Footsteps came closer, and the overhead lights flickered on, causing his eyes to pinch shut in an instant reaction. He reopened them, hesitant, wondering if he wanted to face his death.
Pain from his shoulders slithered up his neck and shot down his spine.
The man looked down on him. “It’s time to go for a little ride.” He cocked a single eyebrow, and the other barely twitched with the action.
“Why?” The single word was clear in his mind but became jumbled when it exited his mouth.
“Now, now. You know what you did to poor Benjamin.”
This was about the dog!
The thought occurred to deny the allegations that had been levied against him, but the truth would show in his eyes. Despite all his misgivings, the one thing he was incapable of was lying—ironic enough, seeing as it paled in significance to his other offenses.
“Nothing to say?” His captor smiled. “I guess we’re done here.” He took a few steps. “I must say it’s kind of disappointing, though. I’m used to speeches about innocence and why I shouldn’t kill people. Oh well.” He accompanied his words with a shoulder shrug and walked away.
“Stop. Plea—” He, again, sounded like a man whose mouth was numbed by a dentist’s needle.
The man’s steps became faint, only to be superseded by the roar of the truck’s engine.
Then it started to move.
Chapter 19
Jack told me it was my turn to handle this interrogation. That suited me just fine.
I spun the chair around, straddled it backward, and tossed a photograph of the letter from Lyons’s collection across the table.
Bowen lifted it up, skimmed it, and set it down.
I had yet to question a suspect who came across so calm. He didn’t appear to be sweating, or cold—either extreme was evidence that the body was experiencing stress. He returned eye contact and didn’t shy away from it.
“What about it?”
“This letter was sent to Gene Lyons.”
“I see that.” He pointed to the address on the envelope and the salutation at the top of the letter.
“You sent it.”
“That is my name right there. I don’t understand why you had to raid the place and bring me in, right in front of my mother.”
“Where did you take Lyons?” I ignored his protest about the timing of his arrest and tossed another photograph across the table, this one of Lyons on his wedding day.
“A little dated, isn’t it?”
“So we’ve established you sent a letter threatening his life and you know what he looks like.”
Bowen rolled his eyes. “Put me in prison already.”
His easygoing nature in this situation had me attempting to ascertain whether or not we may have jumped to conclusions about him, despite his tainted background and connection to the victims. I shook any hesitancy about his culpability aside. This man had the perfect setup.
“We spoke to your brother.”
“Stepbrother. Don’t forget that part.”
“He thinks that you’re setting him up to take the fall. That you’re not man enough to own up to what you’ve done.” I was playing it up to see if I could illicit a reaction.
“The man’s a bastard. He’s not loved.”
“The world seems to love him enough. He’s had a very successful career. Your resume doesn’t seem quite as impressive. First jail, now you work as a garbage man.”
“Waste management technician.”
I smirked at the man’s ego, recalling Zachery’s correction from the other day. Bowen nailed it word for word. It was time to bring the man down a notch. “You did time for stealing investment money from seniors.”
“As I told everyone back then, I was the victim there. I knew nothing about what was going on. The owner of the firm was the crooked one. Set up a front, collected their money, and took off.”
“The problem with that is you were the one collecting the money and handling the deposits.”
Bowen took a deep breath. “That’s in the past. I know my innocence.”
I stood and paced the perimeter of the room. “What about now, Mr. Bowen? Do you know your innocence?”
He watched my every move.
“You come to the defense of those poor and abused animals. Many people would applaud you for getting even.” I bent to reach his ear. “You’d probably even make your mother proud.”
“I didn’t kill that man.”
I slammed a photograph on the table in front of him. “Darren Simpson was his name. He left behind a wife who loved him. You stole him from his family.”
“I didn’t.”
“What about Karl Ball? What did you do with him?” I put his photo on top of Simpson’s. “He went missing in two thousand and ten. He left behind a wife. And this guy.” I layered Dean Garner’s face on top of Ball’s. “He left behind a wife too.” I walked a few steps. “Now, I know you’re not a husband. Either you never married because you didn’t find the right girl, or you’re just not suitable for that lifestyle. Maybe all of the girls you asked said no. I don’t really care.”
Again, I was striving to obtain a reaction, but received none. Despite the fact Bowen took pride in his work, he wasn’t narcissistic, and that aspect didn’t fit with the killer we hunted. Our unsub had his own agenda in which he justified his actions. The reasoning would require someone to think highly of themselves, viewing themselves as above the law. I was starting to wonder if we had the right man, but for now I would do my job and continue on as if I didn’t experience any nagging doubts.
“Darren Simpson,” I blurted out.
Seconds passed. I said nothing more.
“What about him?” Bowen asked.
I sat back down. “We spoke to his first wife. You remember her?” We had mentioned her at the city yard, but I thought I’d approach things from another angle.
“How the hell do you forget someone like that?”
I hadn’t met her, but the breakdown from Paige and Zachery was sufficient to provide a clear picture. I continued. “She said that she had quite the fight with you over a letter you sent on behalf of the activist group you run.”
