White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (17 page)

Calmer now, I ripped the sheet from the pad, folded it, and shoved it into my pocket. Best case scenario was that I got my hands on those files to see for myself. Nothing else I could do now except make sure I didn't miss the full mockumentary tomorrow—and track Judd's worthless ass down as soon as possible to recover both Seeger's flash drive and the penis drive copy.

Unfortunately, the list of files still didn't
prove
Judd's involvement in the murder. Seeger could have dropped the drive after he left the movie premiere, and Judd then picked it up completely innocently. I knew in my gut that was bullshit, especially when added to the other evidence from the crime scene—the American flag cigarette with the smear of camo makeup, the yellow lighter, and the zombie hunter kit. Top it off with the squirrelly way the guys were acting, and I had a really bad feeling that Randy, Coy, and Judd were in neck deep. Damn it. But I needed to be sure.

Next stop on my breaking and entering spree: Coy's place.

My phone vibrated seconds after I settled into my car. I slid it from my pocket and glanced at the screen.

V12

“Holy shit.” I blinked at the message on my alarm. Unfamiliar pride swelled within my chest. I'd made it. Even though I'd really fucking wanted a hit, I'd made it until it was time for my dose. A smile pulled at my mouth as I got out the syringe and vial. I still craved the V12 like no one's business, but that wasn't the point. Not yet, at least. I hadn't caved, and that's what mattered.

Warmth spread through me as I injected the half-dose. Stress melted away and the world brightened. I was an addict, and I'd always be an addict, but I was facing it now. For the first time ever, I was facing it.

I took one of the capsules Dr. Nikas gave me to counter withdrawal side effects, downed a packet of brains, and got on my way, body tingling delightfully. And, when my tires hummed on the bridge over Bayou Zaire, the water laughed with me.

•   •   •

Coy's closest neighbor lived half a mile away from him, which meant I didn't have to be as sneaky. All I had to do was park behind his house so no one could see my car from the road. Oh, and avoid setting the place on fire. That might draw a bit of attention.

Breaking into Coy's house was even easier than Judd's since I knew he kept a spare key taped to the top of the hummingbird feeder. After I pulled on fresh gloves and let myself in, I checked the place out. It was about half the size of my house, which meant it was damn tiny. Main room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen—all spotless. A nice change of pace after Judd's trailer, and quick to search, too. With a sigh of relief, I finished my sweep and shoved the sofa back in place. Not a speck of blood or murder weapon to be found.

My next stop was the detached garage where Coy did his taxidermy. To my annoyance, it was locked tight, and no amount of searching under rocks and potted plants turned up a key. My lock pick experience was limited to the time I broke off a bobby pin in the outside door of an XpressMart bathroom. The clerk was being a major prick and wouldn't give me the key to the crapper, so I'd tried to pick the lock. When that failed spectacularly, I made tracks before the clerk discovered the ruined lock or the surprise I left him. Hey, I
really
needed to go.

Breaking Coy's lock—or taking a shit by his door—weren't my first choices. I circled the building and searched for a way in. Two small windows near a dryer vent in the back. A skylight on the roof. Nothing easy or open.

Crap
. I was going to have to break in for real. But surely busting one little window wasn't
that
much worse than sneaking through a trapdoor or letting myself in with a key. If Coy was guilty, it had to be done. If he wasn't, I'd make it up to him. Later.

I found a rock the size of my fist, smashed the window then went still, listening. No alarm sounded. A dog barked twice in the distance. Doing my very best to not slice my hands to pieces, I unlocked the window and slid it open.

A variety of scents swirled around me as I clambered through the window and onto the washing machine. Epoxy and paint. Musk and blood. I scrambled down and panned the beam of my mini flashlight around. I'd never been in a taxidermy studio before, and I took a few seconds to gawk. It was obvious Coy was serious about his work. The space was orderly, with cabinets and shelves filling one wall, and printed labels organizing everything from glass eyes to glue. I grinned at a shelf of protective gloves, aprons, and filter masks. I had a shelf like that back at the morgue. A large chest freezer took up the wall by the door. Two broad wood tables filled the center of the garage, with a pole between them that held three unfinished deer heads. Several finished pieces perched on the far wall—squirrels, ducks, and even a wild boar head. Bare polyurethane animal forms hung from a rack along the ceiling.

