Dark Places (27 page)

Bud moved closer to the bed, stepping carefully around the mutilated body. He pointed to the torso. “The shirt's got his name embroidered on the pocket.”

I looked at a severed foot leaning against the pillows. “Oh God, he had those boots on tonight.”

I swallowed hard, not yet wanting to believe it. “This could be a setup, to make it look like him. It's so different from the other scenes. It doesn't add up.”

Black said. “Only Willie would have reason to set the vic up to look like himself. And why would he do that?”

Good question. “Who knows? Maybe he's the perp, or maybe somebody else wants us to think so. Buck can tell us that soon enough. Okay, let's step back, take some deep breaths and put on some protective gear before we contaminate the scene.”

I phoned Charlie, woke him up, and he was too shocked by the news to even curse me out. He said he'd alert Buckeye and forensics. Yeah, happy New Year, everybody.

I hung up and said, “What's your take, Bud?”

“Looks like it started out in the living room.”

“Somebody hacked this guy to bits,” Black put in. “This is rage like I've never seen it before. The killer had to be covered with blood. Look at the walls. The ceiling.”

“How'd the perp get out without leaving bloody footprints?”

Bud said, “He went out the window. Look.”

There were smears on the sill, the lower pane, the window frame. “We're gonna get him this time. He had to have left something behind.”

I waited for Bud to stomp outside and bring in paper booties and latex gloves. We all put them on, and I walked to the window, sidestepping pools of gore and torn flesh. I pushed open the window and shined Bud's flashlight on the ground below. The snow was crimson and disturbed. The bastard rolled around and cleaned himself off in the snow. Made a bloody snow angel for us to find. I swept the beam out across the yard. Four-wheeler tracks led off toward the woods.

“He rode a four-wheeler out of here. Just like McKay did at my place. Maybe we can match the treads.”

I thought about how scared Willie's voice had been earlier on the phone, how I'd said I'd protect him. My stomach dropped, cold and hard. McKay had to be the perp. My gut was still telling me that, making me sure of it. And I was going to get him for this. Willie Vines was going to be his last victim.

In the wee hours of New Year's Day Buckeye descended with his team on Willie Vines's place, sweeping the crime scene and pretty much as horrified by the carnage as we were. Dawn came and eventually dazzling blue skies that brought on the mother of all headaches. I swallowed some Excedrin and tried to forget about it, because it would take hours and hours just to clean up the gore and gather body parts. Our interviews had turned up the fact that Willie had no living family. Seemed a little coincidental that all three of our victims were basically alone in the world. Except for Christie, whose relatives hadn't cared enough to show up yet to claim the body.

Black took off around five o'clock to get a few hours' sleep before he checked on his Cedar Bend patients staying at the Lodge over the holidays. It was late morning before Bud dropped me off. I let Jules Verne out to do his business, then crashed for three hours before I was up and dressed and phoning Bud. A call to the director with the sad news about Willie informed us that the director himself could alibi Joe McKay. He'd had drinks after the gala with Joe and two board members and their wives. Apparently the director was considering McKay for an instructor's position at the academy, probably ESP in Ten Easy Lessons. Something told me he'd fit in out there real well. But that wouldn't stop me from leaning on McKay. Willie was terrified of McKay, and now Willie was dead. It was time to pay a little visit to Joe's utopia in the woods and sweat him a little. I picked up Bud in my Explorer.

Bud looked tired but he still had sharp creases in his jeans. Jeez. How'd he do that? His first words were, “Do we have a warrant to search McKay's place?”

“Not yet. Buckeye's gonna call me if they turn up incriminating evidence at Willie's house.”

“Where's McKay live?”

“Charlie said he's staying out in the middle of nowhere. His family's old homestead. I'll find it, don't worry.”

Out in the middle of nowhere was the understatement of the year. And we thought Willie lived in the sticks. Oh yes, deep, deep in the dark, dark woods well past Willie's house and the academy. Why would a young guy like McKay want to live way out here? Probably because he had lots of skeletons in lots of closets. Closets full of machetes and spiderwebs.

“This is it. Charlie said to look for a rusted mailbox with the name Bulinsky on the side.”

I turned onto a snowpacked dirt road. There were no four-wheeler tracks but a car had driven down the road recently.

“Looks like he's home,” said Bud.

“Let's just hope he's home with Willie's blood on his clothes.”

They drove through naked trees, limbs heavy with snow. The sun was too bright even for my sunglasses, and I felt my headache intensify. We caught sight of a farmhouse a lot like Willie's, but maybe a bit less dilapidated. A brick chimney was billowing black smoke into the crisp morning air. Wood was stacked around as if he'd been remodeling. As we approached, I caught sight of Joe, standing out in the back near a detached garage. He saw us, too, I guess, because he headed at a run for the back door.

