by G. K. Parks
“Parker, do you think he’ll talk?” Heathcliff asked.
“Only if hell turns into a ski resort.”
“You should leave this alone.”
“I said I’d look into it, so I’m going to look into it.”
“But you think he’s guilty.”
“I might have changed my mind.”
“Why? What did he say to you?”
“He told me he didn’t kill Knox.” Cross had also said a lot of other things which didn’t bear repeating to the detective assigned to the case.
“The evidence says otherwise.”
“Does it? What do you have besides an eight-year-old tape and circumstantial evidence? Someone broke into Knox’s house and stole his property. Whoever did that could just as easily have killed him. Obviously, Knox had enemies. I need to find out who they are. Knox might have been involved in some shady shit.”
“Did Bennett Renner tell you that?” Something flickered behind Heathcliff’s eyes.
“No, but I’ll be sure to ask him about it.”
“Do that.” He led me to the door. “I have to get back to work. But you’re okay, right? After last night’s meeting, I just wanted to touch base.”
“I’m fine, Derek.” I’d be better if everyone stopped acting like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
“All right. If you need to talk to someone, I’m around, case or no case. We just can’t talk about this.”
“I get it. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“That’d be a first.” He smiled and tapped my arm with the folder in his hand. “Don’t forget to call Renner.”
Did the no-nonsense detective just give me a lead? I went outside and dialed. Renner answered on the second ring. “Hey, I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, do you need me to take over more of your cases?”
“Not at the moment.” The last thing I wanted to do was tip him off to the situation given his complicated history with the case and Mr. Almeada’s instructions. But Heathcliff told me to talk to him, so I had to find out why. “Do you remember working with Lt. Moretti eight years ago?”
“Moretti was only a sergeant then. We worked one case together. That was it.”
“Do you remember anything about it?”
“Oh, shit. Is that why Cross was taken out of the conference room in handcuffs?”
“Possibly. I’m hoping you might have some copies of your notes or a few files on hand.”
“Let me see what I can dig up.”
“Thanks, Bennett.”
“No problem.”
Since it would take time for Renner to get the files together, I headed to the construction site where Knox’s body had been found. The photo in this morning’s newspaper didn’t do it justice. Crime scene tape roped off an area roughly the size of a football field. Cadaver dogs were being led up and down the field while a group of forensic experts scanned the giant mountain of dirt which had already been cleared away with scanners and other X-ray devices.
Patrol officers guarded the perimeter. The two closest to me noticed when I stepped out of the silver sedan. Since Cross Security had a fleet of these cars, I wondered if the cops recognized it. But they only appeared mildly interested in my arrival.
A few bored reporters hovered near three news vans. The heat and humidity had wilted their perfect hair and made their makeup melt and run, leaving trails of clumpy foundation on their faces. By the time the six o’clock news started, they’d have to endure a thorough touchup.
Realizing the police wouldn’t talk to me and the reporters were more likely to question me than answer my questions, I searched the area for anyone who might be more compliant. A few trailers sat off to the side with the construction company’s signage stuck in the ground next to the door. Bingo.
I zigzagged around the crime scene markers, noting the collection of items placed on a tarp near the mountain of dirt. More than likely, those items meant nothing. But they could be evidence or more of Knox’s remains.
Going up the steps, I knocked on the door. “It’s open,” someone yelled.
I twisted the knob and stepped inside. An oscillating fan clicked as it blew the warm air around the room. Plans hung on the wall beside a calendar.
“What do you want?” a man asked, not looking up from the papers on his desk.
“Did you find the remains?” I asked.
“No, Christian did.” He tore his eyes from the page. “You a reporter?”
“No, sir.”
“Cop, then.” He snorted, noticing the gun resting beneath my jacket in my shoulder holster. “I already told you people everything I know. We got hired to build a new parking garage. The plans are right there.” He pointed to the blueprints tacked to the wall. “I got the permits here. City signed off on it. Airport wanted it done. Now I got to wait for you to say it’s okay to continue. Meanwhile, my guys aren’t getting paid.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“If we’re going to be delayed too long, we’ll have to move to another job site. I don’t know when we’ll finish there or when we’ll get back to this. You want to give me a ballpark figure on the situation?”
“That depends on what you can tell me.” I grabbed a folding chair and sat down. “Start at the beginning.”
“Jeez.” He wiped the sweat off his face with a stained bandana. “We were leveling the ground. We’d just dumped the latest pile when Christian spotted something odd poking through the dirt. He went to see what it was, and that’s when he found the dead guy.”
“Was it like an arm here and a leg there?”
The contractor stared at me like I was insane. “No. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Plenty, but my current problem is no one on the force wants to tell me anything.”
“Yeah, I hear that. Most of the dead guy was wrapped up in a tarp. It got torn when we scooped him up. It’s not like he was a skeleton or anything when we found him.”
“Mummified?”
“Nah, just…like not a lot left to him, like in those old zombie movies where they come up from the ground.”
