"That's fine. Just a few quick questions - I hate to bother you at this time, but there are some things we need to check, and the sooner the better. Are you okay with that?"
"Of course. Whatever I can do, of course."
"First, and most obvious, is there anyone, anyone at all that you can think of that might want to harm your parents?
His eyebrows puckered and he put on a crooked half smile, shaking his head. "They were semi-retired. Mom didn't work anymore, dad had pretty much sold most of the business, wasn't too involved with things at the plant any more. They had a little money, but not that much. They donated a lot of it. There's some in trust for me, and they put some aside for any grandkids."
She looked at him questioningly.
"No, no. There's nothing going on," he answered quickly. "I meant later on, someday. Not now."
She nodded, understanding.
He looked down, shaking his head. "There just wasn't any reason to kill them." He looked up at her again. "Do you have any idea who it was? Or why?"
"No, I'm afraid not. Not yet. Of course, we're just starting. That's why I wanted to check with you first, get a head start if you had any information." She paused a moment. "No threats? No problems with anyone that you know of?"
"No, nothing. I probably would have heard. I'm sure I would've heard - they'd have told me if there was anything important, or any problems."
Time to give him some more, she thought.
Again, she nodded, and paused, looking at him intently. "I'm afraid there's more, Mr. McCulloch."
"More? What do you mean, more? Both my parents were just killed. What do mean, more?" He looked at her, unbelieving, but his hands once again grabbed the dashboard and knee.
"It's your grandfather. I was just on the phone as you walked up a moment ago. It seems that your grandfather is missing."
He cocked his head, puzzled. "Missing?"
"He's been missing since sometime after breakfast. They thought it was possible he might have left with someone and forgotten to sign out. Do you know anything about that?"
His eyes opened widely in surprise.
"Missing? He can't just walk out. He can't do anything on his own." He looked down, and around, as if the answer would be found lying there on the ground. "He has a few friends that visit, but they're all old, too. They aren't able to take him out of the building. He's in a wheelchair. So no one would take him. They couldn't. Besides, he's not aware of much. It would do no good. Even I didn't take him out of the building. Not anymore."
He shook his head. "Are they sure he's not in the building? Did they take him by ambulance to a doctor visit?"
"Was he scheduled for one?"
"Not that I know of... no, I don't think so. I can't imagine where he..."
He looked up quickly at Ruger. "Are you saying- are you saying he was taken? Kidnapped?"
She thought he looked even more pained, more shocked, than on hearing of his parents murders, but, on the other hand, he'd probably expected bad news when he drove up to squad cars, and with the coroner's and crime scene's wagons present, he'd had some time to start registering what he was undoubtedly going to find out.
The grandfather, on the other hand, was a complete surprise.
"Why?" he repeated plaintively. "You think it's related to this?" he asked, nodding towards the house.
"Again, we have no idea. I just got the call."
He continued slowly shaking his head, mumbling why, why, why under his breath.
"Are you okay, Mr. McCulloch? Mr. McCulloch?" She waited a moment, then put a hand on his knee. "Are you okay?"
He stopped his motion, again looking at her. "I'm sorry. I'm okay. It's just, just..."
"I understand. You don't have to apologize. Or explain." She stood up, finally stretching her legs, stiff from the awkward position. "You sit here for a bit. I'll be back in a few minutes."
He nodded, looking down again.
She stepped around to the rear of the car. "Roberts?"
"Yes ma'am?"
"Keep an eye on him here. If he looks like he's going to pass out, have him lie down. I don't think he's anyone of interest, but he's had a couple of pretty bad shocks, so just watch him. A friend of his may come to get him, name of Peters. Last name Peters. Come get me when he gets here."
"Yes ma'am."
"You know, Roberts, you're beginning to make me feel old with all that yes, ma'am and no ma'am shit."
"Sorry ma'am. I mean, sorry."
"No problem. Just keep an eye on him."
"Yes ma'– okay. Will do."
She walked back up the drive to see how things were going, taking the long way around to get a look at the outside of the house, the backyard, garage. The entry was obvious. The back door had been kicked in. The door was heavy, but she could see boot prints where it had been kicked several times near the door knob, where the wood had finally given way. Three heel prints. Three kicks. Enough to give them some warning, but not much. The tech was dusting the screen door as she entered.
"Anything?" she asked.
"Plenty here on the door, but-"
"I know. Have to eliminate all the legit ones." She went through, joining the others in cataloging the items strewn around the room. She'd been at it for perhaps fifteen minutes when her phone rang. She answered with a curt. "Ruger," paused a moment, then said, "I'll be right down". She looked through the window at a slender man, about her age, standing at the car door, speaking with McCulloch. She watched for a moment, trying to get a feel for the two. She headed down the drive again."
She approached the two men by her car. "Hello. I'm Detective Ruger. Thanks for coming."
Mark stood up and cut in. "Detective, this is Dr. Mike Peters, from the University. We've been friends ever since I took a class with him some seven or eight years ago"
She held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Dr. Peters." He had a firm grip. Didn't look like a college professor. Not any like she remembered.
