Tangled Threat ; Suspicious

by Heather Graham

  It had started out with Ginny Hare calling first thing, before it had even begun to be light outside. Jesse was an early riser, but hell, Ginny’s hysterical voice before coffee was not a good way to start off the morning.

  Billy Ray hadn’t come home.

  He’d tried to calm Ginny. Lots of times Billy Ray would crash out wherever he’d been and find his way home the next morning.

  This was different—Ginny was insistent. He’d gone out fishing with a twelve-pack of beer. And he hadn’t come in the morning, the afternoon or the night, and now it was morning again and Billy Ray still wasn’t back.

  Jesse had tried to soothe her.

  “Ginny, I’ll get out there looking for him, but you quit worrying. A twelve-pack of beer, Ginny, think about it.”

  “But, Jesse, he’s stayed out two nights!”

  “Ginny, I’ll look for him, I promise. But he probably got himself as drunk as a skunk and he’s sleeping it off somewhere—or, he woke up and knew he’d be in major trouble, and he’s trying to figure out how to come home.”

  When he’d hung up, he’d wondered about the power of love. Billy Ray Hare was the worst loser he’d ever met—white, Native, Hispanic or black. He hit Ginny all the time, though he denied it, as Ginny did herself. He was her man, and in Ginny’s eyes, whatever he did, he was hers, and she was going to stand up for him.

  Jesse knew that Billy Ray hated him. That was all right. He had no use whatsoever for Billy Ray. Billy Ray liked to call him “white boy,” which was all right, because yes, his father had been white. But his mother could trace her lineage back to Billy, Old King Micanopy, back before the start of the Seminole Wars, back before the government had even recognized the Miccosukee as an independent tribe, speaking a different language from the Seminoles with whom they had intermarried and fought throughout the years. Billy Ray never understood that Jesse was proud of being Native American—and furious when men like Billy Ray fell into stereotypes and became lazy-ass alcoholics.

  So Billy Ray was useless. But despite the fact that she loved Billy Ray, there was something very special about Ginny. And for her, Jesse would spend half his day in the sweltering heat of summer looking for her no-good husband.

  But he hadn’t had a chance to look for Billy Ray yet.

  Before he’d gotten out of the house, he’d gotten the call about Hector and Maria Hernandez.

  Their property was on the county line, so the Metro Police were already on the scene. The homicide detective in charge of the case was Lars Garcia, a man with whom Jesse had gone to college up at the University of Florida. His Cuban refugee father had married a Danish model, thus his ink-dark hair, slim, athletic build and bright powder-blue eyes. The media liked to make it sound as if the Indian—or Native American cops—were half-wits who were given only a small measure of authority and who hated their ever-present big brothers, the Metro cops. Jesse resented the media for that, because it simply wasn’t true. The Metro-Dade force had suffered through some rough years, with rogue cops and accusations of corruption and drug abuse. But they’d cleaned house, and they weren’t out to make fools of the Miccosukee policing their own.

  Besides which, he’d been a Metro homicide cop himself before making the decision to join the Miccosukee police force.

  He felt lucky wherever he got to work with Lars when a body was discovered. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a rare happening.

  A swamp was a good place to dump a body. There had been the bizarre—body pieces dredged up in suitcases—and there had been the historical: bodies discovered that had lain in the muck and mud for more than a century. Man’s inhumanity to man was not a new thing. Sad as it might be, he was accustomed to the cruel and vicious.

  Homicides happened.

  But the unfairness of homicide happening to good people never ceased to upset him.

  Jesse had known Hector and Maria. Known and liked them. They were as homespun as cotton jeans, without guile or cunning. She always wanted to bring him in and feed him; Hector always wanted him to taste a fresh strawberry or tomato. They had loved their small home, loved their land more. It was theirs. He’d never seen two people appreciate the simple things in life with such pure and humble gratitude and pleasure.

