“Yes, sir,” Tolliver said.
“You go ahead, Andrew,” she said. “I’ll do the paperwork on our false alarm.”
“Okay,” Tolliver said. “See ya tomorrow.”
“One thing,” McQueen said, before Andrew Tolliver could get out the door.
“Sir?” Tolliver said.
“I’m telling you both what I’m gonna tell the rest tomorrow,” he said. “Anyone leaks this to the press and I’ll have his or her head. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Tolliver said.
“Got it,” Sommers said.
After her partner left, Sommers turned to McQueen and said, “What aren’t you telling us, Dennis?”
“I’m putting the Double Ds on the Richards case, and I’m assigning your partner to assist them.”
“He’s not going to like that.”
“I know,” McQueen said, “but he has to learn how to be a role player.”
“And me?”
“You’ll work the serial case with me, Silver and Sherman.”
From the look on her face he knew she was mentally rubbing her hands together with glee.
“Go do your report, finish up any other paperwork you have. Any cases you have that are still active give them to Paddy Vadala.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And Bailey?”
“Yes?”
“I’m counting on you to keep your partner in check,” McQueen said. “Make him understand that his part in this is important.”
“I’ll do my best, Dennis.”
As she went to her desk to do her paperwork he turned and pulled out a blank roster sheet. As he stuck it in his typewriter he couldn’t help feeling excited himself. Somewhere out there a nut had somebody on a hook. He hoped to God he and his people could make it the last one.
Chapter 49
The next morning at ten sharp the squad room was full. McQueen had set up a bulletin board and on it had pinned all of the facts of both cases he was going to be talking about. Sommers and Tolliver had been the first to arrive, followed by the Double Ds, Silver and then Sherman. McQueen had wondered if the lieutenant was going to put in an appearance, but apparently the man had decided to let him handle this alone.
“I know I don’t have to tell all of you this, but I’m going to, anyway,” he began. “Everything that’s said here stays here. If it leaks out and I find out who did it, your head is mine. Are we clear?”
They all nodded and agreed that they were clear. McQueen had worked with most of them for a long time, and in the time he’d worked with Sommers he’d come to trust her. Tolliver was the only real newcomer and he was going to count on her to keep him in line.
“As of right now you’re all off the chart,” he announced.
“We got cases to clear, Sarge,” Silver complained. He knew that Silver and his partner, Sherman, enjoyed working cases as long as they could work them together. When partners clicked it was often better than a marriage.
“If you can clear them while working on this, fine,” he explained, “otherwise we’re gonna ship ‘em off to someone in the squad who’s still catching cases.”
Silver wasn’t thrilled with that, but he subsided. “What are we gonna be workin’ on, Sarge?” Dolan asked.
“I’ve got two cases up on the board,” McQueen said. “One we caught yesterday, a mother and daughter killed in their home. We think it’s the boyfriend, but we’re not sure. Diver and Dolan, you’re gonna be workin’ on that. Tolliver, you’re assisting them.”
“Wha—” the younger detective started, but Sommers grabbed his arm to shut him up.
“I read about that in the paper,” Dolan said. “We got a location on the boyfriend?”
“Not yet, we’re working on it,” McQueen said.
“Does he have a sheet?” Diver asked.
McQueen looked at Sommers.
“Small stuff,” she said. “Nothing like this, but the way it looks it was spur of the moment, maybe an argument over the way he disciplined the woman’s daughter.”
“And how was that?” Dolan asked.
“Apparently,” Sommers said, “he put her arms in hot water and scalded her to teach her a lesson.”
“Jesus,” Diver said.
“Everything’s on this board,” McQueen said, “but pick up the case file from Bailey when we’re done here.”
“Right, boss,” Diver said.
“And what are we gonna be workin’?” Sherman asked.
“Jack, you, Jimmy, Bailey and me are gonna be working a serial case.”
“What?” Sherman asked. “I haven’t heard anything about a serial killer.”
“For good reason,” McQueen said. “Listen up, because this gets complicated. It goes back about ten months . . .”
After he’d outlined all the deaths—the three the previous winter, and the new one—McQueen settled his butt onto the edge of his desk and waited for comments.
“What happened with the list of slaughterhouses and such?” Diver asked.
“Bailey and I have been checkin’ them on our own time. It’s been slow going, and the ones we’ve checked haven’t revealed anything. In fact, I think it’s been a waste of time. We can’t check all the hooks in all the slaughterhouses and meat-packing plants in the state, or even the city, for skin samples from our victims.”
“What about the cow’s blood?” Tolliver asked.
“It’s gonna be on every hook we look at,” McQueen said.
“So the scratch,” Dolan said, “whether it’s made by a hook or not, is the link between the cases?”
“And the method of disposal,” McQueen said. “Storing the bodies on ice, and then getting rid of them.”
“Don’t serial killers usually kill in the same manner?” Tolliver asked. “I mean, every book I’ve read—”
“Forget the books,” McQueen said to all of them. “This killer is writing a new one.”