“I thought we went through this, and that was a long time ago.”
I leaned on my elbow, and lowered my eyes as if I were not simply disinterested but utterly bored of the subject. “You can’t have it both ways. You remember her, but it was a long time ago?”
“Fine. Yes, there was a letter. Yes, we got into a heated argument, but I never killed anybody. If I was going to, I would have done it long before now. Don’t you think?”
“Actually, we’re thinking it’s rather genius to target those with charges dating so far back. It muddles the trail.”
“Muddles the trail?” Bowen laughed. “I live in the heat of the moment. I was ready to strangle her, but you know what? My conscience kicked in and told me it wasn’t the right thing to do.”
“But it’s okay to threaten people’s lives.”
“There’s quite a difference between making a threat and acting on it.”
I collected the photos and stood. “In the eyes of the law, both are considered crimes.”
*****
The rest of the team and Detective McClellan were in the observation room. Only Paige paid me any attention when I entered.
McClellan kept his nose pressed against the glass as he spoke. “He was right in front of us.”
I stood beside him and joined his surveillance of Bowen. “There’s still a lot more to prove.”
“You don’t think he did it.”
“It’s too soon to tell.”
“Brandon?” Paige said.
“You heard everything I did. You saw him. He doesn’t project guilt. We haven’t found any evidence of the victims having been at his home, or at the animal activist headquarters.”
“He has a history of threatening people’s lives.”
“Unless we can pin this murder and the disappearances
on him, I’m not sure what else we can do.”
Disappointment washed over the team’s faces, except for Jack who remained expressionless. His attention was on me, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“The unsub we’re seeking would have a narcissistic ego,” I began, knowing I didn’t need to elaborate on my earlier internal reasoning.
“Bowen doesn’t really demonstrate that,” Zachery said.
I shook my head. “Besides taking pride in his job, which I consider healthy, I don’t think so either.”
McClellan leaned against the wall with crossed arms. “If you weren’t so sure of his guilt, why did we go in so hot and heavy?”
“Between the hate mail, and his past and current position with the activist group, he was a likely suspect,” Paige said.
“Too much so.” The words slipped out and everyone looked at me.
Zachery gestured to the room. “I think our killer is hiding in plain sight.”
Something about his words hit me. The ideal suspects were shelter volunteers, the journalist, members of the activist group. Our killer might not fall into any of those categories.
McClellan’s phone rang and seconds later, his face pale, he told us what his caller had relayed. “There’s been another incident. The guy’s still alive—if we hurry.”
Chapter 20
We piled into one SUV and followed McClellan out to the scene. No sign of an ambulance, so they had likely been and gone. Cruiser lights were flashing. Investigators were combing the road and leaving yellow, numbered evidence markers in their wake. The snow was stained red down the center of the driving lane and it didn’t take a genius to figure out how that had happened.
Jack pulled up beside a cruiser where Hogan was leaning on an open door, watching everyone as if he were in charge. He bobbed his head toward us.
“The victim’s name is Clyde Ellis. So far, he’s still hanging on, but barely.”
“I assume you have reason to believe the victim’s fate is somehow connected with our case,” Jack said.
“The victim is Clyde Ellis and he was charged with dragging his dog behind his truck.”
Paige’s hand shot up to cover her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Let me guess the charges against him were dropped too?” I asked.
Hogan nodded.
“How could he beat that? You’d think that one would be easy to prove,” I said.
The detective looked at me. “Yeah, if you were there watching the act.”
“And let me go further out on a limb here. Ellis was charged twenty-six years ago?”
“You got it.”
“The killer probably knows we’re here,” Zachery explained, “to act again so soon.”
“He’s trying to have the last say. He doesn’t think he’ll get caught,” I said.
“Was there any evidence pulled at the scene?” Jack asked Hogan.
“Crime scene is still processing, but we believe he was gagged with silver duct tape. We found a small piece near his mouth. We think the perp ripped off most of it and took it with him.”
“Ellis would have suffered in silence. I can’t even imagine the hell he went through. He would have felt his bones break and realized he was going to die—painfully.” Paige shook her head, and I’d swear, even in the limited light, her eyes were misted.
The rest of us remained silent for a bit, assimilating what we’d just been told. While some people might argue that violence against others was as natural as breathing and that it went back to the beginning of time there was nothing natural about it.
Hogan picked up again. “We know for certain that Ellis was bound by chains to the back of a truck.”
“A truck specifically?” Paige asked.
“Yeah. Based on trace evidence and the damage done to our victim. Broken legs, ribs, back. You get the idea.”
Zachery winced.
“My thoughts exactly,” McClellan added, speaking for the first time since we arrived.
“Is there any evidence he was given anything to suppress the pain?” Paige rubbed her arms and bounced, no doubt to warm herself.
“Not that we’re aware of. We only got a couple words out of him at the scene. He,” Hogan swallowed roughly, showing his first signs of empathy, “he said, ‘I’m sorry.’”
