In addition, unlike the previous victim, both of his arms had been removed mid-forearm. The left one remained on the ground by his body, the right one having been drug through the dirt, a trail of blood congealing in the dust behind it.
Some of the flesh from the open end of it had been gnawed away, the work of Wright’s own pit bull, the reason for animal control having been called to the scene. For the briefest instant Reed imagined what it must have looked like for the control workers that arrived, finding a fresh corpse, the victim’s dog gnawing on part of it.
The thought turned his stomach as he fought the urge to look over his shoulder and nod to Greene. When he’d first heard that animal control was on the scene before him, a pang of something resembling professional jealousy had struck him. Now he understood it was for the preservation of the crime scene, making sure no evidence was disturbed, no more of the deceased consumed.
At some point soon Reed would have to track down the animal control specialist and examine the dog to determine what, if anything, could be learned.
The odds were overwhelming that it would result in nothing but a heavy bout of nausea, but he still had to do it.
Keeping his distance, Reed made two loops around the scene, careful not to disturb anything. He drew his cell phone from his waist and dialed dispatch, waiting as the metallic scent of blood wafted up at him. Thick stripes of it painted the ground mere feet away, beginning to harden in the cold night air.
“Hey, Sugar,” Jackie’s voice cooed over the line, skipping all formality.
“Hey, can you patch me through to McMichaels?” Reed asked, bypassing any greeting and getting straight to his request. Despite standing over the scene he wasn’t sure he could accurately describe it to her if asked, certain that he wouldn’t want to even if he could.
Jackie seemed to sense the strain in his voice and did as requested without further comment, a moment of static coming over the line before a gruff male voice answered.
“McMichaels.”
“Officer McMichaels, Reed Mattox.” He knew from their earlier meeting that they were on patrol, couldn’t be more than a few miles away. “Any chance I can ruin your night for the second time in a row?”
There was a long pause, followed by a deep breath. “Aw hell, you’ve got another one?”
How that could have been ascertained from a single question Reed wasn’t sure, but he let it go without comment. Instead, he pushed forward with his request, shoving it out in one quick burst.
“I do, and I need you guys to start working the streets again if you can. This is two in as many nights, and this is more gruesome than the last.”
Again there was a brief pause, Reed imagining the two officers exchanging a look.
“I don’t care who we wake up or piss off this time,” Reed said. “We might have a serial killer on our hands here.”
Chapter Fourteen
Just twenty minutes after leaving the scene Reed stood on the opposite side of the one-way glass, looking through it at Lucinda Barr. She was seated on a black plastic chair before a solid wooden table, the wool blanket given to her by the paramedics still wrapped around her shoulders.
Within the confines of the makeshift garment she looked even smaller than Reed remembered, her upper body swallowed by the plain grey material. All that was visible from the waist up was her neck and face, both wearing the telltale signs of the night she endured.
“Thanks for bringing her in and staying with her,” Reed said without glancing over to Officer Gilchrist beside him. “Couldn’t have been easy.”
“Actually, it was,” Gilchrist replied, a hint of surprise in his voice. “She’s been almost catatonic since it all went down. I hope you’re able to get something useful out of her.”
Reed shifted his focus from the room to their reflection in the glass, seeing Gilchrist standing beside him, his thumbs looped into his front pockets. Still in his twenties, he had a boyish face and thick dark hair, his height a couple inches more than Reed.
“Still, I appreciate it,” Reed said, skipping over the fact that he and Greene had agreed to keep the younger man far away from the scene. “I’ll talk to the captain, make sure you guys get your OT for sticking around this morning.”
Gilchrist raised a hand to wave off the comment as Reed stepped past him, Barr not even looking up as he moved into the room and closed the door behind him. In slow steps he walked over and drew out the chair across from her, lowering himself down and lacing his fingers on the table between them.
Had she been more responsive, or if he had any hope at all of actually coaxing much of use from her, Reed might have brought the early version of the case file in with him. He may have referenced his handwritten notes from the scene, using them to ensure accuracy, jog his memory to ask pertinent follow-ups.
Given her state though, he arrived empty handed, knowing any physical reminder of what had happened might be enough to push her over the edge, causing her to clam up for good. More than once he had seen similar things happen, a person’s response being so strong that their minds more or less erased it, a natural form of self-protection.
“Ms. Barr,” Reed opened, his tone gentle. He waited a long moment for a response, or any sign of recognition, and when none came he lowered his head a few inches, changing the angle to look up into her face. “Ms. Barr?”
Across from him, she kept her attention aimed down at the table, her face framed by lank dark brown hair. Matching eyes were red and puffy, tear stains streaking her dirty features.
Along her left cheekbone looked to be the beginning of a bruise, though given the overall state of her appearance, Reed couldn’t be certain.
Once more Reed waited, watching as the tiniest flicker caught behind Barr’s eyes, her attention rising to meet his gaze.