I floored the accelerator, and we fishtailed dangerously on a patch of ice and slammed to a stop near the front door. We drew our weapons and jumped out. Bud took the front, easing slowly up the porch steps. I made my way around the side of the house through deep, pristine snowdrifts. At the back I hesitated, aware he could be lying in wait with a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun or a bloodstained machete, even. Willie's dismembered body came to mind. I swallowed hard, felt a trickle of fear, which I ignored. I darted a look around the corner of the house. Found the backyard was deserted. Lots of trampled snow. A half-built snowman with a carrot nose. Huh? Now that seemed a bit incongruous. Maybe ice-cold killers liked playing in the snow, too. Maybe they packed ice around their hearts to keep them deadly.

Out front Bud beat a fist on the door and yelled “police” and “open up.” I kept my gun fixed on the back door, finger on the trigger, fairly certain my friend, Joe, would barrel out any minute, guns a-blazing.

Footprints in the backyard went every which way, obliterating each other and intersecting with motorcycle and four-wheeler trails. A lot of them led into the old garage. The door was up. I sidestepped my way toward it, weapon and eyes trained on the back door. Bud was beating on the front door some more. I took a quick peek inside the garage, leading with my gun, at the ready, oh, yes.

Inside I found McKay's Harley-Davidson, and in the lean-to metal shed attached to the side of the structure, there was lots of junk stacked around: gardening tools, old tires, lawn mowers, empty paint buckets.

I turned and scanned the yard for four-wheeler tracks into the woods. I heard a sound and swiveled my weapon to the house. Joe McKay stood on his porch in a black sweatshirt and denim jeans. “Why hello, Detective Morgan. You looking for something in my garage?”

Mr. Pleasant, all smiley and dimpled up with charm. His breath plumed when he spoke. Mine plumed with molten anger. I called Bud's name, told him to come around while I walked slowly toward Joe, holding the Glock with both hands, pointed straight at McKay and ready to fire.

Joe watched me. I watched his hands. “Beautiful day, isn't it? After all the snow. Weather Channel says more's coming. Sure is different than southern California, believe me, but still a nice change.”

I wasn't there to discuss weather patterns and Doppler radar, so I said nothing. But I watched his eyes and detected something different in them. Worry, maybe? Good. I wanted him to be worried. Bud showed up and joined our little meteorological tête-à-tête.

“Well, now, you got Detective Davis with you. And look at those big guns. Hell, if I'd known you two were coming out, I'd've cleaned up some. Would've even shaved for you, Detective Morgan.” He rubbed fingertips across his whiskers. His beard stubble was shades darker than his long, sun-bleached hair.

I moved to the foot of the steps and stared up at him. He stared at my weapon. He was nervous; I could sense it. I hadn't seen him nervous before. Maybe butchering some poor kid beyond recognition had stressed him out a little.

“Surely you didn't come out here to shoot me, did you, Detective? Want me to put my hands up and not make any quick moves? Maybe I should lean against the house and spread 'em.” Now he was more his smart-ass self and sporting more dimples than a golf ball.

“Know what, McKay, the funniest thing happened last night. Willie Vines got hacked up into a million little pieces.”

“Huh?” McKay's deep dimples faded to lines bracketing his mouth.

“Yeah, too bad, right? We were just wondering if you had any blood-soaked clothes lying around your house, maybe with Willie's blood type on them.”

McKay frowned. “Know what, Detective? Sounds to me a lot like you're accusing me of a crime. That so? If you are, you better have something to back it up, or I might just have to cry harassment to my old friend, Charlie, and sue your pretty little ass.”

Bud said, “Wow, you're really scarin' us now, McKay. See how we're shiverin' and shakin'? Hey, I know what, how about being nice and inviting us in. You know, let us look around and see for ourselves how innocent you are.”

McKay laughed, a regular Jolly Old St. Nick. “Sure thing, Detective. Cough up a warrant signed by a real, live judge and
mi casa es su casa.
”

I said, “You saying we need a warrant to pay you a friendly call?”

“You bet you do, doll. You've zeroed in on me as the perp from day one and I sure as hell won't help you frame me with all the shit going on around here. What's the plan, huh? Planting an eight ball of crack behind my toilet bowl? Not that I don't trust you, but stranger things have happened. Know what I mean? I haven't done jack since I came back here, but you keep coming at me, anyway. Hell, you really think I'd off somebody with you hounding my ass twenty-four/seven?” He kept glancing out over the backyard at the tree line. I followed his gaze and saw nothing but snow and naked trees.

I said, “Where were you last night after the gala?”

“With Director Johnstone at his place. Sort of an informal job interview. Ask him, if you don't believe me. And ask the two advisory board members and their wives who were there, too.”

“Don't worry, I plan to.” That alibi was a little too convenient for my taste. Maybe we ought to take Director Johnstone in and hammer his story apart for a while.

