Charred (19 page)

“What about Tobias? The screen back?”

“Oh, yeah. It is sitting on my desk. Just got it.”

“Bring it. And I,” she said with her usual cool intonation, “have a missing person report that looks promising. I’m on KK right now. Where do you want to meet?”

She was a fast learner for someone new to town. Kinnickinnic Avenue was kind of a mouthful, so most people called it KK.

He said shortly, “How about Anodyne?”

*   *   *

The coffeehouse smelled
fantastic, the enticing aroma drifting in the air because they actually did roast the beans on the premises. Ellie ordered a plain French roast, paid for it, and chose a table in the corner. Dropping her bag on the floor, she pulled out the sheaf of papers and clicked her pen.

Santiago took his time and she was still jotting down notes when he walked in—sauntered might be a better word—and spied her sitting there. He didn’t order anything and, as he took a chair, said, “Metzger caught me in the hall and I had to fill him in. What have you got?”

“Maybe you should go first. The term ‘eyewitness’ plus the tox screen trumps my possible missing person.”

This afternoon he wore a short-sleeved shirt with a tie and his pants actually had crisp seams, but he never managed get his hair quite under control and it waved around his face. He shook his head. “Don’t get excited. I have one black four-door sedan, something carried into the building at about the right time of night, or morning I guess it was, but no physical description of a suspect. The woman lives in a building down the street and the light on the corner is out. The only thing that might help us is that she thinks the car was high end, but I think you remember that neighborhood. What she thinks of as expensive might not be the same as the average person might.”

That was disappointing. Ellie stirred her coffee, wondering if she should have ordered an iced one instead. “But she really saw our guy? Man, that’s frustrating. Couldn’t she tell you anything? Height? Weight? A general idea?”

“No, I’m afraid not. He carried in either the body or the table while she watched. I’m going to say it wasn’t a woman because bodies are not light and I’ve never thought it was a woman anyway. The old lady was on her way to the can and just caught a glimpse.”

A valid point. Ellie was about average height for a female, in good shape, and she would not be able to carry in a dead body unless the person was a lot smaller, which wasn’t the case with the two victims. Dragging would be the only option. Still, she argued, “Once you got that door open, even someone small could tumble the body down the stairs.”

Santiago shook his head. “I don’t buy it. You still have to get it up on that table. That requires lifting it. Dead weight is just that. Our perp is a guy.”

That made her curious. “Serials tend to be, but not always. Why?”

“Female serial killers target men, males target women. It isn’t an exclusive club, but pretty close. There’s usually a sexual component to it all. You get to go next and then we’ll talk about Tobias. So, who’s missing?”

She answered readily. “There’s a few, of course, in a city this large. Some teens, but that doesn’t fit our victims. Two stand out to me, especially this one. I think we should take the time to interview her family.” She shoved a few of her notes across the polished surface of the table. “Vera Hatcher. Lives alone, but she has a dog and I guess it was raising all hell yesterday. Middle-aged lady from a nice suburb over by the lake, not seen since Friday as far I can tell. Neighbor reported it. Loves her dog, and wouldn’t just walk away. Two kids, both grown, who have no idea where she might be. I talked to her son on the phone. He lives over in Minnesota in the twins. She had a hysterectomy about ten years ago.”

Her partner looked interested. “Okay. Could be our last one … teeth but no vagina. Dental records?”

“She still had a…” Ellie caught his grin, and her annoyance went up another level. “Dammit, do you have to be so—”

“Yeah, I can’t help it, I guess.”

“I asked about the dental records. The week isn’t helping us much because it seems like half the country is on vacation. It might be tomorrow.”

“We get a match—”

“Maybe we get a solid lead. I’m hopeful.”

The place wasn’t as crowded as usual, the heat maybe, and Santiago picked up the pack he’d carried, took out a bottle of water, and twisted off the cap. He took a long swallow, his throat working, and then set it aside. “Too fucking hot for coffee. Are you nuts?”

“You suggested we meet here.”