“Lucy,” she whispered.
“Okay,” Reed said, lowering his voice so it almost matched hers. “Lucy, can you tell me what happened last night?”
Having spent most of the night on the scene, Reed had a reasonable sequence of events worked out in his head. Even at that though, he wanted to hear if there was anything he might be missing.
At the sound of the question, Barr pressed her lips together, again lowering her attention back to the table. Her bottom lip quivered a bit before she drew in a deep breath through her nose.
“A.J. and I were in the kitchen, having a discussion about some things,” she began.
The condition of the house, combined with a statement from a neighbor and the possible bruise on Barr’s cheek, seemed to indicate that it had been more than a discussion. At the same time, the details of their dispute were far from relevant at the moment.
If that’s how she had to handle things, that was fine by Reed. He just needed her talking.
“Outside, Bruno started to barking,” she said, flicking her gaze up at him. “Bruno is A.J.’s pit bull.”
The sign above the dog house door had said as much, but Reed nodded as if it were an important detail, wanting her to keep going.
“He didn’t usually bark a lot, so when he started going crazy, A.J. went outside to see what was going on,” she said, her voice cracking on the last words. She drew in a loud sniff and managed, “That was-“
She never finished the sentence, her voice fading as her face contorted. She drew her arms up on the table in front of her and thrust her head down into the blanket, her entire body racked with sobs. The sound of them echoed off the walls, filling Reed’s ears as he sat and waited.
Dozens of questions floated to the front of Reed’s mind, things that he desperately wanted to ask, things that would at the very least narrow his investigation down a bit. As he sat and watched her cry though, he let them every one of them pass.
Maybe there would be a time to ask them eventually, this just wasn’t it.
He stood and walked from the room without another word, leaving Barr in solitude behind him.
Chapter Fifteen
A droplet of sweat h
it the polished wood floor beneath the Boat Man, landing with a tiny splash, completely contained within the misshapen circle. It remained there, alone, for a long moment before a second one joined it, a third hanging from the tip of his nose, threatening to complete the trio.
The Boat Man aimed his focus on them as he lowered his face towards the floor, lactic acid coursing through his deltoid and trapezium muscles. The concerted force of it caused his entire shoulder yoke to feel like it was on fire, pulling the breath from his lungs.
Slow and controlled, he finished the repetition, raising his feet towards the ceiling. His core ached as he pushed himself upward in a vertical pushup, his vision blurring from exertion, unable to focus on the drops on the floor any longer.
There he stayed as long as his body would allow, until his side throbbed and his arms shook from exertion, before dropping his feet to the ground.
There the Boat Man remained, fighting to catch his breath, his body poised on all fours, like an oversized cat ready to pounce.
“Getting better,” he whispered, drawing his feet beneath him and standing, his breath still coming in ragged pants. Walking to the low-slung table beside him he took up a sweat towel and ran it over his face and torso, cutting a matte swipe through his shiny body.
Towel in hand, the Boat Man walked across the open floor, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. He fixed his attention on the wall before him, a series of photos arranged on it, all pinned into place.
The wall had taken him months to put together, made through painstaking research and a patience he didn’t know he possessed. On it was every last thing he had uncovered since that night, every person and place, every time and occurrence that was even remotely pertinent.
Dropping the towel to the floor, the Boat Man took up a red marker from the table. With long even strokes he drew a circle around the face of A.J. Wright followed by two heavy slashes. Together the lines formed an X, coming together just above the tip of the man’s nose.
“That’s two,” he said aloud, the sound swallowed up by the empty space around him.
By now, people would be starting to notice. A single occurrence could be written off. Sometimes even a second could as well, but rarely for something as unique, as salacious as what he had set out to do.
After last night, word would be circulating. People would be talking, knowing he was out there. If they hadn’t already, soon they would start to realize what was happening, would start to look over their shoulder, begin to feel the anxiety he had lived with for so long.
At the same time, they wouldn’t be the only ones that were able to piece things out. For a long time the cops had been a non-entity in The Bottoms, but even they wouldn’t be able to stay away from something as attention grabbing as what he was doing.
Soon, people would be talking, loud enough to convey their fear, loud enough that somebody would have to listen.
The thought brought a smile to the Boat Man’s face.
That’s all any of this was about, to make people listen.
Capping off the marker, the Boat Man tossed it aside, the writing utensil hitting the top of the table and rolling to the floor. He let it go, the sound receding as he stood and stared at the wall.
After a long moment he took a step back from it, and then another. Once he was far enough removed he again dropped his hands down to the floor and hoisted his heels towards the ceiling, ready to begin anew.
Chapter Sixteen
The top on the canned double shot of espresso let out a wheeze of pressurized air as Reed popped it open, waiting for the hissing to stop before upending it. He held it there a long moment, letting half of the can’s contents slide down his throat before pausing, taking a deep breath, and going back for more.
