by J. D. Robb
“What happened to him?”
“I knew when I went out to check on him something was wrong. Not that he wasn’t there, but his things, they were jumbled up.” Banner paused, shaking his head. “He took pride in his collection, and there was an organization to it. And that day, there wasn’t.”
He looked up again, into Eve’s eyes. “You know how you get that pull in your belly?”
“I do.”
“I had that. I went looking for him, at his usual places. Where he liked to fish, where he’d take what he called his preambles. I didn’t find him until the next day. I went back the next morning, took his nephew’s son who’s a friend of mine so we could cover more ground. I found him in a gully, all broken up. You’d have thought how maybe he’d slipped off the track above, taken a long, bad fall. But he was a damn mountain goat, I swear. He’d been dead three days.”
“Evidence of torture, of binding?”
“Broken bones, cuts, bruises, some burns. But… they ruled it an accident. Burns could’ve come from him smoking whatever he managed to smoke, or his campfire. Breaks and cuts and bruises from the fall. We got a report a cabin had been broken into. Lock smashed. A few things taken – not really what Little Mel tended to take – and like I said, he never broke in. They found a little blood, and it was his, so it looked like he’d gone on in, just cut himself on something. Not a lot of blood. But we didn’t find anything that was missing in his collection, or along the way he’d have taken if he’d gone up that ridge and taken a fall.
“It could’ve happened that way, he broke in, cut himself, was maybe careless on the track and fell. You can see the logic to it, if you didn’t know him. But just over a week later, a boy went missing up in Missouri.”
“Noah Paston.”
“Yes, ma’am – Lieutenant,” he corrected. “You’ll have to give me time to break a lifetime habit. No question he was taken. There was no accident there. And clear signs he’d been bound, cut and burned and smashed up. A young, athletic boy and poor lost Little Mel don’t seem to have much in common, but they were both alone, both in what you’d call remote areas, both with cuts, burns, broken bones. I couldn’t let it go.
“I can show you the list I have, the names and locations I’ve been putting together since last August.”
Arkansas, she thought. It fell right into her route. “I’d be interested in that, in comparing it with my own list. Not updated,” she repeated when he glanced toward her board. “Not just with Jayla Campbell, but with the possible victims I put together last night. Is Ava Enderson on your list?”
“She surely is.”
When she named more, he shut his eyes like a man who’d found home, nodding, just nodding until she came to Jacob Fastbinder.
“That one’s a heartbreaker. Jennifer – Ms. Fastbinder – she’s pushed all she can push on it, but he doesn’t fit the FBI’s victimology. And like Little Mel, it reads just as easy as an accident.”
“Do you know her?”
“Never met, as such, but we’ve had a number of conversations and correspondence.”
“I intended to contact her today, request she allow the body to be exhumed and transported here to our forensic anthropologist.”
“If you’d let me talk to her, I think I can make that happen. I don’t suppose you could have a look at Little Mel.”
“Are there remains to look at?”
“He’s buried in the family cemetery, like his mama wanted.”
“Having two would give DeWinter comparisons,” Eve considered, and made the call on the spot. “We’ll take him. I need to speak with my commander, but we’re going to take both of them if you can pull it off.”
“Little Mel’s mama’s going to take more talking to than Jennifer Fastbinder, but I can be persuasive. I’m hoping I can persuade you to let me have another cup of this coffee.”
Eve wagged a thumb at the AutoChef. “Do you know how to work one of those?”
“They’re about the same wherever you go.”
“Then help yourself. Take it back to the lounge – can you find it again?”
“I’ve got a good sense of direction.”
“Start persuading. I need some time here to do the same, then I’m going to set up a conference room. When are you due back in Arkansas?”
“I’m on my own time. I took leave.”
That put a hitch in things. “Does your chief know you’re here, what you’re doing?”
“He does.” Banner poked at the AutoChef. “He doesn’t see this the way I do, but he’s given me a lot of room. And I’ve got leave coming.”
“Okay. Go work on clearing the exhumations, and I’ll work on getting the forensics here.”
She sat, and when he’d cleared the room, did a quick and thorough run on him before she contacted Whitney’s office and asked for a window.
10
Whitney sat at his desk, the city he served spearing up through the window at his back. His big hands rested on the arms of his chair; his eyes, dark and keen, stayed on Eve’s as she briefed him.
He wore command as he wore his suit – a good fit with clean lines. While she spoke, his wide, dark face remained impassive.
“And this deputy traveled here from the Ozarks on his own time and dime because the searches you ran were flagged by him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And he did this – at the base – because he believes a war vet with PTSD, with a history of substance abuse and antisocial behavior was one of the victims of the spree killers currently being sought by this department, others, and the FBI in spite of the ruling of his own ME – and the subsequent determination of accidental death by the FBI.”
In blunt, logical terms it didn’t ring the bell, but…
“The local ME in this case is also the town doctor – a GP. I checked, and she’s only worked on a handful of murders in seventeen years. The FBI has profiled these unsubs, has cemented their victimology. So far they’re not very flexible about thinking outside those lines. Deputy Banner’s vic is on the route I’ve speculated independently, as are several others both Deputy Banner and I have on our separate lists. They didn’t start with Tennessee, Commander. The Nashville vic is only the first we can determine had the carved heart. And the gaps between killings are inconsistent – until you fill them in with the names both Banner and I have added.”