“This is so cool,” I breathed then got my ass in gear.

Like the house, the neatness of Coy's garage made it a snap to search for things that didn't belong. I combed through shelves, storage bins, cabinets, and every nook and cranny. No murder weapons. No blood. Nothing suspicious.

But my heart dropped to my toes at the sight of a black garbage bag inside the washer.

Be cool
, I told myself as I tugged the bag out. Maybe it was Coy's dirty laundry. He could've been in a hurry and chucked the bag in the washer with plans to wash it later.

I untied the bag, gazed in dismay at the bloody shirt at the top. It was dirty all right. A brief inspection told me the bag held the same outfits Coy and Judd had worn on Friday. Shirts and pants were spattered with blood, and Coy's was smeared with ground-in mud as if he'd decided to roll around in the muck.

Son of a bitch. Coy was smart enough not to wash the clothes in this washer and leave blood evidence behind
.
But not smart enough to stay out of the situation in the first place. The guys had gone to the Zombie Fest today to avoid raising suspicion. Stick to the routine and all that. That's what Randy had said to Judd on the phone this morning. They probably intended to sink everything out in the swamp at the first opportunity.

I stomped down a brief and moronic urge to take the bag with me. With my luck I'd get stopped for a busted taillight or something equally stupid, and then I'd have to explain why I had a bag of bloody clothing in my car.

Doubt curdled in my stomach as I stuffed the bag back into the washer and closed the lid. What if I was wrong about Coy and Judd being murderers? Sure, the clues lined up, but what if I was too focused on the guys? For all I knew the blood was from an animal Coy had worked on. I didn't have a DNA test in my back pocket. I didn't want it to be them. Even though I barely tolerated Judd, I didn't want him to be a murderer.

Finish searching
. Now wasn't the time to lose my nerve. If I found a murder weapon here, I'd know for sure whose blood it was. The chest freezer was the one place I hadn't checked, but when I swung the lid up, the unmistakable scent of human brains swirled out with the chilly air.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the crashing wave of sadness and anger and frustration. Only one reason why I'd smell a brain in the freezer. An instant later my mouth began watering like that Pavlov dude's dog when he heard a bell.

Pissed and hungry, I shoved aside frozen, plastic-wrapped skins of three deer, a squirrel, and a raccoon. There at the bottom of the freezer rested a garbage bag that held a basketball-sized object.

Jaw tight, I lifted the bag out and set it on a table, prayed that I was wrong and this was all a giant mistake. I opened the bag and tried to ignore the scent of brains that told me the truth.

Though I'd handled hundreds of corpses before, a shudder went through me as I peeled frost-stiffened newspaper away from Grayson Seeger's face. His eyes were open, clouded and shocked. Frozen mud and blood caked his hair, and grey matter leaked from where his skull caved inward a couple of inches above his left ear. Baseball bat. One shot, and lights out, just like that. He'd been so animated and friendly last night at the movie. And now here he was . . .

“Fucking hell,” I muttered, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve. “Goddamn it, you stupid fucks.” No denying it now. Coy and Judd were responsible for a vicious, senseless murder. I liked Coy and hated to see him get in trouble, but I was pretty sure Grayson Seeger had liked having his head attached.

And now Randy was in deep shit, all because he wanted to help Coy out, but how far had he gone? I needed to call Detective Ben Roth. Except I sure as shit couldn't tell him that I'd destroyed evidence. I couldn't even tell him I'd suspected the guys were involved and decided to go search their residences on my own. Yeah, that would be a quick trip to handcuff-ville. No, I'd have to spin him one hell of a yarn and tell him I'd been thinking about the murder, point him in the right direction. Ben was sharp. He'd figure it out.

But Randy would burn. He wasn't a murderer. He was simply too loyal a friend to Coy. I wanted to give him a chance to do the right thing, to fess up. Maybe he could scrape off some of the shit and catch a break with the law.

There was only one hitch. If the guys came back after the hunt tonight and ditched all this evidence—which I had zero doubt they planned to do—they might just get away with murder. And Seeger deserved better than that.

Fine. I'd make sure they couldn't get rid of
all
the evidence. Easily taken care of with a smear of Seeger's blood on the bottom of the table leg. It wasn't immediately obvious, but a thorough search would turn it up.

