Phoenix Feather (12 page)

“I’m not a fireman. And what, your sister’s not inviting me this year?” He threw her a wry grin over his shoulder.

“You have a standing invitation. However, she thinks an earthquake will swallow California before you ever accept it.”

Bryan frowned. Elaborate statement.

They finally reached the bottom just as the body was being placed in the bag.

“This is isolated,” he said.

“A driver called in a white van pulled over at the road’s turnout up there,” a highway patrolman said. “The van was gone by the time I arrived, but it was near dawn, so I looked around a bit. Saw her at the bottom here.”

Bryan looked down at the body. “We sure it’s the same guy?” Unlike the other victims, this one was covered in blood and beaten to a pulp.

The patrolman looked ill. “She’s got burns.”

“She get all those abrasions from the fall?”

Casey stood up. “I don’t think so, but I’ll see you in autopsy to confirm.”

“Anything on the van?” Jess asked.

The officer shook his head. “The driver who called it in was in a hurry, didn’t pay much attention. There are some tire tracks.”

“Well, that’s something,” Bryan said. “On an isolated road like this, those tire tracks are probably his. He’s been smart up until now. I wonder if he’s slipping, or he doesn’t think it will matter.”

“A white van,” Jess muttered. “Guess we can go back through all that security footage looking for one.”

That was a dismal thought. Especially since white vans could have many legitimate uses. Maybe the killer was using it for a real job, and that only added to his ability to blend in. Bryan stored that thought away for later. CSU found nothing at the bottom. If she had been dropped from the road above, the killer hadn’t even been down here, and all the muddy footprints belonged to them.

Bryan and Jess made their way back up to the road, a journey just as difficult as the one coming down, and went to follow-up on the guy who had called the van in, but it was as the patrolman said: he saw a white van, and that was it.

Casey called and asked them to meet her at the morgue. When they arrived, she wasn’t set up to do the autopsy.

“Identification is proceeding slower than I’d like,” she explained. “But I wanted to go over what I can now.” She pulled the covering back from the body. The familiar burn marks dotted the arms, legs, and torso, along with dozens of tiny scratches from her tumble through the brush, but the neck and shoulders were covered with large bruises and gashes. “These didn’t happen in the fall.”

Bryan moved closer. “You’re saying his method of torture has changed?”

“No. There’s no ligature mark around her neck. She was beaten to death with a long, thin object.”

He frowned. “Why would he change that?”

“He’s probably devolving,” she replied. “Before, he was controlled, methodical. This killing was anything but. The torture appears consistent, but sometime between the torture and the kill itself, he snapped.” She tilted the victim’s head to expose the gaping hole in her skull. “This is overkill.”

“That could explain his possible screw-up with the dump site,” Jess said.

Casey nodded. “It also means he could become more dangerous.”

“What made him snap?” Bryan asked.

Casey shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope you find something on the van.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He and Jess left the morgue. “You still thinking about Thanksgiving?” he asked grimly.

Jess sighed. “I have to.”

Bryan decided to mull that one over. He remembered what Trent had said. He remembered the Halloween barbecue, and how he had enjoyed himself. Maybe he would call Trent and see what his plans for the holiday were. Or, maybe he’d just go with Jess and give her sister a lesson on betting odds.

***

Trent leaned against the side of the firehouse building and hugged himself to stay warm in the frigid air while he cradled the phone against his ear. At least it warmed from usage. “How’s Phoebe taking the nursing home thing?” he asked.

“She pouted at first, but I think she’s grateful subconsciously,” Aidan replied. “This way, she can visit and spend time with him without being drained from caring for him. The people at the home are very nice, plus trained. I think she’s comforted by that.”

“That’s good.”

Chris had been released from the hospital a week ago and moved to a nursing home. Trent was back on shift rotation, and so hadn’t been to see him very often, but from what he had seen, Chris was recovering at a good pace. He was eating solids, though very little and about a dozen times a day, but it was progress.

“Chris is enjoying himself,” Aidan continued. “He learned to play bridge with some of the seniors there.”

Trent chuckled. His breath frosted in the air. “I’m sorry it won’t be a normal Thanksgiving.”

“Chris is sorry he won’t be able to pig-out. But he’ll be able to have pumpkin pie filling and mashed potatoes. It’ll just be more like six mini Thanksgiving dinners.”

“For the first time, I wish I wasn’t working.”

“The firehouse cooks, doesn’t it?”

“Partially. They cater from a local restaurant also.”

“How about I stop by in the morning with a dessert to add to your feast?”

Trent smiled. “Who will have made it?”

“Me.” She sounded slightly annoyed, and it amused him.

“Deal.”

“Be nice, or it’ll be Nestle cookies again.”

“I have a confession to make,” he said, lowering his voice, and switched the phone to his other ear. “I
like
Nestle Tollhouse cookies.”

“I need to broaden your horizons.” She clicked her tongue in a reprimanding manner.

“I look forward to it.”

Aidan was doing well with Chris’s situation. She was continuing her studies and fieldwork. Both the girls cut out some of their more time-demanding, extracurricular activities, such as the book club, but they had discussed it with Chris first and had all agreed that was reasonable. It helped that Chris was positive and supportive of them.

When Trent did visit Chris, the two of them talked a lot about Aidan and Phoebe. Chris had come to trust Trent with his concerns about his sister and best friend and the future. He talked of Phoebe finding a guy, and how he wouldn’t be there to make sure who she found would be good enough for her. He talked of Aidan and the quietness about her, a quietness that he and Phoebe had managed to drag her out of, and he was worried she’d retreat into it. He talked of his grief over missing things such as weddings, becoming an uncle or a godfather, of finding a wife of his own. It was in these brief moments Chris let down his guard and allowed himself to feel the range of conflicting emotions, especially those on the darker side. It was hard for Trent to witness, since Chris had become a good friend, but he knew Chris needed it, and that neither Phoebe nor Aidan could do this one thing for him. Despite the difficulty of it, however, Trent was glad of those times. He had found a brother in Chris. He had no idea that asking one girl out could lead him to find a handful of new and priceless friends. He would have to thank her some day.

