Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (5 page)

Toward the hill.

The lake would be perfect, but the body would surface, she knew that. An old man had drowned in the river near town last year. It was thought he was probably drunk, but no one could find him until the corpse had lodged under the bridge three days later and the police determined he’d been shot and robbed.

All those stab wounds … no, it wasn’t worth risking.

She had someone to protect besides herself.

*   *   *

Carl arrived a
few minutes late.

Punctuality was important to him, but then again, he hadn’t planned on chatting with a pretty girl in the supermarket either.

What a nice distraction and a legitimate excuse.

He recognized the upscale neighborhood. Some of his parents’ friends had lived nearby he realized as he berthed his expensive sedan behind an equally pricey SUV. Nice big house, huge grassy lawn, mature trees.

Ellie MacIntosh didn’t live here. He’d already gotten her address—and driven by it because he was into details—a generic condo she only rented, but public records indicated she owned her house up north, and given the economy, it wasn’t surprising she hadn’t sold it yet.

So this pricey place must belong to Grantham, at one time suspected of being the most vicious killer alive in the state of Wisconsin. He’d been in some pretty prestigious company, Carl thought as he got out of the car and slammed the door. Jeffery Dahmer and Ed Gein were hard acts to follow.

To be honest, given his own history, Carl could hardly fault her for what might seem like a questionable career choice. He’d stepped over the line and he would never—not ever—admit or apologize for it.

“Lieutenant.” She came to the doorway and inclined her blond head. She didn’t fit the part of a homicide detective in his mind, but seemed to do the job competently. An interesting partner for sure. In every single way she held a knife to his balls. Not her doing, but the MPD wanted to know if he was fit to play with others again, and she would be the one reporting to the chief.

So he’d enter the game.

“Detective.” He held up the red wine by the neck of the bottle. “I come bearing gifts.”

“My favorite kind of visitor.” She stepped back, but they were still wary of each other—of that he had no illusions. Maybe he didn’t even blame her.

“Please come in.”

He glanced around the two-story foyer and murmured, “Nice.”

“Not mine, but thank you. This way.”

Suspicion confirmed. He was, after all, a detective.

Leather couches, some scattered dark tables … probably not her choice, but Carl noted it as he followed her into what proved to be a large kitchen that reflected the same masculine taste with poured cement countertops and polished floors. A dark-haired man was chopping vegetables on a wooden board and he stopped and lifted the knife. “Hi, Bryce Grantham. I’d shake your hand, but you’d smell like onions for a week.”

When he indicated the scattering of peppers and tomatoes, Carl simply smiled in polite acknowledgment. “No problem. Thanks for having me.”

“So you are Lieutenant Grasso.” Grantham flicked him another glance as he deftly chopped an onion.

Definitely assessing.

“And you are Grantham.”

“Both infamous,” Ellie said dryly, deftly peeling off the foil over the top of the wine. “The two of you can skip the male posturing, okay? Please tell me this won’t be the most uncomfortable dinner ever. I’ve had a long day.”

Now
that
was frank.

Carl watched her quick, efficient movements. “I will endeavor to be on my best behavior.”

MacIntosh was more delicate than the robust women he usually was attracted to. Maybe it was his Italian heritage, but he wanted a woman who would maybe take a swing at him if she was really mad, but … he really admired the compelling color of her hazel eyes.

“Santiago called me.”

His brows rose. “How is he doing?”

The cork popped out and she reached for a glass, pouring the wine without letting it breathe. “Doing well but his convalescence is getting to him. He was riding around apparently with one of the patrol officers who answered the call when Brown was shot.”

“Metzger didn’t mention that,” Carl said.

“I get the impression the chief doesn’t know,” Ellie lightly rubbed her forehead as if she might have a headache. “I wondered how Santiago was going to handle being off the job once he started to feel better. The officer is a friend from his days in uniform.”

“Well, that’s kind of an interesting twist. Quite frankly, I wasn’t aware Santiago had friends.”