“Have you spoken with Special Agent Zweck?”
“No, sir, and I don’t intend to at this time.” She paused only a moment when he raised his eyebrows. “They’re not interested in this line or these victims – Banner’s already been shot down there. If we find evidence they were part of this spree, I would, of course, share all data and information. I realize this is all based on speculation, Commander, but it’s logical speculation. It fits. And it’s a big stretch to dismiss the fact both Banner and I have hit on so many of the same names.”
He tapped a finger on the edge of his desk. “It’s a big stretch to exhume two bodies and have the remains transported here, to have our people and resources study them for the purpose of overturning CODs.”
“If either of those CODs are overturned, I have a third body. Noah Paston, age nineteen, abducted, tortured, murdered – missing the carved heart in September.”
“That would bring the tally to twenty-four,” Whitney stated.
“Paston’s body wasn’t cremated but buried. If we determine either Little or Fastbinder – and I lean to both – were killed by these unsubs, I believe Paston’s parents would agree to have his body exhumed and tested.”
“And Jayla Campbell?”
“She’s the next, but she won’t be the last. It’s my belief that coordinating with Banner, compiling our separate investigations will open something up, help us find her in time.”
Nearly ten hours off the forty-eight already, Eve thought.
“We have no names, no faces. They’re like ghosts, Commander. That tells me they look normal, ordinary, and know how to blend and behave
in a way that doesn’t bring attention. I’ve got uniforms and droids canvassing the area between where Campbell was last seen and her apartment, using the location McNab pinpointed where she texted her roommate. She made it that far, and we don’t know how much farther. Walking alone, as Kuper was, as Little was, as Fastbinder was.
“There’s a mistake somewhere,” she continued. “There always is, but nobody’s found it. Not yet. Mistakes may have happened further back, where nobody’s looked closely enough. We find a mistake, and maybe we’re in time to save Campbell.”
He tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair, then leaned forward. “I want to talk to Banner’s superior.”
“Chief of Police Lucius Mondale. I did a quick background on both of them. Small-town cops, sir, but solid from what I can find. I sent you that data and Mondale’s contact information.”
“I’ll speak with him, and let you know my position on this. Meanwhile, coordinate with Banner. Information’s never wasted.”
“Yes, sir.”
“They were coming here,” he said as she stepped back.
“Yes, sir, by any route I’ve projected, New York is probable destination.”
Rising, he walked to his wall of glass, looked out, hands linked behind his back. “That will be one of their mistakes. Keep this low on the media radar as long as possible.”
“Absolutely.”
“Get it done.”
“Yes, sir.”
Time, Eve thought as she hurried back to her division. The clock ticking for Campbell, and now a second clock running. How quickly could she get the remains into DeWinter’s hands – and Morris’s, she added. She wanted that team on this angle.
They’d miss nothing.
Was Melvin Little the first? She’d done a background there, too. The man had been barely a hundred and twenty pounds, and over seventy. But not altogether an easy target. A war vet who’d known the woods, the hills. Who’d survived in them for decades.
Working in her head, she swung back into the bull pen.
“Peabody, set up a conference room – all our data on this investigation. Where’s Baxter?”
“They caught one.”
Eve switched gears, glanced around. “Detective Carmichael, Santiago, are you on something hot?”
“Just tying one up in a bow, Lieutenant,” Santiago told her.
“Tie it fast, then work with Peabody. Is Uniform Carmichael still in the field?”
“He hasn’t come in as yet. I can check in with him,” Peabody offered.
“Do that.”
She headed for the lounge, pulling out her ’link as she went. “I need Dr. Mira,” she said before the admin could do more than identify the office. “As soon as possible. We’ve had another abduction, and I have new information on the unsubs she’s profiled.”
“I’ll relay your request, Lieutenant.”
“Now.”
Eve clicked off, left a brisk voice mail for Garnet DeWinter, and was leaving one for Morris when she walked back into the lounge.
“Wheels are in motion,” she said, holding up a hand to keep Banner in his seat. “I need this pushed through fast. I need you to clear as much of the decks as you can for this. I’ll get back to you. Progress?” she asked Banner.
“Ms. Fastbinder not only agreed, she’s got a judge on tap who’ll push through the order mostly, I think, because he’s relieved she’ll take this out of state, and out of his hair. I just finished talking to my chief. I talked Little Mel’s mama into it, and he’ll get it done. Mostly, I think, for the same reasons as the judge.”
“Doesn’t matter why as long as it’s done. My commander will be speaking with your chief.” She gave him a measured study. “If Whitney gets the impression you’re a rogue lunatic, Banner, we’re not going to get very far.”
“I might be fixated on this, and there’s a girl who decided I was a lunatic when I joined the police, but I’ll hold up.”
