Heinous (9 page)

“Where did Mr. Mooney do his taxidermy work?” Jess asked when Foster had tucked his radio away. If he had a shop at a different location, Jess wanted to have a look there as well.

“There’s a workshop out back. My deputies are checking it out now.” Foster shook his head. “Other than a few barroom brawls and the occasional traffic violation, Mooney was never in any kind of trouble. I can’t figure out how he got mixed up in whatever the hell this is.”

Jess wished she knew the answer to that one as well.

Foster’s radio crackled. He pulled it free of his utility belt. “Did you find something, Woods?”

“You better come on out here and see this for yourself, Sheriff,” came the deputy’s response. “Bring those Birmingham cops, too. This is crazy, Sheriff.”

“On our way.” Foster winced. “Sounds like he’s a little excited.”

“I’m certain they don’t see crime scenes like this every day.” Jess remembered her first big crime scene. Three men had robbed a bank, and then couldn’t agree on how to split the proceeds. They’d ended up killing each other.

On the far side of the kitchen was a door that led to the back porch. Jess paused long enough to remove her shoe covers but kept the gloves on. She hurried across the porch and backyard to keep up with Hayes and Foster’s long strides. The workshop sat about thirty yards behind the house. At the door, she and Hayes donned more shoe covers though no one else bothered. It was too late to do anything about that now.

The building appeared to be one large room. Shelves filled with the various tanning chemicals and preservatives Mooney used in his work lined one wall. Examples of his taxidermy work: a bobcat, a couple of squirrels, a rattlesnake, and a deer head were mounted on the opposite wall. A long metal worktable occupied the center of the room. On the far end of the workshop were large metal sinks, the kind used in restaurants. Next to the sink was another door. The two deputies who’d been exploring the building waited there.

“You’re not gonna believe this.” A deputy—Woods, Jess recognized his voice—motioned to the door. A pair of bolt cutters lay on the floor alongside a lock that had been cut free. “We didn’t go inside,” Woods, said. “We just looked and... well, see for yourself.”

Hayes led the way through the door with Jess close behind him. There was another table in the center of this room, but this one looked more like the ones found in an embalming room. On closer inspection, Jess decided it was an embalming table. More shelves lined the wall beyond the table. Glass jars of varying sizes stood on the shelves. As her brain registered what floated in those many, many jars, Jess reminded herself to breathe. Organs... body parts.
Human
. She moved toward the shelves, needing a better look to make sure what she saw was the real thing.

Human hands, feet, hearts, ears, eyeballs... definitely real.

“Chief.”

Slowly, hardly able to take her eyes from the rows and rows of human parts, she turned to face Hayes. He was staring at the wall that separated this room from the rest of the building. She’d been so focused on the embalming table and then the jars, she hadn’t looked back to see what was on that wall as she entered the room.

For one second, she stood there staring. Mounted on the wall in different poses were bodies—
human
bodies. There were three young women, one middle-aged man, and one elderly woman. All were nude and perfectly preserved.

“Holy hell,” Foster muttered as he and his deputies came through the door to see what had captured Jess’s attention.

“That right there,” Deputy Woods said, pointing at the older woman, “is his momma. She died last year.”

“Do you recognize the others?” Jess asked, her voice sounding a little hollow. It had been a while since she’d run into a Norman Bates wannabe.

“Not right off,” Foster admitted. He turned to his deputy. “We’re going to need some of those forensic fellas from Huntsville, too.”

“Sheriff!”

The guy who rushed into the room was a forensic tech, Jess decided. His T-shirt was emblazoned with
CSI Guys Do it Best
.

“Did Adams find something?”

The tech held up an evidence bag. “He pulled this note from Mooney’s mouth.”

Jess moved toward Foster as he took the bag. He shook his head and passed it to her. She read the words handwritten by Spears.
Quite a nasty fellow, this one. He’s been keeping a little something for you, Jess
.

Jess passed the note to Hayes for documentation before walking back to the other side of the room to inventory the jars. If Mooney was keeping something for her, she had a bad feeling it was in one of these jars.

