Krewe of Hunters The Unseen (18 page)

9780778313298_HC.indd 154

11-12-01 3:55 PM

155

shavings and sawdust, with the occasional coffee or soda cup and fast-food wrappers.

He began to raise boards and sift through trash, and then Kelsey cried out.

He

turned.

There, protruding from the ground, was an arm, the hand dangling.

And the hand was missing a finger.

IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 155

11-12-01 3:55 PM

“Fentanyl,” Kat Sokolov said when they were back at the office.

Kelsey tried to recall what she knew about the drug. It was legally used as a painkiller and had improved the quality of life for many a cancer patient.

Not surprisingly, unscrupulous people were now selling it for use on the streets. Like all good things, it had been corrupted.

She waited for Kat to continue. Kelsey’s mind seemed as exhausted and dazed as her body. It had been a long day.

Logan had managed to keep the local cops at bay while contacting Jackson and getting Kat down to the construction site so the body could be recovered without losing any evidence that might exist. They’d spent hours in the April sun, working the scene along with local forensics and keeping the “team” in the lead. Jane Everett had come to photograph every minute of the procedure, and she, Logan IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 156

11-12-01 3:55 PM

157

and Jackson Crow had kept watch to ensure that nothing that could provide a clue—a fiber, a fingerprint, a hair—

was overlooked.

And once Vanessa Johnston had been removed from the ground, she’d been rushed in for autopsy while local inves-tigators had set out to question every member of the construction team, from the contractor to the delivery boys.

Kelsey had to admit that, like Logan, she didn’t believe they’d get much help from that direction. The site had been closed down for several weeks due to lack of funds.

Vanessa Johnston had only been missing for about a week.

Still, there was the fact that the lock on the gate was new and there was no other point of entry, unless one scaled the wooden walls with their arrow-tipped tops. It was extremely unlikely that anyone could have crawled over the fence, especially carrying a corpse or a drugged or unwilling woman. That mystery was solved when Logan began walking the perimeter and discovered that two of the side-by-side slats were no longer embedded in the earth. They slid easily enough when pushed to create an entrance allowing passage for a man, even a man bearing a burden as large as a human body.

The neighborhood was canvassed, although no one had heard anything, and only one woman complained about noise at the site.

“Birds!” she’d told the officer. “Birds shrieking and caw-ing at all hours of the night. I called in to complain twice.” And she had; the construction site was on a list for the cops to check out.

The physical evidence at the site could take weeks to IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 157

11-12-01 3:55 PM

158

examine, even with all of Jackson Crow’s power and contacts. There were hundreds of wooden boards, there was dirt, bricks, refuse, and many other surfaces to be tested.

Vanessa Johnston’s body had not decayed to the same extent as the other bodies. Kat was optimistic that she’d be able to learn a great deal more about time and method of death than she could with the earlier victims.

Kelsey thought about Vanessa’s family and friends, those who had feared for her and would now learn the worst… .

Everyone seemed as exhausted as she was. Jane had done what she could to establish images of the deceased; Kat, too, had worked without a break. Sean came later, having spent the day on the documentary. He’d plunged in without pausing for a meal.

Now they sat, the six of them, in the office, their chairs gathered in a circle, sharing the events of the day and discussing what they’d found out, with Sean listening.

“Fentanyl,” Kat repeated. She looked at Logan and Kelsey. “I’m sure you’ve come across it. Fentanyl is a synthetic narcotic analgesic, and it’s a hundred times more potent than morphine. For chronic pain, it’s often delivered to patients through a patch. It’s also combined with other drugs for surgery. Like I said, fentanyl’s hit the streets, and God knows how many overdoses there’ve been because of it. It’s sometimes mixed with Rohypnol—commonly known as a roofie—and I’m assuming that we’ve missed the combination because of the deterioration of the previous bodies and because we needed to use GC-MS testing.

But that’s how the killer is grabbing these women. I think he’s mixing up a dose and getting close enough to prick IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 158

11-12-01 3:55 PM

159

them with some sort of needle or slap on a patch. I’m not positive of his method because I haven’t been able to find a needle mark or evidence of a patch on any of the women, although I’ll continue searching on Vanessa Johnston tomorrow.”

“The drug is that potent?” Kelsey asked. “In my experience, roofies usually go into drinks, and I’ve worked cases where the women don’t remember a thing that happened to them for hours afterward. In one rape, the woman didn’t believe she’d ever been with the man, and he was only caught because the police found video.”

“Yes, a roofie is a date-rape drug,” Kat said. “Memory can be completely lost. But this is a mixture. The fentanyl is knocking the person out—right after the killer gets her to come with him willingly. Why? I have no idea. As far as I can tell, the women aren’t being attacked sexually.”

“I figured he had to have a method for getting so many women to disappear with him. If he was causing any kind of scene, someone would’ve noticed something by now and reported it,” Logan said.

“I’ll start on a grid, although I don’t suppose we know where Vanessa was last seen?” Sean asked.

“Let’s begin by putting all the women somewhere near the Alamo,” Logan suggested. “And then indicate where the bodies were found. Let’s include Sierra Monte in the investigation, so we’ll need the Longhorn in the grid, as well. We know she was taken from there.” Kelsey glanced over at Logan. He seemed increasingly convinced that Sierra Monte’s death was connected with IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 159

11-12-01 3:55 PM

160

the others. He also wondered if—and how—the Galveston diamond might be involved.