DNA, bitches.

I started to rewrap the head then paused, salivating.
Screw it
. If my guess was right, the head would be in its new home in the swamp in the next couple of hours. Waste not, want not, and all that crap. I pried up a section of skull, dug out two good-sized handfuls of the brain slush beneath and gulped them down.
Sorry, Seeger, but if I'm gonna find justice for you, I need a boost.

After I washed the brain slush off my gloved hands, I re-wrapped the head and shoved it beneath the frozen skins, then got the ever-loving hell out of there.

After I left Coy's garage, I drove around aimlessly to do some serious thinking.

Randy was involved. I had zero doubt. But I
did
doubt that he'd been there when the murder happened. As squirrelly as he was acting, he'd be a thousand times worse if he'd been there when the dude got his head chopped off. Randy wasn't violent or mean—his lawbreaking tended toward smoking weed and the occasional chop of a stolen car. He'd fight when provoked, but it took a lot to provoke him.

But even if he didn't help kill the guy, he was helping those other two idiots. If he got caught, he'd be in shit nearly as deep as theirs. I needed to try and talk a bit of damn sense into him. I owed him that much.

No. That wasn't true. I didn't
owe
him anything. But he was my friend. And I couldn't stand idly by and watch him sink himself. That said, I wouldn't let him sink me either.

Resolved, I pulled out my phone and signed into the Tribe's encrypted email account. Every detail I knew and suspected about the murder, including tonight's discoveries, went into an email addressed to Brian and Dr. Nikas. I finished up by detailing my plan to reason with Randy and that, if I didn't email or call by morning, they should do whatever needed to be done with all this info.

With that bit of life insurance sent, I ate two packets of brains then retrieved the Kel-Tec PF9 from the glove box, placed the gun on the seat and headed to Randy's place.

The driveway was empty, but I figured I wouldn't have long to wait. The Fest crap had ended not too long ago, and I doubted that he'd be going out partying after. I chambered a round in my gun and clipped the holster into my waistband at the small of my back, then went and sat on his trailer steps. It was a nice clear night, the stars were out, and the mosquitos weren't interested in my zombie blood.

Less than ten minutes later, Randy pulled into the driveway in his Charger. I caught a look at his face as he registered my presence, and it was full of
what the fuck
. For an instant I thought he'd stop and back right on out, but he must have known I'd follow him. I was stubborn and bitchy like that.

He parked next to my car, climbed out and managed to give me a crooked smile. “Hey, Angel. Did I forget we were gonna do firepit or something?”

I stayed right where I was and didn't smile back. “We need to talk, Randy.”

Dismay lit his eyes, but he shook his head. “It's been a long day, babe. I wanna get a shower and drop into bed.”

“And it's gonna get longer if you don't give me ten minutes right now.” I stood at the sight of headlights coming through the gate, narrowed my eyes. “Who's that?”

“It's just Coy,” Randy said with a shrug as he headed toward me, but I didn't miss the tension in his shoulders.

My pulse gave a little flutter. At least it wasn't Judd. Tanked on brains, I could deal with these two if things went tits up. I hoped. “You two planning to up your zombie body count?”

Randy stopped in his tracks. “What the fuck is up with you, Angel?”

“The fuck is up with me?” I shot back. “What the fuck is up with you being involved in a murder?”

Shock flashed across his face before he gave a strained laugh. “You're a real kidder.”

I kept my expression stony. My heart beat an intense staccato as Coy parked on the other side of my car. “Hey, Coy. You need to hear this too.”

He gulped as if holding back the urge to spew. “What's going on?”

“Shut up, Coy,” Randy snapped then glared at me. “Best you forget whatever notions you got in your head.”

“That ain't gonna happen,” I said with a lift of my chin. “And, in case y'all get any stupid ideas, everything I know is in the hands of people who will make you beg to die if anything happens to me.” With confidence buoyed by the gun, brains, and Brian's efficiency, I nailed them with a glare. “What the
hell
, dudes? Y'all are better than this!”

Panic widened Coy's eyes. “What's she talking about, Randy?” Stress made his voice shrill. “Did you
tell
her?”

Randy rounded on Coy. “Would you shut up? I'll handle this!”

