Drexel rubbed his jaw and shook his head. “Nothing here that seems to link him to those crimes.”
“The boat?”
“Yeah, though if he’s got a boat, why not dump his victims in the lake?” He pursed his lips. “The statement. Not as much coverage if they float up a few weeks later on the shore or never.”
“He could have been killing for years and only now started making them public.”
A thin, dirt trail led from the back of the cabin’s mudroom to the boat dock. The trees thickened again along the trail. Many of them were showing nubs of green that would soon burst into leaves. The forest floor was covered by last autumn’s fallen leaves, though tall grasses and weeds were striving to gather in the sun before the shade of fully blossomed trees arrived.
They heard the river before they saw it. Only about fifteen feet wide, Pike River was deep enough to launch boats. If the river ran low, owners could always load up their boats and use the public ramps along the lakeshore. A boat trailer sat to the side of the trail with tufts of tall grass growing around and between every visible non-metal or rubber structure. A boathouse with a metal roof rose up from the water on six-by-six wood pylons. A covered boat sat in the cradle lift. Drexel knew nothing about boats, but it looked like what he imagined a fishing boat would look like—small though. Not what you would see on Lake Michigan. A light tan canvas covered the top.
Daniela walked on the wooden frame along the length of the boat, running her palm along the maroon strip of color. “I bet he uses this to fish the river or the lake. That and get him to the dock where a bigger boat is at. Presuming he goes out on the big lake.” She lifted up the canvas edge and peered in. Unable to see anything, she pulled out a small flashlight and shined it in. “Can’t see much. Pull off the top?”
He shook his head. “We can’t plausibly say we had probable cause for that.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he looked out at the river running by and imagined its path in a southerly direction as it made its way to Lake Michigan. The rain shifted from misty fog to light but consistent drops. He looked back toward the cabin and spotted it. “There.” He pointed to a small building, made from the same materials as the cabin. It blended in with the surrounding trees and woods because ivy had grown thick on its top and sides.
They walked through wet leaves toward it. About a quarter of the size of the cabin, Drexel’s first instinct was that it was a shed for storing fishing rods, tackle, life vests, and such. Daniela gripped the door handle and turned. It opened and she shined her light in. Not a rod or vest in sight. Instead, a blue plastic bucket with a large blade and handle knife and a gray duct tape roll on the floor beneath a small table jutting from the wall. On the table, a portable circular saw, a gray metal bucket with a large dry sponge in it, and a large car battery. A chair sat in the middle of the floor, beneath a metal beam added to the structure. To most people, that particular collection of items might have struck them as odd. Tools necessary to keep the boat running, do minor repairs on the cabin, and whatnot. But the chair in the center. The battery on the table. It looked like a cliché torture scene. And he realized the building was what it seemed. “Fuck. This is a torture room.”
Daniela nodded her head. “Time for some forensics guys?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t want this to be challenged at all. Let’s get back to the station and loop in the captain. We’ll get a warrant and then come back here to search inside. We can say we were here, but that’s it.”
She nodded. She pointed to spots beneath the chair.
He said, “Blood.” It had soaked into the wood, become like a stain.
Chapter 24
They returned to Chicago in silence except for the radio playing Daniela’s “Work” playlist, songs by Halsey, Eminem, and Franz Ferdinand but also reaching back several decades to include the Dolls and Led Zeppelin. The storm increased in intensity as they closed in on the city. Through a twenty-minute stretch, the Fiat did not exceed thirty miles per hour as the wiper blades fought a losing battle to the torrents of rain. But she did not stop, passing by cars whose drivers chose the more cautious path by pausing on the shoulder. As they entered the northernmost suburbs of the city, they broke through the worst of it. Drexel noticed Daniela’s white-knuckled grip on the wheel relax.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“Huh?” She glanced at him before returning her focus to the road. Streams of cars left the city as the workday’s end spewed out commuters.
“So what do you think about what we found there?”