The thought made my stomach turn, but this guy seemed excited to discuss it. This was probably the craziest thing that happened on one of his construction sites. Sure, he hated the delay, but at least he had something to tell his pals when they were sitting down for a cold one.
“Did you take any photos?” I asked.
“I…uh…”
“I won’t tell.” The police would confiscate them. “I’m just curious.”
“We called 9-1-1 as soon as it happened and shut down for the night. It’s been two days. We’re still shut down. I wanted to make sure I had proof to back up the shutdown in case anyone questions my decision, y’know.”
“Sure. I just want to see the photos.”
Reluctantly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it with his pointer finger, and tapped the screen a few times. He slid it across the desk and nodded down at it. “There ya go.”
“Have you shown these to anyone else?”
“No one’s asked.”
“Not even the reporters outside?”
He snorted. “They want something exclusive like this, they better be willing to pay for it.”
The photo didn’t show much. The tarp had been duct-taped around the body. The tape had aged and curled. Forensics would have checked for fingerprints, fibers, and other trace evidence. From the ripped opening in the side of the tarp, Knox’s arm and hand were visible. A shiny championship ring hung from his bony knuckles. The fingers curled into claws that ended prematurely just above the upper joint. The ragged cuts and blackened tips must have been excruciating, or so I imagined. For Knox’s sake, I hoped it happened after he was dead.
“Gruesome, isn’t it?” The contractor held out his hand, and I returned his phone. “I heard some reporters talking. They said he’s been here a good, long while.”
“Eight years. You didn’t happen to fi
nd anything else, like a wallet or keys?”
He shook his head. “Once the police showed up, they took over everything.” He leaned forward and peered out the window. “What are they even looking for?”
“Evidence.”
“Good luck with that.”
Taking the hint, I went out the door. Members of the crime scene unit were sifting through a pile of dirt, as if panning for gold. They must have been looking for bone fragments or bullet casings. I took a few steps toward them, noticing the patrol officers at the perimeter sidestepping until they were in front of me.
Instead of trying to charm my way beneath the tape, I nodded to them and set out for the news vans, but it’d be best to avoid the reporters for now. Lucien didn’t need his arrest broadcast to the world, and neither did Martin.
A group of construction workers sat on a bench beneath a makeshift tent where they were drinking beer and watching the cadaver dogs. One of them whistled at me. “Hey, baby.”
“Yo,” I slid my sunglasses up until they rested on top of my head, “have you seen Christian?”
The one who whistled looked disappointed. “What you want is a real man.”
“Shut up, Tom.” Another guy gave him a shove. “What can I do for you, lady?”
I sauntered over to the tent, noticing the patrolmen had taken an interest. This might have been the most fascinating thing that had happened all day. “If it isn’t the man of the hour.”
He looked confused.
“You found the body,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, I guess.” He took off his cap and scratched his head before putting it back on.
“Which is why we’re sitting around like a bunch of morons with our thumbs up our asses.” Tom took another swig of beer. “You wanna sit down, honey? I’ll make room.” He swung one leg around, straddling the bench before patting the seat in front of him.
Ignoring him, I asked a few more questions about the body, but none of the construction crew knew what happened. “The cops haven’t told you anything yet?”
“Nothing,” Christian said.
“Have they found anything else?”
“Not that we can tell,” Tom chimed in. “It’s just one body. They cleared him out. It’s done. We get back to work. I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s like they’re digging for diamonds or something.”
One of the dogs barked. A tech went to that location with a scanner in hand. A few minutes later, they dug up what appeared to be a cardboard bucket. “Excuse me.” I moved away from the tent, noticing the reporters had also caught on to the action. The cops opened the container, finding a dozen, discarded chicken bones.
“That’s why littering is frowned upon,” someone muttered.
I spun to see who had said it, catching a glimpse of a man in coveralls walking away. He moved swiftly and with purpose, wearing a solid black jumpsuit with little blue booties over his shoes to keep from leaving shoeprints, like the rest of the police techs. His hands were clad in matching blue latex gloves.
But something about his appearance was off. I turned to study the techs near the pile of dirt. The backs of their coveralls were also solid black, but they didn’t have belts on the outside. And they didn’t have guns.
I turned back around, but the man had vanished. Setting out in the direction he traveled, I kept my eyes peeled for him, but I couldn’t find him. After circling the entire perimeter and not spotting any other techs or police personnel dressed in a similar fashion, I returned to my car.
Beneath the wiper blade was a note. Back off, unless you want to get hurt.
Ten
I didn’t know who left the note. The construction site didn’t have any surveillance cameras. The reporters and police personnel had been too distracted by the chicken bucket to notice anyone lurking near the parking lot.
The man dressed as a tech but armed to the teeth must have been the bastard who left the note. Based on the way he was dressed, he might have been a cop. After all, the police wanted Cross to hang for this. They wouldn’t want me investigating on his behalf. They might have recognized the company car or run the plate and found that it was registered to Cross Security. Scaring me off was just a way to break up the monotony of the day, or so I told myself.
