Trial by Fire (6 page)

When he wasn’t with her, just the thought of her gorgeous body, her scent, her soft pleas came back to him as though he could hear her, smell her. And like the primal beast that he was, he headed for the source, unable to stay away from her for long. The fact that she responded to him as joyfully, as fully as she did, was a gift he treasured. It almost made him think that maybe there was a God. Something he’d never allowed himself to consider. He’d seen too many examples that confirmed that if a higher power controlled the happiness or lack of it in the human race, it was a cruel, capricious power. Erin had turned his cynical view of life on its ear. Little by little he was coming to believe that he was worthy of this woman. That somehow he actually deserved this much happiness.

As if to shake that incipient belief, the memories of the hideous crime scene seeped into his brain. He allowed himself to remember the way that Laura had thrown herself at him. He knew that Laura did nothing unintentionally—no matter what her state of mind. Snuggling closer to Erin, he silently pledged that he would not allow Laura to come between them, to in any way hurt Erin.

But even as he made his pledge, he acknowledged what he was up against. Laura was the most devious, persistent women he’d ever known. Keeping her at a distance would take every ounce of strength he had. He comforted himself that if pure hatred was a worthy weapon, he had one in spades. And he intended to use every element of it to keep Laura at bay.

Chapter 5

Nate left early the next morning, leaving a note on Erin’s pillow. He longed to crawl back in beside her. To wake her with his lips and body. Instead he slipped out quietly for what was certain to be a hell of a long day. Any day that starts with a 6 a.m. meeting was bound to be brutal. They’d agreed to meet at the morgue. Jim had promised to at least do a preliminary, at least try to get a time of death.

When he arrived, Dan, Jim and Charlie were already in the conference room. Nate threw his folder on the table and joined them.

“What do we have, Jim?”

“Not a goddamned thing, Nate. At least, nothing definitive. I put a rush on everything at the lab, but hell, they don’t even get in until 8 a.m. We flew the specimens up to the Cities, with a demand for priority. That’ll help. Christ, I hope they doped the poor bastard with something. Mike was a prick, pure and simple, but I wouldn’t want to wish that kind of pain on anyone.”

Nate nodded. “How close are you on time of death?”

Jim glanced down at the sheaf of papers in front of him. “Again, nothing definite but we do have the liver temp reading which puts the actual time of death about two hours before Laura called it in. Of course, there are so many other variables that we could be off by a couple of hours.”

“Who took Laura’s call? Which dispatch?”

Charlie broke in, “Toni Anderson, Nate. We have the recording. I had it transcribed for you. I also interviewed Toni. To see if I could pick up any vibes. The transcript is in your folder – third tab down.”

“And who interviewed her besides you, Charlie?”

“Tim Martin, the probie. He was pretty excited. Can’t say as I blame him. Not every day you see an aggravated murder and the first witness on the scene is a fucking lingerie model. He practically pissed himself when she unwound herself from that recliner on—” Charlie stopped mid-sentence, his florid face flushing an even brighter red. “Fuck, Nate, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t….”

Nate leaned back in his chair and eyeballed each of the men around the table. His voice was dangerously soft.

“Let’s get one thing straight. Laura Peterson is/was the wife of our vic. She is our primary witness at this point. We will be interviewing her multiple times. The fact that I had the misfortune of being married to her is of no concern. When I interview her this morning, it will be the first time in three years that we have spoken. Please keep that in mind.”

Charlie raised his hands in apology. “Sorry, Nate.”

Nate narrowed his eyes and glared at each of them landing on Jim.

“Overview, Jim. Your impressions after a night to sleep on it.”

The little man’s deeply furrowed brow creased further. “Can’t say as I got much sleep. We worked most of the night. Overall, I don’t have much more than what we discussed last night, Nate. If anything, the prelim underscored what the poor devil went through. Some of those slashes are bone deep. If I didn’t know better, reminds me of my days in Chicago. This kind of whip play is what you’d see among the gangs, or more likely the syndicates. A little too neat for the gangs. Definitely professional. Way beyond what you’d see in a normal sex scene, or worst of the BDSM clubs. Those cuts were meant not only to maim. They were meant to kill.”

Nate added laconically, “Ya think? The fact that they cut off his off his dick and his balls is a bit of clue to their intent as well, wouldn’t you say?”