“You're grabbing at straws, Detective. And if you have a hankering to visit my house, that's fine by me, just show me the warrant. And good luck. No judge is gonna see probable cause to let you rifle through my stuff. You don't have a thing on me, and you never will. Because I didn't do anything. Especially to Willie. I liked that kid.”

“Yeah, I can tell you're all broken up.”

Bud said, “You're coming off like a lawyer, McKay. Why'd you run when you saw us comin'?”

McKay gestured at a shotgun propped in the corner. “I wasn't expecting company. I'm new in these parts. Couldn't figure anybody I knew would be coming to call on New Year's morning with these kind of road conditions.”

“You always give shotgun welcomes?” I said.

Bud said, “You got a real isolated place out here. Wonder why?”

“It's a dangerous world we live in, now you know that, detectives. Man livin' way out here's got to protect himself.”

I thought I heard something inside his house. I frowned. “You got somebody in there with you, McKay? Somebody you forgot to mention?”

“Nope. Like I told you before, I'm all alone in the big, cold world. Television's on, though. Rose Bowl parade. Just love those floats made up of flowers. I really got to get back inside or I'll miss seein' the Queen and her Princesses.”

I ignored that and glanced around the yard. “What's with the snowman?”

“I guess I'm just a kid at heart, you know? I like snow ice cream, too.”

We stared bloody murder at each other for a few beats. This guy was going down.

Bud said, “Yeah, how 'bout those floats? Why don't you let us come in and watch the Rose Bowl game—USC and Texas, right? We're both football fans.”

“Yeah. Great idea. Go get your warrant and I'll spring for the pizza and beer.”

I said, “You're a real smart-ass, aren't you, McKay?”

He grinned and lapsed into hillbillyese. “Now, you gonna hurt my feelings if you ain't careful there, pretty lady. Hate to be rude but don't want to miss seein' those Rose Princesses.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, McKay. I'll see you again real soon, I promise.”

McKay walked inside and shut the door. I heard the click of a lock. Silently, Bud and I trudged back around to the front and climbed into my Explorer. We said nothing, both staring at the house. All the windows were heavily draped. I said, “He's hiding something in that house.”

“But he's right about the warrant. We don't have near enough for a judge.”

“Maybe we ought to come back when our psychic friend's not home. Get in a little snooping around. You game?”

“You bet.”

“Okay, so he's gonna win this round. Let's go see what else we can dig up on this guy. Maybe Black's PI's found something out in California we can pin on him.”

I fired the ignition and maneuvered the SUV around. We headed out McKay's road toward the highway. Something about the snowman was bugging me, big, big, time. Adults didn't go out and build snowmen by themselves. Not unless they had a kid. Was that it? He had a kid he didn't want me to know about. Didn't make a lot of sense, but neither did anything else about him.

“He's so dirty, Bud. I can smell him.”

“Yeah, ditto. Your instincts screamin' as loud as mine?”

“Louder. I got the feeling McKay was more shaken up than he was letting on. Let's get Charlie to okay a surveillance. Make McKay nervous. Maybe he'll crack and screw up.”

I didn't really believe that as I tried to stay in the ruts we'd made on the way in. Bud opened my glove box and started rummaging around. “Got any more Snickers bars in here? I'm starving.”

“You're always starving.”

“Hell, I was up all night. Didn't have time for breakfast. Give me a break. Just 'cause you never eat, doesn't mean I'm gonna starve.”

I grinned. He was right. “Well, then, this's your lucky day. There's a whole basketful of French stuff in the backseat. Black brought it back from Paris and told me to share it with you. Help yourself.”

Bud turned and looked around. “What kinda stuff?”

“You know, French stuff—cheese, chocolates, some of that bread they call baguettes, fancy stuff like Black eats. And I stuck in some Doritos, just for you. You think McKay's gonna run the minute we're outta sight? Maybe we should pull over and surveil the road awhile.”

“Yeah. It'll be interesting to see where he goes. Don't need a warrant for that.”

I searched for a good place we could park out of sight while Bud brought Black's fancy picnic basket onto his lap. “Wow. La-di-da, mam'selle, look at the little buckles holdin' it shut, and everything. Bet they're made outta solid gold. Maybe he left a sappy love letter inside, too. Or gold bullion bars wrapped up in red ribbons.”

“Shut up, Bud.” I glanced at him. “How about you and Fin? Didn't I see some dirty dancing going on last night? You were still at her house when I called you, too.”

“She's cool. I like her. And built, oh my, my, legs a mile long.”

A road up ahead looked like a good place to hide and watch, and I accelerated toward it, desperate to come up with a legit reason to persuade a judge to sign a warrant. I hoped Booker was uncovering a bunch of dirt on McKay's background at this very moment. I glanced at Bud when he opened the basket lid, a little hungry myself. I heard an odd clicking sound then stomped the brakes when a snake as big around as my arm lunged out of the picnic basket and straight at Bud.