Skin Puppet

by Jeffery Craig

  He smiled at her question. “Because, my dear sister, I know how your mind works. The minute you get the smallest hint of trouble, you start thinking of exit strategies. It’s rather endearing. I’ll drop by later tonight. Like you, I am cautious and would prefer to limit discussion over the phone. I don’t think the line has been bugged yet, but it’s better to take precautions. Like you, I learned my early lessons well.”

  It wasn’t until later in the evening that he caught himself wondering why Ernest Kelly hadn’t mentioned that a team of Federal Agents was in town.

  ***

  Bradley Clark looked up from the book he was reading when the phone on the end table buzzed. Listening to make sure Mitchell was still in the shower, he picked it up and looked at the caller ID. He let the call go to voicemail, and waited a minute or two, and then opened the call menu and deleted both the call record and the message. Smart phones made it ridiculously easy, as long as you knew the password. For all that Mitchell was a cop, he was naïvely trusting when it came to sharing that kind of information.

  He placed the phone back on the table and picked up his book.

  Mitchell joined him a few minutes later, his hair damp and face slightly flushed from steam.

  Bradley looked up from his book, and smiled. “You about ready for dinner? I thawed a couple of steaks and thought I’d grill.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll make a salad.”

  “Perfect,” Bradley replied. He slipped in a bookmark to hold his place, and pulled Mitchell down next to him for a kiss and a cuddle. The evening was shaping up to be promising. It was incredibly lucky that Toby Bailey had called when he did. Tonight, Mitchell was unavailable.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “She’s absolutely sure it isn’t Nathan Fields?”

  Melba waited until Garfield had slid another slice of pizza onto her plate before answering. “Not only is she sure, she can describe what was wrong with the drawing, at least in terms of its resemblance to Nathan Fields. According to Lindsi, there’s not even the smallest similarity.” Melba eyed another slice, but decided to give her stomach a few minutes to decide if it was hungry, or just greedy.

  “I wonder where Mitchell is.” Toby observed to the room at large as he also helped himself to more food. “I left the message almost forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Who knows?” Melba replied. “Maybe he’s interviewing someone, or maybe he’s at the shooting range. He might’ve been called out on another case.” Everyone in the room looked away, not wanting to think about the latter possibility and what it might mean.

  “Tell me what the color coding means,” Edmondson directed as he wiped the grease of his hands and tossed his plate in the trash.

  “Green means we’re sure of something, yellow means it might be true, and red means—for now anyway—we can move it to the side,” Toby answered. “I know it must seem pretty simplistic, but I was getting lost in the information.”

  “It’s actually very effective,” Edmondson assured him. “What about the list here, in blue?”

  “That’s our theoretical evaluation criteria for the next step, I guess. I took the main ideas from your original profiling briefing to create the bullet points. We can take the people who’ve come up in the investigation and weigh them against the list.”

  “That shouldn’t take too long. We don’t seem to be turning up many suspects,” Garfield grumbled in between bites.

  “It is a pretty short list,” Toby acknowledged. “I thought we could also use it to, you know, brainstorm.”

  “What do you mean?” Edmondson asked.

  “Well, I thought it’d be useful to try and build an expanded set of scenarios around the case. A lot of them will probably turn out to be useless, but going through the process might lead one of us to think about some other place to look or provide an alternative view of the situation.” When neither Edmondson nor Garfield responded, Toby wilted. “I know it sounds silly.”

  “No, it doesn’t. In fact, this is a similar approach to one used by the analysts back in the regional office.”

  Edmondson’s words had a positive effect, and Toby stood a little straighter. “Really?”

  “He’s right,” Garfield told him. “To be fair, sometimes they come up with some pretty kooky theories. The scary thing is, some of those turn out to be right on the money, give or take a few details.” She eyed the boxes on the table. “Hey, anyone want the last piece of sausage pizza?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but adjusted her snatch and grab approach to a slow slide, just in case someone decided to speak up. Once the slice was safely on her plate, she considered the board for a moment. “I say it’s worth a shot. Can’t hurt.”

  Everyone agreed, and Melba offered to make notes on the board while Toby facilitated.

  “I’ll read the name, and we decide if it fits the profile of victim, evil mastermind, or neither.”

  No one objected, so he read the first name off the list. “Lucy Escabar.”

  All agreed she fit the victim profile, so Melba changed her name from yellow to green.

  “Maria Escabar, Lucy’s mother.”

  “Why do you have her name on the list, Toby?”

  Melba didn’t wait for him to explain. “I actually made the list, not Toby. I thought it best to include everyone who we’ve come into contact with, present company excluded. I know some of them are farfetched, but I’ve been involved in plenty of cases where the last person you suspect ends up being the bad guy.”

  “That’s a sound approach,” Edmondson agreed. “Anyone have thoughts about Maria Escabar?”

  “She doesn’t fit the profile,” Garfield offered between chews.

  “Anyone disagree?” Melba asked, marker poised to record the group decision. No one did.

  “Jessica Fields is next,” Toby informed them.

