“It’ll take Crime Scene an hour to get there and set up. This time of year, the sun’ll be down by then. I’ll send a squad car to guard the field tonight and tell the techs to start first thing in the morning. You realize we’ll be the laughing stock of the department if that field’s empty.”
“I know, sir. But I kind of hope the dogs are wrong.” The alternative was too grim to contemplate.
Counting the two, no, make that three, bodies they’d found yesterday and the one from two weeks ago in the abandoned apartment building, if someone was buried under each colored marker, twelve dead bodies were waiting to be identified.
If Sierra was as capable as Haskel believed, they were chasing a monster.
Noah took off his knee-high boots and slipped on his tennis shoes. The top edge of the right boot had rubbed a raw spot on his calf. He wanted nothing more than to get home and hug Sweet Pea but it didn’t seem right to send Gracie and her crew off without showing his appreciation.
They’d done a lot to help the department and all on their own dime. “It’s been a long, hard day. Let me buy y’all some dinner.”
Gracie picked sticker burrs from the leg of her jeans. “Thanks, but we’ll have to pass. The dogs are still jittery and I don’t want to leave them alone. I’ve booked a pet friendly hotel. Tag and Elway will stay with me and Haskel gets Sierra. After we give them all a bath, I’ll order us a pizza.”
Send them off to work some more and eat a pizza in their motel room? No way. “I have a better idea. Follow me.”
Conner looked a little jittery himself and begged off, saying Jeannie needed him. Noah didn’t blame him. Having someone soft and warm to go home to would do a lot to erase the horrors of this day—even if that someone did mess her diaper and throw up on your shoulder.
Noah drove to the nearest Five Guys Hamburgers and Gracie followed in her decrepit van. The dogs were dirty and disheveled—Noah, Gracie, and Haskel weren’t much better—so they sat on the outside patio and let a gentle breeze cool them. The setting sun painted the clouds a rosy-pink.
At first the other diners avoided them until a little girl tugged on Gracie’s sleeve and asked if she could pet her dog.
Gracie’s face softened for the first time since Noah met her. Soon, all three dogs had been loved on and exclaimed over. Gracie never mentioned what the dogs had been doing all day, but explained what she and Haskel had been training them for. After that, strangers came up to shake their hands and thank them for their work.
Noah bought Gracie and Haskel a hamburger, fries, and a milkshake. He also bought a hamburger, plain and dry, for each dog, although Gracie nixed the idea of fries.
The interlude was exactly what they all needed. A soft autumn evening, the sound of children laughing, the aroma of meat on the grill, and the mouthwatering taste of hamburgers done just right.
Noah took a last pull on his milkshake and emptied it with a loud slurp. They all laughed and pushed back from the table. Time to call it a night.
Haskel loaded the dogs into the van while Gracie stopped to shake Noah’s hand. “We’ll head out first thing in the morning. It’s a long trip because I won’t drive more than two hours without letting the dogs out to stretch their legs. I’m not looking forward to it, but I expect you to call me and let me know what you find. I have to mark it on their training sheets.”
She dropped her head for a moment, the looked at him with sad eyes. “Good luck to you. Catch the bastard.”
Yeah, you can bet I’ll give it my best.
Noah got home before nine, played with Sweet Pea, and watched the last quarter of a football game. Today was bad, but tomorrow would be ten times worse.
That’s when they’d open the graves and exhume the bodies.
Conner had never been so glad to get home in his life. It wasn’t the work they had done today. It was the knowledge of what tomorrow would bring. It felt like his soul had sprung a leak.
Deflated.
Caused him to lose his faith in humanity.
Jeannie met him at the door with a smile. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, but stepped back when she tried to hug him. He wasn’t ready yet. He needed time to transition between his day’s work and his home. “I have to grab a shower before I can touch anyone.”
Whether it was the smell or the look in his eye, Jeannie didn’t argue. After four years of marriage, she understood him. How had he ever gotten so lucky?
“Did you eat supper?”
“Couldn’t.”
“Let me warm a plate for you. Betsy and I have eaten, but we’ll keep you company.”
Fifteen minutes later, he was clean, wearing fresh clothes, and hungry. A new man, ready to rejoin his family. The aroma of Jeannie’s meatloaf drifted through the house and he followed his nose to the kitchen.
Betsy was swaddled in a cream knit blanket, sucking contentedly on her pacifier, swaying back and forth in her wind-up swing. Biding her time before her evening meltdown or giving him a much needed break from colic-filled nights?
Jeannie sipped on a glass of tea. She had on jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was in a ponytail. And she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
His place at the table was set with a plate of meatloaf, roasted potatoes, and fresh, steamed broccoli such a bright green it didn’t seem real. He felt like he was walking into a Norman Rockwell painting.
Only this was live and all his.
If you looked close enough, in a far corner of old maps, was the notation, Here be Dragons. Tonight, he wasn’t looking any farther.
Whatever happened tomorrow was for tomorrow. It already was what it was and no amount of worrying on his part could change it.
For now, he planned to kiss his baby, make love to his wife, and shut out the rest of the world.