“Only we’re gonna write the last chapter, right?” Diver asked.
There were some groans and McQueen said, “I’m glad you said it, Jimmy, and not me.”
“That’s what I’m here for, boss,” Jimmy Diver said. “To state the obvious.”
“This is cleared with the Loo?” Dolan asked.
“I got his okay yesterday, Artie. You want to check with him?” McQueen asked.
“Hell, no, I trust you, Sarge.”
“Who’s gonna tell Paddy and the others that they’re endin’ up with our cases?” Silver asked.
“I’ll pass the word along,” McQueen said. “Everybody clear on what they’re workin’ on, and what we’re doin’?”
“Clear on what we’re workin’ on,” Dolan said.
“Not what we’re doin’,” Diver said.
“Collect your case files from me,” McQueen said. “I’ve made copies for everyone.”
He moved around behind his desk and handed out files. When he gave Tolliver his file, the younger man obviously wanted to say something. McQueen waited, but the young detective walked away without a word.
When Diver and Dolan came over McQueen said, “Check with Cahill at the crime lab. He’s working on getting a phone number from the victim’s phone book.”
“We need the crime lab to do that?” Diver asked.
“We do when the page we want is missing.”
“Gotcha,” Diver said.
“You get something solid let me in on it.”
“You got it, boss,” Dolan said.
When Silver and Sherman came over Jack Sherman asked, “What do we do first, boss?”
“I want you fellas to work the new case,” McQueen said. “I’m gonna have Bailey going over the three old cases, and then you can all compare notes.”
Telling them to work the case was good enough. They were experienced detectives and didn’t need to be told how to work it.
Sommers came up to him last.
“Bailey, work the computer. We didn’t have it last year, and maybe you can come up with somethin
g.”
“I’ll input all the case notes as a start,” she said, “and do some cross referencing with—”
McQueen held up his hand and said, “Don’t give me the details, just the results.”
“Okay, Dennis,” she said. “Can I ask what you’re going to do?”
“The first case, the Wingate kid,” he said. “That one bothers me. There was something else going on there.”
“With the daughter, and the husband?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m gonna check into that a little, maybe talk to the mother again.”
“What about looking for meat hooks?” she asked.
“Forget it,” he said. “It’s needle-in-a-haystack stuff. When we find the right guy we’ll find the right hook.”
“This is exciting, Dennis,” she said. “I hope you’re not going to keep me on the computer the whole time.”
“Don’t worry, Bailey,” he said. “You’ll get your street time on this one. The computer’s gonna help, but I think the answer is on the street.”
Chapter 50
During his ride to Lydia Dean’s house, McQueen thought about the murder of Thomas Wingate, and the fire the boy had died in. He wasn’t sure why, but he thought that first case was the key to catching the serial killer. The whole thing just didn’t sit right with him. Most of all it was Lydia Dean. She’d lost her brother, her husband had been gone missing and she was forced into a situation where she had to interact with her estranged mother. And through it all she had remained so calm, so in control. On top of it all she was beautiful. A woman like that might have attracted him—should have attracted him—and yet she didn’t.
Because there was something . . . off about her, and he wanted to find out what it was.
When she opened the door to him the first thing he noticed was that she looked different. She still looked like herself, only more so—younger. Yeah, that was it.
The body was the same, well-toned and shapely, but the face . . . she’d had some work done. That was it. Her eyes, maybe around her mouth. Why did women do that, he wondered. He would have found her more attractive before the work, had it not been for that something “wrong” that he’d detected.
“Sergeant McQueen,” she said. “What a surprise.”
“Mrs. Dean.”
“It’s been a while,” she said, leaning on the door, “but I thought we’d dispensed with the need for ‘Mrs.’ ” She was wearing a tank top in shimmering green, and a pair of black pants. There was not an ounce of excess flesh on her arms. “You must be here on business.”
“I am . . . Lydia,” he said. “Can I come in and speak with you?”
“Of course.” She backed up, then closed the door behind them. She turned and pressed her back to it, hands behind her back, breasts thrust out. She was doing it again, the flirting. He still maintained there was no reason for her to do that except as a cover-up. He was not the kind of man women flirted outright with, despite what Bailey Sommers might have him think.
Although some women were incurable flirts and would do so with anything in pants, he just didn’t get that vibe from this woman.
“Coffee, tea, or something stronger?” she asked.
“Coffee would be fine.”
“Come into the kitchen, then,” she said, leading the way.
“Have you heard from your husband?” he asked as they went down a hallway.
“Not since the fire,” she said. “I must tell you I much prefer my life this way.”
“And how is your mother?”
He thought he noticed her shoulders tense, but then they reached the kitchen and she was able to busy herself at one of the counters while he sat at the kitchen table.
“She’s not well, I’m afraid,” she said, scooping coffee into an expensive-looking coffee maker. “This past year has been hard on her. As long as my brother’s killer isn’t found . . .” She let the line hang there.