  Everyone agreed she fit the victim profile, although Garfield hesitated. “Okay, this is going to sound weird, but given there’s some question about who the dead man is and we’re brainstorming, does anyone think it’s possible Nathan and his daughter could have worked together to lure victims into a dangerous situation?” She shrugged off the three sets of incredulous eyes and finished off the last bite of her pizza. “Come on! Think about it. We don’t really know where she or her father are now, although we suspect she’s missing and he might be dead. What if they’re hiding out somewhere?” She wiped the grease off her fingers and walked up to the board, tapping the box containing Lucy’s name. “They were friends, right?”

  “Yes,” Toby confirmed. “Ms. Laramie said they’d been close ever since Jessica transferred in.”

  “I forgot about that part,” Garfield commented. “When did Jessica transfer to this school?”

  “Hang on a second while I check.” Toby flipped through his notes, turning back to the pages he’d filled while interviewing Lucy’s teacher. “All she said was it was several weeks ago.”

  “Do you know where she transferred from, or why she transferred?”

  “Well, Ms. Laramie said Jessica’s dad wanted her to attend a school with a better scholastic program. I’m not sure what school she attended before this one. Why is that important?”

  “It might be interesting to know if any other little girls turned up missing from her previous school.”

  “You’re serious,” Toby realized. “You really think that’s a possibility.”

  “Can’t hurt to check,” Garfield answered.

  “I’ll call and see what I can find out in the morning,” Toby assured her. “I feel kind of stupid for not thinking of it myself.”

  “Nobody thought of it until just now, Toby. Looks like this wild-ass guessing game might have benefit after all. All this time, I thought the geeks back in the office were just yanking our chains with all of their role playing and theory development. Guess not.”

  “Who’s next on the list?” Melba asked.

  “Grokov.”

  “This should be fun,” Garfield chuckled.


  Edmondson considered for a moment, then shook his head. “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “Why? He seems pretty shady to me.”

  “He is plenty shady, Toby. But even with his questionable ties to organized crime in his early days, and some possibly unsavory business practices, our analyst think he’s actually a pretty stable individual. He has a big ego, as do many successful businessmen, but he doesn’t exhibit any of the other behaviors on the profile list.”

  “He seems to be controlling and quick to react,” Toby argued. “That was clear the night of the party. I think he went out of his way to upset Madame Zhou.”

  “Perhaps, but from what you both described, his behavior was malicious, nothing more.”

  Melba nodded after evaluating his words. “I agree. Although, I wish I knew what he said to Zhou Li.”

  “Any chance she might share?” Garfield asked.

  “Probably not,” Melba replied automatically. “But if she knew Grokov might be tangled up in this somehow, she might.” She looked at the board and sighed. “I guess it’s worth a try. I’ll see what I can get out of her in the morning.”

  “How about his sister?” Toby asked. “She’s next on the list.”

  “I don’t like Jocasta Anthony,” Melba admitted. “She was getting too much enjoyment out of the situation that night. She also has an odd relationship with her children.” She went through the profile list and reluctantly shook her head. “She doesn’t fit, but I reserve the right to change my mind.”

  “Jill Anthony?” Toby asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” she answered. “But Jake is an entirely different story.” She consulted the list and ticked the items off. “Huge ego and obviously requires a lot of positive reinforcement; entitled; reacts badly to criticism, but can be charming when he wants; cossetted by his mother—excessively so in my opinion, plus they have some kind of weird Oedipal vibe going; resentful of his current situation as a has-been; and playacting is kind of a given. To top it all off, he has a history of involvement with underage females.”

  “What?” Edmondson asked sharply. “This is the first I’ve heard of that.”

  “I thought we mentioned it when we told you about our research on Grokov,” Melba replied. “We did some background digging on the whole family, as a sort of…practice exercise.”

  “I don’t think you went into that kind of detail,” Edmondson responded, plainly irritated. “I’m sure I would have noticed something like that.”

  Garfield shot him an impatient look. “Simmer down, boy. There’s no reason to start bristling like a junkyard dog.” She turned to Melba. “Maybe you could lay it out for us again. From the top.”

  Melba hesitated, knowing her answer would probably sound like complete nonsense. She glanced across the table and caught Toby’s encouraging smile. Deciding she might as well dive in, she picked up Jake’s file and opened it. Slowly and methodically, she walked them through all of the information. When she finished, she looked up at the list. “One more thing. He has weird eating habits. He doesn’t like any of his food mixed. According to his sister, he even picks apart salads and arranges everything so all the tomatoes are with the other tomatoes, and carrots with carrots. You get the picture. That’s pretty odd.”

  “So…” Edmondson leaned back in his chair. “Jake Anthony fits too many of the criteria to ignore. Add in his disturbing taste in sexual partners and he comes pretty close to being the ideal suspect. Maybe too close, but mark him green anyway.” He considered all the facts for a few minutes more and nodded toward his partner. “Garfield, get the team to prepare a more in-depth file on Jake Anthony and have the analysts give us their view. Then, arrange for a couple of additional agents to join us here, as soon as possible. We’re going to need the extra manpower.”

  “Why didn’t you bring them to start with?” Toby asked.

