Deadworld (4 page)

Chapter 7

Jackie leaned over Denny’s shoulder, one hand braced on the edge of his desk. He had the crime-scene photos uploaded onto his computer, a spread of thumbnail pictures across the twenty-four-inch screen. Laurel stood in the corner of his cubby peering from the other side.

When he scrolled to the next set, Laurel pointed. “Stop.” She stepped forward for a closer look. “Tenth one and the next few. Those look like the right area.”

The tenth photo was enlarged to fill the screen, and Jackie looked at the faces of the crowd. Hands in pockets, pairs and small groups chatted with one another. Nobody that she could see had any of the telltale signs that might implicate something more than casual interest.

Denny looked up at Laurel. “See anything?”

“No. Did you shoot video first? These pics might be too late.”

“Too late for what?” he asked.

“Her knight in shining armor,” Jackie said.

“Being polite doesn’t make you chivalrous,” she snapped back.

Denny snickered and clicked through to pull up the playback screen. “Here’s what I’ve got. I shot it before I began taking the pics.”

It was from the vantage point of the park grass, somewhere between the big maple and the parking lot. It started near where they had parked and panned slowly across to the television crews, zooming in gradually to pick up clearer images of the crowd standing at the edge of the grass.

When the view panned all the way to the other side, Laurel pointed at the screen. “Stop there.”

Denny paused the video. Jackie could tell immediately who she was likely referring to. A tall, broad-shouldered figure past the crowd, walking away from the scene. “The big guy there, jeans and sweatshirt.”

“Yep, that’s him.”

“Okay,” Denny said and zoomed in closer. He clicked the play button again, and they watched him continue walking away. A few seconds later he stopped and looked back.

“Look at where his gaze is,” Jackie exclaimed. “He’s not interested in the tree at all.”

Laurel straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “Hmmm, you’re right. He’s looking back at us.”

The still frame zoomed in more, and the image blurred. Denny began to go to work. “I’ll get this cleared up and enhanced. It should give us a pretty good shot of his face to work with if you want.”

“Do it,” Jackie said. “Run it if you get a good one, and see if anything pops up.”

“Sure thing.”

Laurel shrugged. “He’s probably just wondering if I’m all right.”

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But he could be wondering a lot more than that, too.”

“Paranoid.”

“Innocent.”

“Ha! My title is better.”

Jackie clapped Denny on the shoulder. “Thanks, Den. Figure out who he is, and I’ll buy you a shot.”

“I’m there.”

She stepped away from the desk. “I want to see about that penny they found. Maybe the geeks can tell us what it is.”

After acquiring the penny, Jackie and Laurel went down to the basement and tracked down Mark Hauser, head of the Geekroom, where all things information were acquired and processed. Jackie never ceased to marvel at the kinds of things the FBI was capable of finding out. It was almost disturbing.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair when Jackie knocked on the open door to his office. “What brings the FBI’s sexiest agents down into the depths?”

Jackie took in the sprawling desk with its three thirty-inch monitors and grimaced. “Seriously, Hauser? Can you ever greet us without mentioning looks?”

“Why? That would be boring.” He gave her a smug grin. “Besides, who else around here can get away with it besides us harmless geeks?”

Laurel laughed. “He has a point. Hauser’s about as harmless as they come.”

He pointed at Laurel. “Exactly.”

Jackie thrust the bag containing the coin at him. “You guys are also the sneakiest, most conspiratorial bastards in the agency. Everything has a plan.”

He plucked the bag from her fingers. “It makes us more interesting. What have we got here?”

“It’s a coin found under a dead boy this morning. Only real piece of evidence we found at the scene, so I’m hoping you might give us some info on it.”

“Cool. Let’s have a look.” He grabbed a pair of tweezers from a drawer and withdrew the coin from the bag. After turning it over a couple times, he arched his brows. “It looks like an Indian Head Penny, 1862. Perfect condition, by the look of it.”

“Worth much?”

“One sec, and I’ll find out,” he replied and spun back around to type on his computer. About thirty seconds later he tapped his screen. “If it’s real and as pristine as it looks, it’ll fetch about twenty-five K.”

Laurel whistled softly. Jackie could hardly believe it. “For a damn penny? Wow.”

“Coin collecting is serious business, Jack,” he said. “And this was just found on the ground beneath a dead body?”

