And Gigi. She would always have to protect Gigi.
She swung Lenny’s camera around over her head by the strap, casting it out into the deep water, the splash satisfying. She’d pulled the memory card out earlier, breaking it into pieces, letting the bits of plastic slip from her fingers as she had driven back toward Marburg. She’d seen nothing incriminating on the memory card, even in the few shots of her, interspersed with hundreds of photos of other women, the desperate attempts by a desperate man to connect to beauty. If Lenny had backups her pictures would be lost in the sea of anonymous bodies.
Melanie stripped off the shirt, there was blood on it. Standing in just her bra and jeans, she formed the shirt into a pouch, filled it with a large rock, wrapped it up and tossed it in the water, watching it sink. It was too dark to see if there was blood on her jeans, she didn’t want to take the risk, so she stripped those off too, as well as her sneakers, lashing them together by the laces and flinging everything into the dark abyss.
Melanie stood there in her underwear, not feeling the rocks dig into her bare feet, her senses immune to the chill breeze. As a teenager she been in this very same spot with even less clothing, it didn’t faze her in the least.
Lenny’s cell phone also went into the reservoir after she’d smashed it with a rock. Then the knife. She’d taken all his money, eight dollars, he didn’t even have a credit card, loser. She’d go back home, put the blue dress back on, and hit the club once more. If she needed an alibi, which she doubted, people would remember seeing her at the club.
Nobody would care about Lenny. She certainly didn’t.
Melanie gave one last look at the reservoir, thinking of simpler times, then turned away and walked to her car to get on with her life.
CHAPTER 21
Martin Ryder was about to brief Captain Logan when Logan’s phone rang. Logan held up his finger in a wait gesture to Ryder and picked up the phone, which pissed Ryder off. Logan couldn’t possibly know that the call was more important than his report.
“Logan.” The Captain put his feet up on the corner of his messy desk, disturbing Ryder even more than the interruption, the casualness of the entire department evidenced in Logan’s repose.
“My detective is here now to give me an update,” said Logan. “I don’t think we have any breakthrough yet?” Logan looked quizzically at Ryder, who shook his head. “I’ll make sure he copies you on everything. Appreciate any help you can give us.” Logan leaned back, his chair creaking, Ryder half hoping he’d fall over. “Right. How’s Judy? Give her my best. We’ll see you at the Rotary meeting. Hey, did I tell you about the wild turkey I bagged with Lewis? Biggest bird I’ve ever seen. Next year, come with us, we got a spot.” Logan swung his feet off the desk, his boots thumping. “Okay, Larry, we’ll be in touch.”
“Sheriff McAndrew?” asked Ryder.
“Yeah. Offering his help in the stabbing you are working.”
“We can handle it.” Ryder tried to hide the disdain from his voice about McAndrew; he really didn’t have anything against the sheriff, but he hated all the good old boy bullshit. It wasn’t likely that McAndrew, or even Logan for that matter, would go hunting with Ryder, even if Ryder hunted.
Logan grunted. “Never turn down help. And he’s not going to step on your toes. He could probably take jurisdiction if he wanted.”
“I thought we had Greenhill?”
“Only because it’s an unincorporated town. Technically it would be under the Sheriff. Or the State Police, who knows. But there was a deal cut a hundred years ago when Greenhill contracted to use the Marburg Police. No joke, back when the police were on horses. The deal didn’t exactly spell out who handled major crimes. I don’t even know if they still pay the city or what.”
“Either way I can handle it,” repeated Ryder. He hadn’t been lead on a homicide in Marburg and wanted the case.
“Tell me where we are,” said Logan.
Ryder looked at his notes, but didn’t need them. “Victim is named Lawrence Gruse, aged twenty four. He had no identification—no wallet—but there was an insurance card in the car where the victim was found in the name of Patricia Gruse, the victim’s mother. The car was registered to her. Both the victim and his mother moved to Marburg earlier this year from California. They’re living at a house belonging to Tom Harris—Patricia’s boyfriend. Harris has no record. Neither does the victim or the mother. Cause of death is multiple stab wounds to the upper leg, groin area, and lower torso. One of them hit a femoral artery, Gruse likely bled out.”