  “Time and money, is the short answer. Our plate is overfull right now across the region, and there wasn’t any point in pulling agents away until we had something more concrete to work with. Given we had both Mitchell and Thorton, and then brought on both of you, we were in pretty good shape for the initial stages of the investigation. But with Chief Kelly’s recent behavior and Thorton’s loose lips, we’re shorthanded again and there isn’t any local back-up I can trust. To prove or disprove anything about Jake Anthony, I need more feet on the ground.”

  “Don’t forget about Grokov,” Garfield cautioned. “If his nephew is involved in this, you can bet he’s at least aware of it. Plus, he has an entire network of trucks and shipping containers at his disposal. It’s perfect when you think about it.”

  “Almost too perfect,” Edmondson said softly. He sat in his chair, gazing at the board. He stood and walked to the back of the room, looking at the whole picture. “Melba, erase all of the red lines and boxes, please.”

  She cleaned all the red off the board and stepped to the back of the room next to Edmondson to gain the perspective of distance.

  Green lines and boxes, with a few areas of yellow, coalesced into a pattern.

  Toby and Garfield moved from the table and joined them.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Garfield exclaimed. “Isn’t that something?”

  Toby understood exactly what she meant. Green lines led from Lucy, to Jessica, through Nathan Fields to Gro-Transport. Another set of lines led back to Jake Anthony, linked by Gro-Transport and his uncle.

  “When you talk to Atlanta,” Edmondson broke the silence. “Ask for a total of three teams. I want them on the ground within forty-eight hours—sooner, if possible. We’re going to stick to Grokov and Jake Anthony until we either come-up with enough to justify a warrant, or enough to conclusively decide we’re just spinning our wheels.”

  “Got it,” Garfield confirmed, moving back to the table.

  Edmondson followed and began to gather his notes.

  Toby turned toward Melba. “What are you thinking? You only ever get that look when you’re bothered about something.”

  She shifted her gaze from the whiteboards and rubbed at the crease forming between her brows. “We’re missing something. I don’t know what, but something we talked about just now is trying to make a connection. I just wish it’d hurry up and snap into place.”

  “It will, sooner or later.”

  “Sooner would be best.”

  He nodded his agreement, which only deepened her worry.

  ***

  Once everyone left, Toby put the leftover pizza into the refrigerator and stacked up the empty boxes, before shoving them into a black plastic garbage bag and carrying it out to the trash in the alley.

  He tidied the files on the conference table, grabbed his phone and his keys, turned off the lights and headed out the front door. There were a few cars parked in front of Green Dragon and the lights of the martial arts studio were on. He stopped and looked in the window, watching the bodies move through a variety of stances. Jon walked among his students, making adjustments to the placement of an arm or leg. As he moved back to the front of the room, his eyes settled on Toby.

  Toby raised his brows in question, and Jon regretfully shook his head. The last class wasn’t over until ten, and given the events of the last few days, Jon would just head upstairs to his own apartment as soon as his last student left for the night. Toby shrugged and smiled, signaling he understood, before offering a little wave and continuing to on to the stairwell leading up to his apartment.

  He started up the stairs, thinking about the day. His brainstorming idea had worked and as a result, they had a new course of action laid out. He was still bothered by the thought of the unknown, unverified body in the morgue, though. Lindsi was sure the man wasn’t Nathan Fields, but they’d have to check anyway. There had to be some connection to the transport company. Halfway up the stairs, he had an idea.

  After checking the time, he reversed course and hurried back down the stairs. He jogged past the studio and the entrance to Green Dragon, headed for the small p
arking lot. He hit his key fob, unlocking the doors to his car and causing the lights to flash. He opened the door, slipped into the seat and buckled up. After a quick search via the internet, he punched in the directions to Gro-Transport into his phone, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Twenty-five minutes later, the voice guidance system announced he was at his destination. It was a pretty sketchy part of town, and he’d never had any reason to be in this area. Double-checking to make sure it was the right place, he sighed in relief when he saw the small sign mounted on the chain link fence encircling the property. Driving on past the complex, he turned down a deserted side street and parked a few blocks away before getting out of the car and giving the area a wary once-over. After locking the car, he started walking.

  He slowed his pace when he came within half a block of the fence and stood in the shadows for a few minutes, carefully checking the entry gate and the surrounding area. Satisfied with his initial reconnaissance, he cautiously approached the fence. Thankfully, it lacked the typical razor wire on top that was common in some parts of the city—especially those parts with unwelcoming attitudes toward uninvited nighttime visitors. Walking quickly, he walked the perimeter, keeping his eyes and ears open.

  Just inside the fence was a flat expanse of parking lot. A small metal building was situated to the right of the property, most likely an office of some sort. About a hundred feet away was a long, thin building that appeared to be a warehouse, with several loading bays. A dozen trucks were backed into the bays, but all the metal loading doors were closed.

  A few additional trucks were parked off to one side—some loaded with cargo containers, and others consisting only of the front part of the rig. There were a couple of forklifts parked close to the trucks and stacked nearby were a number of metal containers which reminded him of train cars.

  The parking area was dark except for a single street lamp illuminating the area closest to the small office. He continued to make his way along the fence until he reached the back edge of the property.