The men around the table all laughed nervously, several of them adjusting their pants with a muffled groan.

Nate mused. “Ya know, as many times as I’ve threatened some low life piece of shit that I’d cut off his dick if he didn’t answer my question, can’t say I’ve ever seen it done.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Charlie, for the benefit of the members of the team who weren’t there last night, do a quick recap of your interview with Laura.”

Charlie looked down at his notes and rattled off a series of declarative sentences. “Got the call from dispatch at 12:01. Toni relayed her message. Said Laura Peterson who lives at 219 Overview Lane called 911 begging someone to help her. Said her husband was dead. Toni got the stats and tried to keep her on the line, but she was disconnected. When you listen to the recording, Nate, you’ll hear that she was incoherent for the most part. Only her name and address were clear and she said over and over that her husband was dead.”

“She mention that he’d been killed?”

“Nope, just kept saying that he was dead and begged someone to help her. When we got there, Doctor James was pulling up the driveway just ahead of us. Apparently she’d called him right after she called us.”

Nate frowned. “Did she say why?”

“Nope, and neither did he. Just said he got a call from his service saying that Mrs. Peterson had an emergency and asked him to come immediately.”

Nate leaned back in his chair. “Where was she?”

“She was out on the porch when we arrived. Huddled on one of the lounge chairs. She was pretty damned hysterical. Not making a lot of sense. We asked her where her husband was, assumed he’d had a heart attack or the like. She just kept saying, ‘In there. In there.’”

“She mention where she’d been?”

“Nope, but her Jag was out front and the engine was still warm. We left it there. And I told the overnight team not to touch it.”

“When did the doctor give her something?”

Charlie frowned as if thinking back. “You know Nate, gotta tell you. After we saw Mike hanging on that cross, Laura became a hell of a lot less interesting. About the time we called you and Jim, the EMT’s arrived. I know a couple of them helped Dr. James get her upstairs. When I went up to talk to her about twenty minutes later, the Doc said he’d had to tranque her. That she was hysterical.”

Nate eyed Charlie for a minute and then said, “Good work, Charlie. I’ll want you to come with Dan and me when we interview her today. Stay in the background. See if you can pick up anything that she says that she didn’t say last night. I’ll have her transcript, but if she mentions some fact that she didn’t give you, let me know. Sometimes, after the initial shock wears off, the witness remembers more facts or different versions of the one she gave.”

He was pensive, tugging on his chin.

Dan broke the silence. “What are you thinking, Nate?”

Nate focused on his partner, then glanced at the men who were all watching him intently.

“The intended messages are crystal clear. The murderer or murderers want us to know that Mike ran up against some important assholes—the wrong ones to play around with. But there is more there.” He frowned, his jaw tightening in concentration. He muttered almost under his breath, “It’s just out of my grasp…”

Seeing all the men watching him, he expanded. “Look, at first glance this looks like what Jim surmised. Professional. But the scene is
too
clean. Pete said it was cleaner than a frog’s armpit. We’ll be lucky if we get any prints at all. DNA? Unlikely at best. But I can tell you one thing for sure: No hired killer is gonna do what this one did, except for a hell of a lot of money. Chance of leaving behind evidence is too damn good. Whoever paid to have this done or sent someone to do it, paid through his ass. And the killer? Finest whip work I’ve seen. Like Jim, I’ve seen some spectacular work among the hard core BDSM camp, and in the martial arts community. Philippines, in particular. I also agree with Jim that this is unlikely the work of gangs. Too clean, too methodical.”

Letting his words sink in, Nate fastened on a bespeckled man at the end of the table who was tapping away on an iPad.

“Pete, get the best forensic accountant team you can find. If you need to go the Cities, or fucking New York City, makes no difference. Just get the best, most thorough sons of bitches you can find. I’ve got a call in to Eric Jacobs. Told him to see if he can get Nunn and Weise. If they aren’t available, Eric’s got a line on every crooked numbers guy or ambulance chaser there is. The white collar assholes that have one of their balls on the side of the law, the other with the crime boys. Their dick swings whichever way pays the best.”

Dan guffawed. “Think the Chief is up to paying that kind of money, Nate?”

Nate returned Dan’s grin. “Hell, Dan, wouldn’t be life in the fast lane if the Chief wasn’t on my ass for something.”

He turned back to two of the techs at the end of the table.