“Not good for Benoit. Not good at all.” She cocked her head to the right, stretching her neck. “But why risk hauling these people you kidnap all the way up there, kill them, and then drive their bodies back and set them up in abandoned buildings in the city?”
He rubbed his cheek and rested his arm on the elbow rest of the car. He was wondering the same thing himself. Setting aside possible motivations, if what they found in Wisconsin tied Benoit to the murders and dismemberment of four bodies, why use such a roundabout way. Sure the shed was remote and he could work undisturbed, but options for that existed as well in Chicago. Was it the execution site? “A couple of things bother me. First,” he held up his right thumb, “we didn’t find anything close to resembling gym pads or that kind of thing. Maybe he tossed them or something, but we know one of the victims clawed at something like that. Second,” he held up his right index finger, “where’s the big freezer he needs to store the bodies? They may be cut up, but he had four bodies to store. I didn’t see anything like that in the cabin, boathouse, or shed. And that seems a lot harder to dispose of than gym pads.”
“So, let’s see what evidence we can find and work from there?”
He nodded.
They arrived at the station and walked up the stairs to their floor. Darrell and Natalie sat facing each other but listening to the anger fulminating from Sobieski. Victor’s office door was closed, but the commander’s voice carried easily into the squad room. Newgate shook his head and Connor dunked her tea bag in her World’s Greatest Mom mug.
Drexel could only hazard a guess that the investigation into Benoit must have leaked. Sobieski looked out to the squad room through the glass portal window and spotted Drexel. He walked over to Victor’s door and opened it. “Get the fuck in here.”
Drexel veered toward the door but held up his hand for Daniela to stay behind, hoping Sobieski would not see the gesture, which he apparently did not because he turned without a word and walked back deeper into Victor’s office. Drexel pulled off his tan flat cap and entered. Sobieski motioned for Drexel to close the door, which he obeyed. Victor made a face alerting him to just take whatever was coming.
Sobieski stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back in a stance Drexel thought was intentional versus natural. Carl’s breathing fogged the glass on the outside of which streams of water channeled down. “Was I not fucking clear?”
Drexel waited to see if Sobieski would continue and when it was clear the commander was awaiting a prompt, he said, “Clear about what sir?”
“I did not—shit—Jesus fucking Christ—I did not want our investigation of Detective Cadenat going beyond you, me, Victor, and your goddamned sidekick. Yet, this afternoon, I get a call from Commander Stokely of MPU. We’re investigating one of his detectives, would I care to explain? Why wasn’t IA doing it? Who the fuck do you think you are? That’s followed by Commander Jacobson of IA asking me why I didn’t go to her to investigate a detective because that’s like fucking protocol. But it gets worse. It gets fucking worse Pierce. Do you know how?” Sobieski turned, hands still clasped behind his back, his overly moussed hair losing its hold after a long day. He looked at Drexel and stared hard at him. “It gets fucking worse when the superintendent calls you and says you’ve screwed up.”
Drexel nodded and held back reminding the commander that it
was his idea to not bring in IA. He knew better. The issue was not that Sobieski violated protocol but that the detective had somehow messed up and the other departments found out: the commander’s reputation was at stake and not the errors in his judgment. A trait Drexel had seen dozens of times from Sobieski but was nonetheless still shocking to see in practice.
The commander grabbed a ceramic pen and pencil holder, painted by Victor’s daughter years ago, from the desk and threw it at the wall behind Drexel where it shattered.
Victor stood up as Sobieski turned to face him. “Get out. You want to smash shit, you do it someplace else.”
Drexel sidestepped toward Victor’s desk as Sobieski stomped by. The commander paused, though, and turned back to Drexel. “You’re off the case until I say so. Fucking incompetent.” He was out the door.
Doggett, who had been standing just outside, poked his head in. “Things okay cap?”
Victor bit his lip and nodded.
