Cat's Claw (29 page)

The silence lengthened. When he spoke, Lipman’s voice carried a wry chuckle. “Well, now that we’ve settled the matter, I’ll wish you good hunting.” There was a definitive click.

“So much for that,” Sheila said, still holding the receiver. “I was hoping he might be at least a little forthcoming.”

China looked regretful. “He’s a tough nut, Sheila. But he’s fair.”

“Says you,” Sheila said dryly, and put down the phone. “That’s because he’s on your side of the fence. You lawyers all hang together.” She nodded at Jack. “You and Detective Bartlett have met, I take it?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Bartlett said. “Hello again, Ms. Bayles.” If he was curious about China’s presence here this morning, he didn’t mention it. He glanced around admiringly. “Very nice place Timms had here.” He bent to look at a wooden cabinet filled with wine bottles, appropriately slanted necks-down. The adjacent shelves were stacked with sparkling glassware. “Quite the pad, huh? He must’ve been a real party animal.”

“Let’s get to work,” Sheila said. “China has to get back to town. She has something she thinks we should look at.”

China led the way down the hall. “I made a quick tour of the house when I first got here this morning, looking for Timms.” She paused beside a door and turned to face them. “I saw the uneaten food on the table outside and thought he might be somewhere here in the house, sick or injured. I called and shouted but couldn’t raise anybody. So I came in
and looked around. I didn’t touch anything but the doorknobs. And this is what I found,” she added, and opened the door. “In plain view. Having seen it, I felt I had a responsibility to let you know.” China was saying what a lawyer ought to say. Practicing or not, as long as she kept her bar membership current, she was an officer of the court. And Timms was not
her
client.

“Damn,” Bartlett said roughly, under his breath.

China had already given Sheila an idea of what they would be seeing, but still, the magnitude of it struck her almost dumb. All four of the room’s white walls were lined with erotic photographs, hundreds of them, most framed in either clear plastic frames or in simple black frames. They were artistically presented photographic studies of nudes of both sexes, provocatively posed, voluptuous, beautiful. Most photos featured one figure, some two, in various positions, at various angles. Most were black-and-white or sepia, a few were full-color. Some were quite small, others poster-size.

Timms had obviously been into nude photography for quite some time, and in a big way, Sheila thought. He must have been the photographer—at least, he owned a great deal of photographic equipment, as Sheila saw when she opened a door to a closet, and he had signed and dated some of the photographs, perhaps the ones he was most proud of. But he had apparently taken some pains to preserve the models’ anonymity, for of the hundreds of photographs, most were of adult torsos, legs and arms. Rarely were the faces pictured, so if you wanted to know the identity of the subject, you were out of luck—unless, of course, the names were on the back of the photographs or Timms had kept a log of his photographic activities. Either was possible, Sheila thought. And Blount might have found something that would help with names.

But while many of the good citizens of Pecan Springs and all the
members of Timms’ church would undoubtedly be horrified if they ever learned about Timms’ private passion, they were no more illegal than the XXX-rated films sold in the truck stops all along Interstate 35. Or so Sheila thought, until—

She moved closer, pulling in her breath, frowning. On a section of the wall, beside the bathroom door, a couple of dozen smaller photographs were displayed—and they were
not
adults. They were nude children, mostly girls but a few boys, around the ages of eight or nine, engaging in some sort of sexual play. The faces were elfin and smiling or deeply serious and sad, the eyes large, the mouths tender, the nude bodies slender or rounded but always supple and lovely, fragrant with the bloom of youth. Unlike the other photos, there was no effort made to preserve the children’s anonymity—on the contrary, the faces were an important element of the photographs. They were documents of a fey and fragile innocence on the cusp of becoming aware of something quite, quite other.

There was another thing different about these photographs, too. Most of them involved a nude adult male, as well, back always to the camera—and not always the same man. At a glance, she thought there might be three, maybe four different men involved. The male presence seemed to fall like an ominous shadow across the children’s innocence, a threatening portent, artful and symbolic—and pornographic.

Beside her, Bartlett spoke in a thin, metallic voice. “Like I said, quite the party animal.” He set down his briefcase, opened it, and took out a digital camera.

“Make sure the time-date stamp is set,” Sheila told him as he got ready to take photographs of the walls. She heard her voice trembling, and there was a sharp, sour taste in her mouth. She wished she could turn away and run from the photographs, wash the images out of her mind. But she couldn’t. This was part of the job. Even more, these
children deserved her closest attention, her passionate attention to every detail of the activity that was on display in front of her. They demanded that she do her job with as much determination and skill as necessary. She was their advocate now—she and the people who worked with her.

She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “This is the section we’re after,” she added, “but let’s photograph the entire room, including those shelves of photographic equipment. Don’t try to capture the details of every image. What we want is a preliminary survey record of everything here, just as it is, so that we have the full context. I don’t want there to be any questions after we’ve taken some of them down for more processing.”

“Gotcha,” Bartlett said, beginning to take photographs.

China came over to stand beside Sheila in front of the display of children’s photographs. “So what do you think?” she asked bleakly. “Selling photos on the Internet?”

“Maybe,” Sheila said. But even if there was no distribution involved, the children’s photographs could have brought multiple counts of second-degree felony under Section 43 of the Texas Penal Code, as well as under Title 18 of the United States Code. Because of the federal sentencing guidelines, conviction under the federal law usually resulted in an even harsher sentence. And then there were the child-abuse charges, on top of that. Timms was immune from prosecution now, but not the other men involved. Who were they? What else was going on here?

“I’m guessing that it’s not so much an Internet ring as a private club,” she added. “Maybe a small group of like-minded guys who took turns with their cameras. This could be just the tip of the iceberg.” She shook her head, feeling her stomach turn. “Displaying the photos—that’s got to be some kind of special fetish.”