Just eight seconds after opening it, the can was empty.
Reed made a face as he worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth, trying to force the rancid taste down, and dropped the can into the wastebasket beside Grimes’s desk. It landed with an audible thud, the metal hitting against the bottom of the empty container.
“Am I going to be smelling whatever that was for the rest of the day?” a voice asked from behind Reed, turning him around in his seat. Leaning forward he raised his backside off the chair, waiting until the captain was past until dropping back down into position.
“No,” Reed said, his voice even, a bit of exhaustion audible. “Just espresso. Given that it was completely tasteless, there shouldn’t be an odor.”
Under different circumstances the comment might have earned at least a smirk, though this time Grimes kept his face even, a look just short of a scowl on his features. He settled into his seat and resumed his position of leaning back, his fingers laced across his stomach.
“Tell me last night wasn’t as bad as it sounded.”
Reed glanced away for a moment, envisioning the scene in his mind, before shifting his attention back to Grimes. “I could give you the clichéd answer and say it was worse, or I could give you the real answer and say it was a hell of a lot worse.”
It took a moment for Grimes to process the response, blinking several times before fully registering what he’d been told. “Christ.”
“Yep,” Reed agreed, his chin rising and falling just a bit.
“Where are you at with it?” Grimes asked, rocking his head forward and peering across at Reed.
The question had passed through Reed’s mind a half a dozen times on the drive in, trying to balance what he knew and where he could go next.
What he knew was that somebody was pissed, and wasn’t shy about taking it out on the residents of Franklinton. Where he could go next was a veritable spider’s web, scads of different directions that may or may not be connected.
“I tried speaking to Lucy Barr this morning,” Reed said, “the girlfriend of last night’s victim. As of five hours ago she was a wreck, so I’m guessing she’s still out of play for the next day or two, minimum.
“That leaves only a single possible breathing witness, a woman that the uniforms came across yesterday while canvassing.”
Grimes arched an eyebrow, his chin again having been pulled back against his chest. “Anything promising?”
“Not sure,” Reed said, his shoulders rising a bit in a shrug. “They said she didn’t say much at the time, felt like maybe she was being watched, but they got the impression she might be willing to talk.”
“Hmm,” Grimes said, considering the information. “Try to get her somewhere else and ask a few questions?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Reed said. “After that, now that all indications are that these two crime scenes are connected, I can start looking for commonalities, try to link the victims.”
“And there are two bodies,” Grimes offered.
“And there are two bodies,” Reed said. “Dr. Solomon over at the coroner’s is set to take a look at Wright this afternoon. I’ll meet with her in there somewhere, too.”
Grimes nodded, pursing his lips in front of him. “Do you foresee anything new coming from the autopsy?”
“No,” Reed said, “just a confirmation that the same weapon was used.”
Silence fell between the two as they sat, staring across at one another. For the first time since arriving Reed got the impression the meeting had nothing to do with giving a rundown of where the case stood. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but sensed there was something that wasn’t being shared.
He gave it a long moment, waiting for Grimes to share, before prompting him.
Time wasn’t something he seemed to have much of these days.
“You going to tell me or do I have to ask?”
The question sounded a bit harsher than Reed intended, though that didn’t change the purpose. He made no attempt to retract or even soften the delivery, instead staring across at his captain, waiting for a response.
“I asked you to stop by this morning to let you know this is your case,” Grimes said.
If any
offense was taken to Reed’s question, he didn’t let it show.
“Right,” Reed said, unsure how to interpret the statement. “I know.”
A pair of doleful eyes stared back at him. “No,” Grimes said, “I mean, this is your case.”
Reed opened his mouth to respond before closing it, his eyes narrowing. Upon hearing it a second time he understood what the captain was getting at, the words falling into place in his mind.
This meeting was a warning shot, a first and most likely last chance to let Reed know that pressure was being applied. If not by the higher-ups, by the clock that was momentarily keeping them at bay.
“Is somebody calling for me to be removed?”
A flicker of something resembling approval crossed Grimes’s face, signaling that Reed had been correct in his assessment. He glanced out to the parking lot, watching as a pair of uniforms headed for their patrol car, before shifting his attention back to face forward.
“No,” Grimes said. “Luckily, right now that mess I mentioned yesterday about the Near East Side is still dominating the headlines and the Chief’s attention.”
Once more Reed thought of the crime scenes he’d been called to the previous two nights. If either of those were to hit the air waves they would fast become prime time viewing, played on a loop during all major news cycles.
“But if this got out...” Reed said, his voice falling away.
“I’d say that’s a safe assumption, wouldn’t you?” Grimes asked, staring hard at him.
There was no pause in Reed’s response, no need to take a moment for debate.
The captain was absolutely right, and everything that fact brought with it meant the pressure now on Reed was higher than ever.
“Yes,” Reed agreed, his voice soft. “Yes, I would.”
The Boat Man: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 1) Page 6
