“What?”
“I forgot to tell you about the body.”
“What body?”
“At least I think it’s a body.”
“It either is or it isn’t. Where is it?”
“In my shower.”
“Are you sure they’re dead.”
“Absolutely.”
“Why do you think it’s a body.”
Fiona paused, her mouth filling with bile as she pictured the scene.
“Because he’s been cut in half. Only his left side is there.” She gulped. “That can’t be real, can it?”
Her voice was pleading, almost that of a child, hoping against hope that what they had witnessed wasn’t real, couldn’t possibly be real, that such horrors couldn’t be committed by man.
But her plea was greeted with a silent pause that became uncomfortably long.
“Are you still there?”
“Just a minute.”
Fiona could hear shuffling and orders being shouted, then the sound of a car door opening.
A whispered gasp of, “Oh my God!” burst through her phone.
A lump formed in her throat, creating a pain that threatened to burst through if not relieved.
“What, what is it?” she at last asked.
The reply was subdued, the confidence she had heard earlier gone.
“I think I found the other half.”
Scaramell leaned over and heaved again, his Training Officer, Richards, patting him sympathetically on the back. Aynslee hugged a lamppost, gasping for breath, and Trace leaned on the hood of the rental, both hands desperately trying to hold her up as her arms shook.
“Don’t worry about it kid, I blew chunks the first time I saw something like that too.”
Richards’ voice was quiet, almost monotone. Trace stared at the bumper of the rental parked behind the van they had just opened, focusing on the plates, trying to rid her mind of the image that would be burned in her memory forever. She had never seen anything like it before, and she doubted Richards had either. His voice belied his feelings as he obviously battled his own emotions while at the same time trying to remain strong and in control for his young partner.
This is the type of shit that has these young guys quitting.
Her mind flashed to Mark as she realized what they had just seen was reminiscent of something that might be found on a battlefield. A bloody carcass, almost unrecognizable, but in this case, perfectly recognizable. A perfect profile view of Carl Gray. From the right.
She sighed and squared her shoulders, steeling herself for what was to come. She had to look at the body, she had to do her job, and there was no way she could do that while having her emotional side in control. It was time for her to compartmentalize the emotions, and move forward so she could catch the sick freak that had done this.
She turned and looked at the hunk of flesh that lay in the back of the van, the one remaining eye staring at her, its final look of horror somehow frozen in time. Leaning in, it seemed apparent to her that he had been cut in half, from head to groin, right up the middle.
How the hell would you do something like that?
“Looks like a table saw of some type.”
She nearly jumped at the sound of Richards’ voice.
Of course!
“Granite dust was found at two crime scenes.”
“My parents just put in granite countertops. I wonder if our perp works as an installer.”
Trace nodded. It was as good a theory as any, and fit. But how would someone do this without anyone else knowing? There had to be other people there, witnesses. Not many people had a one man granite countertop shop.
Or did they?
She had to admit she had no clue. She assumed it was at least a two man job, but then again, how many men did it take to saw a man in half?
“Could be.” She motioned at Scaramell with a nod. “Is he going to be okay?”
Richards nodded.
“Sure, just in shock right now.”
“Can’t blame him.” She glanced back at the corpse and shivered. “Call dispatch, have them send a crime scene unit here immediately, and send one to Lipton’s address.”
He nodded and stepped away to make the calls. She grabbed her phone and called Vinny. It rang twice before she heard his familiar voice.
“Fantino.”
“Vinny, you’re about to get two calls. Go to Fiona Lipton’s place. I’ll meet you there.”
“What am I expecting?”
“Two pieces of a very disgusting puzzle.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind, I can’t even believe I said that. Just make sure you haven’t eaten before you get there.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and get MJ to go there first as well.”
“Okay, I’ll let him know.” There was a pause. “You okay?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer. She wasn’t. But for so many reasons, not just the carcass that lay behind her.
“I’m not sure,” she replied truthfully.
“That bad, huh?”
She decided to go with the easy answer.
“Yes.”
Shakespeare cranked the wheel into a spot in front of a fire hydrant, and slammed the brakes on. Jumping out of his car, he began to run then thought better of it, walking briskly instead.
No point scaring the shit out of the kid.
And with that thought he slowed down a little more. The kid had only ever seen him calm. To reveal how scared and anxious he actually felt at this moment, would send the kid into his own panic over his mother. Whatever he was feeling right now, no matter the anguish, no matter the fear, he had to hide it. He had to try and appear as calm as possible for the kid’s sake.
But how could he?
The woman he loved had been kidnapped, kidnapped by a brutal rapist and murderer. He stopped and leaned on a parking meter as he fought the tears. Images from the previous crime scenes flashed before his eyes. The women, leaned over the edges of beds, couches, chairs. Bound and gagged. Raped for hours. Repeatedly stabbed. Shot in the head.
He stifled a cry and thought of his training. Compartmentalize. Don’t think of her as a person, think of her as an object. Try to keep emotion out of it.