Doggett looked at Drexel and nodded. “‘Incompetent’ is a big word for the commander.” He smiled and walked out.
Drexel chuckled, which was followed by a laugh from Victor. They picked up the pieces of the holder and dropped them in the trash. Victor asked, “So what did you find out about Benoit?”
“Something’s going on.” He told Victor what they had found. Daniela entered a few minutes into the discussion and sat in the chair beside Drexel.
Victor looked at her. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure he’s Simon,” she said. “But he’s up to no good somehow. I think we get our warrants, and we deal with the place.”
“How’d MPU find out we were investigating him?” asked Drexel.
The captain shrugged. “I think it was the ex. You talked to her, right?”
Drexel nodded. “We need to get some Wisconsin patrol officers guarding the shed until the warrants are cleared, and we can get a forensic team up there. Benoit probably knows we’re investigating if MPU knows. He might head up there and remove the evidence.”
Victor picked up the phone and called the Wisconsin State Police. “Yeah, I’d like to talk to Commander Wilson.” He held his palm over the phone. “Met him a couple of years ago. Good guy. He’ll help us out. You two write up the warrants and get them submitted.”
Drexel shrugged with his chin toward the ghost of Sobieski. “And the fact that I’m off this case?”
“Fuck him. I’m your boss. You’re on this case.”
After they left the office, Drexel prepared the warrant, which needed to be filed in the jurisdiction of the property—an easy enough task in the modern era. Only one issue loomed as he powered up his computer: Drexel and Victor knew Chicago’s judges and the prosecutors, which meant they could expedite the approval process, something a judge in another jurisdiction, another state, may not bother with.
While he fretted over the speed of the Wisconsin judge reviewing the warrant, Daniela jumped on her computer to begin searching for abandoned schools, gyms, and other locations where gym mats or crash mats might be still around. She mumbled about having to find a way to refine the results that Drexel acknowledged briefly before opening the search warrant form on his computer.
He clicked submit about an hour later. Daniela, caught in the blue luminescence from the screen, was engrossed in her search, so he ordered delivery from Amber Indian Restaurant, which delivered about thirty minutes later a container of chicken biryani for him and chicken tikka masala for her along with a pile of naan. He set the white Styrofoam box beside her with some naan on a paper towel swiped from the kitchenette. She looked up, grabbed her food, and walked back to the conference room. Drexel followed.
* * *
Doggett knocked on the doorjamb and charged in, shaking his head. “That guy ain’t got no right to talk to detectives that way.”
“We’ll survive.” Drexel waved his hand. “You know how he is.”
The older detective shook his head. “Anyway, I talked to that Kevin Blair fellow.” He described a similar meeting with Stephanie—the housekeeper—who seemed to be delaying. However, the detective got himself inside and sitting with Kevin in a small dining room area. “He’s a real piece of work, let me tell you. Definitely he and that girl are running a con. I talked to him, but she kept interrupting, and I’m sure she was listening in as best she could when she wasn’t interrupting. But the old lady alibis Kevin and partially alibis the girl. And, shit, as much as I think he’s a piece of shit, he didn’t kill anyone. He’s just robbing them blind.” He tapped his chin with his knuckle. “But—”
“You don’t think Mrs. Darlington is fooled though?”
Doggett winked. “I’ll tell the guys in property crimes about this couple.” He turned and walked to the door, where he paused and turned around. “But I’m guessing after you and me showing up, they won’t be around too much longer.” He tapped the door and disappeared back into the squad room.
Drexel and Daniela returned to their tasks. He poured over the crime scene photos, notes, and interviews, hoping to gain fresh insight. Daniela continued the search for possible locations in the Chicago area where gym mats were used. Isolated, abandoned places. Buildings not noted on existing police reports as known drug dens. After two hours, she yawned and slumped back in her chair. “We’ve got about a dozen possible locations that aren’t being currently used where gym mats might be. A few schools shuttered by the mayor in the consolidation two years ago.”
