Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (3 page)

“I’d like to believe you’re right, but I have an ugly feeling this is a vendetta.” Grasso wore a thousand-dollar suit and a skeptical smile. He had his own money and didn’t do the job for the salary, so the clothes didn’t make the man necessarily. As of yet, Ellie hadn’t decided how she felt about him.

As distrustful as she was of Grasso, she had the same feeling about a possible revenge scenario. “We’ve had a department-wide very high mortality rate for the past two years, sir. I mean one of the highest in the nation. Might even get us first prize in a contest we never wanted to enter, much less win. We need to look at it.”

“Could be inside.” Grasso’s voice was even and pragmatic.

She didn’t agree. “Give me one solid reason why someone with the metro MPD would want to kill off random officers. Or better yet, give me something to connect the cases.”

Metzger placed his hands on the blotter in front of him, his chair creaking as he leaned forward. “Honestly, I know all the officers under my command pretty well and some of them better than pretty well, and I can’t see this is inside. That means it is
outside,
and we need to stop it right now. Cop killers are like suicide bombers—they just don’t care or they wouldn’t do it. If we catch them, they are going down, and they know it. When you have nothing to lose, you don’t
care
who you hurt. But it is well-known Fielding and Brown were friends. So we have two officers taken out under similar, albeit not identical, circumstances, and they are closely connected to each other. It makes me nervous. Do you know why? Because I don’t think the usual criminals concern themselves with the social habits of their targets. It just seems likely to me one of two things happened, and I don’t like either option. Care to hear them?”

Ellie would have pointed out that suicide bombers killed random people and perhaps this particular person was targeting cops, but she didn’t open her mouth. Grasso could be right.

There were times when it was better to sit back and stay quiet. “Yes, Sir.”

“Our first casualty was killed at home and off-duty. Whoever broke in shot him execution style and did not kill his wife or his son.” Grasso looked thoughtful. “He was undoubtedly the target, and whoever pulled off the hit did it smoothly and with a professional edge. The shooting last night was just as clean. Fast, probably planned, and they were out of there before we could as much as blink. Organized crime?”

They were still getting a measure of each other, but Ellie had learned Carl wasn’t shy about his opinions. Maybe she liked that, and maybe she didn’t.

Chief Metzger didn’t seem to agree. “Carl, it doesn’t feel right. This is my concern. They were both involved in something, and it got them killed.”

“I never got that from either of them,” Grasso objected.

“Neither did I. That brings up my second concern.”

They spoke like two longtime friends and she wasn’t in the club.

“Which is?”

“One of them got the other one killed in some way. What if the information came from one of us?”

“A police officer?” she interjected.

Metzger rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. Carl is right on both counts about Fielding and Brown. I’d prefer if you proved me right about it being outside, but most of all, just come up with something we can work with, okay? I don’t want to hear on the national news that Milwaukee has a cop killer on the loose.”

Ellie couldn’t help it, she had to ask. “Is there some reason we are being given this case?”

And the private briefing?

“You aren’t being given this case. I assigned Hamish and Rays.”

She had to admit, she was a little confused and it must have showed.

The chief blew out a frustrated breath. “Here it is in a nutshell, MacIntosh. You haven’t been with the department long enough to have a personal vendetta, and Carl knows exactly how to investigate something like this.” His smile was thin. “Let me put it this way; I trust
you
to make sure he toes the line, and I trust
him
to babysit you through the process of an unofficial internal affairs investigation. No one gets a whisper of what was just said in this room, and I want it settled fast and quiet. You report only to me, and you work your other cases as usual. This is extra duty; I am not going to deny it. You’ll have to operate under the radar of everyone else in this precinct.”

Grasso stood. “I’m more than fine with it.”

Well, shit. No pressure
.

“Me too.” She nodded. What else was she supposed to say?

“Okay,” Metzger said, his expression strained. “Just do me a favor and catch these sons of bitches quietly and quickly.” He didn’t bother to say good-bye, just left the room abruptly.