“I’ll have preliminary sketches of the other women for you tomorrow, and we’ve decided it’ll be necessary to remove the remaining f lesh and soft tissue on several of the skulls. In a few of the other cases, that’s what we’re down to, anyway,” Jane said. “I can provide images that will be almost real,” she added. “There are even formulas you can use to come up with the most likely hair and eye color.”

“That will help,” Jackson said. “We need to identify the other women ASAP.”

“Of course,” Kat agreed. “And we have the best people in crime-scene forensics working on the site. Logan has seen to that. He knows the local technicians and scientists and labs. The place itself is a mess, but there’s got to be
some
bit of evidence.”

Logan cleared his throat. “This killer understands how to corrupt evidence. Somewhere along the line, however, he’s going to leave something behind, something that doesn’t become tainted. A skin cell, strand of hair, whatever. But even when we’ve got that, we’ll need someone with whom to compare our samples. I think we should start looking at anyone who might be into costuming. We should investigate actors, interpreters, would-be actors and even historians,” he said. “We need suspects.”

“Why actors?” Sean asked.

“We found a witness who says he saw Chelsea Martin with someone dressed like Davy Crockett,” Kelsey said.

“Can we all speak with him?” Kat asked.

Kelsey glanced quickly at Logan, still a little uncomfort-IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 160

11-12-01 3:55 PM

161

able about blurting out such strange information, even in this group.

“Maybe.” Logan shrugged. “His name is Zachary Chase and he hangs out at the Alamo.”

“Zachary Chase?” Sean frowned. “That’s the name of one of the couriers who rode out of the Alamo just before the final battle.”

“Yes.”

“A descendant?” Sean asked.

“No. Zachary himself,” Logan said with a rueful smile.

“He’s a ghost. But he’s still at the Alamo.”

“Oh.” Sean exhaled. “Well, I’m working on a documentary about the Alamo. I can give you all kinds of information—and dozens of actors.”

Logan’s house was fascinating. It had the feel of a hunting lodge; it was built of stone and wood, and a large stone fireplace was the focal point of the sprawling living room, with an extraordinarily fine headdress on the wall over the mantel—an Apache war bonnet from the 1870s, Logan told her.

He was casual about the house. He’d only owned it a year, and he’d bought it when he’d sold his last house because the backyard was almost an acre, unusual in central San Antonio.

Besides having a number of authentic Apache and Comanche relics, he had a nice collection of art and seemed to be a fan of Mort Kunstler’s Civil War pieces. “Most of them are prints,” he explained. “The originals are pretty pricy, but I have a friend on Apache land who is a fan, too, IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 161

11-12-01 3:55 PM

162

and frames them so expertly they look like they could be originals.”

He’d just brought out two bottles of Lone Star beer and set them on coasters on the coffee table that stood in front of the soft leather sofa. He took a seat next to her, and for a moment she wondered why he’d asked her to come—and then wondered why she’d said yes.

She smiled and he looked back at her and laughed.

“We’re an odd pair,” he said.

“True, and yet a pair,” she murmured, gazing at the fire.

She found it pleasant to sit there and watch the f lames. The day had been warm while the sun was out, but the evening was cool, with a definite chill in the air.

He leaned back, propping his feet on the coffee table.

“Tomorrow, the documentary.” He looked over at her again. “Thanks to Sean—and the fact that you’re his cousin—we’ll have nice, natural access.”

“I’ll find out tonight if they’ve negotiated space with the Longhorn,” she said.

He was studying her and smiling. “You look like Sean.

I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.” Kelsey laughed. “Great. I look like a linebacker.” He lowered his head for a minute, the same smile on his lips. “You know you don’t. You always make sure you look professional—and not like a runway model.” She felt a f lush touch her cheeks. “Sean and I have similar features, I suppose. Grandpa Cameron. He had the red hair and green eyes.”

“Sean and I have been acquainted for a while,” Logan IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 162

11-12-01 3:55 PM

163

said. “He’s come in to work on digital recreations several times, and they’ve been really helpful in court.”

“I never realized he did that,” Kelsey said. “I guess it’s because we’re far away, and rarely see each other, even though we’re close.”

She sank back against the sofa. Sitting there felt good, as if the warmth of the fire was slipping into her bones, easing away the tension that had built up during the day. By the time they left the police station, she’d figured the kitchen at the Longhorn might have closed, and she’d thrown out a comment about heading back to dig through the fridge.

Then Logan had said he had chili he only needed to heat up, and she’d found herself agreeing, even though Sean had assured her that he could find someplace to take them for a meal.

So now the chili was heating. She’d entered Logan’s domain and she was glad of it. She was weary, and it felt all right to be weary with him, her defenses down. She’d been furious with him earlier, but the more they worked together the more she understood that he could be relentless in pursuit, especially when he was frustrated. Yet he knew the law—and how to work around it when necessary.

After she’d agreed to come home with him, she’d panicked, afraid she’d be going to a shrine—the house he had shared with Alana.

But he had sold that house and changed his residence, and despite the guilt and bitterness he carried like a brick around his neck, he was trying to move into a new life.

“I would’ve thought you’d have a dog,” she told him, IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

9780778313298_HC.indd 163

11-12-01 3:55 PM

164

taking a long swallow of her beer. She glanced at him and grinned. “Like a pit bull or maybe a wolf.”

“I had a wolf mix once. Loved her. She was a great watchdog, and yet incredibly affectionate. She died a few years ago. I’ve also had a little mutt about so high.” He raised his hand a foot from the f loor. “Lately…well, one day I’ll get another dog. I like dogs. I just want to know I’m going to be a good dog owner again.”