“Stan, pull your techie boys off their
Call of Duty Black Ops
and
Battlefield Three
games and dig up every goddamn thing you can on Mike Peterson’s finances. And I mean go deep. You got my permission to cross any fuckin’ lines you want. Just because Mike inherited most of his wealth from his prick of a father and grandfather doesn’t mean he didn’t want more. If the mob is involved, you sure as hell know that money is as well. Hell even if they aren’t involved, we all know that money is at the base of this mess. Mike always was a devious son of a bitch. No telling what he’s got hidden behind those lumber yard walls and sawmills. Find out where he got his scratch and what he did with it. And who the hell he screwed in the process.”

Nate shoved back and unwound his tall frame from his chair. Nodding to Jim, he said, “Call me the minute you get any updates.”

He glanced from person to person.

“Hope none of you have vacations coming up in the next couple of months. Or that your wife is due to deliver. We’re gonna be close to 24/7 for weeks. Welcome to biggest case ChicadiafuckingFalls has ever seen. Glad you’re on board.”

Motioning to Dan to follow him out to the hall, Nate said over his shoulder, “And some of you desk jockeys might want to hit the gym like I do. Better than taking your stress out on the wife and kiddies. But don’t get so healthy you don’t join me at the Pub on Friday night.”

His chuckled, “Swear to god, some of our best work has been done over Kieran’s watered-down booze.”

He closed the door to a resounding chorus of agreement as the team prepared to hit their desks.

Dan waited for him around the corner. “What do you need, Nate?”

Nate hesitated then looking at the earnest expression on about the straightest damn cop he’d ever known, he decided to reach out.

“Look Dan, you know every fucker with a badge or not is gonna be talking about the fact that Laura and I were married, and I am heading the investigation. I can use a buffer. Sure as hell I don’t want to interview her alone or in any compromising positions. I don’t trust her as far as I’d trust a priest with a ten-year-old altar boy.”

“You know I’ll help you any way I can, Nate. Much of the preliminary interviewing I can do. When we get to the crunch, you’ll have to come in. But by that time, I’m assuming Laura will be out of the picture.”

Nate gave a derisive snort. “Best you know, Dan, before we get started. Laura is never out of the picture. If there is drama involved and a camera close by, you can be sure she’ll be front and center.”

He sighed.

“Nope, Dan. For a camera whore like Laura, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. The beautiful bereaved wife of a lumber baron who was murdered in a gory style? Possible sex angle? Hell, the press will eat it up. And the only person who will like it more is Laura. I just don’t wanna be in the picture with her.”

Chapter 6

The smell of sweat hit him in the face, along with the chomping beat of Nine Inch Nails. The clang and clank of the weight machines underscored the low groans and occasional shrieks of the muscled men and a few women who were beating their gym hard bodies against steel and rubber.

Nate headed for the locker room. In minutes, he’d stripped off his ubiquitous black t-shirt and jeans, and replaced them with gym shorts and a ratty tank inscribed with the slogan “You Can’t Outrun a Cop”. Lacing up a pair of LeBron X Plus sneakers, he strode into the gym. Each person he passed stopped what they were doing to call out a greeting.

‘Hey, Detective’ ‘Stryker-man,’ ‘Big Dog,’ and the like.

Nate mumbled a response of sorts and headed for the bikes. Every day of the week, he started his grueling workout with a ten mile hard course stint on the bike posting no more than a four minute mile. The state-of the-art facility was Nate’s baby. He was a shrieking monster when it came to the physical stamina of the police force. He insisted that a fat out of shape cop was a disgrace to the uniform and razzed anyone who disagreed. More than a few cops sucked in their gut and hid the doughnuts when Stryker walked by. Knowing that four months out of the year, the ground was frozen solid and covered with as much as twenty inches of snow, Nate took away the excuse of bad weather. With the support of Chief Roberts and Fire Chief Halloran, they browbeat the city council into building the facility that became the pride of the upper Midwest. The political hacks basked in the positive attention quickly assuming responsibility for creating the $20 million facility. Nate snorted. JFK was right: Success has a thousand fathers. In this case, the mayor and city council members who screamed the loudest at the cost, were the first to take the credit when the press named the CFPD the most fit police force in the country. Even more humorous was watching the mayor et al strutting through the magnificent facility in their overweight, under-exercised bodies pointing out to visiting press the physical and mental health benefits of exercise.