As the sergeant spoke on the phone, Drake thought about what the man had just said. Sure, the DA gave the impression that he was convinced Robert Tiedeman was the Straw Man, but he was holding off going public. That could only mean one thing: that he felt the same as they did. Robert was, at best, a moron who had been roped into something he didn’t understand, didn’t know anything about. And that got them no closer to finding the unsub.
“It’s Dunbar.” Yasiv pulled the phone away from his ear. He was still fuming but appeared to have calmed a little. “He says the parents of the deceased have never seen Robert or the sketch of the unsub before. And Robert claims his ID was stolen, too.”
“Figures,” Drake grumbled. “Tell Dunbar that we have another image for him to pump through his facial recognition software. Maybe the unsub is in the system.”
Yasiv nodded and relayed the information to the detective over the phone.
“If we get lucky and can get a name, then—”
“What about Lisa?” Hanna said, interrupting Drake.
“What?” Yasiv asked.
“Lisa? You know, Lisa Fairchild? Did Dunbar show the sketch of the Straw Man to Lisa and Norm?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, fucking ask him then!”
Drake gave Hanna a look, but she was beyond reproach.
Yasiv scowled and asked Dunbar. Then he shook his head.
“He says they only showed the sketch to the victims’ parents. They didn’t—Hanna? Hanna, where are you going?”
Hanna’s sudden movement took Drake by surprise and even though he attempted to intercept her, she managed to slip by him and burst out the door.
“Shit,” Drake swore. “Hanna! Hanna!”
Chapter 73
Hanna lay the pistol on her palm and inspected it closely. This was no replica. There was no orange lining on the barrel that had been crudely covered with black nail polish. This was a real gun. Instead of giving her confidence, however, her mind threatened to return to that day in the alley.
The day the Straw Man took her.
Hanna raised her eyes from the gun and peered up at the massive estate through the iron bars. The house, as well as the street, was quiet. This would change, Hanna knew, once the news broke. Once some investigative reporters put the pieces together as she and Drake had.
That all this violence and mayhem was related to Lisa Fairchild. That this woman was somehow the target, even though it was others, innocent people, who were the real victims.
Hanna slid the pistol into her purse and then got out of the car. She made sure that the sketch of the Straw Man was still in her pocket before making her way to the gate.
She didn’t have a plan, didn’t know what she was going to say to get inside. But that was okay. Hanna was an expert at winging it, at saying or doing whatever was needed to get her way.
Whatever the other party needed.
She’d spent her entire adult life being someone else, so acting had become second nature to her.
Hanna reached the gate but paused before activating the intercom.
Drake had been right, of course; if they came here on official business, Lisa would just lawyer up. There was no chance they’d get anywhere near the front door. But this wasn’t official.
And it wasn’t about the case.
This was about Hanna and her friend.
And she was going to get into that house, no matter what it took.
Hanna inhaled deeply, shook her shoulders out, then pressed the button.
“I’m sorry, but we are not accepting visitors at this time,” a male voice informed her. It didn’t sound like Norm Fairchild.
“I’m not a visitor,” Hanna said quickly. “I’m a private investigator. I’m working the art gallery case with Sergeant Henry Yasiv and Damien Drake.”
The pause that ensued was longer than the first one. She suspected that the butler or whoever was on the other end was informing Norm and Lisa who was at the gate. They were probably all huddling around the security footage, verifying her claim right now.
“I’m sorry,” it was Norm this time, “but we have been instructed not to speak to you, or anyone, without our counsel present.”
“I figured as much. But this isn’t about the art gallery or the department store. I need to speak to Lisa. This is about… it’s about her sons.” The word came out of nowhere, from deep within her subconscious.
Just get on the intercom, Lisa.
If she could get Lisa on the box, Hanna would be able to convince her to let her in.
The woman was a cunt, no doubt about it, but she was still a mother. And mothers always had soft spots for their children.
Except for Hanna’s own, of course. Maybe the woman had had one, long ago, when Hanna went by another. But that spot had been replaced by a weeping ulcer from heroin injections and blisters on her lungs from smoking too much meth.
“Give me… give me one second,” Norm said.
Hanna suppressed a smile as she waited. Less than a minute later, she heard Lisa’s voice.
“What about my sons?” the woman snapped, sounding more irritated than concerned.
“Not sons, but son,” Hanna corrected. “This is about—” she paused for just a fraction of a second, trying to remember the name of Lisa’s youngest. “—Lennox. It’s about Lennox.”
“What about him?”
Hanna looked around, then deliberately moved closer to the intercom.
“I-I-I don’t want to say here, just in case.”
“Tell me what happened to Lennox.”
“Well, we are still—I mean, nothing is confirmed yet but—”
“Just spit it out.”
Hanna sighed for effect.
“Lennox is missing. No one has seen him for three days. And with the mannequins in the department store… we’re still not sure, but the ME said that one of the… well, it could be from a boy.”
Everything hinged on Lisa not having seen or spoken to her son in the last few days, but this was a fair assumption based on how crazy things had been.