“Yep.”

“Robbery gone bad?”

The image of loose, gray skin washed through Jackie’s mind. “Don’t think so. We think it was left on purpose.”

“Really.” He nodded and reexamined the coin. “Someone sending a message, perhaps?”

“What sort of message requires killing a twelve-year-old boy?”

He winced. “Ouch. That sucks. I’ll look into this and see if I can find anything—coin collectors, auctions, that sort of stuff. Maybe something will pop.”

“Thanks,” Jackie replied. “Let me know the second you find something.”

Back on their floor, Jackie sat down at her desk to the sound of Denny’s voice coming from the other side of the cubicle’s wall. “Check your e-mail, Jack. Got some interesting stuff on your guy.”

“Already? Nice going, Den. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Jackie turned on her computer and accessed the e-mail, downloading a picture of what turned out to be a photo ID card. Laurel leaned over her shoulder, her head next to Jackie’s.

“He’s a PI?”

“So it would seem,” she said.

“Man, would you look at those eyes. Those have to be colored contacts.”

“Maybe. So why would PI Nick Anderson be interested in the body of a dead boy from the Chicago burbs?”

“Coincidence?”

Jackie shot her a skeptical glance.

“It’s been known to happen, you know.”

“Not in my lifetime.” Jackie scrolled to the next page, where another picture greeted them.

“Whoa, he cleans up nice,” Laurel said.

It was a newspaper clipping dated over a year earlier. Jackie scanned through the article. “Nicholas Rembrandt Anderson? What the hell. Hey, Denny!” she shouted. “Are these the same guy?”

“Yeah. Interesting guy. Wait till you see the next page.”

“CEO of Bloodwork Industries,” Laurel said. “Wonder what that is?”

“Curious, isn’t it? I think we might want to have a little chat with Mr. Anderson.”

“He donated two million dollars to the children’s hospital.”

“So he’s a saint.”

“Bet he likes tough FBI types.”

Jackie smirked. “Rules you out then, doesn’t it?”

“Screw you. I’m tough in the ways that matter.”

“Like an Annabelle’s cream puff.”

“Oh, Annabelle’s! We’re stopping, right? Where’s this Anderson guy located?”

“Um, I don’t know where this address is,” Jackie said, pointing at the screen.

“Just type it into Google maps.”

“What?”

“Oh! Look at this.” Laurel had scrolled to the next screen, which was another newspaper clipping. This one was dated April 1970.

Jackie stared at the picture. It was the spitting image of Nick Anderson. “Wait a sec, that can’t be right. That the same guy?”

Denny’s voice piped in again. “It’s his dad, keep reading.”

“Creepy,” Laurel said. “Looks just like him.”

“Acquitted of murder.” Jackie tapped the screen. This was getting better by the word. “In the slayings of five people. . . .”

Laurel chimed in at the same time. “. . . who were drained of all their blood.”

Jackie leaned back in her chair. “Holy shit. Coincidence, my ass. We really do need to go have a chat with this guy.”

“Okay,” Laurel admitted. “Got me there. This is too strange.”

“So where’s this guy at?”

“Just Google it and see.”

“I only Google after about six drinks.”

Laurel shook her head, chuckling. “You really should try using your computer once in a while. They’re actually useful.” She pulled up the Google screen and located their address. “See? Ten seconds, and presto! Special Investigations, Inc.”

“Shit. That’s almost an hour from here. Call and see if he’s there. Otherwise track down his home address.”

“We’ll need to hit Annabelle’s first.”

“You know, I hope your ass gets fat. Where the hell do you put all the crap we buy from there?”

Laurel grabbed at her breasts. “Boobs, baby. You should eat more cream puffs.”

There was snickering from nearby cubicles. Jackie rolled her eyes and got up. “Let’s go, you bitch. You’re buying.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Fuck you,” Jackie grumbled, walking away. She never won these things.

The call to Nick Anderson’s office let him know they were to be expected. It was located on the barest outskirts of what could properly be called “greater Chicago.” It was virtual farmland, carved out in places with wealthier subdivisions.

“More villains need to live out this way,” Laurel said. “It’s lovely out here.”

Jackie gave her a wry look. “Have we passed a single coffeehouse in the past twenty minutes?”