Something similar to a label appeared to be attached to the back of each jar. She reached for one, lifted it from the shelf, and turned it around. The label was actually a Polaroid photo. Her pulse started racing as she checked more of the jars. Some of the people in the photos wore clothes from decades gone by. One or two Jess was sure she recognized from the photos found in the lockbox at the Brownfield farm. Had Mooney been a friend of Amanda’s grandfather?

Hayes joined her.

“Lieutenant, call Agent Gant and let him know what we’ve found here.”

“Making the call now.”

“I don’t understand this.” The sheriff’s face looked as somber as his voice sounded. “How could all this have been going on for so long in my county without me hearing something?”

“We rarely recognize the face of evil,” Jess assured him, “unless we catch it in the act or find some evidence that leads us to it.”

While Hayes updated Gant, Jess continued to inventory the jars, snapping photos of the contents as well as the Polaroids with her cell phone. When she reached the next row, she hesitated. “Sheriff, do you know if Mooney was related to the Brownfield family?” If not, maybe the family business extended to friends. There had to be a connection.

“Hell if I know,” Foster confessed. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. At least that’s what I’ve always thought. I guess I didn’t know some as well as I thought.”

“Chief.” Hayes had concluded his call and had stalled at the other end of the row of shelves Jess was currently working her way down.

Though he and Jess hadn’t worked together for that long, she instinctively recognized the combination of dread and disbelief on his face.

She closed the distance between them, her nerves fraying a little more with each step. A sticky note was fixed to the wide-mouth quart jar that had caught his attention. The note, again handwritten by Spears, was for her.

This is the one you’re looking for, Jess.

In the jar was a human fetus, approximately ten inches long, ten or twelve ounces, probably twenty or so weeks based on the development chart she’d seen at the doctor’s office last week. Jess’s mouth felt dry. Her body felt cold. She moistened her lips and said, “Turn it around.”

Hayes did as she asked. Like all the other jars, there was a photo attached to the back, but this photo was different from the others.

This was a photo of her mother.

Jess couldn’t get out of the building fast enough. Hayes stayed right behind her. No doubt ready to catch her if she fell apart.

She refused to fall apart.

Her head was spinning. Her stomach was churning. And her chest was hurting, but she would not fall apart.

Her mother wasn’t pregnant when she died. Was she? Wouldn’t she have told Jess and Lil? Wouldn’t there have been a celebration?

Outside, she stumbled to the middle of the yard, and then set her hands on her hips trying to steady herself. She drew in a lungful of fresh air. When she could speak, she turned to Hayes. “Lieutenant, ask Sheriff Foster to round up the coroner or mortician—whoever was responsible for preparing my parents’ bodies for transport to Birmingham thirty-two years ago.” Fury and pain roared through her. “I want to know the names of everyone who touched their bodies until they arrived at the funeral home in Birmingham.”

“I’ll take care of it. Would you like to sit down, Chief?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Lieutenant. Are you suggesting otherwise?”

He moved his head from side to side. “No, ma’am.”

“Good, because I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

Her lips started to tremble first and then it was her legs. Suddenly, she couldn’t hold her weight anymore.

Hayes caught her before she hit the ground.

He was saying something but Jess couldn’t make out the words. All she could hear was that damned music box tune... the one she’d only just remembered her mother kept on her dresser.

Then the world went black.

Tupelo Pike, Scottsboro, 12:59 p.m.

From the driveway across the street, Buddy Corlew watched the home belonging to retired ABI Agent Randall McPherson. McPherson had made a trip to the Liberty Restaurant for breakfast. He hadn’t spoken to anyone except the waitress. He’d read the newspaper and then returned home.

While McPherson had satisfied his appetite under the observant eye of Buddy’s colleague, he had gotten into position at a neighbor’s home. The neighbor, a woman, lived alone and worked at a drugstore downtown. She wouldn’t be home for several hours. The dense shrubs and trees lining her driveway provided good cover for Buddy’s Charger and gave him an optimal spot for surveillance. After getting into position, he’d had a look around outside McPherson’s house while the guy was still at breakfast.

Now all Buddy had to do was bide his time until the man left the house again.