“Yeah, I suppose I did. So what do you want to do next?”

“We have three victims. I’m not counting Matthew Tobias right now. Should I?”

“I don’t know.” Santiago’s eyes were a steely blue. “He was pumped full of meds. I called his father-in-law, pried the name of his physician out of him—he’s an asshole, by the way, the father-in-law, not the physician—and contacted the office. They haven’t gotten back to me yet, but someone was prescribing him some serious shit or he was getting it off the street.”

“That’s interesting.” She meant it and didn’t mention that her visit to Michelle Tobias supported that theory. “I wondered if we were too easily dismissing the suicide. Let’s not forget the cold case Grasso gave us either. It’s piling up and we have a lot to work with right now in my opinion, but just not much time to do it.”

“Metzger is putting together a task force.”

It didn’t surprise her. She said slowly, “I’ve worked one before. The rapid-fire sequence of the crimes calls for it, really. He wouldn’t be a good chief if he didn’t, and he’s probably getting pressure. It’s a solid call.”

“It’s bullshit.” Santiago aggressively tugged at his tie, his eyes holding resentment. “Give us a chance. We’ve had no real time between crimes to investigate. I told him so. Boom. One after the other. I got a little in his face.”

That was brilliant considering he wasn’t on Metzger’s good side anyway. She merely raised her brows. “Way to manage your career. How’d that go for you?”

He grimaced and didn’t answer directly. “What I’m saying is that until we have to share, let’s bust it on this one.” He stopped and considered her from across the table. “I suppose you heard about the press leak.”

She’d known it wouldn’t go unnoticed. “I heard. Bryce saw it on the news.”

“Bryce? As in Grantham? Of Northwoods Killer fame?”

Fine. She’d asked about his personal life. Her mistake. He had somewhat of a right to ask about hers now that the door was open. “You’ve got a good memory. That was last year.”

He shrugged. “I looked up the address. Took me two seconds. Just kind of curious because I was getting the vibe you didn’t want to talk about it and wondered why.”

“You getting that same vibe now?”

He ignored the sarcastic comment. “Once I saw who owned the house, I made the connection. Since I picked you up there in the middle of the night, I assume you two are playing house together. Interesting way to pick up a guy, MacIntosh. Didn’t you arrest him on multiple murder charges?”

This was exactly what she
didn’t
want to happen. Bryce had been cleared, so it was hardly unprofessional to be involved with him, but she knew she’d catch grief from her colleagues. Cops tended to be less than merciful, and being a woman in a male-rich environment meant she was under more scrutiny anyway.

“No, he was never arrested.” Deliberately she set down her cup. “And it’s not really your business.”

He raised his hands, palms up, theatrically. “Okay. Personal confessions aren’t really my thing anyway. Let’s just get this case solved.”

Actually, for the first time since they had become partners, she agreed with him 100 percent.

*   *   *

Carl sat out
by the pool with a glass of whiskey and thought about how it was all going down.

Fast.

This was his favorite part. Thinking about the crimes, how so far they had no idea how the victims died or why the fires were set. The varied locations were also part of the puzzle, but as far as he knew—and he was pulling in favors to make sure he knew if there was progress on the cases—there was no viable theory yet as to why the three different spots.

The water shimmered and the underwater lights were on, giving the illusion of a turquoise lagoon. He was lightly sweating due to the temperature and the humidity, but he was wearing only his boxers and it wasn’t too bad. Although, the mosquitoes were hell this summer, even in the city, so he had several citronella torches going.

Five years between murders was a long time to wait. But suddenly there were three more victims. If this was his case, what would he be thinking about the time gap?

He took a sip and contemplated the flickering light of the closest torch. Prison? Could be. Often enough, it happened. The guilty party gets sent away for something else so his opportunity is taken from him, and when he gets out, well … everything goes south again.

But Carl was pretty sure everyone was getting a sense of how smart their killer was, so prison was probably not the answer to him or anyone else.

Why five years? That was an interesting question, wasn’t it?