She sat, studied him again. She didn’t see rogue or lunatic. “The cabin where his blood was found, where items were taken and not recovered, who lives there?”
“It’s a rental type. Lots of them around. This one was shut up for a few weeks. Septic issues the owner hadn’t gotten around to dealing with.”
“So, empty.”
“That’s right.”
“Security.”
“A lock on the door.”
“Easy target for somebody looking to score a few easy-to-transport items. The unsubs break in, start taking what they want. Little comes along. Altercation, he’s killed or incapacitated. How far from the cabin did you find him?”
“Not counting the drop? It’d be maybe a half a mile on the back road, another quarter mile to the trail where they say he fell off. Some say jumped, but that’s bullshit.”
He drew in a breath, shoved at his hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to use hard language.”
“The day ‘bullshit’ is hard language in a cop shop, that’s the day I turn in my badge. Which is never. Did your people look for blood in the cabin? Signs somebody cleaned it up.”
“We can handle that kind of thing. It was just a little blood. They missed it when they cleaned up, in my opinion. Used a tarp, like they’ve used on others. Keep the blood off the scene.”
Just how she saw it. “Then he wasn’t the first, either. He was just one of the next. We trace back from this vic, this Little Mel. And we’ll find the first. We find the first, we’ll find them.”
Her eyebrows shot up when he reached out, covered her hand with his. He pulled his back quickly. “Sorry – that’s probably not allowed. It’s just… I’ve been waiting a long time to hear somebody say that.”
“Saying it, proving it, finding them, there are a lot of steps between.”
“I’ve been taking some of them, best I can. I’m going to be straight with you. I’ve only worked two murders, and both of them were pretty clear-cut right from the start. First was the Delroy brothers, Zach and Lenny. Not bright lights, either of them, and with a taste for bad booze and homemade Jump. The two of them got revved up on both, fought over a card game, and Zach, he picked up a fireplace poker and caved Lenny’s head right in. Tried to cover it up saying somebody’d busted into their place, but like I said, not a bright light.”
He shifted a bit as if looking for comfort in the hard chair. “And the second was a woman come down from Pittsburgh with her husband for a holiday. Not much of one for her as he had a habit of beating the hell out of her for fun. He’d blackened her eye and busted open her lip before she got outside to the car, locked herself in. Then she proceeded to run him over when he came out after her.”
“Hard to blame her.”
“There’s that. She said right out she wanted to make sure he was dead this time, and that’s why she backed up, ran over him again. Three times. Anyway, like I said, pretty clear-cut. We don’t get a lot of killings – not purposeful – in Silby’s Pond.”
“You’ve gotten this far on this one.”
“Since Little Mel I’ve worked it every day. Sometimes only an hour or so, but every day. I’m hopeful now that I’ve got somebody like you, a real murder cop, it’ll break.”
“Then let’s get going. We’ll move this to the conference room.”
She rose, waited while he grabbed his coat, his duffel.
“It’s a hell of a place, your Cop Central,” he commented as they started out. “Lots doing.”
“If you’re interested, I can have somebody show you around.”
“I wouldn’t say no to that.”
Someone let out a war cry, high and wild. Eve pivoted, saw two uniforms giving chase. The man they pursued charged like a bull, head down, teeth bared, his eyes lit like lanterns with whatever substance he’d smoked, swallowed or syringed. He bowled over an unfortunate civilian clerk whose legs flew out from under her, sending her and the file bag she carried flying.
“Excuse me,” Eve said, cut across the corridor as the man, long, red hair streaming bac
k in its skinny braids, fists pumping in the air, ran like the possessed.
Her right cross barely slowed him down, but it shifted his attention enough to have him swing those pumping fists in her direction. One glanced off her shoulder, and she went with it, spinning around and coming back with a side kick to his gut.
He grunted, made a grab. She stomped hard on his instep, followed up with a knee to the balls, then tried the right cross again.
That one had him staggering back, but he grinned at her through the blood that bloomed on his mouth. She braced for the next round, but the stagger gave the uniforms time to catch up.
Eve stepped back while they grappled, considered moving in again as fists and elbows jabbed and bashed and war cries echoed. Then a third uniform leaped in from the side.
“For Christ’s sake,” she said when they finally had him down and in restraints – where he laughed like a loon. “For Christ’s sake.”
“It’s Mad Fergus, Lieutenant.” One of the uniforms, his own lip bloody, managed to pant it out. “We thought we had him, but you never know what’s going to set him off.”
“Somebody see to that woman he knocked down, and get him out of here. If you can’t control a prisoner, keep them away from my division. You embarrass me.”
She turned, noted that Banner was helping the civilian clerk to her feet.
“Sorry about that,” she said when he joined her again.
“You move fast. If you’d kicked me in the gut the way you did that one, I’d’ve been flat out and gasping like a trout on the line.”
“I guess Mad Fergus is made of sterner stuff. What does that mean?” she wondered as she rolled her stinging shoulder. “What does ‘stern’ have to do with it? Never mind.”
“He landed one.”
“He’s not the first.” Rolling her shoulder again, she led the way to the conference room, gestured him in.