“Bled out in the car? He didn’t try to get help?”
“Looks like it. We’re waiting on a toxicology report, see if he was drunk or high, he might not have even known what was going on. We found three capsules in his pocket wrapped in foil, a few empty glassine envelopes, a half dozen empty baggies that may have held marijuana. Everything is at the lab.”
“Knives are usually personal.”
Ryder said, “Could be a crackhead.” Any crackhead who got his hands on a gun typically sold it or traded it for more drugs.
“Witnesses?”
“No one we’ve found, even though he was parked pretty close to the back entrance of the motel.”
“I know the place, pretty dark.”
Ryder looked back at his notes. “Only three guests registered. The place isn’t exactly a metropolis. One checked out, we’re tracking him down. The others are an elderly couple. They claim they were asleep. We’re looking at them, but probably nothing there.”
“Employees?”
Ryder wished Logan would just let him give his report in order, he knew what he was doing, Logan jumping around like a three year old. “Two, together all evening in the lobby watching a movie. Didn’t hear a thing. They say people park in the back all the time even if they aren’t coming into the motel.” Ryder hesitated, maybe Logan would be helpful after all. “You say you know that place? That back lot. Drugs? Prostitutes?”
Logan shrugged. “Could be. I haven’t been to that part of Greenhill for years. Used to be a good fish place on that main road, before you cross the tracks. Don’t remember any reports about the motel. You should check.”
He thinks I’m an idiot, thought Ryder. “I did. Only three reports in the last five years, all minor. One guest skipped without paying, another stole a television, I guess that was before they bolted them down. The third an arrest of a guest, possession with intent, but he wasn’t dealing there, that’s just where they caught him.”
“Better check it anyway,” said Logan.
“I am. But the victim, Gruse, appears to have been very short of cash.”
“Could have been duped, new guy in town, thinks he’s scoring some dope or coke, gets robbed. No wallet, you said.”
“Or cell phone, although he has one in his name. We didn’t find it at his house, and the number rolls to voicemail. We’re pulling his phone records. Nothing obvious on his computer, he was a part time photographer, some emails about selling photographs.”
“Porn?”
“Selling porn photographs or porn on his computer?”
“Both.”
“Twenty something guy living in an attic apartment at his mother’s boyfriend’s place, what do you think?”
Logan’s eyes hardened. “I don’t need the tone, detective.”
Ryder bit his tongue, he was letting Logan get to him. “Sorry. Porn on his computer, yes, nothing apparently underage. The photographs he was selling were celebrity shots.”
“In Marburg?”
“Probably explains why he wasn’t rolling in money. We haven’t gone through all his photos yet, but a lot of them seem to be celebrities.”
“Anyone have it in for this guy?”
“We’re still checking. We can’t find many people who know him. Kind of a loner, or just finding his way around.”
“You getting the help you need?”
“Cindy is doing the records searches, I’m doing the interviews. With some help from
Burkett, a few others.”
Logan shook his head. “Be careful where you send Burkett alone. He’s a little rough around the edges.”
Everyone here is, thought Ryder. Even you. “He’s canvassing mostly.”
“What else you working?”
“The stolen car thing, the Geary brothers chop shop. Those cousins dealing out of the back of Antonio’s pizza. Still looking for their source. A few burglaries. That assault case, or possible assault case, the break-in over at Third. A few others, nothing major.”
“Drop everything except the homicide and the assault,” said Logan. “Give the pizza drug thing and the whole Geary package to O’Dowd. Split the burglaries up to the senior officers—no, better yet, give them to Hendricks, he’s next in line for a shield, let’s see how he manages a ton of shit at once.”
That was fine with Ryder. He didn’t even mind keeping the Third Street burglary, or whatever it was. He’d been just about to do a follow up with the good looking victim when the Gruse murder had hit.
