Kylie Brant - What the Dead Know (The Mindhunters Book 8)

by Unknown

  “Then explain that agenda item!”

  Keira stood, taking a moment to enjoy the fact that at five nine she was at least three inches taller than him. “I’ll do exactly that when the full board is in session. Suffice it to say, my request has already been cleared with the prosecutor and the state attorney’s office. Now I’m uncomfortable having this discussion with you in a private session, absent the rest of the commissioners.” She took a moment to enjoy the flicker of discomfort the words brought to his expression. “It’d probably be best for both of us if we leave this conversation for tomorrow afternoon.”

  The man straightened, then yanked a stocking hat from his pocket and pulled it on. “We’ll do just that. Don’t be surprised if the board turns down your request. You know the strain the county budget is under.”

  The man had a one-track mind and the comprehension skills of a three-year-old. “I look forward to discussing this with the commissioners.” Keira walked to the door and opened it to urge the man to follow her. “See you tomorrow.”

  She watched him stride past her, his back rigid with his ire and wondered for a moment at the level of almost irrational animosity he seemed to reserve just for her. Because her dad had been slightly more than halfway through his current term as sheriff, a special election to fill his office hadn’t been held. Instead, a committee comprised of the county clerk, county prosecutor, and probate judge solicited applications and chose a sheriff to fill out the term. Her selection had been unanimous. But it was an ill-kept secret in town that Hassert had actively tried to dissuade the committee from approaching her. Most of the time she could dismiss him as a harmless irritant, but other times—like today—he bordered on irrational.

  Dismissing him with a shrug, she headed for Cal’s desk and found it empty, save for Finn, who had perched a hip on the corner of it. He was studying the picture of her hanging on the wall just inside the door. At her approach, his focus switched to her.

  “I had a desk moved into the conference room for you.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the room she’d just departed. “It’s stocked with the basics, but let Cal know if there’s anything else you require.”

  He stood lazily and bent to pick up a briefcase next to the desk. She had the errant thought that a pair of blue jeans did far more for him than a lab coat. Impatient at herself, Keira turned on her heel and led the way back to the room she’d just departed. “Shift change is in a couple hours. The names of the deputies at your disposal are in the folder.” She stopped to face him, saw that Cal had returned to his desk and was on the phone. “I’ve arranged for your accommodations, and I’ll be glad to show you to them. And to a decent place to get a meal after you settle in.” She had to finalize her presentation to the commissioners for tomorrow’s meeting, but she could always come back and work after dinner. She wanted an uninterrupted conversation with the man, and she was unlikely to get one here.

  The intercom sounded. “Sheriff, Matthews on line two.”

  Keira stifled a sigh. She didn’t know Tobias Matthews, a lieutenant with the Keweenaw Bay Tribal Police well, but she could already be certain that this discussion was unlikely to be pleasant.

  “Go.” Carstens was already walking by her to set his briefcase on the desk tucked into a corner of the room. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

  After a brief moment, she took him at his word and headed to her office to take the call. With what she was paying for an outside investigator Carstens was right about one thing—she shouldn’t have to babysit him.

  _______

  It was an hour and a half past shift change before she looked at the clock on the wall and swore. Pushing away from her desk, she grabbed her coat and purse before striding out of her office to see if Carstens had given up and bailed yet. She paused in the doorway of the conference room, looking at the transformation that had taken place there in the last few hours.

  Two wires had been strung across the wall next to his desk. The photos she’d given him hung from each, all punctuated with Post-its containing notes in a strong, bold hand. Drawing closer she realized one line of photos was from her attack; the other held the pictures from her father’s scene. She scanned the ones from last May again, wondering if he’d see something in them that she hadn’t on the countless long nights she’d stayed up studying them. The other wall acted as a makeshift bulletin board, where he’d used colored tape to attach a surprisingly large array of notecards.

  “Looks like you’re settling in.”