According to the conversation McPherson had with a caller about ten minutes ago, he would be heading out for lunch shortly. Even better, he was taking his dog with him. Buddy liked dogs. He had one of his own and went out of his way not to harm anyone’s pets. Chicks liked guys with dogs, but it made his job a lot less complicated if there weren’t any dogs standing between him and his goal.

He adjusted the parabolic listening device. The thing looked and operated a lot like a handheld satellite dish that amplified sound and fed it into the headphones he wore. God bless the inventor who came up with this handy device.

The toilet flushed inside McPherson’s house, and then he summoned his dog. The two exited the front door, climbed into the truck parked in the driveway, and drove away. Buddy stowed his tools and waited.

Ten seconds, then twenty, finally a full minute later, the signal Buddy had been waiting for sounded in the earpiece of his wireless communications link.

“Subject has turned west on Willow Street.”

“Going in.” Buddy climbed out of the Charger, closed the door quietly, and set the security system. If anyone approached his vehicle, he would know it. He paused at the street. Coast was clear so he hustled across and walked around to the back of the house. The back door would be a breeze to open. He’d found no sign of a home security system.

As breaking and entering went, an amateur could have handled this one.

The phone in his hip pocket vibrated. He checked the screen.
Jess
. He couldn’t talk to her right now. It was easier to lie to her when he wasn’t in the middle of breaking the law. If he found what they needed to clear up the mystery surrounding her parents’ deaths, she would forgive him for a couple of minor omissions and deviations from the law.

If he didn’t find what he needed, she would never know.

A few quick flicks with the right tools and the back door was unlocked. Silence waited inside the house. The rear entry led into a small kitchen. The laundry room was to the right, living room directly ahead. Beyond the living room was a small box of a hallway flanked by two bedrooms and one bath. No surprises in any of the rooms.

The decorating scheme consisted mostly of blandly painted walls, out of date carpeted floors, and well-worn furnishings.

Buddy started in McPherson’s bedroom. He systematically went through a mental checklist to ensure he didn’t miss anything. Walls, ceiling, and floor. The furnishings were next. Piece by piece he checked for any potential hiding places. People liked stowing treasures and private papers under the mattress or inside the box springs. Buddy found no access points in the fabric. The backs of dressers and chests were clear. Drawers, inside and all around were as well. He checked the pockets of hanging clothes and inside shoes. The HVAC vents were another popular hiding place. He checked for loose places in the carpet, behind switch and receptacle plates, and then he inspected the overhead light fixture as well as lamps.

Nothing in McPherson’s bedroom, so he moved on to the next. Thirty-two minutes were required to check every room except the kitchen. No old work files, no personal files or anything else of interest anywhere in the house so far.

He saved the kitchen for last since it was also his egress. He’d have a look in the old shed on the far side of the small backyard, but he doubted a guy who’d spent his career investigating cases for the Alabama Bureau of Investigation would leave anything important in a rickety old shack. A wood privacy fence weathered by years of cold winters, hot summers, and a lack of attention enclosed the backyard.

The kitchen was typically the most time consuming room. Thankfully, a linoleum floor eliminated the potential for hiding places. A man had no leeway for camouflaging a hidden access with linoleum. The cabinets were another story. Each item inside, boxed and canned, had to be inspected. Either one could be a hiding place made to look as if it had come right off the shelf of the local Kroger.

Seventeen minutes and a healthy sweat later, Buddy still came up empty handed.

He surveyed the room. “I always did love a challenge.”

He exited McPherson’s home, locking the back door behind him. His cell vibrated again.
Jess
. “Sorry, kid. I’ll make it up to you later.”

Forty-nine minutes and counting had elapsed since McPherson had driven away. This guy could decide to come home anytime now. Rosey would let Buddy know. He could use a half dozen guys like Rosey, but they didn’t come along every day. It took a certain level of trust in the PI business. Most of the ones willing to cross lines and bend rules couldn’t be trusted.

Roosevelt, aka Rosey, Cunningham would do anything Buddy asked and never tell another living soul about it. If the man ever failed to show up for the job, Buddy knew to check the morgue. He was that dependable.

A long, slow sweep of the backyard had Buddy wondering if there was an underground bunker around here. Rosey hadn’t found any other property in the area owned or rented by McPherson. If he possessed anything to hide, it had to be here unless he used a safety deposit box at the bank. That was always a possibility and a whole other can of worms.