  Uniformed cops were cordoning off the crime scene as he arrived; Lars had been talking with the fingerprint expert but excused himself and walked over to Jesse as soon as he saw him. “Terrible thing, huh? It’s technically outside your jurisdiction, but the killers must have come from somewhere. Maybe they were hiding in the swamp, maybe...” His voice trailed off.

  “The bodies?” Jesse said.

  “You don’t have to see them.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Hector’s body was covered when they walked to it; Lars hunkered down and pulled back the blanket. Hector looked oddly at peace. His eyes were closed; he just lay there—normal-looking except for the bullet hole in his forehead. Nothing had been done to the body; the killer probably hadn’t even come near him.

  “Tracks?” Jesse asked.

  Lars shook his head. “None so far. The lawn is all grassy...then there’s foliage, and the canal. No tracks yet.”

  Jimmy Page from the medical examiner’s office was still bending over Maria when they reached her. She lay facedown, her head twisted. Her eyes were still open.

  She had seen something terrible.

  There was a hole through her back.

  “Hi, Jesse,” Jimmy said, making notes. “I’m sorry as hell, I heard you knew them.”

  “Yeah. Nice couple. Really good people. Have the children been notified?”

  “The son is in the navy, on active duty—they’re trying to reach him. The daughter will be here this afternoon.”

  He winced. Julie was going to come home alone to see her murdered parents. He would have to make a point of being available later.

  “Know when she’s coming in?”

  “American Airlines, two-thirty flight from LaGuardia. Want to meet her with me?” Lars asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to talking to her on my own.”

  “Have you got anything, Jimmy?” Jesse asked. “I mean...” He looked down into Maria’s eyes, thinking he would remember the way she looked for a very long time to come. “This is no drug hit. These people were as clean as they came.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Jesse... I’ve got to admit, about all we’re going to know is the caliber of bullet that hit them, maybe the weapon that fired it, an approximate time of death and maybe a trajectory. They were shot,” he said, sounding angry. “As to why they were shot... Jesus, you’re right. Who can tell?”

  “Mind if I take a look around?” Jesse asked Lars.

  “Be my guest. We think the killers must have been to the southwest, from the way Maria fell. She was running. Hector was coming to help her.”

  Jesse nodded, surveying the expanse of lawn. The neat yard the couple had tended so lovingly reached a point where it became long, thick grasses. Back in the grass, the water table began to rise and mangroves grew. Beyond that lay the canal.

  He walked carefully to where the thick grass began to grow, studying the lawn. Although his relations with the Metro police were good, he wondered if any of the beat cops were cracking jokes about an Indian being better at finding footprints than they were.

  Hell. He was going to look for them, anyway. He was going to look for anything.

  He turned, calling back to Lars, “I think an airboat came through here. See the flattening?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And...” Jesse began, then trailed off. He walked a little further, seeing something in the grass. He moved closer. Bent over. Frowned.

  “What is it?” Lars asked.

  “Got a glove and an evidence bag?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lars came ov
er to him, slipping his hand into a glove. Jesse pointed to the grass. Lars reached for what appeared to be a branch.

  “That?” he inquired. “Jesse, it’s just a tree limb.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Then, what the hell...?”

  “It’s a gator arm,” Jesse said. “From one damn big gator.”

  “A gator arm? What the hell do I want with a gator arm?”

  “I don’t know, but where’s the rest of the body?”

  “It looks like it was sliced off.”

  “I think the rest of the body was moved, and then this arm tore off.”

  “But...” Lars began.

  “But why? And just where the hell is the rest of the body?”

  Lars shook his head. “Maybe...”

  “Maybe a dead gator and the murder have nothing to do with each other,” Jesse said. “And maybe they do.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t have anything to do with each other,” Lars said. “Hell. I can’t believe that someone out alligator-poaching would murder two people in cold blood just because he was seen. I mean, it’s not as if we execute people for killing gators out of season without a license.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jesse agreed. He looked at Lars and shrugged. “But what else is there? Like Jimmy said, there are bullets, there’s a time of death...but where the hell is a motive? You’re not going to get prints, no fluids for DNA...that’s all you’ve got—an alligator arm.”