“And now he’s dead.” China turned away with the same expression
she had worn when she turned away from Timms’ mutilated body. “Is this connected to anything you’re finding on Timms’ computer? Or to Kirk’s death?”

“It’s possible,” Sheila said. She’d have liked to be able to share the whole story with China, but that would have to wait until the case was wrapped. China would understand.

She took a deep breath and spoke over her shoulder to Bartlett. “We’re going to treat this as a separate crime scene, Jack. Timms is dead, yes—but it looks like other people may be involved. There are the men in the photographs. And in addition to those who are obviously children, some of the young women in the other photographs may be underage—or underage at the time their pictures were taken.”

“We’re going to seal the house?” Bartlett asked.

“Yes. The sheriff’s office and Parks and Wildlife can handle the scene by the creek, but I’ll ask Sheriff Chambers to turn this place over to us. It’s his territory, but our case, since it’s related to our other ongoing investigation. I’d prefer that our people process it, if we can.” There was no murder victim and no obvious violence. The forensics ought to be manageable.

“Good deal,” Bartlett said from behind his camera. “I’ll get Matheson, Blount, and Bedford out here.”

“Right. But let’s not do it now,” Sheila said. “Our plates are pretty full at the moment, with both Kirk’s homicide and the blackmail. I’d like to see us make more forward progress with both of those cases—especially the homicide—before we start processing this scene. And in the meantime, let’s tape both front and back entrances to this house and post a patrol officer out front, as well. There’s going to be a lot of traffic related to Timms’ death and Parks and Wildlife’s hunt for that cat.” She gestured toward the wall. “And once the news hits the wires, some of the people
who were involved with Timms may attempt to retrieve their photographs.” Which might be a good thing, she thought grimly. She’d tell the officer to bring in for questioning anyone who showed up out here—anyone who wasn’t connected with the investigation.

“Understand,” Bartlett said, going back to his photography.

“And as soon as you’ve got a good documentation,” she added, “please seal this room. And seal that outer sliding door, too. We don’t want anybody coming in that way.”

China had taken several steps away, toward the door. “This whole thing makes me absolutely sick,” she said thinly. “If somebody like Timms ever got his hands on Caitie, I’d kill him.”

“You do that, you’d better get yourself a good lawyer,” Sheila said with a small grin. “But we’re in your debt, China. If you hadn’t walked through the house and seen the photos, they might have disappeared.” She shook her head. “And we may find other incriminating material, when we have the time to get enough people out here to do a thorough search.”

“I shudder to think what that could be,” China said as they went down the hall. “The stuff in that room is the worst I could imagine.” Her voice was gritty.

Yes, what was in that room was awful, unspeakably awful. But Sheila knew she couldn’t predict what a full search would turn up here. It looked like Timms was a pedophile. What else was he? Who else was involved?

But she only said, “When this is all over, let’s sit down over a cup of tea and some of your fresh-baked cookies and talk about it, China. In the meanwhile—”

“I know,” China said with a sympathetic look. “In the meanwhile,
you can’t tell me what’s going on.” She shook her head ruefully. “Actually, I’m not sorry, Sheila. I don’t envy you your job. After what we saw here today—down by the creek and in that bedroom—I’m glad to be an ordinary citizen. I can go back to my quiet herb shop and let you and your cops deal with the ugly stuff.” Her mouth tightened. “And after seeing those girls’ photos, I personally believe that cat gave George Timms exactly what he deserved. If Ruby were here, she’d probably tell us that it’s natural justice, arranged by the universe in payment for his sins.”

“I’d prefer not to trust the universe,” Sheila said wryly. “Although I have to admit that the justice system doesn’t always do the best job.” She had seen far too many cases where the innocent paid the price and the guilty got off scot-free, some of them aided and abetted in their escape by their defense lawyers. But in this instance, she had to agree that if the mountain lion hadn’t killed George Timms, it was likely that his cache of secret photographs would never have come to light. Depending, of course, on what they found on Timms’ computer, and whether it would have been enough to get a search warrant for both his house in town and this place.

China nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to get to work—and to pleasanter things.” She paused, her face darkening. “Except that I’m concerned about our guys. I try to remind myself that Americans are going back and forth across the border every day, thousands of them. But that doesn’t help. I still worry.”

“I know,” Sheila said. “I try not to think about it, but I’m worried, too—which of course doesn’t do anybody any good.”

Unexpectedly, China leaned forward and put her arms around Sheila. “They’ll be okay,” she said, with a strong, solid hug. “And so will we.”

She lifted a hand in good-bye and was gone.

A half-hour later, Sheila and Bartlett stood in the kitchen, getting ready to head back to town. He had taped the front and back entrances with yellow plastic crime-scene tape. While he was doing that and locating the keys to Timms’ house, Sheila had a phone conversation with Sheriff Chambers.

After her brief explanation of what their preliminary search had turned up, the sheriff had agreed that the house wasn’t part of his crime scene. But he had also agreed to post an officer out front.

“I’ve got to have somebody directing traffic, anyway,” he said. “When we’re done out there and ready to leave, I’ll let you know and you can post one of your officers.” He had also said an immediate yes to her request to have Timms’ body fingerprinted. The prints would be needed for exclusion purposes here at the house and on the laptop Annetta Blount was working on. He also reported that the county forensics team would have a preliminary report later in the day.

“Sounds like you folks have your hands full,” he added. “You need any additional assistance, you let me know. Y’hear?” He paused. “One of our guys told me that Blackie is making a trip to Juárez to try to locate that missing kid.”