“You’ve had enough caffeine for the day, young lady. Besides, I could see you living out here. Look!” She pointed at a large white farmhouse, complete with blue shuttered windows, a picket fence, and an ancient tractor with a
FOR
SALE
sign leaning against its front grill. “That place is beautiful.”

“And what would I do with a place like that?” Place for a bed, her piano, a fridge, and a bathroom was everything she needed. The rest was just wasted space.

“You could raise three or four kids in a place like that and still have space. A nice, strong guy to throw the hay bales around.” She grinned at Jackie. “Anyway. I’m just saying—”

“Three or four kids? Are you insane? I can barely take care of my goddamn cat.”

“Actually,” Laurel said with all seriousness, “I can see it pretty goddamn clearly.”

Jackie stared at her for a second. Was this one of those prescient moments?
God, please, no,
she thought. “You know as well as I do, Laur. I’d be a horrible mother.”

“You’d be a great mom.” The clipped, forceful tone of her voice had Jackie leaning up against the door. It was that “I know better than you, so shut the fuck up” voice. Sadly, the damn witch was usually right.

“I really hate that tone of voice.”

“You just hate that I’m right.” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead at the road, a smug smile on her face.

Jackie grumbled and shook her head. “Bitch. I’m getting a new partner.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Shut up!”

Laurel laughed but said nothing more.

Special Investigations, Inc. was a very unassuming place. A simple, one-story, brick office building with a small paved parking lot stood in a small strip of older shops in a blip of population along the highway. The downtown was one of those more recently renovated sorts that gave the buildings much of their old-world charm. Cracks in the parking lot were sprouting dandelions and grass, but across the street wafted the heavenly aroma of a doughnut shop.

Laurel pointed at what Jackie’s nose had immediately sniffed out when they got out of the car. “Bet there’s lattes in there. Everyone makes them now.”

“On our way out,” she replied. Walking up to the door, Jackie noticed the name of an attorney on the door above Nick Anderson’s. The attorney’s name was twice as big.

“Not big on advertising, is he?”

“Yeah. Low-profile type.” She failed at hiding the sarcasm.

Jackie opened the door and stepped inside, finding a short hallway down the middle of the building dividing Special Investigations from the attorney. The door to the office was unlocked, so she opened it up and found herself in a typical reception office. A variety of Western-themed paintings adorned the walls, which were painted a cool and soothing blue. The furniture was worn but well made with soft, brown leathers and dark wood stain. Next to a colorful bouquet of flowers on the spacious desk was a cute thirty-something. She could have been passing herself off as Santa’s girlfriend with the bright red, tailored suit. Jackie could tell by the way she studied them that the woman was no airhead.

The woman smiled, friendly but still cautious. “Good morning, and welcome to Special Investigations. How may I help you?”

Jackie laid her badge down on the desk. “FBI. I’m Agent Rutledge, and this is Agent Carpenter. I believe Mr. Anderson is expecting us.”

The woman picked up the badge and gave it a thorough look before nodding once and handing it back with the same friendly smile. Not a single flinch of worry or concern crossed her face.

“Might I inform him as to what this is about?” The voice was polite in that almost saccharine way that told you a person was not terribly fond of your presence.

“If you could just inform him we’re here to see him,” Jackie said, trying to mimic the same sweet tone. Behind her, Laurel walked around the room studying the paintings.

The woman shrugged, watching Laurel’s casual perusal as she did. “Very well. One moment.” She called, and the sound of a phone ringing in the back room could be heard. “Mr. Anderson? There are two women here from the FBI to see you. Yes, the badges look legit.” She glanced at each of them for a moment. “Yes, that’s right. Okay. You’re welcome.”

Jackie frowned at the knowing little smile the woman gave them. There had been a strong tone of familiarity in her voice. Either she and Mr. Anderson went back a long ways, or they were intimate. The deep voice on the other end had been slow but too quiet to make out any of the words.

“If you’d like to have a seat, he said he’d be just a moment.”

“Thanks,” Laurel said and sat down in one of the leather chairs.

Jackie turned to give her a look but stopped when she saw Laurel’s grim face. Her mouth was pulled taught, her eyes squinting with concentration. With her back to the secretary, Jackie gave Laurel a quizzical look.
What’s going on?
Laurel didn’t notice, so Jackie turned back to the woman.