Chapter Eleven

“What about meringues?” Phoebe asked. She and Aidan sat in Aidan’s living room with cookbooks spread out before them. Aidan had told Trent she would make cookies for the firehouse for Thanksgiving since he had to work and couldn’t join them at the nursing home. Her skills were not under scrutiny this time, so she enlisted Phoebe’s help. Baking was a good distraction for Phoebe since she enjoyed it much more than Aidan did.

Aidan’s face puckered slightly. “I don’t understand the appeal.”

Phoebe laughed. “Okay, but are you making them for yourself or for someone else?”

She squinted her eyes at Phoebe. “What else you got?”

Phoebe flipped through the pages. “Um, butterscotch bars.”

“He likes chocolate.” Aidan looked up and caught Phoebe grinning.

“Let me rephrase my question: are you making them for the firehouse or for Trent?”

“Why can’t it be both?” she replied with a squeamish smile. Never before had someone been able to so clearly read her thoughts, and then to call her out on them. She found it amusing and annoying at the same time. A feeling, Aidan realized, deeply rooted in sisterhood.

“Quit daydreaming about him and focus on the task at hand,” Phoebe said, misinterpreting the look on her face.

Aidan just smiled. “For your information, I was thinking about what a pill you must have been as a child.”

“Sure,” Phoebe scoffed, and gave her a lopsided grin.

“And how I’m glad to have you as a sister now.”

Silence hung in the air. Phoebe looked as though she was holding back tears, and Aidan wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything, not at this time.

“I am too,” Phoebe said finally.

Aidan smiled in relief. “I could change my name. Aidan Anders. Nice alliteration.”

“Shouldn’t it be Aidan McCain?”

She tossed a pillow at Phoebe and made her squeal. “Now I’m ready to get back to the cookies.” Aidan grabbed a different cookbook from the stack.

“Oh! I know!” Phoebe exclaimed.

“What?”

“When we were kids my aunt made these cookies I absolutely loved. Let me think. Um, oats, cocoa, peanut butter…No-Bake Cookies, I think they were called.” She pulled her laptop out of her book bag. “I’ll Google them.” A moment later she had the full recipe pulled up.

Aidan read it over her shoulder. “Those do sound good. Perfect.” She grabbed a pad and pencil to make a list of the ingredients, and then checked them against her own supply. “We need to go to the store for the oats.”

Phoebe got up and grabbed her jacket. “We’ll need three times the amount in the recipe. We are baking for a bunch of guys after all.”

Aidan grinned. Cooking and baking may not be her thing, but she was finding it oddly satisfying to do it for Trent. Perhaps that was the secret behind the ‘50s housewife.

***

Trent waited until the tow truck had hooked up the cable to the vehicle before releasing the cribbing that was holding the car’s suspension system stable. He then got out of the way of the envisioned path the cable would take should it break. The driver, who had suffered little more than a minor head laceration, had crashed into a tree. He was drunk, and lucky that he hadn’t taken anyone else with him. Trent returned the cribbing equipment to the truck and retrieved fuel pads to clean up any leaked gasoline once the car was pulled out.

“If they’re getting hammered now, I can’t wait for the actual holiday,” Sam grumbled, and took one of the pads Trent offered.

Trent shrugged. “For some, the holidays aren’t good times.” It was unfortunate, but the holidays either brought out emphasized joy or crushing depression, depending on one’s circumstances. Why this particular man had chosen to drink, Trent couldn’t guess, and he didn’t want to judge. He only cared that whoever decided to open a bottle did it at home and away from the road.

Dispatch tones sounded from the truck.

“Hey!” Frank shouted. “Confirmed structure fire. Rescue, finish up and meet us there.”

Trent and Sam dropped the fuel pads and climbed into the Engine’s cab. Frank was talking to dispatch and relaying what he heard. “Strip mall on Clark.”

Trent tightened the cinch of his belt around his coat; they’d need to hit the ground running. Business occupancy fires meant the potential for fire victims was not as great. The stores would likely be evacuated. But strip malls were dangerous in that they were constructed with trusses, fake beams that provided void spaces for fire to travel horizontally and rapidly, increasing the risk of structure collapse.

Company 25 arrived on scene first. The engine and ladder trucks pulled in front of the store that had smoke pouring from its windows and doors. Trent jumped down and reached for his SCBA gear, the self-contained breathing apparatus. He pulled on the harness and air canister and strapped the facemask around his chin, neck, and forehead. They needed to assess the situation. Trent found a store employee, who confirmed that he was the last one out of that unit. The fire was in the storeroom. Even though the flames were in the back of the store, the heat radiating still felt intense.

Trent heard the sirens of the second Engine Company as it pulled in and headed around to the back of the building. Trent relayed what information he got from the employee to Frank. As the Lieutenant first on scene, Frank was busy giving out orders. Dozens of people crowded the parking lot as uniformed police officers arrived to push them back and set up a perimeter.

“Engine 12,” Frank shouted over the radio. “Lay another supply line in the back. Truck 12, you’re on ventilation. Be advised of lightweight construction.”

A loud cracking sound echoed in the air and the window of a store three units down shattered outward. Flames began licking at the edges of the window frame like dragons’ tongues. The fire was spreading, and they didn’t know how far it had already gone.