The sky was a clear blue, broken only by a few white, cotton candy clouds. The temperature hovered at sixty-eight, but was expected to inch up ten degrees before the day was over. All in all, a perfect autumn day.
And that wasn’t how it should be.
Right or wrong, a day like this deserved gray clouds and a biting wind.
Noah hoped like hell Sierra and Elway were wrong. Four dead women were more than he wanted to face. Twelve was inconceivable.
He waited on the edge of the field while the forensic team worked on uncovering the first grave. They picked the one both dogs hit on as the most likely.
Conner stood next to him in a show of solidarity. Lt. Jansen paced on the other side.
The Chief of Detectives had sent an aide to let him know the minute the first body was discovered. He’d show up then and not a minute sooner.
Wouldn’t do for him to be spotted at the site of a disaster. And in this case—after arranging for Forensics, and Crime Scene, and the M.E., and morgue vans—not finding a body would qualify as a disaster.
Enough bodies and the Chief of Police would show up.
No bodies, he, Conner, and Jansen might as well use the graves for their careers. The only thing worse would be not finding the killer.
Why hadn’t he handed this whole mess off to Lefty Bob? Or ignored that nagging feeling the vacant lot was a killing field?
Because he’d made a vow to himself, to Betsy, to the city of Houston, to every person whose life was snatched away at another’s hands. He would be their voice. He would never quit.
Benny Schroeder, the Bozo look-a-like Crime Scene tech, removed the first layer of dirt. And then a second.
How deep were the graves? Hard to judge by the two they had already found—not after last week’s torrential rains. And exactly where were they located?
Did the dogs sit directly on top? What if Benny dug two feet to the left or right?
If they found anything, Mandy from the County Forensic Laboratory would photograph it from every angle. Nothing got by her. Four years in the army and a degree in Criminal Justice meant they didn’t have to worry about some defense attorney claiming the evidence had been manipulated.
/> If they found anything.
His stomach felt like a volcano in an elementary school science project. Ready to erupt and overflow at any moment. He couldn’t just stand there. He had to do something.
He yanked out his cell phone and keyed in a number.
“Who are you calling?” Conner leaned close and kept his voice low.
“Earl. He can start tracing the ownership of this field and the vacant apartment building.” Since a blow to the head last spring grave Earl Sparks a concussion, he’d been working desk duty, relieving Noah and Conner and the other detectives the hassle of paperwork.
“He’s already on it. I sent him a text this morning.”
Was it possible to be both thankful for such an efficient partner and aggravated that he was almost too efficient at the same time?
Apparently, yes.
Benny cleared off another layer of dirt and leaned forward, peering into the deepening hole.
The inside of Noah’s chest had turned into a teeming fire ant mound with the little buggers crawling every direction and stinging at will. He needed to know if the one older skeleton was a fluke or were others from the past waiting to be discovered.
He fought the urge to push Benny aside and start digging himself. But it wasn’t easy. His hands clenched and unclenched. He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.
So far, the news media hadn’t descended on them. That wouldn’t last.
Benny dug a little deeper. He studied the grave and motioned Dr. Mackie closer. Doc M kneeled down, his white hair waving in the breeze. He took the trowel from his assistant and brushed at the dirt.
Mandy lifted her camera and stepped closer. Her brown hair fell forward as she leaned in.
Noah’s chest ached from holding his breath.
Minutes seemed like eons until the doc glanced his direction and nodded.
He trudged through the ditch and across the field, Conner beside him. Jansen followed two steps behind. By the time they reached the grave, Doc M had removed two more shovelfuls.
Despite the sunlight, the bottom of the hole was dark. Benny flicked on his flashlight and pointed the beam toward a partially uncovered head.
Only a quarter of the face showed. The rest was planted downward, into the dirt. One ear was visible and Noah counted three holes in the lobe, but no earrings. Dark hair streamed past a pale white shoulder.
Fuck. The one time he honestly didn’t want to be right.
He stared back toward the street where he’d been standing, mostly because he hated to invade the young woman’s privacy any more than necessary. What he saw scared him more than anything he’d yet encountered.
The Chief’s aide was on the phone.
This place was about to become a zoo.
An oppressive weight hung over Conner like a wet wool blanket. Drawing air into his lungs felt like breathing hot soup.
He should have transferred to Internal Affairs when he had the chance. He first thought of it the day after Betsy was born when he realized how caught up he’d become in the Beneficial Products case.
He’d considered the possibility of a transfer off and on during his Family Leave time, but put off making a decision. Jeannie kept saying it was up to him. She’d back him either way.
Noah returned to the job three days before him and called after his first day back at work. The excitement in his voice was contagious.
Conner loved Homicide. The cases could be complex and mentally taxing. Even the easy ones were intriguing.
Noah had taught him how to read people and evidence. They often came at a problem from different directions but reached the same conclusions. In the process, they’d become best friends.
When Noah’s wife died, his heart ached for his partner. The last year had been tough on both of them, but Noah had come through and was stronger at last.
That had been his opportunity to get out. Take a job that was less involved, less stressful.
A quick prayer for the woman half-buried in front of him was all he could manage. He glanced around the field at the red, yellow, and blue poles. Too many bodies. He didn’t have the strength to pray over each grave.