"Mike, please. Nice to meet you, too.
"Mike, thanks for coming down. I assume Mr. McCulloch has filled you in on what we know so far?"
He nodded. "I can't believe it. I don't know what to say."
She turned to Mark, who was out of the car, standing, but holding onto the car door. "Mr. McCulloch, I've been thinking. Just as a precaution, perhaps you shouldn't stay at your home for a few days. I have no idea what's going on, but until then, there's always the possibility, remote, I'm sure, but possibility that you could be a target."
Mike jumped in. "Of course. He can stay with me. I'm single, there's plenty of room. And just let somebody try something at my place. It'd be their last time."
She looked at Mike for a moment, before turning towards Mark. "Well?"
Mark hesitated a moment. "I suppose so. Hate to be a bother..."
"Don't be ridiculous," Mike retorted. "What else do we need to do? Anything I can help with?" He was looking at her.
"I think we're good for today." She looked at Mark. "How about leaving me your cell phone number and home address, and I'll give you a call tomorrow. That okay?"
"Absolutely." He pulled a pen out, and looked around for a piece of paper. She handed him her notepad, and he jotted down his name, number, and address.
Mike interrupted. "Mark, put down my name and phone and address, too, just in case they need it."
Mark nodded and kept writing. "Here you go. Both of our informations."
"Thanks. Mark, I'll call you tomorrow. Actually, would it be possible for you to come in tomorrow afternoon? To my office? Sometimes it's easier that way."
"Sure. Whatever you need."
"Thanks. I appreciate your cooperation. Nice meeting you, Mr. Peters, er, Mike," shaking his hand, "and again, Mr. McCulloch, I'm so sorry for your loss." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out two business cards, handing one to each man. "If you think of anything, or need anything, don't hesitate to call me." Then, looking Mark in the eye, "I don't know what's going on here y
et, so please be careful, okay?"
Chapter 3
Detective Ruger leaned back in her chair. Tilting back further, almost to the point of tipping over, she could see the clock, upside down, behind her. One hand straight up, one straight down. Or vice versa, from her point of view. Six a.m.
She looked around the table. "Okay, everybody. Time to break. Go home, get some sleep. Let's meet back about, say, two this afternoon? The McCullochs aren't going anywhere, and we've got a lot of people working. There's a lot of information coming in soon, and there's nothing we're gonna do until then. We're not going to do anybody any good like this. Go home."
Silent nods from around the table. Nobody said anything as chairs slid back, folders closed, and feet shuffled out the door. With everyone gone, she rewound the video and played it one more time. They had found one security camera, with video, on site. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the camera in a tree along the driveway near the street picked up the library window, and Mr. McCulloch was visible, as was, on occasion, the attackers. They knew now there were two. Mrs. McCulloch, thankfully, wasn't visible. The brutality on her husband, though, was difficult enough to watch. Thanks to high definition, every blow had been played, replayed, and slow-motioned dozens of times. The shock and pain as the attacker took aim, then put a bullet in his foot registered clearly. What was even worse was the look on his face when his attackers took out his wife out of view of the camera. There was no missing, even without sound, the moment that the attacker shot Mrs. McCulloch. Blood sprayed all the way to the window. The pain and desperation in the man's face went dead, and in a manner of moments, his face, although beaten, bruised, and bleeding, aged a hundred years. It was at that moment, heart still beating, and blood still flowing, for all intents and purposes, he had died. His head dropped, and despite additional beating, and another bullet in the other foot, there was no response. He had shut down. In final desperation, and probably knowing his time was limited, the attacker put a final bullet in the beaten man's face, a move that was totally counterproductive, as he apparently had never gotten the information he wanted.
The attacker stood there for a moment, seeming to realize he'd just taken out the one guy he needed for information. He glanced around the room one last time, then took the keys out of his pocket, and the two men left. There was a flash of reflection in the bay window that showed the vehicle, distorted, going passed. The camera that would have showed the driveway had, either intentionally or not, at some time been knocked out of alignment and only recorded an out of focus view of a brick wall.
He stood for a moment, took out his keys, and the two men left, distorted car in reflection. He never got the information he wanted, or so it appeared.
Which was what? What did McCulloch know that was worth suffering that kind of beating, and the death of your spouse? Why wouldn't he tell? Or did he even know? The tape was going to Eva Gonzales. An instructor for the deaf, she was also certified by the state to testify as a lip reader. By noon, Ruger would have a transcript, but most of the tape was actually pretty clear, even without sound. There were a lot of "why's", some very clear "I don't know what you're talking about's", and a number of "I don't have it's". What "it" was, she had no clue. There also seemed to be something about "he's crazy", but she couldn't be sure. It also seemed pretty clear that the guy was sincere. His desperation came through clearly. It sure seemed that he really and truly didn't know what "it" was. It was equally obvious that the attacker wasn't buying it. Or didn't want to believe it. She didn't need a lip reader for that.