  When he looked over his shoulder at her, she saw that he was wearing a pair of narrow black-framed glasses. “I’ve got a start, yeah.” He reached up to take the glasses off and set them on top of his desk before stifling a yawn. “Sorry. I got up at three to make my six oh five flight.”

  She walked closer to peer at the cards he had taped to the wall. They weren’t arranged haphazardly at all, she saw now. The man’s scientific brain probably wouldn’t allow such randomness. One line kept track of the deputies’ assignments. Another set of cards listed possible leads to follow. Two cards were alone. One was marked CODIS and the other ViCAP.

  At the reminder, Keira gave herself a mental head slap. “I’ll get you our access information to all the federal databases.”

  “I’ll need them for state systems, but all of Raiker’s agents have federal input credentials, which will get us a response far quicker.”

  She was surprised, but she probably shouldn’t have been. It was another reminder of how well respected the Mindhunters were, since she’d only heard of law enforcement entities being given access. CODIS would only be useful if they got DNA from the offender, but ViCAP looked at crime patterns. Keira cocked a brow at Finn. “Think we’ll get any hits on killers who cut body parts out of their victims and send them to family members with other people’s parts inside?”

  He rubbed his jaw, which was already shadowed. Of course, it would be since he’d been up for more than fifteen hours already. “I’m going to need more details to narrow the parameters of the search. And I hate to admit it, but I’m probably through here until I get some food. That burger I grabbed in Marquette is a distant memory.”

  “My offer’s still good, if a little later than I promised. C’mon.” Keira turned away from the display. She knew from experience that food refueled her thought processes. And hers had been fragmented all day. “You can follow me and drop your rental off. The two motels were full—it’s the height of snowmobiling season here—but Turner’s Landing is a decent bed and breakfast. You’ll be comfortable there.”

  He powered down his laptop and got up to shrug into his coat, before sliding the computer into his briefcase. Snapping the locks, he straightened and turned toward her. “I’ll follow you anywhere if you can promise that wherever we eat has steak.”

  She smirked as she led the way out of the room. “Steak? And here I’d pegged you as a vegan.”

  _______

  Although Finn had been willing to dine before checking in, at Keira’s suggestion, he went to Turner’s first to check in and meet the hosts. Their warm greeting made him feel a little churlish about his earlier plans. So much so that he spent twenty minutes trailing along as they gave him a tour of their cozy home, while turning down their repeated offers to make him dinner. He’d dropped his briefcase and bag off in his room, taking time only to change into the warmer snow boots he’d brought along. It was already clear that walking through snow and ice every day wasn’t going to do his leather pair any good. Nearly a half hour had passed before he and Keira were finally seated at a rickety wooden table in a cramped establishment that looked more bar than restaurant, although at the moment he wasn’t fussy.

  A curvy startlingly blond waitress expertly wound her way through the crowded tables toward them. “Did you go on a fishing trip yesterday, Keira?” The woman gave Finn a slow wide smile that revealed a crooked incisor and more than a hint of mischievousness. “Because from the looks of this one, you brought home quite a c
atch.”

  There was an intriguing hint of color in the sheriff’s face as she pulled off her gloves and shoved them in her pocket. “This is a colleague of mine, Tiff. And we’re both starved. We’ll take the special if you still have filets available.”

  “If we don’t, I know where Diz stocks a few he sets aside for emergencies, and he’s not here to catch me. I’ll come through for you.” She fluttered her lashes at Finn. “What’ll you have to drink, flatlander?”

  “Ah…” Distracted for a moment by the name, he glanced at Keira and saw she was watching the exchange with visible amusement. “Blue Moon, if you’ve got it.”

  “We do. Just water for you, Keira?”

  “That’s fine.” The woman had bustled on to the next table almost before Keira got the response out of her mouth.

  “Flatlander?”

