by Sydney Addae
Winters were always great around the complex. Kenny always kept the pool area snow-free while the rest of the vast landscape was blanketed in freezing snow. They would run and jump into the warm pool as if it was a nice summer day or play in the snow making snow angels. Like so many of the others who left the Liege with them, Kenny was dead. She pushed away from the lingering memories and stepped aside to allow an older woman pushing a cart pass.
Hustling down the sidewalk, she reached her destination and slipped inside. Odors of unwashed bodies and urine scented the air of the Littleton Police Station. It was a small compact place with two armless, plastic chairs in the waiting area, and a receptionist seated behind thick Plexiglas as if someone would break into the police station.
“I’d like to speak with Detective Gordon, please.” She flashed her Special Agent badge knowing the woman would see what she wanted or needed to see.
“He’s not in yet, should be any minute, please take a seat.”
Mia scanned the room and was grateful there weren’t many people in the building. She settled into the plastic chair and tried to get comfortable, which proved to be an impossible quest. Standing, she read every poster, flipped through the four magazines provided, and walked slowly around the room twice and was beginning a third when the door opened.
Gordon walked through the front door, growled a greeting to the receptionist. The receptionist buzzed him through. He walked without looking around and headed to the back.
Mia glanced at the clock and took a deep breath to calm down over the fact she had waited slightly over 30 minutes. Did things really move that much slower in Texas? She stared at the receptionist for a few seconds and then took a deep breath. The receptionist called her name.
“How can I help you?” the receptionist asked her.
Yes! Moving closer to stand in front of the woman, Mia said. “Let me in to see Detective Gordon,” she added a slight bit of compulsion to her voice.
“Of course. Straight back, the last office on the right.” She pressed a button; a buzzer went off as the door unlocked.
Pleased, Mia walked in. The back area was smaller than she expected given the size of Littleton and it’s growing population. With seven average-length steps, she stood outside the door watching the Detective a few moments before tapping on the door.
Frank Gordon sat stiffly in his chair staring at the monitor as if it was the Holy Grail. The huge, mahogany desk and chair sucked up most of the space in the match-boxed size room. There were no additional chairs, file cabinet or equipment. Too minimized for her tastes.
His gun-metal eyes flicked over her and returned to the screen as if she was a mirage, or invisible. She could’ve spoken, interrupted him, showed off her badge or slammed his head into the desk, but instead decided to be courteous and wait. Thomas would be proud of her restraint.
When he deigned to speak, she heard the military in his voice and bit back a curse. Those guys were the worst in these positions. They tended to extend their tour of duty to civilian life while nursing a grudge over the way Vets were treated by the government.
“You’re with the Feds?” He glanced at her and continued typing.
“Special Agent Mia Haddon. I’m interested in one of your cases and —”
“No.”
She blinked and counted to ten. You will not make me angry. You will not make me angry, she repeated mentally over and over.
“No, I’m not going to work with you. I’ll share the toxicology report and anything like that, but we won’t be working together if that’s what you had in mind.”
Calming, she spoke. “I appreciate any information you share with me.” She did not offer to share her information with him, he was indeed an asshole.
He waved and handed her a sheaf of papers. “Got your message yesterday. Printed them off for you to take with you.”
That was no subtle hint. He wanted her gone. It took everything within her to remain polite, civil. She toyed with the idea of delving into his private, personal space and wrecking his day. Or maybe she’d touch the monitor he seemed so fond of and fry it with a nice energy pulse.
Mia handed him her card in silence and debated whether or not to search his computer for additional information. He wouldn’t have much more than what was on the pages he gave her.
He stared at it for several moments before looking at her. “The FBI? Here? For what?”
Didn’t he ask if she was with the Feds? Who did he think she was with? “We’re interested in this case, the murder of Nathaniel Green.” Did he know more about this case or was he simply an ass?
His frown deepened. “Really? It’s a strange case, but I don’t see why it would interest the FBI. Could you explain a little more?”
“No. I’m sorry I cannot.” She pointed to another paper on his desk. “Have you heard from the lab?” She planned to examine the van and Mr. Green’s home before lunch.
“Yes.” He pursed his lips and met her gaze. “What do you want?”
“I need access to the crime scene and the lab report.” She tipped her chin toward the paper.
He rubbed his chin and stared at her card. “Let me verify this and then we’ll see.” He stood, and she was surprised by how tall he was. She looked up at him as he walked to his office door and closed it in her face.
Stepping back, did a quick sweep of the office, searching for hidden cameras or other electronics that would document her time here.
No cameras and little else. She listened to him speak to the person the General set in place to handle this case. When he disconnected she sensed his bafflement. No matter how much he didn’t want her there, he wouldn’t go against the agency.
The door opened behind her.
Mia took her time turning to face him. “What do you know about Nathaniel Green?” She asked adding compulsion to her voice.
“Nathaniel Green. Cripple. Stoned to death. Before that he worked in the library. Never met him. Never talked to him.” The Detective’s hollow gaze stared down at her.