She needed sleep as much as the others, but also knew she'd never get it. The most she'd be able to do was go home, shower, and change clothes. Maybe that would be enough. She guessed it would have to be. With daylight back on again, her body just wouldn't be ready to cooperate. She was always too fired up on a new case. Especially one as obscenely cruel as this.
Resigned, she locked the door to her office and headed down the hall to notify the detective bureau's secretary that she was headed out.
On the way home, the interviews played again in her mind. She had to feel sorry for the security guard. Kid was twenty one. Not that young, she argued. She'd almost finished her time on active duty by that time, much of it overseas. Certainly she was no kid at that point. You tended to grow up quick there. This kid wasn't like that, though. Lived at home, raised by mom and grandmom. Still in school. Armed, but not really trained for combat. Not like the military, or like the cops. His weapon was for protecting himself, not going after the bad guys. Had never drawn his weapon before, not on any persons, not even as a precaution. He'd never had it out of his holster since he qualified with it during training.
Said that after he called, he tried to go around to the back of the house, but was having problems cutting through neighbor's yards. Dog holding him up next door. Maybe the dogs going nuts put some pressure on the shooter? Timing would be about right. Kid was pretty shook up. She'd finally taken his car keys and had one of the other officers drive him home. She'd called the alarm company herself to have someone pick up the car, still parked on the street a house or two away.
She'd tried to tell the kid that it certainly wasn't his fault, that he'd done the right thing to call, and that if he'd tried to interfere, he'd only have gotten himself killed, which would have been no help to anyone. He wasn't a cop. Wasn't trained as a cop. Wasn't expected to do the cop's job. Didn't seem to help much. The kid just sat there and cried. Probably in shock, too. Still, it was disappointing that with him out back, trying to get past a neighbor's dog, he didn't get a look at the perps, or their car, or the plates. That would have made a big difference.
On the other hand, she only had two deaths to investigate at the house, not three, thank God. Plus the grandfather, she reminded herself.
The son had been a different story. According to neighbors of the parents, Mark seemed to be a pretty good kid- independent, successful. Kid? At twenty nine, he was only five years younger than she was. Never in trouble. Few years in the army after High School, used the GI Bill to get through college. Taught history and social studies at one of the local high schools. In fact, he'd just finished the day at school. At least that alibi checked. He'd heard news of a home invasion on the news, his parent's street, couldn't get through to them, and stopped over. All checked, all made sense.
Single, he hadn't wanted to follow his dad and granddad in the family business, according to a long time neighbor and friend of the parents. Some money involved, but nothing outrageous, so the neighbor thought, although they had no firsthand knowledge of this, and Ruger hadn't seen the will yet. He was an only child, so he was probably getting it all, or most of it, anyway. That didn't seem to be an issue, though. He was pretty comfortable as it was. The neighbor said the parents were always trying to give him money, help him out, though he was earning enough on his own, and wouldn't take it. They were proud of his independence, though a little bit disappointed that he chose to not follow in the business. They said he wanted to be independent. Wasn't extreme about it, though. Said the kid would let his parents give him some cash once in a while, but had said he just didn't want to come to depend on it.
Didn't sound like any reason for him to be involved.
Besides, this was about finding something. Not killing to get the parent's money. Obviously, the attackers were looking for something, with the place all torn up.
He was due back this afternoon. She wanted to talk to him again after she'd had a chance to go over all her information. Not that he was a suspect, but to check her new information against what he may or may not know.
She clicked on the garage door opener, and pulled into her garage.
* * *
The shower felt good, the hot water stinging her skin. She stayed in a long time, pictures from the video replaying in her mind. She replayed it, not because she wanted to, but because she had no choice. She'd learned that a long time ago, too. One thing she'd learned, though, was to make use of it. She'd learned
to replay the memories in slow motion, seeming to view it frame by frame, analyzing each of them. Sometimes she found things she'd missed earlier.
He took out his keys, and the two men left, distorted vehicle in the reflection.
Sometimes she didn't.
This time, nothing came up. They had video of the car, or a distorted view, but not the plates. Of the attacker, but only from the back and side. And of the victim. They would probably be able to figure out the car, even distorted, from the reflection, but the plates were never visible.
He took out his keys, and the two men left.
She dried off, and knew there was no way she could sleep, but should probably at least try to rest for a while. She slid between the cool sheets, sticking in a few spots that weren't quite dry. She lay there for a while replaying the video like others count sheep. At least she should rest for a while.
She woke and, startled, checked the alarm clock on the end table beside her bed. One fifteen. With a half hour drive, she had fifteen minutes to get up, dressed, hair - shit, I went to bed with it wet, she thought.
Twelve minutes later, she was in the car, hair tied back, on her way back to the station.
He took out his keys...
It hit her, and she smiled, then accelerated. The keys. More specifically, the key fob.
It was a rental car.
* * *
Available now, COVENANT OF THE ARK, by Daniel Syverson
SUMMATION Page 25