“This killing. Could be random,” mused Logan.
Ryder didn’t want to go there. Most murders were solved within a few days or not at all; crimes of passion, the husband calling it in, the gun on the counter. Or after the neighbors reported constant fights. Obvious drug deals. “Still a lot to check,” said Ryder, not wanting to give it up, a closed homicide would look good on his record.
“Still, I want Winter to work with you on this.”
“Jesus, Captain.” Ryder couldn’t keep the displeasure out of his voice.
“No, not Jesus, just Winter. He’s good at this shit, even more so if it’s random.”
“Nobody wants to work with him.”
“Nobody wants to work with you either,” said Logan. “Winter had a partner for ten years, you couldn’t hold one in Derry and you can’t here either.”
“All good reasons to explain those.”
Logan held up a hand. “Save it. I’m not going to have only one detective on a homicide, I wouldn’t even let Winter do that, and he’s cleared plenty. I told you, don’t turn down help.”
Ryder snapped his notebook shut. It was bad enough he had to use that Neanderthal Burkett to do footwork, and chafe under Logan. Now he’d have to work with Winter.
Maybe even a homicide case wasn’t worth this.
Winter parked behind the Ford in Brooker’s driveway. Every time he stopped by to visit he thought about asking if Brooker wanted him to drive it around, it wasn’t good to let a car sit. He couldn’t remember if he had asked. Today for sure.
He knocked on the side door and let himself in, the way of old friends. In the kitchen a black woman was at the sink, washing dishes, she turned as the door opened, startled. Winter paused, Brooker’s nurse.
“Sorry,” he said. Winter couldn’t remember her name. “I’m a friend of Brooker’s . . .”
“I know, Detective Winter. We’ve met a few times.” The woman dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Can I get you anything? Mr. Stan is in the living room.”
Winter was bothered by the fact that he couldn’t remember her name, he was usually pretty good with names. Had they really met a few times like she said? He thought just once. She looked familiar enough, the very dark skin, close cropped hair, slim, looking elegant even in a white nurse’s smock and soft sneaker-like shoes.
“No, I’m good. I just stopped by for a minute.” Winter stood there, oddly embarrassed, not accustomed to seeing someone in Brooker’s house. Brooker had never married, and Winter couldn’t recall him ever mentioning bringing a woman to his place. “I’ll just go in, then.”
Winter found Brooker in the living room, the television turned down low, some kind of nature program, Winter surprised at that, Brooker was mostly a sports guy. Huh.
Brooker clicked off the television and got up from the easy chair, Winter gesturing him to sit down. “Gotta move around,” said Brooker, but he sunk back in the chair. He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Maria is on my case about it all the time.”
Maria, that was her name. “You still need a nurse?” said Winter. “Something happen?”
Brooker waved his hand. “Nah. She just comes a few times a week, follow up. Makes sure I’m taking my meds.”
Winter was about to comment on that when Maria appeared. “I brought coffee,” she said, setting two mugs down on the coffee table. “Decaf, that’s all Mr. Stan can have.” She gave Winter a stern look, as if he might have some No-Doz hidden in his pocket to slip into the coffee.
She left. Winter sat on the sofa, noting the coffee she had put in front of him was black, the way he drank it. Brooker’s was half milk, the way he took it, Maria seemed to know a lot. Winter took a sip, he hated decaf and knew Brooker did too. “Decaf?”
“You get used to it,” said Brooker.
Winter toyed with the mug. “Decaf, nature shows, making sure you get exercise, take your pills. Sounds more like a wife than a nurse.”
Brooker glanced at the door. “Could do a lot worse.”
That wasn’t what Winter expected to hear. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Brooker flushed, which took a lot, he was a ruddy guy, always had that drinker’s glow, even though he wasn’t an alcoholic.
Brooker let him off the hook. “She’s been good company, I’m going nuts cooped up here.”
“You’ll be fine once you get back to work.”
“Might be a while,” said Brooker. He took a sip of coffee. “Or not at all.”