  “I’ve got nothing,” Lars said hollowly.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Send the gator limb to Dr. Thiessen. See what you can get, if anything.”

  “Of course we’ll get it to the vet,” Lars said impatiently. “Because you’re right. I haven’t got anything else. And I’m damned sorry that I may have to tell a young woman who loved her parents that I can’t begin to explain why they’re dead, except that maybe her mother saw an alligator poacher in the backyard!”

  “Lars, you tell me. What else is there?” Jesse said. “This kind of killing looks like an execution, as if it were connected to drugs. But it wasn’t. I’d bet my life on that. I’m telling you, Lars, I knew these people. They were bone clean.”

  “They must have seen something, then. They must have known something, but...you’re sure? I mean, sometimes we think we know people, but they’re living double lives.”

  “No. I knew them, Lars.”

  “All right. Maybe the daughter can help us.”

  “I doubt it. But I’ll go with you. I’ll talk to her with you. But, Lars, after today...you’ll keep me informed on this one all the way, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “No matter what goes on in Homicide?”

  “Yes!”

  “Swear it?”

  Lars looked at him, arching a brow. “We’re already blood brothers,” he reminded him with a rueful grimace.

  Jesse stared at him, shaking his head. Yeah. Forever ago, when they had been young and going to college.

  Strangely, or so it seemed now, their college mascot had been an alligator.

  They had both pledged the same fraternity. It had been during that period that they’d been out drinking together and Lars had gotten into the blood brother thing, having seen one too many John Wayne movies, Jesse decided.

  “Yeah, blood brothers,” Jesse returned, surprised that he could almost smile, even if that smile was grim.

  “Jesse, the only thing—”

  “I won’t go off half cocked to shoot to kill if I find out who did it. I’m a cop. I’ll bring them in.”

  Lars watched him for a moment. Jesse locked his jaw, staring back at his friend. Maybe Lars had the right to doubt him. When Connie had died...

  Fate had kept him from killing the man who had murdered her. But there had been no question in his mind that, given the chance, he might well have committed murder himself in turn, so great had been his rage.

  “I’m telling you, I’ll be a by-the-book lawman.” He shook his head, sobering. “They didn’t deserve this, Lars.”

  “I swear, I will keep you up on what’s happening. I’ll have to—the killer or killers probably came from the swamp and maybe ran back that way. We’ll have lots of our guys in your territory.”

  “I’ll brief my men, as well.”

  “Get a warning out to them right away.”

  “Will do.”

  “You want to take this piece of gator over to Doc Thiessen?” Lars asked him. “You’re more familiar with the damn things than I am.” He didn’t add, Jesse noticed, that he was probably also far more convinced than Lars was that the alligator remains might have something to do with the case.

  They started back toward the house. Jesse found himself pausing by Maria’s body. The forensic photographers were still at work. He looked into her eyes. In Metro Homicide, he’d seen a lot. A bullet was a fairly quick, clean way to die. He’d seen mutilations that had turned even his strong stomach.

  But this...

  He’d seen her face alight and beautiful when she’d smiled.

  “Jesse, quit looking at her,” Lars said.

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll inform the office, then get out there looking for Billy Ray Hare.”

  “Billy Ray? You don’t think—”

  “That Billy Ray killed these two? Not on your life. Billy Ray may be a drunk, and he may not be a prime husband, but he keeps to himself and wouldn’t step outside the area he’s accustomed to. And he’d also be too damned drunk to make it this far by that time of night. I’ve got work to do, and so do you. I’ll meet you at two so we can get to the airport. Where?”

  “The restaurant at the turnpike entrance.”

  “I’ll be there,” Jesse said.