The note was probably more bark than bite, but my senses went on high alert. My gut said this was a lot more than some baseless threat. I couldn’t shake the mental image I had of the guy walking away. Where did he go? Why wasn’t I able to find him? I only looked away for a few seconds. How could anyone disappear that quickly?
Before I started the engine, I checked my surroundings for signs of danger, dropped to my belly, and searched beneath the car for trackers or other devices. I felt around the front and rear bumpers, the tire wells, and the tailpipe. Nothing.
Just to be on the safe side, I returned to Cross Security and asked the techs to scan the car. While I was there, I gave them the note and asked if they could run prints. Since the person who left it might have been a cop, I didn’t want to hand it over to law enforcement until I knew for sure. Cross’s paranoia had rubbed off on me, but if a cop threatened me, I wanted to know before I turned him in, just in case someone wanted to get cute or creative and brush this under the rug.
“I’ll be in my office. Let me know what you find.”
“Yes, Ms. Parker.” The tech nodded to me. “We should know something within the hour.” He studied the paper carefully. The guy wore gloves, which probably meant they wouldn’t find prints or DNA, but I had to try. Maybe the bastard hadn’t worn gloves when he’d written the note and only put them on when he stuck it underneath my windshield wiper.
I’d just made it to my door when Renner snuck up behind me. I jumped back, my right leg almost giving out, a side effect of this morning’s workout. I wobbled, and Renner reached out to steady me. “What’s going on, Parker? You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t feel so good.”
He pushed open my office door and led me to the couch. “Is your leg acting up again? They tend to do that from time to time.” He slapped the side of his where it was held together by pins.
“It’s not that.” But I shook the question away, nodding down at the thick stack of files tucked beneath his arm. “What have you got there?”
“Everything I could find.” He took a seat beside me. “Have they charged Lucien with anything yet?”
“No, they’re running the clock. They want to hold him as long as they can so they can collect more evidence.”
“Don’t they know who he is? Who his dad is?”
“They don’t care. His dad does the mayor’s bidding. The city wants to push the investigation.”
“Oh, that’s right. The crackdown on crime. Is that why they’re coming after Lucien now?”
“They’re coming after him because a body surfaced.” I reminded myself not to say too much. I had to ask questions, not answer them. “You have to tell me everything you remember about the Trey Knox disappearance.”
“Have you seen the official report?”
“No, Moretti’s keeping me in the dark.”
He grinned. “Good thing I’ve got my copy right here.”
I took it from him and removed the rubber band. Aside from details and notes from witnesses, there wasn’t much to go on. “What made Cross the prime suspect in Knox’s disappearance?”
“He was our only suspect. Well, the only suspect left standing.”
“What does that mean?”
“This all started when Knox reported a break-in at his house. Soon after, his belongings were found inside a storage unit, amongst crates of guns and drugs. Whoever stole from him was into some serious shit. The thief would have been our prime suspect, except that storage rental traced back to a Russian gangster. Vasili Petrov.” Renner looked at me. “Ring any bells?”
“No.”
“Petrov hoped to make it big. He lacked family support, so he ran his own show. He was a cruel son of a bitch. He operated a few
strip joints and ran drugs and girls out of them. The usual shit you’d expect. Since Knox’s stuff was found in Petrov’s storage unit, we figured the two must connect.”
“Why wasn’t Petrov a suspect in Knox’s disappearance?”
“The night before Knox fell off the face of the Earth, Petrov got killed in a drug deal gone wrong.”
Could that be the Russian Knox had referenced in the recording? My skin erupted in gooseflesh. “Still, this was a good lead.” I flipped pages. “Anyone who worked for Petrov could have been involved.”
“That’s what I thought, but it never panned out. The Russian connection turned into a dead end.”
“How?”
“After Petrov’s death, the Russians went to war with the bangers who killed him. Gangs and OCU had eyes all over the Russians. We would have known if they’d taken Knox.”
On the coffee table, Justin had left Cross’s files. I picked them up and read the police report on the break-in before comparing it to the items the police recovered during the raid of Petrov’s storage unit. “Trey Knox’s stolen possessions weren’t the only stolen items found inside that unit.”
“Which is why we figured maybe Petrov or one of his guys was involved in a burglary ring. The big Russian had ties to an area pawn shop. We figured it might have been an additional revenue stream or a way to launder money. Petrov could have had a crew steal stuff from people’s houses, pawn it off, and use the revenue to clean the cash from the strip joints, or vice versa. Gangs was looking into that, but the investigation hit a wall. Petrov’s death caused his illegal enterprises and legit businesses to crumble.”
“No one moved in to fill his shoes?”
“Not that I know of.”
“All right. Fine.” But it wasn’t, and I made a note to investigate further. If Cross had done something to piss off the Russians, he’d need help from an agency equipped to deal with the problem.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Renner squinted at me. “You look really pale.”
“It’s nothing. That’s just my skin tone—ghostly.”
Renner got up and grabbed a bottle of water from the cart in the corner. “At least drink this.” He twisted off the top and handed it to me.