“No one had to tell me anything,” I said, planting my hands on my hips. It helped my badass act that I was a touch higher than the guys thanks to being on the steps. “I worked the crime scene, remember?” I scowled. “First of all, you dumbasses left the damn zombie hunter survival kit duffel there. Second, Judd left his lighter and one of his stupid cigarettes behind.” I wasn't about to say that I took the cigarette. They needed to stay worried. Coy was my weak link here, so I turned a pleading look on him. “What
happened?
”

“Aw shit.” Coy grabbed his head with both hands as panic vibrated through him. His breath came in short pants, and his eyes darted around as if seeking escape from a trap. “I gotta get out of here.”

“No!” I shouted. “Goddammit, Coy, you need to listen to me first.”

Tight lipped, Randy stalked up to the side of the trailer. “Say what you gotta say, Angel.” He crouched and pulled a six-foot length of heavy chain from beneath it. I hoped it was meant to weigh down a head and bloody clothing and not to shut me up.

“I'm saying that you idiots need to turn yourselves in.” I scorched them both with a glare. “
Maybe
that way you'll be able to come out of this without spending the rest of your lives in prison.”

“No. Oh god, no.” Distress warped Coy's face as his nightmare took a turn for the worse. “W-we gotta stick to the plan.” His throat bobbed as he gulped. “Stick to the plan.”

Randy slung the chain toward Coy to land in a pile at his feet. “Throw that in the car,” he ordered. Coy stooped and struggled to pick it up as a heap. Randy scowled back at me. “We got other options here that don't mean no one going to prison.”

I stared at him. He was an idiot. “What other options? Run like hell? Give up everything? Leave behind your entire life and live in hiding forever?”

Randy narrowed his eyes. “You going to the cops?”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “I won't have to! They're going to come to you soon enough.” Possibly a lie, but Randy and Coy didn't need to know that.

Randy shifted from foot to foot. “I didn't do anything, and we're getting rid of the other shit. Just chill.”

Yeah, he was the polar opposite of chilled at the moment. I looked at him sadly. “If you didn't do anything, then why are you setting yourself up to be charged as a principal—or at the very least an accessory. You're better than this.” I shifted my focus to Coy. “And, dude, you're no cold-blooded murderer. C'mon, there's a way out of this, but you both need to let go of this
fantasy
that the cops won't come knocking at your door. I mean, goddamn, Coy, there's evidence all over your place.”

Coy dropped the chain with a jarring clatter. “Evidence? What? How do you know?”

“A little birdie told me,” I snapped. “You want to charge me with trespassing? Sure, let's call the cops right now and tell them that I broke into your shop and found a
severed head.
”

“Dammit, Angel!” he said, voice cracking. “Whaddya have to go poking around for? Oh god.”

“Don't you get it? You
have
to go to the cops,” I told Coy, trying hard to sound nice and calm. “If you don't, and they come to you first, then you're screwed. And you too, Randy.”

“No,” Coy said. “No, Randy wasn't there.” He sagged to sit on a low pile of tires, while I did my best to hide the relieved shaking of my knees.

He wasn't there. Randy's not a murderer.
“Tell me what happened,” I said when I had control of my voice again.

“This guy flagged us down out on Highway 180,” Coy said. “Judd pulled over. So we could help, y'know?”

“Yeah, 'cause Judd's a soft-hearted kind of dude,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Go on.”

“The guy went nuts, and, uh, dragged Judd out.” Coy's words came out in a thin monotone. “He was trying to kill Judd. The bat was there with the kit in the back of the truck. I couldn't think what else I could do. Whack him. I, um, I whacked him right on the head. Didn't mean to kill him.”

Wow. This was one disjointed story. “Who opened Judd's door?”

“The guy.” Coy's gaze darted around like a horsefly on steroids. “Judd didn't do anything. The guy started it.”

I regarded Coy with naked disbelief. “A random out-of-towner flagged you down and, for no reason, dragged Judd out of the truck and tried to kill him? Seriously?”

“That's what happened. I swear.” Coy pulled a cigarette out of a pack, but his hands shook so badly he couldn't hold the lighter in place long enough to get it lit. After a few seconds he gave up and threw the lighter as hard as he could, then dropped the cigarette and jammed his heel onto it.

“Sure it is.” I rolled my eyes. “How many times did you practice that story?”

Randy stepped between Coy and me. “Why're you fucking with him? He's been through enough.”

