Devoted in Death (18 page)

“I’ll relay your request, Lieutenant.”

“Now.”

Eve clicked off, left a brisk voice mail for Garnet DeWinter, and was leaving one for Morris when she walked back into the lounge.

“Wheels are in motion,” she said, holding up a hand to keep Banner in his seat. “I need this pushed through fast. I need you to clear as much of the decks as you can for this. I’ll get back to you. Progress?” she asked Banner.

“Ms. Fastbinder not only agreed, she’s got a judge on tap who’ll push through the order mostly, I think, because he’s relieved she’ll take this out of state, and out of his hair. I just finished talking to my chief. I talked Little Mel’s mama into it, and he’ll get it done. Mostly, I think, for the same reasons as the judge.”

“Doesn’t matter why as long as it’s done. My commander will be speaking with your chief.” She gave him a measured study. “If Whitney gets the impression you’re a rogue lunatic, Banner, we’re not going to get very far.”

“I might be fixated on this, and there’s a girl who decided I was a lunatic when I joined the police, but I’ll hold up.”

She sat, studied him again. She didn’t see rogue or lunatic. “The cabin where his blood was found, where items were taken and not recovered, who lives there?”

“It’s a rental type. Lots of them around. This one was shut up for a few weeks. Septic issues the owner hadn’t gotten around to dealing with.”

“So, empty.”

“That’s right.”

“Security.”

“A lock on the door.”

“Easy target for somebody looking to score a few easy-to-transport items. The unsubs break in, start taking what they want. Little comes along. Altercation, he’s killed or incapacitated. How far from the cabin did you find him?”

“Not counting the drop? It’d be maybe a half a mile on the back road, another quarter mile to the trail where they say he fell off. Some say jumped, but that’s bullshit.”

He drew in a breath, shoved at his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to use hard language.”

“The day ‘bullshit’ is hard language in a cop shop, that’s the day I turn in my badge. Which is never. Did your people look for blood in the cabin? Signs somebody cleaned it up.”

“We can handle that kind of thing. It was just a little blood. They missed it when they cleaned up, in my opinion. Used a tarp, like they’ve used on others. Keep the blood off the scene.”

Just how she saw it. “Then he wasn’t the first, either. He was just one of the next. We trace back from this vic, this Little Mel. And we’ll find the first. We find the first, we’ll find them.”

Her eyebrows shot up when he reached out, covered her hand with his. He pulled his back quickly. “Sorry – that’s probably not allowed. It’s just… I’ve been waiting a long time to hear somebody say that.”

“Saying it, proving it, finding them, there are a lot of steps between.”

“I’ve been taking some of them, best I can. I’m going to be straight with you. I’ve only worked two murders, and both of them were pretty clear-cut right from the start. First was the Delroy brothers, Zach and Lenny. Not bright lights, either of them, and with a taste for bad booze and homemade Jump. The two of them got revved up on both, fought over a card game, and Zach, he picked up a fireplace poker and caved Lenny’s head right in. Tried to cover it up saying somebody’d busted into their place, but like I said, not a bright light.”

He shifted a bit as if looking for comfort in the hard chair. “And the second was a woman come down from Pittsburgh with her husband for a holiday. Not much of one for her as he had a habit of beating the hell out of her for fun. He’d blackened her eye and busted open her lip before she got outside to the car, locked herself in. Then she proceeded to run him over when he came out after her.”

“Hard to blame her.”

“There’s that. She said right out she wanted to make sure he was dead this time, and that’s why she backed up, ran over him again. Three times. Anyway, like I said, pretty clear-cut. We don’t get a lot of killings – not purposeful – in Silby’s Pond.”

“You’ve gotten this far on this one.”

“Since Little Mel I’ve worked it every day. Sometimes only an hour or so, but every day. I’m hopeful now that I’ve got somebody like you, a real murder cop, it’ll break.”

“Then let’s get going. We’ll move this to the conference room.”

She rose, waited while he grabbed his coat, his duffel.

“It’s a hell of a place, your Cop Central,” he commented as they started out. “Lots doing.”

“If you’re interested, I can have somebody show you around.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Someone let out a war cry, high and wild. Eve pivoted, saw two uniforms giving chase. The man they pursued charged like a bull, head down, teeth bared, his eyes lit like lanterns with whatever substance he’d smoked, swallowed or syringed. He bowled over an unfortunate civilian clerk whose legs flew out from under her, sending her and the file bag she carried flying.

