Autumn Secrets (Seasons Pass Book 4)

by Susan C. Muller

  “Did you see the news last week?” Noah hoped to Hell he didn’t have to go into more detail.

  “The Killing Field?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “On the bottom of this picture you wrote Kathy Doe.”

  “We gave them all names.”

  “Would you do me a favor? Since she’s related to me, could you call her Kathy Biermann?”

  Noah glanced at Conner. Why not? “We can do that.”

  “One more thing. Well, two. May I keep the picture?”

  Conner took a last look at the sketch and handed it to Biermann. “Sure, we have more at the office.”

  “Also, when this is over, and you get ready to dispose of the bodies. I’d like to take care of her funeral.”

  Noah couldn’t bring himself to speak so he gave a quick nod. Maybe people weren’t so bad after all. “If it’s any consolation, I read the autopsy report. Doc said she was in good health.”

  Biermann looked up the stairs where his wife had disappeared. “That does help. Thanks.”

  Yesterday’s rain had left the night sky clear as a pane of glass. The stars stood out like diamonds on black velvet. Even the air smelled fresh, new.

  He’d only wanted an evening drive. To enjoy the beauty of city lights reflected in the wet pavement. But that wasn’t to be. A force beyond his control pulled him toward the meaner side of town.

  To neighborhoods where darkness was a friend. Where dirty streets cried out, begging to be swept clean.

  Where a snippy little tramp sashayed her tight ass in his face, daring him to call her bluff.

  Perhaps he should have tried harder to resist. Said, “All in due time.” But then what? Let filth overrun the city? Allow more families to be destroyed by depraved temptations?

  The moon wasn’t full, but did that matter?

  Not when he had a calling.

  Not when there was so much work to do.

  Not when there was so little time left to do it.

  He’d had his fun. He’d taught her a lesson, although she was stubborn. It had taken all night and most of the morning. Now what? Tonight he’d wash her clean. Send her on her way pure. But where? He hadn’t prepared a place.

  He was getting sloppy and that wasn’t like him. He smoothed back a lock of errant hair, maybe it was time to move on after all. Find a new home. He’d never stayed in one place this long before. Now he understood why. Starting afresh on his mission would keep his mind sharp.

  Houston was too big. If he cleaned one area, the filth popped up in a new spot. Like Whack-a-Mole but with harlots.

  As soon as he disposed of his visitor, he’d start considering a move.

  But if he moved, no one would know what he’d done. How he’d dedicated his life to providing a safe environment for mothers and children.

  His name wouldn’t be forgotten.

  It would never be known.

  The lull between lunchtime traffic and rush hour was short but vital. Noah didn’t need Siri’s advice to find Headquarters. He and Conner drove in silence until Conner sighed in frustration. “We’ve worked every lead we have for the last week and aren’t one iota closer to knowing the identity of our local, neighborhood psychopath. Any suggestions?”

  A panel van with a plumber’s number on the side sped past. Noah briefly considered making an impromptu traffic stop. At least they would have accomplished something worthwhile today. Better not. He’d probably end up having to appear in traffic court. Best to concentrate on the case they were working.

  “Want to drop by the lab and see if they have anything of interest to tell us? They’ve had several days to work on trace evidence. Then tomorrow, if we still don’t have an identification on any of our victims, we can drive out toward the ship channel and case the area, see if we can find anyone to interview.” Well, they’d identified one victim but he wasn’t supposed to know that yet. Why hadn’t he told Conner about taking Felicia Vickers’s file to the M.E. that first day? Now it felt like a weight between them. All because he was embarrassed to admit a failure from ten years ago.

  “That’s likely to be a wasted day, but we have to do something, so lab today, location tomorrow. Unless something better turns up.”

  Noah had no sooner agreed than his cell rang. One glance at the number and he took the phone off hands-free. Not something he usually did and Conner noticed immediately.

  Too bad. His partner didn’t have to know everything about his life.

  “Hi.” Shit. His usual greeting was a curt Daugherty. Way to advertise this was a personal call. Conner didn’t say anything, but he noticed everything.

  “Hi Noah, This is Laurel.”

  He knew who it was, but just repeated, “Hi.”

  “Did you get the email I sent you? I found the information you wanted on Tom Meyer’s old client.”

  “My phone showed I got an email, but I’ve been out of the office all day. I was waiting till later to read it. That sounds great. Thanks. You saved me a lot of work.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’d never sent you an email before and wanted to make sure I had the right address.”

  “You didn’t disturb me. Conner and I are driving over to the lab to pick up some reports.”

  “Tell him I said hello.”

  Not gonna happen. Conner could sit there and wonder. It would do him good.

  “That was the most fun I’ve had all week. Is there anything else I could look up for you? I’m going crazy sitting here with nothing to do, and my boss won’t be back until Friday.”

  It didn’t sound like fun to Noah. He’d rather walk on nails than search for information on the computer. But with Earl out, that’s what was waiting for him. “I’ve got a couple of names you could check out for me. If you really want to. This would be finding their phone numbers and addresses only. I don’t want you to call them or contact them in any way. Promise?”

  “Sure. I feel like Mata Hari.”