Drexel nodded. It had been a contentious time between teachers, parents, and the mayor. Even the school superintendent appointed by the mayor was rumored to have disagreed with the decision to close low-performing schools. The consolidation cut across race and class. Not even the Occupy movement had created such a protest in the Windy City. The mayor had prevailed if for no other reason but sheer determination and using all her power over the council. Any number of schools were now shells.
“A few gyms and a YMCA as well. I know there are more, but I either have a thousand possibilities or this dozen. Nothing in-between.” She stood up and walked into the conference room. Drexel followed and watched her pin a map of Chicago on the board. She used a black marker to indicate the locations of the possible sites. He added red marks for the crime scenes.
“A dozen means we can check them all.” He tapped the three nearest where Brittany lived. “Might as well start there, eh? We can start tomorrow morning. Fresh from a night of surveillance.”
“Sure.” She pursed her lips and then poofed them out and pulled them back. “So tell me, what’s Carl got against you?”
Drexel looked over without raising his head. Sobieski had Ryan on him and had threatened to use that chip. When Ryan spent time in the state prison and came out, he had been convicted of intent to distribute a small amount of heroin. It was a bullshit charge. His brother was going to use the heroin for himself, but he had just enough that a cop or prosecutor could twist it either way. In the end, it was good for Ryan—got him sober at least. But Sobieski had learned of a murder a few nights before that Ryan’s dealer had committed. The commander had claimed he had the evidence on Ryan to convict him of that as well. It was a threat that Drexel took seriously not because he believed his brother killed someone but because he knew how easy it was to fabricate evidence enough for a jury. “Long story. History. And some family.” He looked back down at the computer screen. Some day he may just have to call Sobieski on it and see if it was a bluff. “Come on, we need to relieve the officers watching Marshall.”
* * *
When they arrived, Marshall’s Plumber Savior van was still in the parking lot, unmoved. The officers on surveillance had not logged Marshall leaving or entering. Drexel rubbed his chin. “What do you make of this?”
“Of Marshall’s van sitting there?”
“Yeah. The guy has perfect work attendance. Suddenly he doesn’t show up for two days?”
&n
bsp; Daniela shook her head and then leaned it against the window and stared at the van.
Drexel called Marshall’s apartment, but the call went to voice mail after ten rings. He gave up.
Sitting in the Fiat without going anywhere for five hours was trying, for the car seemed to close down on them. The only break they allowed themselves was to use the restroom. The Edgewater Deli closed at ten. After that, Daniela insisted Drexel go home and get freshened up or visit Hart or something, but he remained planted in the bucket seat. He needed a shave and he could use a shower, but Daniela would have liked the same and he was not going to have creature comforts she refused to give herself.
They drank warm Monster drinks from a stash of them in her back seat. As the minutes ticked by, Drexel’s mind wandered from Marshall, to Benoit, to Zora. Where had Marshall gone? And did it relate to the case at all? Perhaps they had spooked him so much when they interviewed him, he split town. If that was the case and if he was one of the duo of killers, then the case in Chicago would most likely go cold and stay cold until some other detective in another city figured out a connection with other murders.
But Benoit seemed now an enticing if not perfect suspect. Something about the cabin and the shed, however, left Drexel perplexed. It did not feel like the killer, lacking the ceremony and sophistication of medieval religious quotes from an obscure Gnostic sect. Though Benoit was from the area where the Cathars flourished, were modern Frenchmen any more knowledgeable about the Cathars than Americans? He chuckled and thought they probably were. And then the building on Dewitt popped into his head. Ryan had told him about the alleged corruption. It had made the Tribune, and if that was the case, Chicago PD would have conducted at least a paper investigation, something to feed the media. They may have done more if the corruption was in the lower ranks or confined to a few upper echelons. It all depended on if anyone had an agenda or not and what ambitions collided with competing ambitions.
Kill Them All (Drexel Pierce Book 2) Page 20