“Excuse me,” Eve said, cut across the corridor as the man, long, red hair streaming back in its skinny braids, fists pumping in the air, ran like the possessed.

Her right cross barely slowed him down, but it shifted his attention enough to have him swing those pumping fists in her direction. One glanced off her shoulder, and she went with it, spinning around and coming back with a side kick to his gut.

He grunted, made a grab. She stomped hard on his instep, followed up with a knee to the balls, then tried the right cross again.

That one had him staggering back, but he grinned at her through the blood that bloomed on his mouth. She braced for the next round, but the stagger gave the uniforms time to catch up.

Eve stepped back while they grappled, considered moving in again as fists and elbows jabbed and bashed and war cries echoed. Then a third uniform leaped in from the side.

“For Christ’s sake,” she said when they finally had him down and in restraints – where he laughed like a loon. “For Christ’s sake.”

“It’s Mad Fergus, Lieutenant.” One of the uniforms, his own lip bloody, managed to pant it out. “We thought we had him, but you never know what’s going to set him off.”

“Somebody see to that woman he knocked down, and get him out of here. If you can’t control a prisoner, keep them away from my division. You embarrass me.”

She turned, noted that Banner was helping the civilian clerk to her feet.

“Sorry about that,” she said when he joined her again.

“You move fast. If you’d kicked me in the gut the way you did that one, I’d’ve been flat out and gasping like a trout on the line.”

“I guess Mad Fergus is made of sterner stuff. What does that mean?” she wondered as she rolled her stinging shoulder. “What does ‘stern’ have to do with it? Never mind.”

“He landed one.”

“He’s not the first.” Rolling her shoulder again, she led the way to the conference room, gestured him in.

“Detectives Peabody, Santiago, Carmichael, Deputy Banner.”

After an exchange of
nice-to-meet-you
’s, Eve studied the nearly completed board. “Are you caught up?” she asked Carmichael and Santiago.

“Peabody filled us in.” Santiago tapped Campbell’s photo. “We’ve got under two days to find her.”

“Then let’s not waste time. Deputy, give what you have to Peabody. She’ll get it up. I’m going to run through what we’ve talked about for the others while we get the board finished. Melvin Little,” she began.

She found herself pleasantly surprised when Mira came in. It meant pausing for more introductions, and a quick reprise.

“Rough, steep trail like that?” Carmichael studied the images Banner had brought with him as they ran on screen. “He could’ve slipped off. I’m not saying he did,” she added. “I’m saying if you ran that probability, it would come in high.”

“Yes, ma’am, it would – and did – but not if you knew Little Mel. I don’t care how messed up he was, he never set a foot wrong on a trail or a track.”

“The cabin, the small amount of blood.” Mira crossed her legs, angled her head. “If, as the ruling determined, he had injured himself while rummaging through, there should have been more blood, not just a few drops in one location.”

“Agreed,” Eve said. “Did your sweepers run the lights?”

“Sweepers?”

“Your crime scene people.”

“Oh, yes, sir, they did. No sign there’d been blood cleaned up. And I can tell you, he wouldn’t’ve bothered.”

“None of the stolen items were recovered?” Santiago asked.

“There wasn’t much of real value taken. And not the sort of things that would raise a flag if you took them to a pawnshop or, hell, a flea market.”

Mira folded her hands as she examined the image of the victim. “Your medical examiner ruled those burns as self-inflicted.”

“Yes, ma’am. Either accidental or when he was high.”

“I strongly disagree, and believe our own ME will also.”

“I’m right pleased to hear that.”

“Morris and DeWinter will get a shot at these remains, and the remains of the suspected victim found in West Virginia,” Eve said.

“Your locals botched this one.” Santiago looked over at Banner. “The feebies, too. No offense.”

“Not a bit taken.”

“We speculate,” Eve began, “they worked as a team, had a routine on Little. Had the cabin, vacant at that time, he wandered in or by, they took him, used a tarp to catch blood and fluids, transported him to the high track, dumped him off and went on their way. The lack of the carved heart? They hadn’t started that flourish at this time. He was early on. Not the first, but early. So we work back from this point.”