  She unzipped her coat and draped it over the chair. “Anyone who heralds from the flat land to our south. Not from the peninsula. And those of us who live under the bridge are trolls.” His expression must have mirrored his lack of comprehension because she went on. “The Mackinac Bridge in St. Ignace connects the upper and lower peninsulas. Tiffany is a Yooper, born and bred.”

  “UP. Yooper. Got it.” He divested himself of his coat. “Does that term apply to you, as well?”

  She was given no chance to reply as the waitress had returned, balancing a full tray on one shoulder with ease. “Nope, Keira’s not a full-fledged Yooper, because she only lived here in the summers before graduating college and thinking that shooting bad guys on the Chicago streets was more glamorous than life in Munising.” Tiffany gave Finn a wink as she set their glasses on the table in front of them. “But we made some memories during those summers, and if you want to stay until after my shift ends and buy me a drink, I could be convinced to share some of them with you.”

  “Tiffany.” Keira’s smile was bright, but her eyes narrowed in warning. “Go. Away.”

  The woman flitted to the next table, leaving a throaty laugh in her wake.

  “She’s incorrigible. A horrible flirt. And my closest friend since childhood.” There was a note of indulgence in her voice as Keira reached out and brought her glass to her lips, her gaze scanning the other occupants in the room as she drank. “My parents divorced when I was four, and I mostly lived with my mother. We bounced around some before ending up in Chicago. But I spent summers and Christmas vacations with my dad.”

  “Was it tough, going back and forth between two parents like that?” Finn tried the beer. Found it every bit as cold as he liked it.

  Her shrug was a roll of the shoulders. “Having no parents is tough. Having two in different states was just a logistical obstacle. We made it work.”

  He took a moment to wonder if her father had approached the issue with the same matter-of-factness. It wouldn’t have been enough for Finn with his child. Had the opportunity arisen.

  Because the thought circled much too close to a wound that still throbbed, he shoved it away to consider the woman across the table as he sipped his beer. Her hair had been longer in the picture of her inside the sheriff’s office and pulled severely from her face. The style had highlighted her tilted green eyes, narrow nose, and a stubborn chin. A face that surpassed mere attractiveness and bulls-eyed on compelling. She wasn’t used to the shorter hairstyle made necessary by her attack last week. That was apparent from the impatient habit she had of shoving it back from her face. Ineffectually, because it barely grazed her shoulders and wasn’t long enough to obey before it fell forward again, framing her jaw. Softening it in a way she probably despised.

  “Corner table to the east end of the bar.” At his conversational tone, her gaze flew to meet his. “The bigger one has prison tats and the spike studs the other is sporting on his leather bracelet come in real handy in a fight. I’ve seen a victim whose lip was torn away by one. Are they locals?”

  “I only recognize one of them. The guy with the tats is Bruce Yembley. He’s on the list I prepared for you.” At that moment, the duo turned toward them and the man shot them a one-fingered salute. “He did twelve years of a fifteen year stretch at the Alger Correctional Facility for beating a man to death in a disagreement over a drug deal. My father testified against him.” She raised her glass in a mock greeting before turning her attention back to Finn. “And Danny appeared at his parole hearings to make sure Yembley stayed inside to complete most of his sentence. Of course it helped that the man had been anything but a model prisoner. He was just released a few months ago.”

  Finn tucked the name away. “Who handles the issuance of gun permits and hunting licenses in the county?”

  “The Department of Natural Resources is responsible for all hunting and trapping licenses. People can apply online or pick up applications at the local grocery store or Duane’s Sports downtown.” She must have caught the look of surprise on his face and added wryly, “Hunting is big in the UP. DNR tries to make the licensing as convenient as possible. My office handles the gun licenses and open carry permits. Michigan has pretty broad laws upholding its citizens right to open carry, but there are some restrictions.”

  He reached for his glass and sipped the beer, considering. “I read up on that—among other things—on my way here. In this job, I get sent to many different parts of the country. And outside it. It pays to research the laws of a region you’re going to be working in.”