When the buzzer sounded and the gate opened, Hanna finally allowed herself that smile.
And then, as she hurried up to the Fairchild’s front door, she slipped a hand into her purse and gripped the butt end of the gun that Sergeant Yasiv had given her more than two years ago.
The gun that Hanna had promised herself she would never use.
Chapter 74
Drake started after Hanna, but Screech stopped him.
“Let her go,” he said.
Drake made a face.
“Get out of my way.”
Screech didn’t back down.
“Just her go, Drake.”
That was the last thing that Drake wanted to do. It wasn’t just that Hanna had the potential to ruin whatever tenuous grip they might have on this case, but he was also worried about her personal wellbeing.
And about what lengths she might go to in order to find the Straw Man.
“She has to do this by herself,” Screech said and something about the man’s words rang true.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink.
Those had been Clay’s words, echoing from a different time.
Hanna’s much more vulgar version might go something like this, “You can stick your dick in someone’s mouth, but you can’t force them to swallow.”
As much as Drake hated to admit it, Screech was right.
Hanna had to do this by herself.
He just hoped that she didn’t follow in his footsteps.
“Fine,” Drake said softly, moving away from the door. “You’re right.”
“She going to be okay?” Yasiv asked, genuine concern on his face. “I don’t know her that well, but Hanna looks—”
“She’ll be fine,” Screech and Drake said together. They exchanged a weary look.
“Well, is she going to the Fairchild’s, then? Because I thought that we were holding off on tha
t.”
“She’s just going to vent,” Drake lied. He knew full well that that was exactly where Hanna was going.
“I can go with her, if you don’t want to.”
“I said, she’s fine. Did you pass the image from Focal on to Dunbar?” Drake said, trying to change the subject.
Yasiv was unnerved but let it go, for now.
“Yeah. He says he has to fuck around with it in Photoshop first, improve the lighting or whatever before he can run it through the software.”
“Good,” Drake said absently, his mind still focused on Hanna. Worry and concern were debilitating during the best of times. When you were exhausted, these feelings tended to take over. They couldn’t afford that now. There had been a full twenty-four hours between the first two skinsuits appeared, which meant that their unsub was overdue for another. Either he had his victims already stuffed in cages, or he was on the prowl. Now was the time to focus, let Hanna do her thing, while they did theirs. “What do we know about this guy?” he asked, hooking a chin at the photograph that was still displayed on Screech’s monitor.
“Oh, I dunno,” Screech began. “Likes to put people in cages and then skin them. Hangs out with other serial killers at nightclubs. Oh, and he has shitty taste in cars.”
“Very funny, Screech,” Leroy said, clearly not amused. “Do we know anything—”
“Wait, what’s this about a car?” Drake recalled Hanna and Yasiv mentioning something about a vehicle but didn’t remember exactly what they’d said.
“Guy at the campsite said that the Straw Man drives a gray Chevy hatchback from the eighties. Dunbar is searching DMV records for it but so far no hits.”
Drake’s eyes narrowed.
“Did you look at the footage from the mall? From before the cameras went out?” he asked, his thoughts focusing in on the car.
Something about the description rang a bell.
“Didn’t get a chance. Was looking into the taxidermy shops, then the footage from Focal. You know, this is a job for a team of techs, not just me and Leroy,” Screech said, sounding annoyed.
“Yeah, stop your bitching,” Drake shot back.
Yasiv took this opportunity to chime in.
“We can still put the photograph of the Straw Man out there. With the media attention, the DA will have—”
“No. No, we’re not doing that,” Drake said impatiently. “We’re going to wait until the facial recognition software does its thing, until we have a name. In the meantime, Screech, pull up the footage from the mall.”
“Aye, aye, captain.
As Screech started to load up more video footage, Drake turned his attention back to the car.
Where the fuck did I see it before? Was it at the hospital? He shook his head. No, it was before that. But where?
Once again, they were back at the mind-numbingly boring task of combing through hours of footage. This time, it was even worse as they were focusing on cars in a parking lot instead of drunk people at a club. Thankfully, this job didn’t take nearly as long as the previous one.
“There,” Leroy suddenly shouted. “Stop it! Go back, just a few minutes.”
Screech clicked a button and Leroy pointed at the screen.
“Not much of a car guy, but that there is a gray hatchback that looks like it’s from the eighties.”
Drake squinted and leaned forward.
“Sure as hell does,” Yasiv agreed. The sun was glinting off the windshield causing a tremendous amount of glare, but Drake thought it was a close match to the description they’d been given.
Screech continued to roll the footage, slower this time, hoping to catch the owner returning to their vehicle. The car remained stationary for three hours before the footage cut to black.
“Damn it,” Screech swore, slamming his hand down on the desk. “What a waste of—”
“Go back,” Leroy ordered. “Go back to before. When the car arrived.”
Screech rolled the footage in reverse and about half an hour later, they spotted him. Dressed all in black, the unsub moved much like he had in the club, head down, chin to chest, seemingly aware of the camera’s location. But even if the man had stopped in the middle of the parking lot and stared up at the camera, Drake doubted they’d get a good enough shot of his face to do anything with.