“A lot back from there.” Carmichael frowned. “What got them started, that’s going to be key. What set them off? If they’re lovers, and that’s how it reads, maybe somebody – a parent, authority figure, a spouse – trying to keep them apart. Or somebody moves on one of them, and it goes south from there. The first kill, whoever, wherever, whyever, it’s what sparked it.”

She looked at Mira for confirmation.

“In my opinion, yes. That’s the break, the ‘spark,’ if you will.”

“I’ve got a few possibilities,” Banner told them. “Mostly I’ve been working forward from Little Mel, and beating my head against the FBI, but I’d started working back some. I’ve got three that are… well, just maybes right now.”

“Let’s see them.”

He looked at the unit Peabody used. “That’s a little more advanced than what I’ve worked with.”

“I’ll get them up. Doc code?”

“Ah, not a code so much. I filed them under MBM – Maybes Before Mel.”

“On it. I’ve got a cousin who lives in the Ozarks,” Peabody said as she worked. “A little place outside of Pigeon Run.”

“I know Pigeon Run. Pretty spot.”

“It is. I haven’t been there since I was about sixteen, but I remember. She and her man and their boys run a farmer’s market co-op.”

“Lydia Bench and Garth Foxx?”

Surprised, Peabody glanced around. “Well, yeah. You know them?”

“A little. My sister more. She hauls harvests down to them, and hauls stuff back at least once a month. It’s a small world no matter how big it gets.”

“Let’s keep the world focused on murder for now,” Eve suggested. “Get the data up, Peabody.”

“It’s coming.”

“This here’s the first.” Banner nodded toward the screen as the name and ID shot scrolled on. “Vickie Lynn Simon. A licensed companion, worked out of Tulsa mostly. Her body was found on a farm road about ten miles out of the city. Beaten and stabbed. Overkill, they called it.”

“That was closed yesterday,” Eve told him. “You were probably on your way here. They tied a second vic to it, and tracked down the killer. It looks solid, and the second vic was killed last week. This isn’t ours.”

“Then I’ve only got two maybes. This one, Marc Rossini, owned a restaurant in Little Rock. Beaten, stabbed, burned. Right inside the restaurant, after closing. Busted the place up, too.”

“I looked at that one,” Eve remembered. “We can leave it as a maybe, look deeper, but it doesn’t ring for me. Rossini had a gambling problem, and owed a couple hundred K. Reads like enforcement that went too far.”

“One more, then. Robert Jansen. Beaten – defensive wounds on this one. Head caved in – likely by a tire iron. Broken leg, blows to his back, face. Defensive wound on his hands, arms. His body was found off the road, in some high brush off Highway 12, some south of Bentonville. They figured he’d been dead about a week before some kid needed to pee, and his mama pulled over, took him into the brush. Likely scarred that boy for life. The animals had been at the body by then.”

“That’s one of mine,” Eve said, gaze sharpening. “I’d just started looking at this one. It fits the route. Business trip, right? Guy’s on a business trip, and driving from Fort Smith to Bentonville in a rental car. Car’s never turned up.”

“No, ma’am.” Banner caught Santiago’s smothered laugh. “Sir, that is. FBI dismissed this one out of hand. No signs of torture. It reads like maybe he had car trouble, or he stopped – maybe to pee or to give somebody a hand. That somebody went at him, he fought back, and got a tire iron to the back of the head and across the face for his trouble.”

“Took his vehicle, wanted the vehicle.” That was the play as Eve saw it. “Where’s their vehicle?”

“Didn’t find any. I checked, and none of the towing companies picked one up. None of the local law enforcement has a report on any abandoneds in that area.”

“Could’ve been on foot, but I don’t much like it. One could’ve driven each vehicle, then they’d sell one. Opportunity.” Eve began to pace. “Get him to stop. Seasoned business traveler, why does he stop on some bumfuck road?”

“A skirt,” Santiago offered.

“Yeah, most likely. Having some trouble, honey? Why, yes, I am. Thank you so much for stopping. It’s dark and scary out here. Partner moves in. Looks like a slam dunk, right? Maybe even something they’ve done before. Just boosting a ride, but this guy does some damage. Maybe he goes after the woman, and the partner bashes him. Maybe he’s getting the best of the partner, and the woman grabs the tire iron and whales in. Oh-oh, look at that. Dead guy, or seriously hurt guy. What to do.”

“Drag him into the bushes,” Peabody finished, “and get the hell out of there.”