  The thought scared him. “Well, you’re not, so don’t try to act like her.” This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have included her. She was a civilian.

  Too late now. He rattled off the names he could remember from his phone conversation with Nick Travers in Kilgore.

  “Got it. I’ll get right on this and let you go back to work.”

  “Thanks, Laurel. I appreciate it.”

  Shoot. He’d used her name. No point in pretending now. “That was Laurel Bledsoe…uhmm Newcomb. She’s going to look up some phone numbers for us.”

  Conner didn’t blink. “That’s nice.”

  And Noah had thought he was the one with a poker face.

  For a place that was supposed to be sterile, the crime lab smelled distinctly dirty. Every time Conner visited, he worried about cross-contamination.

  He pushed through the door to Trace Evidence leaving Noah to check in with Fingerprints.

  Inside, Benny Schroeder looked up from his microscope.

  “Have you found anything new for us?” Conner asked the Bozo lookalike.

  “Did I call you? Ask you to drop by? Because I don’t remember doing that. Yours isn’t the only homicide in Houston.”

  “It’s the majority of them. Come on. Give. I know you have something I can use.” The damn techies considered the lab their personal fiefdom.

  “Do you have any idea how much dirt I’ve had to comb though, to catalogue, to identify? Eleven graves. Each with its own case file. Each with a separate tag number. And you want me to rush? What happens if I get on the stand and make a mistake? Get confused? There goes your case. Is that what you want?”

  Talk about a prima donna. Somebody didn’t get enough attention as a kid.

  “What I want, is to solve more murders than you can count on two hands and put away a deranged killer before he strikes again. Do you have any information that could help me with that?”

  “I’ve processed the dirt from seven of the graves. So far I’ve discovered—just as Dr. Mackie said about the b
odies—about half the graves are from approximately ten years ago. The rest are fairly recent. The killer left no hair, fibers, or semen, in or around the graves.”

  The first warning bites of heartburn chewed at his gut. No information wasn’t an acceptable answer. The murdering creep must have left something somewhere. “This case is a priority. Don’t push it aside to do a favor for a friend. We need to get this guy off the streets.”

  “If you’re in such a God-awful hurry, you can help me identify something. I’ve collected a few of these seeds from three of the sites. They come from the common cattail which grows about anywhere there’s water: a pond, a ditch, a low, marshy area. Trouble is, they don’t show up in any of the photos of the area. And I have to explain how they got into the graves. There would only have to be one or two plants if your guy brushed against them.”

  Conner took the folder and headed for the door. He didn’t want to delay Benny a minute longer than necessary. He was waiting in the lobby when his partner returned from Fingerprints. “You get anything?” Probably not, if he returned that fast.

  “No, but they’ll have two more sets of prints by this afternoon. The only way this many girls have disappeared unnoticed is if they were hookers. If that’s true, maybe one of them will have a record. What about you? Was Benny helpful?”

  “Not intentionally.” Conner handed Noah photos of a cattail plant and the seeds that came off it. “Our guy apparently brushed up against one of these plants and Benny can’t find any photo of them on the site. He wants proof they grow in the area. I’m thinking if we knew where they grow on the lot, we’ll know the path he took with the bodies.”

  If he and Noah were going to check the neighborhood tomorrow, it might be helpful to know which direction to start.

  His plan was wild. Insane.

  So crazy it just might work.

  He’d driven past the lot an hour ago—he hadn’t planned to, his van seemed to go that way of its own accord—and found the place deserted. No cops. No guards. No media.

  Unbelievable!

  His heart sped up, racing along with his thoughts.

  The crime scene tape was still there, flapping in the breeze. Mounds of fresh dirt littered the landscape. Colored marker poles remained planted beside each disposal site. He didn’t like to think of them as graves. The occupants were trash. Good for nothing but compost.

  For all practical purposes, the area was as useless as the day he spotted it. Forgotten. Abandoned.

  Waiting.

  He needed to switch to his car and go back. Drive around the scene a couple of times. Look for hidden surveillance. Cameras. Parked cars.

  If he didn’t find any, there was plenty of time to go back home. Take a long nap. Set his alarm for midnight. Spend a pleasant hour cleaning, sanitizing. Finishing his work.

  Then he could reawaken the land. Put it to good use again.

  He hated waste of any kind.

  Noah leaned back in his Henry Miller chair and put his feet on his desk. How quickly this had become his new evening routine. Even Sweet Pea now padded to his office, waiting to be scooped into his lap and fed an occasional Cheetos nub, instead of heading for the den and a night of watching TV.

  He pressed call. Talking to Laurel was the high point of his day.

  Even if it didn’t mean anything. They were just friends. He refused to read anything more into their relationship.

  “I can’t believe how fast you uncovered those phone numbers. Not one of those people is easy to find. It would have taken me all day. Especially Keillor, the guy in Costa Rica.”

  “I’m not sure most of them will do you any good. The home that old lady lives in doesn’t specify on their website, but I got the impression it was for nutcases. Rich nutcases maybe, but still…”

  “And the guy hiding out from the tax collector isn’t going to be anxious to talk to any type of police. But hey, I’m willing to try. The problem is I don’t know that they’ll be able to tell me much even if they’re willing to. The killer probably saw the empty building sitting there, abandoned, when he was in the field and decided to use it. What I wish I had was the owner of the land where the bodies were found, but that’s so tied up in secrecy, I’d need to dig it out with a backhoe.”