“I realize he can be abrasive, but he’s an excellent cop.” MacIntosh said it sharply.

Santiago had saved her life. No wonder she defended him. Actually, Carl
liked
that she defended her partner, considering he currently held that position.

“Having met him only briefly, I can state unequivocally that he is a very blunt man.” Grantham reached for a platter in an overhead cupboard. Carl approved of the kitchen. Functional and yet stylish and modern. Maybe he should redesign his house again. He had the money, just not the inclination.

He said neutrally, “Knowing that, it seems like Santiago might well be a good source for the investigation. It’s a place to start. Whether they like him or not—and my impression is some do and some don’t—he knows everyone in the department.”

Ellie handed him a glass. “The wine has a nice bouquet, by the way. Thanks. Have a seat and go on. I am not quite sure how we are supposed to handle this. I can’t see how we can ask a bunch of questions without word getting around pretty fast.”

Grantham just looked resigned at the conversation, which didn’t surprise Carl all that much. He’d seen that same expression before. Police officers were not necessarily the best choice in lovers.

She must be worth it.

He found Ellie intriguing too, but that didn’t matter. She was clearly involved with someone else.

“Not everyone joins the force as a detective like you did.” He smiled ironically and took a sip, choosing a chair at a table set for three. The wine
was
nice; smooth and rich. “You know that. Jason just moved up a little quicker than some others.”

“He seems like a survivor.”

That was true enough. If the world was coming to an end, Carl would want Jason Santiago at his back. He gazed at her across the table. “I’m being serious. My first idea is that we go talk to him. Someone shot him in the chest, but his brain works just fine. He might remember something we can use. He would know, for instance, if anyone had a beef with Brown or Fielding.”

“At least that is a game plan.” She nodded. “I wonder about the first killing. It bothers me more … sometimes officers on patrol get shot—not as often as some people might think, but it happens. What doesn’t happen is that someone breaks into your house and executes you in your sleep.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He gazed at her, feeling like he always did, that he should never be sitting and enjoying a glass of wine when there were mysteries in this world like the one they were discussing that needed his attention.

“I say after dinner maybe we pay Santiago a visit and see how he’s doing.”

*   *   *

He did three
push-ups and then gave up, knowing he was skirting the edge because he’d warned about doing too much too fast … this rehab crap was killing him. Jason wandered to the sliding doors that led to his balcony and looked out, seeing the empty pool below. The cover was on, and it looked dingy under the security lights. Just after Labor Day. Pool closed for the year.

Depressing, he decided, though he could have sworn that just this past July, all the little kids swimming there, splashing around and screaming at the top of their lungs, had annoyed him.

Actually, they hadn’t, he had to acknowledge. He’d liked the noise and laughter. What
really
annoyed him was not being in action.

Someone was killing cops. He wanted to know why.

The first case had caught his attention—of course. The officer’s name was David Fielding. Young, still on the street, and squeaky clean as far as everyone knew. He’d make no apologies for how police officers reacted to one of their own going down—hey, it was a dangerous job and if everyone deserved protection, so did those who offered it. They put up their lives as an offering to society, and when they were taken, it was a big deal.

So some nut job breaks into an officer’s house and kills him … not perfect in an imperfect world. It had all earmarks of a professional hit, and everyone in the department had been stunned.

The second killing set off all kinds of bells and whistles.

First of all, Jason knew the guy really well. He didn’t have a lot of buddies—some, but he spent most of his time on the job—but Chad had qualified as a friend. They used to go and grab a few beers and play some pool now and then. When he started dating Danni, Jason had been happy for them both.

The other night had been pretty immediate, and not in a good way.

Every once in a while cops lost it. They all were, after all, human beings. But Danni had really come apart at the seams and he’d been glad that at least he’d been there to help until other units arrived. Calmly interviewing possible witnesses while her lover lay in a pool of blood was not possible.

