Jake touched Kelly’s elbow. “You should probably let her come along.”

Kelly debated. It was a bad idea, taking part in a manhunt when you were personally involved. She knew that from experience. She’d done it herself last year after Morrow was murdered, and had nearly gotten killed because of it. But she also knew that there was no way in hell anyone would have been able to stop her. “All right, but you stay with us, no going off on your own.”

Monica nodded and straightened her jacket. “Let’s go.”

At the top of the stairs, Kelly paused at the sound of approaching rotors.

“Did you call in a chopper?” Jake asked from behind her.

She shook her head. Through the front door, a spot of light grew, the circle expanding until it encompassed the entire raised concrete platform straddling the center of the driveway. Rotor wash kicked up the trash pooled along the curb, sending it spinning against the hillside. The three of them watched as a Massachusetts State Police helicopter set down. The door swung open and Doyle appeared, waving one arm. Kelly ran forward, keeping her head low.

“What the hell are you doing out of the hospital?” she demanded, shouting to be heard over the chop-chop of the rotors.

He avoided the question. “A few hours ago a guy matching Dwight Sullivan’s description carjacked a lady at the 7-Eleven about a mile from here. He’s heading up Route 91.”

“How far from the border?” Kelly yelled back.

“They got about an hour to go,” Doyle hollered. “State police almost had him, but another car got in the way and there was a pileup. They’re trying to track him down now.”

Kelly nodded and gestured to the others. “I’ll ride up front.”

Monica had already ducked under Jake’s elbow, diving into the chopper. Doyle clambered in after her. The helicopter lifted off and swept into the night, its lights carving a hole in the sky.

Zach grimaced as the car went over another bump, sending him flying. The side of his head whacked the roof of the trunk and he swore. He tried to brace himself better, feet pressed against the spare tire; but with his hands tied behind him, every time they went over something he was thrown around again. He was wiped out from spending the first half of the ride frantically kicking the trunk hood and screaming whenever the car slowed, hoping to jar the lid loose, or that someone would hear him. After a while he simply gave up.

He had no idea why this asshole was still carting him around, and he still couldn’t believe that other guy had just left him there. What kind of jerk did that? He’d screamed himself hoarse, begging for him to come back, to get someone else, or at least to tell someone. But the guy just disappeared, leaving him alone in the dark with a dead woman. He had heard the first of the rats approach, the excited chatter, then other small feet. Some of them had tried for him, nipping at his bound hands, but he’d managed to thrust and kick them away. They eventually let him be, drawn to the easier prey a few feet away. It was a terrible sound, that gnawing.