She released him. The color returned to his eyes.
“You check out. Here’s the address of the victim’s house. Crime lab’s there don’t get in their way,” he said grabbing his phone and stuffing it into his pocket. He closed the door behind him as he walked away.
“Thanks.” She turned and walked behind him as his long strides reached the door before her.
“Give me your email address, I’ll send the notes I have so far.”
So, he had been holding out information on her. Good thing she used the compulsion on him, otherwise he would never have admitted that.
He pushed open the outer door and stopped. “Normally I’d tell you to take a fucking leap, don’t like you guys coming around. But what happened to that guy, a cripple, is disgusting. That crosses a line and anything you can do to help bring Nathaniel justice I’d appreciate it.”
Bring justice? How many times did she hear a detective phrase it like that? Too few. Most were about closing record numbers of cases or seeing their name in the news. Few really cared about justice for the dead. That one comment redeemed him in her eyes.
“Will do. Can you send me the information where the van is? Since he was found dead in the van, I prefer to see it first,” she said in a pleasant voice that would make Thomas proud.
“It’s around the corner. We use Jake’s towing to store cars until someone comes to pick it up. Can’t miss it.” He pointed as if that meant something to her.
After a quick map search for the towing company, she pulled out of the parking lot and following directions entered through a gate into the compound. She found an attendant who showed her the van.
Pulling on a pair of gloves from her work pouch, she opened the back of the van. Staring at the carpet, she took note and pictures of the blood stains. Lack of blood meant he’d been dead before they tossed him into the back. She ran her hand over the carpet fibers hoping to pick up residual emotions.
Nothing.
Silently she moved to the area behind the driver, searched and found nothing. Nothing in the passenger seat area either. Clean as a whistle. Thomas believed it was more than one person and she had to agree with him. Six stonings, in six states. The only thing the victims had in common was some type of disability.
When she finished, she sent the photos to Thomas and returned to her car. She plugged the victim’s address into her phone’s GPS and headed out of town. Within 20 minutes she pulled in front of a nice one-story home in an upscale neighborhood with sidewalks and a large nearby park. The yellow police do not enter, tape stretched across the porch.
The sound of a truck engine caught her attention. A heavy-duty silver truck with a 4-door crew cab and short bed stopped a few feet from the curb. The driver wore sunglasses and stared at the house for a few seconds before nodding at her.
“Mornin’,” he said in a smoky voice with a bit of southern charm.
“Good morning.” Normally Mia ignored nosy neighbors and proceeded to gather information, but something about the way this man looked at the house sent tingles down her spine, she never ignored those. Somehow he was important to the case.
“Did you know Mr. Green?” Curious, she took a few steps toward the truck.
He looked in her direction for several moments. He took so long, she wondered if he would answer. “No. I... I was the one who called 9-1-1. The lady he worked with was crying and screaming too hard to call it in. She flagged me down.” His gaze was drawn back to the house.
“Your name?”
“Noah Sloan.”
“Had you seen him before?”
“No. Never saw him before. Didn’t deserve what they did to him.”
“Why do you think it was more than one person?” She watched him closely. Half of his face was shadowed by the interior of the cab, but she made out the stubble on his square jaw, firm lips and sharp nose. So far he had been truthful even if not forthcoming. She frowned at the null or blank spot she sensed in him. He was hiding something, his emotions for one and possibly something else. Rarely did she meet anyone whose emotions she couldn’t read. Interesting.
“Could’ve been one but it’s doubtful that one person could’ve broken all the bones in his body like that. He was a big guy.” Noah shrugged. “I could be wrong.” The way he said that reminded her of Thomas who would make that statement when he wanted someone to think he was humble, but really believed he was right.
She asked him a few more general questions which he answered in monosyllables. “What made you come through this area instead of going home your normal route?” she asked adding compulsion when he mentioned the detour.
His head turned toward her and she had the feeling of being sized up by a large predator which made no sense. Thomas, Tip, and Max, guys in her family, were all big men who took few prisoners. But for all her gifts and with a powerful group backing her, she felt vulnerable beneath his gaze.
“No real reason, other than wanting to get home,” he said after a long period.
Doubtful the compulsion worked, she wanted to end their conversation without coming across as afraid of him or weak. Straightening her back, she nodded, pulled out a card and handed it to him. “If you think of anything else, please contact me.”
“Why is the FBI looking into this?” he asked in that slow voice that she would never forget.
“I’m sorry I can’t go into that.” Turning, she walked at a nice pace toward the porch, flashed her badge to the police officer and entered the victim’s home.
Despite telling herself to get a grip, and to focus on the job, she continued thinking of the cowboy in the pickup truck. Why hadn’t she been able to read him?
CHAPTER 6
TIRED, MIA RETURNED to her room around six that evening. She had spent the balance of the day in the library interviewing Nathaniel’s co-workers who were heartbroken and moved to the point of tears over his death. Lisa Murphy, the manager, hadn’t come into work but talked to Mia at her home. The woman’s grief had been difficult to bear.