This is why you’re taken off cases where you’re involved personally. You can’t keep emotion out of it.
But there was no way he was letting the LT take him off this.
No fuckin’ way.
He gathered himself and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders. The diner wasn’t even a block away, and he knew the kid would be there, wondering why his mother wasn’t. He resumed his walk, as calmly as he could, trying to maintain a pace that wouldn’t get his adrenaline pumping more than it already was, and instead tried to occupy himself with the case.
But it didn’t work.
He stepped up to the diner, the Chrome Worx Diner’s neon lights blazing in the early dusk of late fall, and pulled open the door.
“Hey, Shakes, how’s life treating you?” asked Mitch, the chef and owner who appeared to be working the counter and the grill.
Shakespeare grunted a response.
Mitch motioned around him. “She’s not here, didn’t show up today.” He pushed a pot of coffee at a customer. “Help yourself and pass it down.” Rushing back into the kitchen, Shakespeare watched as he flipped a couple of burgers. “Not like her to not just show up like that,” he said through the opening. “Hope she’s okay.”
“Is Tommy here?”
“He was, just left a minute ago, said he was going home to see if she was there. Probably still at the bus stop.”
“Which way?”
“Out the door, hang a right, end of the block.”
Shakespeare marched to the door and shoved it open, this time not worrying about what message his gait might suggest. He had to reach Tommy before he got on the bus. Briskly he closed the distance between the stop and the diner, but couldn’t pick Tommy out from the crowd that
had gathered.
He heard the distinct sound of airbrakes behind him and looked.
Shit!
The bus roared by him then the brakes squealed as the diesel beast came to a halt. He began to jog toward the bus.
“Tommy!” he yelled, but no one turned. The last passenger climbed aboard, and the doors closed. The brakes hissed and he heard the engine roar as the driver began to pull away. He caught up to the back of the bus and slapped it with his hand, trying to get the driver’s attention.
He did, the driver looking in the mirror, but instead of stopping, he shook his head and kept going.
Shakespeare reached for his gun, but thought better of it.
“Mr. Shakespeare, what’re you doing here?”
He spun and sighed in relief as he bent over and rested with his hands pushing on his knees.
“Tommy, I thought you were on the bus.”
Tommy shrugged and bit into a shawarma.
“Normally I eat dinner at the diner, but Mom wasn’t there, so I figured I’d get something myself, then go home. Just in case she’s sick, you know, and doesn’t feel like cooking.”
What a great kid.
Shakespeare stood up. “There’s something I need to tell you about your mother.”
Tommy stopped in mid chew, then swallowed. “Is she okay?”
Shakespeare recognized the twinge of fear in the teenager’s voice.
“As far as we know, she’s okay right now, but—” He stopped. What should I tell him? He wasn’t experienced enough with kids to know what to do. Always tell the truth. It was advice he had heard over and over, but how much of the truth was always the real question.
“But?”
The shawarma had dropped from his mouth, forgotten.
“But she’s missing. I don’t really know more than that, but I’m going to bring you to the station with me, just to be safe.”
Shakespeare immediately regretted the word.
“Safe? Why, why isn’t it safe?”
Shakespeare sighed. “Do you want the truth?”
Tommy nodded, though hesitantly. “Y-yeah.”
“Okay, you know Aynslee Kai?”
“The hottie on TV?”
Shakespeare had to smile at the teenage libido cutting right through the fear for his mother.
“Yes, well you know the three of us had dinner last night.”
“Yeah, but Mom never came home. I just figured, you now, that she spent the night at your place.”
Shakespeare’s eyebrows narrowed. “You know we never do that.”
Tommy shrugged. “Hey, I know how it works. I don’t really care, as long as Mom’s happy.”
Shakespeare smiled, then frowned as he continued. “Well, there was an incident at the restaurant, so I had to stay behind.”
“Was somebody murdered?” He sounded almost anxious for it to be true, his teenage mind so accustomed to a 140 character text message and Twitter world, it couldn’t seem to focus on the fact his mother was missing.
“No. But Aynslee was supposed to drive your mother home. Instead Aynslee was kidnapped.” Tommy’s jaw dropped and Shakespeare raised a hand before the kid could interrupt. “She’s okay, we found her about an hour ago, but we don’t know where your mother is.”
The shawarma dropped to the ground as its consumer finally realized the gravity of the situation. “Is she”—his voice cracked—“dead?”
Shakespeare shook his head from side to side rapidly. “No! If Aynslee’s alive, we have every reason to believe your mom is. The kidnapper is probably trying to send a message to me. We’ll find her, okay, I promise you, we’ll find her.”
And it was a promise he immediately regretted making.
What if I find her, and she’s already dead?
His phone rang.
Trace.
He flicked it open.
“Go ahead.”
“We found Carl Gray.”
“I didn’t know we were looking for him.”
“Well, we weren’t, but…” Her voice drifted off, as if unsure what to say.
“Out with it, I’m kind of busy.”