  She leaned forward, her gaze intense. “I was wondering about that. And your dual role for Raiker Forensics. How much time do you spend in the field on cases, opposed to in the labs?”

  Her interest wasn’t unexpected. Similar questions were directed at him in one way or another any time he worked in the field in an investigative capacity. “I’ve never figured it out, percentage-wise. I often provide both forensic and investigative assistance. I worked my way through medical school employed part time by a private lab, so I attained that experience early on. Completed a residency in pathology and then was employed by the Ohio State Medical Examiner’s Office, where I often worked cases the Bureau of Criminal Investigation were involved in. I crossed paths with Raiker when he was consulting on one of them.” He lifted a shoulder, his thumb tracing a circle in the condensation on his glass. “He contacted me months later about adding me as an expert consultant. I would only agree if it were a staff position that allowed cross training, so I wasn’t in the lab or doing autopsies full-time.” He drank to erase the memories that threatened and condensed the rest of his answer. “I serve in both capacities as needed. So far I’ve been happy with the balance.”

  Her expression said she recognized he’d left out far more than he’d chosen to share, but since she hadn’t volunteered a helluva lot she couldn’t complain. “So what part of the world have you seen since joining Raiker Forensics?”

  He shifted in his chair to stretch out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Last month I was helping with the extraction of bodies from a swamp in South Carolina. Before Christmas, one of the cases I was assigned took us to Malaysia. Before that, I was in British Columbia.”

  “Really?” She sipped at her water even as her eyes scanned the occupants of the place. He wasn’t offended. It was likely second nature due to her profession. After commencing his investigative training, he’d found himself doing the same thing. “I didn’t realize Raiker took international cases.”

  “Occasionally.” He didn’t mention that the Malaysia case had involved the man’s stepson being kidnapped and transported out of the country. Raiker had managed to keep a lot of the details out of the media, and Finn would respect his wish for privacy. Victims’ families were seldom granted the same courtesy. Which made what he was about to ask Keira doubly difficult.

  “Was your father buried or cremated?”

  “He always said he wanted to be cremated, that it was ridiculous to waste land for a burial. Why do you…” Her expression froze. “You were going to ask to exhume him?”

  He nodded, mildly disappointed. “There m
ight have been something the state ME missed. Now that we know a knife was used to extract the liver, it may have been possible to find other similar wounds on the body. Perhaps some which were dismissed as marks left by the teeth of animals.”

  Keira sat back leadenly in her seat, her normally creamy complexion bleached of color. “That would have been a tough call to make. I have to admit I’m not unhappy that I won’t be faced with the decision.”

  “Understandable.” But she was still thinking about the possibility, he could tell. And he had a feeling that had it been an option, she would have eventually agreed. Because she was a cop, first and foremost. From their first meeting, he’d watched her tuck away her emotional connection to the case. And could guess exactly how much it had cost her.

  A minute later she asked, “Do you think the killer might have removed something else from my dad’s body besides the liver?”

  “It’s useless to speculate.” But he’d bet she’d done more than her share of it since her father’s death.

  “Would it be possible to discover whether the same weapon was used on both the finger and the removal of the organ?”

  “It’s doubtful a tool mark comparison could be made, since the disarticulation is usually done with the point of a sharp instrument, as opposed to the blade. With a lab, I’d be able to do more tests to determine if the fingernail loss was due to a fungus or disease or whether a trauma caused it.”

  “Maybe its owner was tortured.” Keira reached for her glass, drank pensively. “And he might still be alive.” She gave a slight grimace, and she glanced at Yembley. “Wish I could say that I didn’t know anyone around here capable of that.”

  “I assume you’ve been checking the missing person’s reports for the state.”

  Her nod sent the curve of her hair swaying toward her face. “I’ve got two of my deputies compiling lists, but for now we’re focused on the last nine months or less.”