Winter’s head snapped up. “What?”
“The department is in no hurry to bring me back, what with the lawsuit still hanging out there.”
“I told you I should have taken the heat on that.”
“They would have buried you. Even without a lawsuit. You’ve had three strikes so many times it’s a miracle we’ve made it to extra innings.” Brooker looked out the window. In a more subdued voice he said, “There’s another thing. Damn doctors might not give me clearance. Unstable angina, all that shit. Next time it might be worse than me just passing out and banging my head in the kitchen.”
“You just need to lose some weight, get some exercise.” Brooker actually didn’t look that bad.
“Now who sounds like a wife.”
Winter pushed his coffee away. “Stan, don’t do this to me.” The thought of not working with Brooker was unfathomable. “Does Logan know?”
“Not yet. I went to my personal doctor. Why?”
“Logan is putting me on something with Ryder. I thought it was a one time thing, but . . .”
“You think he’s trying you two out together?”
“He better not be. Ryder’s—a little stiff.”
“He’s an asshole,” said Brooker. “For a guy who wants everything by the book he’ll do anything to get ahead.”
“Ah, he just a little stiff.”
Brooker frowned. “You said that.”
Winter looked away, confused. Had he? First he forgot Maria’s name, now he was repeating himself. He reached for the coffee, remembered it had no caffeine, and put the cup back down. “Just get better,” he said. “You leave me stuck with Ryder and I’ll put you back in the hospital for real.”
Brooker leaned forward. “Watch your back with Ryder. There may be another reason beside bringing new blood into the department that he’s here.”
“To keep his eye on whether we’re all following modern police policies?”
“Or to keep his eye on us specifically. Now just you.”
Both men mulled over that. Winter said, “Logan would have to be in on it.”
“Ryder could be watching him too.”
“Ryder doesn’t seem like an Internal Affairs guy.”
“Who knows? Maybe they’ve got new blood too. Anyway, just keep it in mind. Don’t let him see so much of—our way of working.”
Winter grinned. “I don’t know how to work any other way.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. The world is changing. Soon cops like us won’t fit i
n at all. I’ve at least got an excuse to quit. What the hell would you do?”
Winter couldn’t imagine not being a cop. He expected to be working well past his twenty. “Maybe modern police techniques really are better.”
“You’ve seen Ryder, what do you think?”
“Now you’re getting me depressed.”
“What’s Logan got you two on? The Greenhill homicide?”
“You know about that?”
“I have a heart problem, I can still read the papers. Drug deal?”
“Not sure yet. I just got briefed by Ryder. Say what you want, he’s organized. I didn’t see the paper, what did it say?”
“Not much. Adult male found dead in a car behind the motel. I read it in the County Weekly, must have just made the edition, not much detail.”
“You’re sicker than I thought, reading the Weekly. That paper even have sports scores?”
“High school. You know, some of those kids aren’t bad.”
Winter didn’t know if Brooker was serious. Pro sports Winter enjoyed, he couldn’t imagine watching anything less than that, even college games bored him. “Victim lived here in Marburg, is a recent relocation from Los Angeles with his mother. Had some kind of freelance photography business. No record. Still waiting on toxicology, but no marks on his arms, no paraphernalia in the car or his house. Might have been scoring some weed, but why go all the way to Greenhill for that?”
“Might not know where he could score locally.”
“Like just about any street corner or hotel? Another thing odd, he was stabbed multiple times, around the groin.”
Both men shifted in their chairs. “Ouch,” said Brooker.
“My sentiment exactly. Weird place to get stabbed for dealer taking off a customer, and what dealer does that, anyway? Even if someone lured him there, wanted to rob him, okay, but stab him in the nuts?”
“In the nuts?” Brooker was still squirming in the chair.
“Close enough. Caught him low, he was sitting in the driver’s seat, what killed him was his femoral artery getting sliced. Normally I’d think it was personal, especially a knife, but the M.E. said he might have got the groin stab wounds during a struggle.”
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