Tonight, when he went to bed, no matter how late, he’d pray for each of their souls. Pray that they found eternal rest. That their loved ones found peace. That their killer was brought to justice.
He’d also pray for himself. That he kept a clear head and didn’t let his emotions get in the way. Something in him had changed the day he shot Aldo Rogers. Sure, it was a clean shooting. The man had already abducted a woman with nefarious intent, bashed Earl Sparks over the head, shot a young cop, and was aiming at Noah.
It was the only thing he could do. He had to shoot. Still, he’d taken a life. He never wanted to do that again.
He should have transferred when he could, but he hadn’t, and now he’d missed his chance. This case was too big.
He was stuck.
So far, Noah had watched as Benny uncovered two recent bodies and one skeleton. The only dry holes were the two where Elway couldn’t make up his mind and one spot where Sierra had hit on both the head and the foot of the same body. That meant ten dead women instead of eleven. Plus one left in the apartment building.
Like that made a difference.
All three bodies had been placed on gurneys where Doc M could give them a cursory examination. A fresh tech had taken over the digging, and Benny was resting in the M.E.’s van.
The stench of decomposition increased with each new discovery.
Noah pulled three cigars from his pocket, gave one to Conner and one to Jansen and lit one for himself. The Chief of Detectives was standing well back with a blob of Vicks under his nose. Amateur. Gordon Hines had only been with the department a few months, coming from a small town in Indiana. What could you expect?
Cigars worked much better. By the time you’d smoked one to the nub, you couldn’t smell a thing.
It was almost noon and the temperature was inching up. Every grave had to be examined thoroughly for trace evidence. At this rate, they wouldn’t finish tonight.
The Chief of Ds edged closer, getting weeds and sticker burrs on his expensive suit. “I’ve called Galveston for help. Luckily, their citizens are enjoying the autumn weather and not killing each other today. They’re sending a Crime Scene crew and an ambulance.”
Doc M glanced at Hines. “Good. I don’t have room to store this many bodies.”
“I’ve made another decision you may not like, but the Chief made a suggestion I think is right.” Hines watched Jansen and Noah as if expecting a fight. “I’ve called the FBI for assistance.”
What the fuck? That asshole only stayed long enough to be seen on TV. He doesn’t have any idea what’s best.
Hines was right. Noah didn’t like it. But he understood. “I don’t mind working with the Feebies, but other than profiling, I don’t know how much they can do. They don’t have the manpower for boots-on-the-ground type work.”
“You’re correct about that. They had a bombing in Seattle and a terrorist cell in New York, but one of their local agents says he can help organize and enter information into national data bases.”
Conner nodded. “Tell him we appreciate that. We can use all the help we can get.” That was the first thing he’d said in the last hour.
Noah didn’t argue. The Feds were good at some things and if calling them in got the paperwork off his back, great.
Ten minutes later, a shiny black Chevy SUV with government plates wove its way past the news vans and their obstacle course of microphones and antennas. After a brief stop at the police barricade, the SUV drove through and parked behind Lola. The driver was in his early forties, tall, slender, with good hair and a charcoal gray suit. His shoes were as highly polished as his car.
The guy might as well have FBI emblazoned on his chest.
Noah glanced from the SUV to Lola and back. How did they get those black beauties to gleam that way? Did the government have access to a brand
of automobile polish they designated top secret?
Would he have to sign a confidentially agreement to learn the name? Because joining the Feebies was out of the question.
The man shook hands with Jansen, Conner, and the Chief of Ds before heading for Noah.
“Special Agent Lincoln Montgomery. You must be Detective Daugherty.”
How did he know that? Did the FBI have a dossier on him? He sucked in a lungful of air. Don’t be paranoid. The Chief probably told him.
Noah crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hold back the resentment that filled his belly. What brought that on? Was it the shiny car? The good hair? The two last names?
Maybe. A little. But mainly the fact that Montgomery had the power of the government behind him if he wanted to swoop in and grab the case for himself. Sure, he needed an invitation, but that was easy enough to finagle with the right connections.
“That’s right. Noah Daugherty. Lead Detective.” There. It was out in the open. Let him argue with that.
Montgomery didn’t bat an eye. “Excellent. I wanted to let you know—”
That you’re taking over.
“—that I’m here to help in any way I can.”
No. What?
“I’ve already spoken to your boss—Hines, isn’t it?—and told him I’ll set up a phone line. You’re going to start getting calls about missing girls as soon as this hits the evening news. I can also organize any fingerprints or DNA and list them on CODIS and IAFIS. Anything else you want, just tell me. I’ll do my best to take care of it for you.”
Fuck. This guy was better than having two Earls. Plus, the case was still his.
The question was; did he really want it?
Noah made it home at nine. Fifteen hours after he left.
For once, Sweet Pea didn’t want anything to do with him. Not attention, not a walk, not food or a treat.
Between the stench that hung to his clothing and the bad attitude he could feel himself projecting, he didn’t blame the little dog.
Autumn Secrets (Seasons Pass Book 4) Page 4