The camera was just too far away, the footage too grainy.
Screech and Leroy let out a collective sigh.
“I mean, I could probably see where he entered the parking lot, might give us an idea—”
Drake shook his head.
“Can you zoom in on the car, instead? As it’s entering the lot? Get rid of some of that glare?”
Screech grumbled something else about needing a whole team of techs but started to work his magic. He took a screenshot of the image and transported it into Photoshop. He zoomed in, then lightened and sharpened the car.
“The glare?”
“Working on it.”
Screech manually deleted the glare from the windshield, then filled in some of the blanks with parts of the car that were visible.
“Jesus Christ,” Drake whispered, his eyes going wide.
“What? What is it?” Leroy asked, practically bumping Drake out of the way to get a better look. “Is there someone in there? In the backseat? In the trunk? A body? One of the girls?”
Drake was speechless.
“Drake? What the hell is going on?” Yasiv asked.
“Drake?” Screech reached out and touched Drake’s arm and he shuddered.
“I’ve seen this car,” he said, finally finding his words. “I’ve seen this fucking car before.”
Chapter 75
Norm opened the door, the typical dour expression on his face replaced with one of sheer terror.
“You don’t—Lennox? Are you—”
Hanna pushed her way into the Fairchild estate, her eyes immediately going to the spiral staircases that flanked the glittering chandelier.
“Where’s Lisa?”
“She’s coming, just putting something on. It-it was just girls before, right? You really think it could be Lennox?” The man’s concern seemed genuine. If Norm was involved in any of this, then he would have known that it was a ruse, that there was no male skin, young or old, on either mannequin.
And Lisa would be aware of this, as well.
Hanna’s grip on the gun inside her purse tightened.
“We’re not one hundred percent sure, but it’s something we’re—” Hanna stopped speaking when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
Lisa appeared on the top landing, her thin lips turned downward, a phone pressed to her ear. She was wearing glasses, which Hanna hadn’t seen on the woman’s face before.
“Lisa? I’m sorry to come here announced, but—”
Lisa silenced her by raising a finger. Hanna was just glad to see that the woman wasn’t holding a weapon.
“Hello?” Lisa spoke into her phone. “Jacob? Is your brother there? Is Lennox there with you?”
Shit.
Lisa started to make her way down the stairs, her attention focused on her cell phone.
“Lennox? Lennox… oh, thank God.” An authentic sigh. “He’s fine,” Lisa said, pulling the phone away from her ear. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, lady, but Lennox is fine. He’s with his brother and—”
Hanna knew that the jig was up. There was only one thing left to do.
Lisa might not be the Straw Man, but she sure as hell knew who was.
“Hang up the phone, Lisa,” Hanna demanded.
Lisa’s thin eyebrows crossed.
“What?”
“I said,” Hanna pulled the gun from her bag and rested it in front of her waist, “hang up the goddamn phone.”
“What are you doing?” Norm gasped. He stepped toward her, and Hanna raised the gun. She didn’t point it at the man, not exactly, but she made it clear that this was the next step.
“You stay back and Lisa, ge
t your skinny ass down here.”
Hanna half expected Lisa to run, but the woman came to her senses and slowly made her way down the stairs. Norm tried to put a protective arm around his wife, but she refused the gesture.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Lisa demanded.
“In the family room. On the couch, now.”
The Fairchilds required a little encouragement, which Hanna provided with a subtle wag of the pistol.
“Sit. Sit down.”
The couple plopped themselves down on the couch.
“This… this isn’t right,” Norm exclaimed. “I don’t understand what the hell—”
“Quiet,” Hanna hissed. She turned her attention to Lisa. “Who killed those girls, Lisa? Huh? Who took those girls and put them in a cage?”
Lisa’s expression went from frightened to angry.
“What are you talking about? Have you gone mad? You think I sabotaged my own art exhibit? You think I had something to do with this? Let me tell you, miss, you fucked up. Bringing a gun here, treating us like this—you fucked up really bad. I’m going to make sure that not only do you lose your job but that you go to prison. My lawyer will eviscerate—”
“I’m not the one who fucked up here, you did. Wanna know why? Because I found a suture in your home, Lisa, one that perfectly matched those used on the mannequins. And I know that your family used to run a taxidermy business.”
Lisa’s eyes narrowed and vertical stress lines appeared above her upper lip.
“You said you got rid of that, Norm,” she hissed.
“I did—I did.” Norm pleaded. “I wiped everything from your past, just like you said. But… what the hell—suture? What is she talking about, Lisa?”
“I have no idea.”
“Really? No idea, huh?” Hanna reached back into her purse, which caused Norm to flinch. She pulled out the folded sketch of the Straw Man and threw it at Lisa. She missed and it struck Norm and fell to the floor. “Tell me who that is.”
“I’m not telling you anything. And I’m not doing anything you say.”
Straw Man Page 31