The impact of the man’s last words bared us all to silence. Our killer’s mission had been accomplished. His victims knew why they’d been targeted and this one was moved to remorse.
“What about the distance between Ellis’s house and where he was found?” Jack asked.
“Only three miles.”
“Our unsub lives in the area,” I offered.
“And he obviously has transportation,” Zachery said.
“How far was Ellis dragged?” Paige asked Hogan.
“Investigators have worked their way up the road with a keen eye for any trace of blood and tissue. One thing about the snow, it made things a little easier to spot. The first sign of blood appears one mile from where he was found.”
“He was dragged for a mile? I’m going to be sick.” Paige’s one hand shot to her mouth, and the other to her stomach.
“Where did the trace start? That could give us the location of our unsub,” Zachery reasoned.
“It started in the parking lot of a rundown garage. It hasn’t been open to the public for years now.”
“Do they have a locked gate on the lot?” Zachery wasn’t deterred.
“No. Just a sign that reads no trespassing. As if that’s going to stop a killer.”
Jack pulled on his cigarette, the amber butt glowed in the night despite the strobes of emergency vehicles around us.
“So it could be anyone.” The realization dampened any excitement that had started with the thought we were getting closer to our killer. “Who owns the garage?”
Hogan shook his head. “They go south in the winter. Besides there’s no trace leading into the building. We believe it’s more likely Ellis was bound to the truck in the lot.”
Hogan gave it a few seconds and continued. “Now, there were no witnesses who saw him being dragged, but the girl who found him was pretty shaken up. I say girl, but she is in her twenties. She was taking her dog for a walk, to clear her head, when she found him. Said all she heard was moaning at first. Thought it was the ghost of her grandmother.”
McClellan rolled his eyes. I took it to mean he didn’t believe in an afterlife either.
Hogan went on as if he hadn’t noticed. “Anyway, when she realized it was a dying man, she said she screamed louder than a banshee and it took her a long time to calm down enough to dial nine-one-one. She said it took five tries.”
I gave voice to what I figured everyone else must have been thinking. “So, she’s not afraid thinking that a spirit might be talking to her, but a dying man—”
Jack’s glare silenced me. “What’s her name?”
“Connie Shepard.”
“She’s the one who swears to him saying, ‘I’m sorry.’ She says she asked him what he was sorry for, but he passed out on her.”
“Is she here? We’ll need to speak with her,” Jack said.
“She was pretty shaken up and I had officers take her home.” Hogan held up a hand. “We did take her full statement.”
Jack’s scowl was epic. I wasn’t sure if the white cloud around him was the result of smoking, breathing, or actual steam coming out of his ears. He addressed his team. “We will have to speak to Shepard.”
“I just told you everything,” Hogan protested.
“That was everything?” The derision in Jack’s voice licked every word. “It’s likely you’re missing something.”
Loathing flickered in Hogan’s eyes. McClellan seemed to be sitting this one out. I can’t say that I blamed him.
“We also ran a quick background and a credit check on Ellis. Just the basic stuff but it was enough to know he was in hawk up to the eyeballs.”
“Would anyone benefit fr
om his death?” Jack asked.
“Too soon to know.”
“And the wife?”
“He’s single.”
“Hmm.”
Zachery said, “I don’t think this changes anything. The others he targeted were married, but that isn’t the basis of his criteria. He’s after people who abused animals and got away with it.”
“Specifically men who abused dogs,” I added.
“Things we’ve already covered.” Jack’s jaw was taut. “Back to forensics. Anything else?”
“They found a scrape of chrome paint at the scene,” Hogan answered. “They figure it came off—”
“The hitch.”
Hogan’s eyes snapped to Jack’s, but he didn’t express his irritation over being interrupted. He left that to his body language.
“Good news is they may be able to match that paint to a vehicle make,” McClellan pitched in.
“Yes, they probably can.”
Jack’s agreement with McClellan had the detective smiling.
I used the opening as an opportunity to voice my suspicion. “Bowen has a Dodge Ram.”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Pending.”
I glared at Zachery. It was one thing to insist on nicknames when it was just the four of us and quite another that he’d pull it out in front of other people. “And what’s that?”
“Bowen was in the room with you when Ellis was being dragged along the road like a sack of potatoes.”
Paige scowled at Zachery’s indelicate turn of phrase.
“What’s to say that he didn’t do the deed before we picked him up?” I was struggling to regain ground. I hadn’t thought everything through prior to opening my mouth. In a lot of ways, I just wanted this case over.
“A quick solution would be to check the hitch on his truck,” Zachery offered.
We had found his vehicle behind the activist headquarters.
McClellan waved his finger toward him. “I’ll get a uniform over there right away.”
I nodded, and, as Paige latched eyes with me, the truth reflected back. I was eager to get home, not for Christmas but for closure when it came to my marriage. I was ready to move on with the next chapter in my life. A part of me envisioned sipping wine with Paige while holiday music played in the background.
The Defenseless (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 3) Page 9