“I understand,” he said. “We haven’t made much progress, but we’re starting again.”
Again, her shoulders hunched slightly, or did he imagine it?
“Are you?”
“Yes,” he said. “We now believe that your brother’s murder is part of a pattern, so I’m starting from scratch again.”
“Interesting.”
“What about the fire?” he asked. “Any progress on that?”
“None,” she said.
“Did you collect the insurance?”
“Yes, finally,” she said, turning to face him. She leaned against the counter, but there was no posing now. “Although the police and fire department haven’t found whoever set the fire, the insurance company was satisfied that I did not.”
“The insurance was in your name? Not your husband’s?”
“That’s correct.”
She turned to get cups down from a cupboard. As she stretched he was sure it was for his benefit. She seemed to turn it on and off.
She put the cups down on the counter, turned to face him again.
“So what is it you think I can do for you, Dennis?”
“I just have some questions,” he said. “Some of them may be repetitive, but if you’ll bear with me I’ll go through them quickly.”
“Very well.”
“Do you know why your brother was in your building that day?” he asked.
“I assume he had some work to do.”
“What kind of work was he doing?”
“I don’t know.”
“It was your company.”
“Victor ran it,” she said, “badly, I might add. He would have had Thomas doing something or other.”
“But you did the designing?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still?”
“I’m trying to start up a smaller company right now, but it’s hard.” She didn’t elaborate on what made it so hard, and he didn’t ask.
“What were your brother’s skills?”
“I’m not aware that he had any.”
“Then why would your husband give him a job?”
“For two reasons,” she said. “First, because Thomas was my brother. And second—as I said—he ran the company badly. How do you take your coffee?”
“Black,” he said. “Thanks.”
Chapter 51
While McQueen was having coffee with Lydia Dean, trying to figure her out, Bailey Sommers was inputting information into the computer. The work was drudgery, but she also thought it was important to the squad to start using the computer more extensively. She created files for each victim, then a master file with all the information. As she was finishing that up she was so intent on what she was doing that she didn’t notice the man enter the squad room and come up behind her. He leaned over her, brought his hands to her breasts to cup them and whispered into her ear, “Querida.”
She jumped, then leaned back against him just for a moment, long enough for his thumbs to find her nipples through the fabric of her blouse and bra, and for his scent to waft gently into her nostrils—and then she realized where they were.
“Ernesto,” she said, pushing his hands away. Lieutenant Bautista straightened up, then came around her desk to face her.
“Anybody could walk in,” she said.
“Then come in my office with me,” he said. “No one will disturb us there.”
She’d left his warm bed only hours ago, sated from a long bout of early morning lovemaking, and yet here he was, making her heart race and her palms sweat. The first time Bautista had approached her for a date months ago she’d refused, because of their working relationship, but the handsome Latino had pursued her relentlessly, and finally she had given in. They had dinner that night, and she ended up in his bed. He was her boss, was several years younger than her, this was wrong on so many levels, and yet she’d never been so happy—or satisfied—with a man. She’d been embarrassed that first night in bed, when she cried after they’d had sex, to tell him she’d had her first orgasm with him. He, on the other hand, was loving
and gentle. He made love to her again and she had several orgasms. He was the most considerate lover she’d ever had, although she was no expert, having slept with only three men in her life. She was slow to develop, remaining a virgin until she was twenty-five when she finally decided “Fuck it,” went out, picked up a guy in a bar and had her cherry popped. She never saw him again. The other two men were relationships that didn’t last, and the sex was never good.
This man, however, had swept her off her feet, but she struggled to maintain some distance at work so no one would suspect anything. She especially didn’t want McQueen to know, because she respected him as a man and as a professional, and she wanted the same respect from him. She thought she had it after all these months, and she didn’t want to lose it.
“I can’t come into your office,” she said. “I have work to do.”
“Ah, the good sergeant has begun his investigation.”
“Yes, he has.”
“And he is wasting your talents on the computer?”
“Ernesto, some of my talents are in the computer.” He leaned over her desk and said smoothly, “And I know where some of your other talents lie.”
If he’d tried to take her right there on her desk, she probably would have let him, but he stood up and said, “Very well. I also have much work to do.”
“Ernesto, thank you for letting Dennis do this.”
“I would say de nada, but I didn’t do it for you, my love. If Sergeant McQueen can prove his point and catch a madman, it will reflect very well on me.”
“And on him.”
“Yes,” he said, “of course. Back to work then, mi corazón.”
She watched him as he walked back to his office. She knew—and no one else in the squad did—that he had gotten the computer for her. She’d thought him an extraordinarily generous man, but the squad ran more smoothly with the computer, and so that benefited him. Now she found herself wondering, had it been for him? As allowing McQueen to pursue his serial killer angle was for him? And would Dennis McQueen share in the glory—would any of them—if and when they caught this killer she’d started thinking of as The Cold Man?
Cold Blooded (Dennis McQueen 02) Page 18
