Splintered (14 page)

Hutch had noticed letters addressed to Noah tacked to the wall from various killers, although he hadn’t taken the time to read them. “Is that what you’re trying to accomplish through correspondence with them?” Hutch pointed to a letter. “Become the perfect victim?”

“I study the victims of convicted killers and then correspond with them, often portraying myself as the appropriate age, sex, body type, but not always.”

“What do you mean, not always?”

“It depends on the subject. Sometimes it makes more sense to use the ruse of attorney or disciple to get them to talk to me.” Noah suddenly seemed to shrink in on himself, his eyes red and glassy. “I’m drained. I really need to sleep,” he muttered and hung his head.

“We need to get this wound looked at,” Hutch reminded him.

“I’ll go to the infirmary as soon as I can close my eyes for ten minutes,” he responded, his words slightly slurred. “I’m crashing fast.”

“You need to let me at least clean it and bandage it,” Hutch insisted.

“Sure… okay,” Noah yawned. “Can we do it from bed?”

“Nope. Up you go,” Hutch encouraged. He hooked his arm under Noah’s and hoisted him up out of the chair.

Noah whimpered a bit and was a little unsteady on his feet, but allowed Hutch to help him to the bathroom and tend to his hand.

Chapter 13

“I
GOTTA
say, that’s was one of the most interesting interrogations we’ve ever done,” Granite commented as he slid into the passenger seat of the rental car.

“You can say that again,” Hutch agreed. “Did you have enough time to snoop?”

“Yeah. If he’s our guy, he doesn’t have anything in his apartment that’s incriminating. Well, beyond all the creepy shit on his walls.”

“It looks like our walls,” Hutch reminded him as he pulled out into traffic.

“But it’s our job to be creepers.”

“I think it falls into Noah’s job description as well. I don’t know if there is anything much creepier than forensic psychology. You definitely have to enter some seriously disturbing minds.”

“Probably why you’re so damn gloomy. You do it all the time,” Granite muttered.

“I am not gloomy,” Hutch countered. “I’m thoughtful.”

“Mmmhmm, moving on from that dead horse. I seriously don’t think Noah is our killer, but I slipped one of Byte’s groovy tracking devices in his backpack just to be on the safe side.”

“You know that’s an invasion of privacy, not to mention completely illegal.”

“Yeah, well, so is torturing, mutilating, and killing eighteen men. I get a bit miffed that the perps have more fucking rights than we do. I’m simply evening the playing field,” Granite responded without even a hint of apology.

“You just said you didn’t think he was our guy.”

“And did you not get the part about the safe side?” Granite asked with a huff.

“Yeah, I got it, and I agree. I’m still not one hundred percent sure. My gut isn’t helping much on this one as it’s constantly flip-flopping. What I do know is that kid is going to be either extremely helpful to the investigation or….” Hutch wasn’t sure what Noah would be if he wasn’t helpful. He damn sure had done his research, had a personal reason for wanting to stop a serial killer, but Noah also seemed quite damaged, broken even.

“Or what?”

“Or not,” Hutch settled on.

“What the hell kind of answer is that?” Granite complained.

“The only one I have.”

Hutch could feel Granite’s eyes boring into him, but he refused to look over, concentrating instead on the road before him.

Granite continued to stare and then sighed dramatically. “Fine, be that way. What did you two talk about when you were playing doctor?”

“It basically consisted of grunts, curses, and groans. It’s kind of hard to carry on a conversation when your jaw is clenched as someone rips shards of glass from your fucking hand.”

“Why are you being such a prick?” Granite demanded. “It was just a question.”

Hutch blew out a frustrated breath and eased the death grip he had on the steering wheel. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired, and after spending the last couple days chasing the Noah lead only for it to leave us right back at the beginning, I’m a little disheartened.”

“But we’re not back at the beginning,” Granite reminded him. “Even if Noah turns out to be completely innocent, you said yourself that he might give us some new insights into our guy that we may have missed. I don’t call that a waste of time.”

Hutch nodded. He knew Granite was right, but it was so goddamn frustrating. Normally calm, detached, and analytical while investigating a case, Hutch found this new aspect of his personality unsettling. Was it because no one else seemed to care about the victims other than he and his partners, the disdain for the sloppy police work, or was there more? He supposed it could be a simple case of burnout. It wasn’t unheard of in his chosen profession—in fact it was the norm—but even if it was possible, it didn’t feel like it fit here. For the first time, he was allowing himself to let a case become personal. That was the true source of his temporary insanity. At least he hoped it was temporary.

“Hey! Our hotel is back that way,” Granite shouted, stabbing a finger over his shoulder.

Hutch glanced out the window. He hadn’t planned on it, but found himself drawn to the spot the last victim was discovered. “This will only take a minute,” he promised and pulled down a side alley.

“What will only take a minute?” Granite asked suspiciously.

“I want to visit the last crime scene.”

“Now? I’m hungry and I’m tired,” Granite grumbled. “Can’t this wait till the morning? And don’t tell me you need to see the scene as the killer did. Disson was posed during daylight.”

“I know, I just…. Just humor me, will ya?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Hutch put the car in park and cut the engine. “Nope.” He smirked and stepped out of the car.

“Didn’t think so,” Granite muttered and followed Hutch, stopping at the front of the car and leaning against it as Hutch continued down the alley.

The scent of rotting garbage and the lingering stench of death blew along the breeze. The alley was eerily silent except for the echoes of Hutch’s boot to pavement. It would have still been daylight, sometime close to dusk when the killer posed his trophy; however, for some reason he didn’t quite understand, Hutch could “connect” with the killer best under the cover of darkness.