  When he left, his first stop was the vet’s. Dr. Thorne Thiessen was a rare man, pleased to live deep in the Everglades, and fascinated more by birds and reptiles than the more cuddly creatures customarily kept as pets. He was such an expert with snakes that people traveled down from Palm Beach County, a good hour or so away, to bring him their pythons and boas, king snakes, rat snakes and more.

  He was in his early fifties, both blond and bronzed, almost as weathered as some of the creatures he tended with such keen interest. He was just finishing with a little boy and his turtle when Jesse arrived, bearing the alligator limb.

  He looked at Jesse with surprise. “People usually call on me with living creatures, you know.”

  “Yeah, but Metro-Dade and I both think you can help on this one. You are the reptile expert. You can make some preliminary findings, then pass some samples upstate. Hopefully, someone will figure something out.”

  Thiessen had been smiling; now he frowned. “What have you got?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a piece of an alligator.”

  “Great.”

  “No, no, I can do tissue and blood samples, do a profile...and get samples upstate, just like you suggested, but why?”

  Jesse explained. Thiessen stared at him for long moments. “And you found this at the scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesse...”

  Jesse sighed. “They weren’t into drugs.”

  “Still, they might have witnessed an exchange in the Everglades, or, hell, God forbid, another murder.”

  “They might have. But this is what we’ve got for now.”

  Thiessen shrugged. “Big sucker,” he said.

  “Yep,” Jesse agreed.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Thiessen promised.

  Jesse thanked him. In the waiting room, he looked for Jim Hidalgo, who worked for the vet, but then he remembered that Jim worked nights.

  The man at the desk was a big guy, John Smith. He was so big, in fact, that he was almost apelike. Jesse didn’t remember when he hadn’t been with the vet.

  Good man
to have on, Jesse thought. Big enough to cope with any animal out there.

  At least, almost any animal out there.

  He grunted to Jesse in a combination of hello and goodbye.

  Come to think of it, a grunt was the only conversation Jesse had ever shared with the man.

  He waved and went out.

  * * *

  “LOOK INTO THE eyes of death! Stare into the burning pits of monster hell. See what it would have been like to face the hunger and rage of a carnivore older than the mighty Tyrannosaurus rex! Ah, but, believe it or not, once upon a Triassic age, this was an even more ferocious and terrifying creature, in fact, one that made minced meat of the mighty dinosaurs themselves.” Michael Preston paused for effect as he talked to the small, wriggling creature he held in his right hand.

  The week-old hatchling let out a strange little squeaking sound, its jaws opening, then snapping shut. The eyes were yellow with central stripes of black. It was small, almost cute in a weird sort of way, but the mouth shut with a pressure that was chilling, despite its size.

  The hatchling began squealing and wriggling again.

  “Loudmouth,” Michael said, shrugging. He liked the fact that the American alligator made noise. Noise was good. Noise was warning. “But you are being awfully dramatic here,” he told the hatchling. “Okay, so I’m a little dramatic myself. Because I hate tour groups,” he grumbled.

  Even as he slipped the hatchling back into its tank, the door to his lab opened and Lorena entered.

  “Watch out—the monsters are coming,” she warned.

  Michael arched a brow. “Monsters,” she whispered, emphasizing the warning. Then she turned, a beautiful smile plastered on her face as she allowed room for the tour group to enter. Ten in all, a full tour: two young couples, perhaps on their way to register for college, maybe on honeymoon. They looked like ecology-minded types, surveying the wonder of the Everglades. There was an attractive, elderly woman, probably a widow, seeing the Sunshine State now that old Harvey or whoever had finally bitten the dust. Then there was a harried-looking couple with three boys who looked to be about twelve. The woman had once been pretty. The man had a good smile and looked like a decent father. The boys seemed to be the monsters. They walked right up to his lab table, barged against it, then leaned on it, peering into his tanks and petri dishes.