His attention settled on the dilapidated shed. Might as well have a look. “Never judge a book by its cover, Corlew.”

The shed leaned to one side as if it might collapse now rather than later. No windows and only one door with a padlock. Buddy removed his lock pick set from his back pocket and went to work. A few seconds later, he removed the padlock. Checking carefully for trip wires first, he pushed the door inward. Hot, stuffy air floated out from the darkness of the shed’s interior to greet him.

He’d already leaned into the space when something near his feet caught his eye. Backing up a step, he crouched down to have a look. A grin split his lips. “Well, well. Now we know where you keep your secrets, Mac.”

Two sensors had been imbedded in the doorframe, one at about ankle level, the other fifteen or sixteen inches higher. The holes in the facing on either side were no bigger than a dime. A low voltage invisible beam running across the width of the door opening worked similar to one on an overhead garage door. If the beam was disrupted, a signal of some sort was triggered. In this case, an alarm likely went to McPherson’s cell.

Buddy checked the rest of the doorframe very carefully before giving it a go. He stepped high over the top sensor, straddling the invisible beam. Once he was inside, he dragged the flashlight from his belt and clicked it on. Turning on any of the light fixtures in the shed might trigger an additional alarm.

Desk, computer, file cabinets, bookcase, and a couple of large bulletin boards loaded with notes and photos filled the ten by twelve space.

“Nice set up.”

Buddy pulled out his mini video camera and documented the massive amount of material on the bulletin boards. When that was accomplished, he moved on to the desk. Computer was password protected. He had no time to deal with that. He combed through the desk drawers, checking all the usual hiding places, and then he moved on to the file cabinets. He found plenty, but not what he was looking for.

Annoyed, he stared at the bookcase. Not much beyond a few books and a couple of awards on the dusty shelves. Spotting something on the floor, he squatted down to have a closer look. The thin layer of dust that covered the rest of the floor was swept away from the front of the bookcase.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Buddy stood, got a firm grip on the bookcase, and eased it away from the wall. Beneath it was a small door in the floor, similar to a built-in floor safe only this one was homemade and had a lock instead of a combination.

“Sweet.”

The lock took a little longer than the one on the door, but he managed. He opened the safe that was about twelve by twenty-four inches and had a look inside. The concrete hole held file folders. He pulled them out a few at a time. There were only about twenty, and all were clearly labeled and filed in alphabetical order.

“I do love OCD people.”

Anyone who pilfered through the files at Buddy’s office would be in for an unnerving endeavor. He preferred the relevance method of filing. Depending on how relevant it was to him, the closer to the front of the drawer the case was filed.

In his opinion, it worked fine and dandy most days.

He heaved a frustrated breath. No Brownfield in the B’s. No Harris in the H’s. He flipped through each folder to ensure the labels weren’t intended to mislead anyone doing exactly what he was doing. No such luck.

There had to be something here. Once he had everything back in place, he returned to the bulletin boards. A piece at a time, he removed the material posted there and checked the backsides of the photos and documents. Halfway across the bigger of the two boards, he hit pay dirt.

He moved the calendar pinned to the board and found photos hidden beneath it. One of Margaret Brownfield, another of Amanda as a kid about the age of Maddie, and the coup de grace—Lee Harris. The next photo gave Buddy pause. This one was of Jess and Lil at the funeral with their Aunt Wanda.

“What the hell were you up to, McPherson?”

“What’s the answer worth to you?”

Buddy spun around to face the voice.
McPherson
. The big guy filled the open doorway, a nine millimeter leveled on his target—
Buddy
.

“There’s a tiny motion sensor behind my desk.” McPherson made a sound that wasn’t really a laugh. “I guess you missed it.”

“Guess I did.” Buddy itched to go for his own weapon, but he decided against it considering the old guy was probably a crack shot.

“Your friend’s going to be disappointed in himself when he figures out the decision to watch my truck was the wrong decision.”

Buddy shrugged. “We all make mistakes.”

“Some make bigger ones than others.” McPherson pressed the muzzle against Buddy’s forehead. “You made a very large error, pal. You should never underestimate your opponent.”