He drank his whiskey and thought about the complexities of human emotion, and how he’d been convinced that killing five years ago was about retribution. The good Reverend Cameron, the victim of the first Burner crime five years ago, would have said vengeance belonged to the Lord.

Carl really didn’t agree with that and never had.

Chapter 16

That ticking clock in my brain was an entity that hung in the background, always there, reminding me of what I had not accomplished in my life. There are many things, of course, that aren’t going to happen to us. Inevitable, who can do it all? A Nobel Prize, an Academy Award, founding a Fortune 500 company, hitting the home run in the World Series …

Being considered a serial killer.

It was like peering through a haze of smoke, always trying to see what might be out there, the hidden dangers, the other monsters on the hunt.

This time I’d dismembered the body.

Not much of a choice, really. A change of plans was in order.

So I cut her up carefully, placed the body in the bag, and thought about how it would all play out.

Fire could purify almost everything
.

I parked the car and got out, the long drive familiar, different and yet unchanged, quiet, the house silent and dark.

The place looked the same for the most part, a few shingles missing, the paint not as bright, but then again it was dark out and the macabre cast to the scenery didn’t help with my perception of what it looked like now, twenty some years since my last visit.

Heat lightning flashed in the distance, but I doubted the promise of rain.

Getting out of the car, I inhaled the fecund scent of midsummer plants and humidity and went around to open the trunk. I was a little smarter each time and had used plastic bags, not that I had any illusions. If they really suspected me at any time, the police would be able to retrieve forensic evidence from my car. Lots of it probably.

So the key thing was that they should never suspect
.

The crickets were loud. I was thinking that as the porch light flashed on.

Fuck
.

*   *   *

The swirl of
the lights, blue and red, made the scene look like a carnival.

Greendale. South of the city, quiet, the typical American community, small and cozy, and … the depository for murder.

Metzger was already on the scene before them, his face tight, his eyes showing a dark gleam in the revolving illumination, and he was visibly sweating, but then again, it was still hot even after dark. He told Jason, “The sheriff is going to want to talk to you. What the hell is going on? Change of city, new place? This asshole is trying to ruin any chance I have of a decent night’s sleep.” He turned, hands on hips. “MacIntosh, can you please tell me you are making some sort of progress.”

“Sir, we’re doing our best. This is all moving pretty fast.” She looked a little white around the mouth at the direct inquiry, and really, Jason didn’t blame her, though at the same time he resented like hell he wasn’t the one being asked. He had seniority.

“I was hoping for a little more than that. Now we have jurisdiction issues.”

Okay, Jason wasn’t her biggest fan, but still Ellie didn’t deserve the blame for the change in the location. Part of it was that damn piece on the news that made everyone look to her.

So he did what he did best and interrupted. Rudely.
Fine
. He did rude better than most. It was a gift. “Yeah, well lodge a complaint with whoever is hacking up innocent citizens and burning them. Doesn’t make our job any easier either, Chief.”

Metzger’s gaze snapped over to him. “Shut up, Santiago.”

“Yes, sir.” The edge of insolence was probably a bad idea.

“I want a suspect within twenty-four hours.”

Ellie looked off balance, her hazel eyes wide, as if she didn’t know where the demand was coming from, but he’d worked with the chief longer and understood the short fuse. When he’d come into his job, more than one officer had questioned Metzger as the choice as the head of the entire precinct. The chief wasn’t bad—actually he was a pretty good administrator—he just wasn’t all that understanding when he was under pressure, which was a distinct disadvantage if you were head of a big force in a major metropolitan area.

Time to go to work
.

“We’ll get back to you.” Jason caught Ellie’s elbow and jostled his partner forward, out of the wash of emergency response and further into the crime scene, which happened to be a small house a few miles from the western edge of town. It was fairly wooded around the structure itself, still a sizable chunk of land by city standards, at least five acres left of the original farm, which was why no one else saw the fire right away.

Unfortunately it looked like the owner had been at home.