They walked out together, the hallway long and empty, though there were a few detectives still at their desks.

This wasn’t a complication she needed. The call from Metzger had come at an especially bad time; she’d had to leave before the coroner had finished the initial examination of the lakeside grave. It wasn’t like there was anything she could do in an official capacity, but she had worked up north before taking the job in homicide in Milwaukee, and even though her grandfather’s property wasn’t in the same county as her former department, she knew some of the officers.

What the hell was going on up there?

For that matter, what the hell is going on down here?

Grasso asked neutrally, “Should we go talk about this?”

What she really needed to do was call her grandfather.

Damn.

Quite frankly, the last thing she wanted was for her partner to get wind of the investigation up north, especially when she had no idea what to make of it herself.

The math was fairly simple. One skeleton on her grandfather’s property, no suspects, and no leads …

But still … there was now a cop killer evidently on the loose—or maybe the killings weren’t necessarily connected until it could be proved otherwise.

So she equivocated. “I’ve got something personal to handle. How about tomorrow? It’s getting late and I drove down all the way from Oneida County for this meeting.”

“We have a few issues to discuss, not the least of which is how we are going to handle this investigation quickly. We worked pretty well together on the Burner case. Let me buy you dinner, okay?”

Dinner out with Carl Grasso? No. She wasn’t at all in the mood to go someplace with the bustle of people everywhere, but maybe he was right, they needed to at least discuss strategy.

Last she knew, Bryce was making lasagna. She drew on the advantages of knowing she had a hands-down good dinner waiting. At the moment she didn’t even want to think about whatever was in that grave.

It wasn’t impossible. She
could
handle these two situations at once.

Or at least she hoped so, but she couldn’t handle sitting in a noisy restaurant trying not to worry.

So she asked abruptly, “Do you like Italian food?”

He shrugged. “My last name speaks for itself. What do you think?”

That actually won him a small smile. He was right; stupid question. “If we need to talk, I agree, let’s do it over dinner,” she said in resignation. “I appreciate the offer to go out, but I prefer a quiet table to a busy restaurant, and quite frankly, I’ve had an interesting day. If you want antipasti, stop and buy some. I’m officially inviting you to dinner.”

“Your place? Okay.”

“Not exactly.”

Grasso looked amused. “Where?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

“Wine?”

“Absolutely.”

“Sounds good.”

She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “Eight o’clock.”

Chapter 3

It was much more than she expected.

The fear evaporated during the act, like a vanishing fog once the decision had been made. It was eerie, as if she could see beyond herself, beyond the moment, to when it would be over, resolved in her mind, settled in the most definitive way possible.

She’d lifted the knife, and then lifted it again, and again …

Her hands were absolutely steady when she poured kerosene into the lamp from the can, and lit it.

Carnage.

Blood was everywhere. Bedding, floor, even some splattered on the window, running down in gruesome crimson tributaries. When she’d sensed it was over, when the resistance faded, she’d kept on, but she wasn’t sure why. Now the knife was on the floor but she couldn’t for the life of her remember dropping it. Her dress was drenched, the feeling warm and the copper smell cloying. Oddly she welcomed it even as she realized she hadn’t planned for it. Her clothes were ruined. She would have to burn them.

But she was done and it was finished.

*   *   *

The grocery store
was crowded, but he hardly noticed.

Distracted, Carl Grasso got a basket, tossed in a loaf of French bread, and thought about two murdered cops and a possible connection.

Why?

He picked up kalamata olives, roasted red peppers, balls of mozzarella, and some salami for the suggested antipasti. His mother had served it often, especially at parties. He remembered his childhood very clearly—like a movie that played in his mind. Nice house because his parents did well, pool out back, which made him a popular kid, and he’d remembered grade school and high school with a sort of nostalgic acceptance of the privilege of it all. His parents had been very much in love with each other, and in retrospect, maybe it was just as well they died together. He couldn’t imagine one living without the other.

Balance, he’d learned, was everything.