  “Hey, are you underestimating my powers again? If its real estate related, I can find it. I know every backdoor, secret hideaway, slippery paperwork scheme known to mankind. Text me the address and I’ll wave my magic wand at work tomorrow.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure, but it’ll cost you.”

  “I don’t know. You sound pretty pricy to me and the department’s famous for having arms too short to reach their pockets. What were you thinking?”

  “Tacos al carbon and a Margarita should do the trick.”

  “I think I can swing that. I’m supposed to babysit for Conner and Jeannie Saturday night. How about Sunday?”

  “Perfect. There’s a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place a block from me. Afterwards, we can go to my place and watch the Texans play the Colts.”

  “You like football?” Betsy had tolerated it, curling up next to him and reading while he watched.

  “To tell the truth, I prefer the college games. The pros are too…professional.” She chuckled at her own joke and Noah joined in. “But you have to keep up with the home teams. The Texans, the ‘Stros, U of H.”

  “You remember our deal.” If she could lay down conditions, so could he.

  “Our deal? I didn’t know we had a deal.”

  “You find phone numbers and addresses only. You don’t call the numbers or contact the people in any way.”

  “You don’t trust me?” Her words were serious, but her voice held a playful note.

  He wasn’t taking any chances. “I trust you just fine. It’s him I don’t trust. I don’t want you on his radar in any capacity. Plus there’s the problem of testifying in court. You don’t want to get tangled up in that mess.”

  “I’m fine with that. I’ll stay well in the background. So, Sunday night. How about six-thirty? Want me to text you my address?”

  He was a cop. He’d already found her address, but that sounded a bit on the creepy side. Best not to let her know. “Sure, that’s a good idea.”

  Noah checked his computer. Costa Rica was an hour behind Houston, so that made it 7:20 local time. Not too late to call.

  The woman who answered had a heavy accent. Keillor’s maid? Local girlfriend? Nurse? Certainly not his wife who had stayed behind in Austin to divorce him.

  Mr. Keillor was out on the dock, fishing. Was this important? She could go get him.

  It was important.

  The wait was long, but Noah wasn’t paying by the minute. If he left a number, he’d never hear from the guy.

  Jerome Keillor’s footsteps sounded strong and his voice vigorous for an eighty-two-year-old man. “Yes? Who is this?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Keillor. This is Noah Daugherty. I’m a detective with the Houston Police Department—“

  “I have no desire to speak to you.”

  “I’m investigating several local murders and one of the bodies was found on a property you once owned a portion of. I’d be very grateful for any information you could give me about an apartment building on Vernon Street.”

  “That money pit? I got out of that venture years ago and good riddance.”

  “Do you know the names of anyone who actually worked on the site?”

  “Of course not. I lived in Austin. I never saw the site. Darius Mason put together that deal and I went along for the ride. And it was a bumpy one.”

  “But you were paid a salary as an officer of the corporation.”

  “I thought you said you were a police detective, not an IRS agent. I don’t know anything about that building, what happened to it, or where the money went. Or about some murder two thousand miles away from here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the bass are running.”

  Noah stared at his phone. Thank goodness cell
phones didn’t have receivers to slam, or his ears would have been ringing.

  Thursday morning the temperature had cooled off to a reasonable seventy-four, with an expected high of eighty-two. The sun was out. The sky was clear. Despite being hung up on by Jerome Keillor last night, Noah was in a good mood.

  Today was the day. Something good would happen. Something to move the case along.

  Conner beat him into the station which was a sure sign life was returning to normal. Although …he did like it better when his partner was late and brought in coffee as a peace offering.

  Luckily, he’d already had two cups before he left the house.

  “I talked to Jerome Keillor last night.” A dirty trick, but one way to see if Conner had been listening in to his phone call with Laurel.

  Conner blinked a couple of times, going through the Rolodex of names in his mind. “One of the Frio Corporation directors?”

  Damn that man had a memory.

  “Yeah. He had tax problems, not exclusive to but exacerbated by, his part ownership of that building. He fled to Costa Rico and spends his time fishing.”

  “And what did he have to say that might help us?”

  “Nothing. He knew nothing. He did nothing. He remembered nothing. The bass were running. Goodbye.”

  “Wow. Is there any way we can jam him up? Encourage him to be more helpful?”

  “I doubt it. The IRS probably knows where he is. He’s an old fart with enough money to spend the last few years of his life in Costa Rica, but nowhere else.”

  “You gonna call the rest of them?”

  “I will because I don’t have anything better to do, but I doubt I’ll learn anything useful. One old lady is in a nursing home on her last legs. She probably never even knew she was listed as an officer. Just drooled and drew her salary.”

  “You remember in high school when they showed you the film about how colds or viruses spread? One person coughs and spreads it to another who touches something you touched, and so on. That’s what this reminds me of. A virus that leaves everyone who comes in contact with that building or vacant lot contaminated.”