Mia called Thomas, told him what she discovered so far.
“This isn’t good. The killer hasn’t broken his pattern and is still operating in an organized manner. How the hell can someone go across the country stoning people to death without leaving clues to his or their identity? There’s something we’re missing.”
Mia agreed. “There’s been no demand for recognition or a calling card to rub his success in the police’s faces. We’re dealing with a different type of criminal. One with controlled anger issues. There are faster easier ways to kill without drawing attention,” she said.”
“When I researched stonings, I found a few in the middle east, mostly women, adultery that kind of thing. Nothing here in the States. Why start now? What triggered this kind of attack? It comes across personal but none of the Vic's have anything in common other than a type of disability.”
“True.” She covered her mouth and yawned. Sleep called and she would answer it soon.
“People stoned each other during Biblical days too, several passages in the Book regarding stonings,” he said. “We may be dealing with a religious nut.”
That pronouncement woke her. She hadn’t thought of that and groaned. “No, not again. We said we wouldn’t handle those types of cases anymore. Not after the preacher talked those people into killing themselves before we got there. We’re not equipped to deal with the emotional fallout. I couldn’t sleep through the night for months.”
“It’s just a guess, should’ve thought of it when the General mentioned stoning, but —”
“We were too excited to get the Liege files.” She sighed. “We would’ve still taken the job even if we’d known.”
“Yes, but I would’ve added a few conditions for our protection. We’ll come up with something to limit your exposure,” he said. “What did you think of Noah Sloan?”
It took a second to follow the abrupt change in the conversation. “Rugged. Handsome. Dark.”
Thomas snorted. “Is that all?”
“After he explained finding the body and calling the police, he didn’t say much. I got the impression the whole thing bothered him, he kept staring at the house without saying anything. Plus I couldn’t read him.”
“What?”
“I tried and got nothing.” Sometimes that happened, so she shouldn’t make more out of it than it truly was. But he registered on her radar as a man, a person of personal interest and that was unusual.
“Yeah? Hmm. I’m sending you his bio. Former military, honorable discharge nine months ago, disabled vet, PTSD which could explain the null, excellent record, lots of honors. After what he’s seen during 21 years of service including several tours in the Middle East, it’s hard to believe seeing a battered body shook him,” Thomas said.
“Maybe that’s why it did bother him. During the war, you expect to see stuff and aren’t surprised. Seeing it when you come home... that’s different. Especially in a nice neighborhood and the guy was in a wheelchair.” She paused. “The wheelchair was missing.”
“What?”
“I checked the van and his house. At the library, they said he used a motorized wheelchair. It wasn’t in the van or his home,” she said glancing at the notes on her tablet.
“I’ll run a check to see if he had a GPS tracking device on the chair. A lot of people use the tracking devices on the more expensive, motorized chairs.”
“It would be a huge break if he did,” she said afraid to believe the killer would’ve made that mistake. This was the second wheelchair victim. The first was found in his chair but it wasn’t motorized.
“What do you want me to do now? How long should I remain here? I’m out of leads.” She stretched and yawned.
“I’m going to chec
k a few things from here. Check with the Detective tomorrow, see if he has any more information and then verify. We may find something. Not returning the wheelchair is a departure, maybe there’s more,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Tip is in Iowa where the last stoning took place. It’s a long shot but he may sense something the Feds missed. He’ll be to you tomorrow afternoon to go over the house and van, we’ll decide the next step after that.”
One of Tips abilities included a higher than normal scenting ability similar to a bear. He smelled things other people missed which helped close a lot of their past cases.
“That’s good. Hopefully, we’ll get a break and finish this one sooner than later.”
“Is something going on? Did you learn something from the genealogy companies?” Thomas asked.
Everyone knew she had been searching for clues of her child for decades and tried to help when they could. “Not yet. It’s getting harder to stay positive. I wish I could give up the search, but I can’t. My heart and mind won’t let me.”
“Then keep searching, you’ll find answers,” he encouraged.
She wanted to ask for some sort of guarantee but knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. “Thanks. I need fuel. Carbs and protein.”
“Eat. You know the rules.” His voice changed from pity to downright bossy which she preferred.
“As soon as we’re done, I’ve got my food here.” She inhaled the takeout of chicken, rice, and sliced chocolate cake.
“Good. Talk to you tomorrow.” He disconnected.
Mia sat at the table in the small room and ate. Her mind split between her quest to find the child taken from her on the delivery table and the elusive murderer who stoned the disabled to death.
Evil men did evil deeds for crazy reasons.
When she finished dinner, she set aside thoughts of her lost child. Time to focus on the case. Sitting on the floor in a lotus position, she took several deep calming breaths to center her mind and body.
Snapshots of Nathaniel Green’s broken body appeared in her mind, on a slow slider. Inch by inch she reviewed his body. Marks on his arms. They secured him, stretched him out. Standing or on the ground? His smashed face, skull, chest, everything. Guy never had a chance.