A little tap on the shoulder to remind him of that fact might be in order, Carl thought as he studied a rack of red wines, settling on a bottle of Chianti. The temporary reassignment to homicide as MacIntosh’s partner was a gift, and he needed to treat it as such, so he also needed to do the job with speed and precision.

However it all had played out, he had one true gift. In his mind’s eye, he wondered if he already understood this killer to a certain extent.

He’d always been able to do just that.

It scared him little it came that easy, but there was
the
reason he was a very good cop. He really could think like a criminal if he needed to, and never more than right now.

“Excuse me.”

“No problem.” He glanced back and stepped aside for an attractive, dark-haired young woman who smiled at him apologetically and gestured toward the stack of cheeses, realizing he’d been standing there absentmindedly, basket over his arm, blocking her view.

As usual, he was still thinking about the case.

Killing a cop; bad idea. Killing two? Double trouble. Life without parole if convicted. Wisconsin didn’t stick a needle in your arm, but neither did the state smile upon murder of its law-enforcement personnel. Big risks, both killings, but well planned.

The woman lingered, and she sent him a sidelong glance and smiled again. “Do you know anything about cheese? I’m supposed to bring some to a party and I haven’t a clue. I know it is a sin in this state, but when it comes to anything that says processed cheese food, I am an expert. Otherwise, not so much. All cheese wisdom is welcome.”

Carl laughed. She had warm brown eyes, nice smooth skin, and wore formfitting jeans and a soft sweater over a T-shirt. College student maybe … she had that fresh look, as if the world hadn’t quite let her know yet that it could be a very, very bad place.

Too young for him. He was forty-two, she was maybe mid-twenties, but he wasn’t immune to the slightly flirtatious way she was looking at him.

He asked, “What kind of party? Something given by one of the faculty so you need to impress?”

The look slid into a surprised stare. “As a matter of fact, yes, something just like that. A cocktail party given by the dean. You a mind reader or just a really good guesser? I’m a graduate student.”

“The way you dress, the bracelet”—he pointed at the band around her wrist—“and the processed cheese all gave it away. Only starving college students eat that crap. Not to mention that you have a backpack instead of a purse in your cart.”

“Most people aren’t that observant.”

“But I am not most people. Back to the problem at hand.” He turned to the deli case. “Let’s see. The water crackers, definitely. And the Brie. This one.” He selected one that was just on the edge of being too soft, which meant it was perfect. “It breaks the bank a little, but you are out to impress, right? This English double-sharp cheddar layered with Stilton is another one that does not come with a foil wrapper around it in a box, and I promise, you will get raves. It isn’t cheap either, but a little goes a long way. Hope that helps.”

“It does. Thank you.” Then she said facetiously, “Any thoughts on what I should wear?”

Good question. It gave him permission to do a slow perusal of what was a very nice figure. “I’m pretty sure you can choose whatever you want and wow them. The shorter the skirt the better. I’m a leg man.”

“Thank you again.” She held out her hand and there was a hint of a blush in her cheeks. “I’m Lindsey.”

He shook it. “Carl.”

“Nice to meet you.” She gazed at him curiously. “You were pretty deep in thought there a minute or so ago and that is one very nice suit. Now it is my turn. Lawyer?”

“No, I’m a lieutenant with the Milwaukee Police Department. And if you are wondering what I was thinking about, I was wondering what would make you kill a cop, much less kill two.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh … okay. I guess I see that now. I saw on the news … it’s terrible. No wonder you were a little distracted. You don’t have the safest job in the world, do you?”

“Police officer? No.”

“But you make a difference.”

The vote of confidence was appreciated, but he had his moments when he wondered. The place hummed around them with the sound of carts being pushed and elevator music. He smiled without humor. “Why
specifically
kill a cop?” Staring at a display of Dutch cheeses made from sheep’s milk, he came up with nothing. The purpose was out there but he hadn’t stumbled across it yet. The perpetrator was determined but not vicious. Vicious would also have killed the first victim’s wife and child as they slept, but Fielding’s wife and son were still alive.