The wounds drove him up the wall, itching and nagging him half to death. He paced the balcony in a way he was sure gave his neighbors pause, but he couldn’t help it. The confinement was sending him over an unknown edge he didn’t know existed. When he’d first come home from the hospital he’d been pretty weak and sore still, content to sit around and watch cable and DVDs as the pain meds had kept him pretty mellow. But he was paranoid about addiction—he’d seen way too much of that during his time on the street and he’d weaned himself off as soon as possible.

All he wanted was for the doctor to sign off so he could go back to the precinct, even if it was desk duty.

The inactivity was worse than the wounds.

A sound registered even as he moodily leaned on the railing and he realized it was his cell phone, sitting in on the coffee table. He moved to get it, stifling a wince—the push-ups
had
been a bad idea—and looked at the display.

MacIntosh calling. Really?

“Well, fuck me, if it isn’t my favorite partner,” he drawled, just to be abrasive and because he knew the foul language was a sore point between them. “Kind of late. Shouldn’t Barbie be in bed with Ken by now?”

A little out of line. Yes, she was blond and shapely and Grantham was a good-looking guy, but he should think before he made cracks like that. Her personal life was her own business.

His ex-girlfriend was right. He
was
an asshole. He’d been hoping to hear from Ellie, actually. The Brown murder had him wound up and he had been wondering who was assigned to it.

“It’s nine o’clock. Sorry to call so late.” Her voice was cool. “Up for visitors?”

Hell yes
. He stifled the profanity and said instead, “Absolutely. I’m bored out of my mind.”

“I won’t be too flattered then at your enthusiasm, but Grasso and I wouldn’t mind talking to you for a few minutes if you are okay with it.”

“Fine by me.”

“Good, since we are already on our way.”

In the ten minutes it took for them to get there he did put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and at least glanced in the bathroom. No underwear on the floor—good. On the upside, a disabled bachelor wasn’t all that tidy, but an extremely
bored
disabled bachelor cleaned now and again just for something to do. The place didn’t look too bad.

Why he cared, he wasn’t sure. Appearances had never been very important in his upbringing. There actually hadn’t been any consideration for that at all. His mother had walked out when he was young and his old man had tolerated his presence until he was eighteen, then tossed him out and proceeded to drink himself into an early grave. End of story.

Not a lot of glamour in his past.

MacIntosh was a bit different. He wasn’t sure about her childhood, but she’d hunted down a serial killer who had been terrorizing northern Wisconsin for over a year and the blaze of glory had landed her in Milwaukee as a detective in homicide. At her age that was a little young, but he couldn’t deny that she’d also been instrumental in hunting down the murderer who had popped up on their radar a few months ago, so she seemed to be two for two.

Well, not completely accurate. They’d caught him together. The only difference was Jason also got two bullets in the chest, but that hadn’t been her fault. Not at all. They made a good team.

Go figure. He’d been pretty pissed off over being assigned with Miss Northwoods, but together they’d made a decent showing on a pretty high profile case in that they’d caught the killer.

Of course, right now, Lieutenant Grasso was her new partner.

Damn. It chafed to be out of the loop. Plus, he felt a little edged to the side, like Grasso might fill his shoes.

Why did they want to see him?

He couldn’t wait to find out.

Chapter 5

It wasn’t deep enough, but maybe she could do something later. Makeshift was the best she could do in the haze of the dawn, the sun reflecting on the lake in a crimson shimmer through the trees. The branches would be bare soon, skeleton arms lifted to the sky.

Afterward she went into the house. The bedroom was a gory display of torn sheets and the rug was ruined, soaked with blood in one corner, and she wondered how much it would be noticed that it was gone.

One person might think it was odd, but that was just a chance she had to take.

*   *   *

Gray light, the
scent of water and fecund odor of rotting leaves … The image was not going anywhere soon and Ellie tried to shake it off even as she walked up the echoing, untidy stairway to Jason Santiago’s apartment. She gestured at a tricycle sitting by a doorway, small pink tassels on the handlebars. “I have a fair idea of what his salary is, so even if we aren’t exactly rich as police officers, why does he choose to live somewhere like this? It looks like a lot of young families live here.”