“
He's
been through—? What about the
dead
dude?” I jabbed a finger at Randy. “You're not helping anyone by buying this line of bullshit.”

Scowling, Randy turned and moved a few feet away then stopped, as if waiting to hear how this all played out.

I swung back to Coy. “And
you
need to come clean, but for god's sake, get your story straight first. The cops will rip that pathetic lie to pieces—after they stop laughing their asses off. Your story has holes big enough to drive a semi through.”

Coy stared at me, aghast, then his entire body drooped in defeat. He slid a look toward Randy's back. “Judd said we had to tell it like that,” he mumbled then stared at the ground between his feet.

Okay,
now
we were making progress. “I'm not surprised. Why don't you tell me what really happened.”

“It was after Pillar's,” Coy said, voice dull. “Out on 180.”

I lowered myself to sit again and gave him a
go ahead
nod.

“Judd was driving. There was this zombie walking on the shoulder.” He grimaced and rubbed his eyes. “I mean, the guy was wearing zombie makeup and all that stuff. He tried to flag us down for a ride. That much was true.” His eyes went hollow. “We were drunk. And you know how Judd is when he's plastered.”

Mean. And ready to pick a fight with anyone
. “Yep, I know,” I replied with as little expression as possible.

“We passed him, then Judd swung around and we went back. He pulled onto the shoulder.” A shudder passed through Coy. “Said we were gonna hunt some zombie ass.”

That sounded like Judd. And Coy, the follower, went along with it. “But y'all weren't planning on killing the guy, right?”

He jerked his head up in shock. “God, no!” But then he groaned. “It was just gonna be like a prank, y'know. Mess with the guy.”

“A prank,” I echoed.

“I was drunk.” Shame and grief passed over his face. “The zombie hunter kit was in the back seat.” His throat worked. “I swear we were only gonna scare him.”

A pretty clear picture was forming. “And the dude didn't want to be fucked with,” I said. Car broken down, starting to rain, and then two drunk dumbass rednecks decide to screw with him instead of being decent human beings and giving him a ride.

“Some shit got said. It's hazy.” Coy stared down at his hands. “It all happened so fast. He tried to back off, but Judd grabbed him. I got between them to break it up, and the guy shoved me. We ended up in a tussle on the ground.”

“And
Judd
hit him with the bat,” I murmured. I knew the sound a bat made when it hit a human skull. Last year I'd caved a man's head in with one then feasted on his brain. But that had been self-defense. Made all the difference in the world.

Coy looked as if he could still hear that sound, too. “Yeah.” He gulped. “I had the machete but dropped it when we started fighting. Judd had the bat and—” He couldn't finish.

Randy spun and took a lurching step toward us. “Wait a goddam minute, Coy. You and Judd both told me
you
had the bat.”

Coy pushed to his feet. “I know. But I didn't. I swear!”

“Coy.” I snapped his name out. “You said you were rolling on the ground with him?” At his shaky nod I glanced at Randy. “Coy was wearing his blue plaid flannel shirt. It's in a garbage bag in his washing machine, covered in mud. And Judd's
isn't
all dirty. So unless they switched clothes, I know who was rolling around in the mud.” I paused to let that sink in. “Hard to hit someone with a bat when you're wrestling with them.”

Coy gave a frantic nod. “Yeah. That's right. You remember, Randy? That's the shirt I was wearing! And it was Judd who decided we needed to chop the head off to make it look like the serial killer did it.” He gripped his head. “Judd said . . . he said you wouldn't help us if you knew he did it.”

“Judd knew Randy would stick his neck out for
you
, not him,” I said. “Y'all played him like a patsy.”

“You
lied
to me.” Randy took a step toward Coy then stopped short, dismay in his eyes. A whisper of dread tugged at my chest as he dropped his gaze to the phone in his hand. He'd been turned away the whole time he was listening to us.

“Randy?” I said. “What were you just doing?”

He shoved his phone into his pocket, like a five-year-old hiding a cookie behind his back after being caught red-handed.

I gave him a withering look as I came down off the steps. “'Cause if you texted Judd, he's going to be ready to throw both your asses under the bus.” They were all a bunch of goddamn idiots, every single one of them. I glared at Coy. “What do y'all know about the guy you murdered?”