“Oh, sorry, boss, it’s just..” Again she drifted, but this time he bit his tongue, already regretting snapping at her. “Well, he’s dead.”
“Dead?”
Tommy cried out, tears bursting forth and Shakespeare waved his hand, lowering the phone.
“No no no! Not your mother, somebody else, not related to this at all, don’t worry.”
Tommy sniffed and wiped a sleeve across his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, just give me a minute, okay?”
Tommy nodded and Shakespeare stepped away.
“Details,” he said, raising the phone to his ear again.
“Fiona Lipton called, said she was kidnapped, and that he said to look in the van. There was a van parked in front of the rental, so we tried the door and it was unlocked. Inside we found the body, or”—again she paused, then there was the sound of a deep breath being sucked in—“or, to be more accurate, half his body.”
“Huh?”
“Half. He’s been cut right up the middle, groin to head.”
Shakespeare’s shoulders slumped.
If we’re dealing with a guy who would do something like that, what would he do to Louise?
“And that’s not the best part,” continued Trace.
“There’s more?”
“Yeah, Fiona Lipton says the other half is in her shower.”
Shakespeare shook his head.
“How’s Aynslee?”
“She’s fine. After the crime scene guys get here and process her, I’ll have her come by the station and hook her up with a sketch artist.”
“Sounds good. I’m going to drop Tommy off at the station, then I’ll head over to Lipton’s apartment.”
“Okay, boss, I’ve already sent Vinny and MJ there.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
He hung up the phone and waved Tommy over.
“Let’s get you to the station.”
He put his arm over the boy’s shoulders, and squeezed him into his side. The boy didn’t resist as he would expect most teenagers would. Instead, his head dropped onto Shakespeare’s chest.
“I hope Mom’s okay,” he whispered.
“So do I, son, so do I.”
But he couldn’t help but think of what had happened to Carl Gray.
What kind of monster are we dealing with?
“Here it is.”
Stephen Russell held out the vial and the group leaned forward as one.
“How long does it take?” asked Allan Fisk.
“About an hour. It’ll look like a heart attack, and they’ll never think to look for it in a tox screen.”
At least that’s what Russell hoped. He knew it could be detected, but he didn’t care. If it got traced back to him, he was willing to pay the price. He was even willing to go down for the crime alone, after what had happened to his sister. Life didn’t mean much anymore, his practice going south with so much of his life consumed over the past five years by the bile and hatred caused by the mass murderer who now roamed free.
“Are you sure it can’t be traced back to you?”
He nodded.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like there’s a serial number on it. We put it on the pizza, then we destroy the vial. He eats one piece, and he’s dead in an hour. He eats two, hell, he might be dead in thirty minutes.”
“What if he only takes a bite?”
Russell’s eyebrows narrowed as he looked at Rebecca Sorenson.
“What guy who’s been in prison for five years eats just one bite of pizza? Trust me, he’ll eat it.”
“I hope so,” muttered Sorenson. “Our luck he doesn’t even like pizza.”
“No, that’s not true. I read in an interview once that the thing he missed the most, besides his mother”—there were groans—“was deep dish meat lover’s pizza.”
&n
bsp; Kara Long raised her finger. “With hot peppers!”
“That’s right!” exclaimed Russell. “You read the same interview?”
“We all did,” said Fisk.
Of course they all did.
It’s all we do.
He couldn’t wait for it to be over, to move on with his life, to put the death of his sister behind him, and embrace life once again. And Cooper’s death would allow him to do that, to allow them all to do it.
“Has anybody heard from Carl?”
Head shakes.
“I’m getting a little worried,” said Crawford. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Maybe he got cold feet?” suggested Fisk.
Sorenson leaned back in her chair. “I have to admit, I almost didn’t come tonight. For five years I’ve dreamed of killing this man, of having him suffer like my sister did, but now that we’re the ones who have to actually deliver him to justice…” Her voice trailed off.
“I know what you mean,” agreed Crawford, crossing his arms. “It’s one thing to say you’re going to kill someone, it’s an entirely different thing to actually do it.”
“But we are going to do it, right?” asked Fisk.
“Absolutely,” replied Russell. “I want that bastard dead. I don’t care if I go to prison for doing it. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Then it’s agreed?” asked Fisk of the group.
Everyone nodded.
“It’s agreed.”
Russell looked at his watch. “When do we do it?’
Fisk stood up.
“Now’s as good a time as any.”
Russell stood as well, holding both hands out to the people beside him. They all rose and held hands in a circle, lowering their heads.
“For those who are not with us today,” whispered Russell.
And as one, the group echoed his words.
“For those who are not with us today.”
Walker looked in the back of the van then immediately turned around, covering his mouth. He took another look, just to make certain his eyes hadn’t deceived him, then turned away.
“Bad?”
He turned to Curtis.
“Bad.”
Curtis looked in and cursed.
“Now there’s something you don’t see every day.”
Walker nodded.
If we did, I’d hang up my hat since we’d obviously failed miserably in our jobs.
Redeemer (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #3) Page 20