Slowly he made his way to the dumpster, his heart already beginning to speed and his breath quickening with excitement. The low-wattage bulb hanging above one of the metal doors to a business beyond was the only light, yet Hutch didn’t need to see, at least not with his eyes. He stood in front of the spot where Mike Disson had been propped up next to the dumpster, took in a deep breath, and held it as he closed his eyes.

Talk to me
.

Hutch stood there with the scent of death in his nose, and a cool breeze caused his sweat-dampened skin to break out in goose bumps, but nothing else happened. No images came to him, not a hint of the sickening feeling that roiled his gut or caused his skin to crawl. After long frustrating moments, flashes came to him. However, they weren’t the ones he was seeking. No glint of light off a knife blade, no mouths wide in a silent scream. Also absent was the tingling sensation of excitement skittering down his spine, the rush of adrenaline, and the maniacal glee of splattered blood. Instead, the only thing Hutch saw behind closed lids was a younger man with shaggy blond hair and tears of rage streaming down his face. Hutch tried in vain to push the images of Noah away.

“Goddammit,” he grumbled and then jumped, eyes flying open, when a crack of thunder boomed.

“Storm’s a-brewin’. We better head back,” Granite called out.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Hutch grumbled under his breath and then pulled up the collar on his shirt as the first drops of rain began to fall. Figured his attempt to focus on the killer would be like everything else lately—a total fucking bust.

The skies opened up in a torrential downpour, and Hutch ran for the car. The very loud, very annoying sound of Ozzy Osborne screaming “All aboard” was even louder than the storm.

“Yo, talk to me,” Granite said into his phone.

Hutch shook his head, sending water droplets flying, and ran his hands down his thighs before starting up the car.

“I’m sitting here watching a grumpy dog dry off.” Granite glared at Hutch and ran a hand over his face, flicking the water back in Hutch’s direction, then visibly stiffened. “What is it?”

There was a long tense moment. “Did you open it?” Granite pointed to the car and then rolled his hand in a gesture for Hutch to get moving.

Hutch put the car in reverse and hit the gas. “What’s going on?”

“No, I don’t think you’re a fucking idiot, just don’t prove me wrong this time and open the damn thing. We’re on our way.” Granite snapped the phone shut, grabbed his seat belt, and buckled it. “You had a package delivered to the hotel.”

Hutch flew out of the alleyway, the tires screeching on the wet pavement, and then he slammed on the brakes and threw it in drive. “I’m assuming from the tone of your voice it isn’t more boxes of files?” he asked as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

“Not unless the files smell like rotting flesh.”

“W
HO
LEFT
it?” Granite asked Byte as he rushed through the door of the hotel room.

“Don’t know.”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know?” Hutch snapped in irritation. “The bellhop, mailman, fucking cleaning woman? I’m assuming it didn’t walk here on little legs.”

Byte crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think it did. I went out to grab a soda from the vending machine and tripped over it.” Hutch opened his mouth, but Byte held up a hand. “Yes, I already checked with security, and apparently while the little box was tromping down the hall, the surveillance cameras short-circuited from the sheer fucking awesomeness.”

Hutch leaned over the small box—no bigger than four inches by six, addressed to him in a scribbled handwritten text—and the foul odor that caused Byte’s alarm caused Hutch to wrinkle his nose in disgust. The scent of decomposing flesh was unlike anything else and, once smelled, never forgotten.

Hutch ignored Byte’s attempt at humor. “Did you touch the box? Get photos?”

Byte held up some latex gloves and tossed them on the table near Hutch. “I’m getting real sick and tired of you treating me like I’m an incompetent dolt,” he spat and stomped to the door. He grabbed his coat from where it hung on a hook and snatched the door open. “The pictures are on the fucking computer.”

The slam of the door shook the walls, and Hutch stared at the closed door in disbelief. “What the hell did I say?”

“I told you, he’s been feeling a bit left out, and now you’re questioning him.”

“You think I should go after him?”

Granite shook his head. “Nah, let him stomp and curse and cool down first. He’ll be fine. I think this case is bugging him too. We’ve all been a bit nuts the last week.”

Christ, that was an understatement. Hutch couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this stressed. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time any of them had been this stressed or been truly pissed at one another. He grabbed the gloves and slipped them on. There was nothing he could do to soothe Byte’s ruffled feathers, but he’d apologize to him as soon as he got back, and next time he went out, he would ask Byte to go along.

Carefully he picked up the box and turned it over. There were no other markings beyond Hutch’s name on the front. He rummaged in his case and found a clean specimen bag and dropped the box in it. “I better go get this analyzed for prints and x-rayed. Text me when Byte gets back, will ya?”

“You think it’s smart to be going out alone?” Granite nodded toward the box. “Obviously someone knows where you’re staying, and given the little gift he’s left you, he’s not dealing with a full deck.”

“Oh, he’s dealing with a full deck, all right,” Hutch informed him. “And he’s got it stacked in his favor.”

Granite tilted his head and studied Hutch with a strange look on his face for a second and then shrugged. “Still, do you think you should be going alone?”

“I think I’ll be okay, Mom,” Hutch responded and patted his weapon. “Don’t wait up.”

“Well, do you at least have clean underwear on? The last thing you want is to end up in the ER with dirty drawers. What will the neighbors say?”

“They’ll blame my mom.” Hutch smirked.

Some of the tension eased from Hutch as he headed down the hall. He knew it would return with a vengeance once he opened his stinky present, but at least he had a few minutes of reprieve. The shit was about to get real. The killer wasn’t just welcoming Hutch and his team, he was fucking taunting them, something Hutch wouldn’t stand for.

Chapter 14