Текст книги "Winter Kill "

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Chapter Eight

So much for never being able to find a cop when you needed one.

The streets—street—of Nearby was crowded with official and government vehicles. Everywhere you looked there was a man or a woman in uniform. Far from reassuring the citizenry, the police presence seemed to escalate tension and anxiety.

Although two, possibly three, dead women in nearly as many days probably had something to do with people in Nearby feeling under siege.

“This needs to be kicked upstairs ASAP,” Russell had told Adam when they reconnected back at the search staging area. In the distance they could see the museum and crime scene technicians moving back and forth between their vehicles and the Joseph house. The property was being searched front to back for hairs, fibers, anything that might give a clue what had happened to Tiffany.

“That’s not our call,” Adam replied. Frankly, it was the last thing he wanted. If the Bend Satellite Office was brought in, it would be only a matter of time before the Portland Resident Authority was involved, and then he and Russell would be on their way back to Los Angeles.

“We’ve got a suspected terrorist responsible for the deaths of three women—”

That was a leap even for Russell. “Hold on. First of all, Tiffany may still be alive. In fact, there’s every reason to believe she’s still alive.”

“Every reason? Give me one.”

“Let’s start with the fact that there’s no body. Secondly, suspected terrorist? What hat did you pull that rabbit out of?”

Russell’s blue gaze flickered.

All the weeks of putting up with Russell’s dismissive attitude were coming to a head. Adam had not allowed himself to react or respond to Russell’s constant challenge of his authority. He strove to keep it professional and impersonal at all times, and he was generally pretty good at that, but he suddenly realized how much he disliked Russell.

And how much Russell disliked him.

It was personal, and now that they both knew it was personal, it was going to be hard to keep the cracks from showing.

Russell said, “The hat where Sandy Gibbs was screaming anti-government doctrine after spending a couple of hours trying to kill us? How about that rabbit out of that hat?”

At that point Rob had yelled from his SUV, “Adam, are you with me?”

“Adam?” repeated Russell.

There was no reason Rob—Deputy Haskell—shouldn’t call him by his first name. Adam’s face warmed all the same.

“Be right there,” Adam had called. To Russell he said, “This is not the time or the place to start throwing the weight of the federal government around. We do not have jurisdiction here. This is not our case.”

“It needs to be our case,” Russell said.

Oh. Right. Now it made sense. Russell was starting to see the career-making potential of the situation in Nearby. Well, good luck with that. It was going to take one hell of a lot of PR maneuvering to turn an anti-social gun-toting hermit like Sandy Gibbs into a political movement.

The second murder was a different matter. Adam was worried about the second slaying. And when he jumped into the SUV, Rob’s words did nothing to reassure him.

“Zeke doesn’t know yet. Frankie’s going to tell him herself. The dead girl is Azure Capano.”

“Azure?” The name was faintly familiar.

“She’s—was—the hostess at the Lakehouse restaurant. She and Zeke have been on and off for a few years.”

“Were they on or off now?”

“Off.” Rob threw him a grim look. “Zeke is going to take this hard.”

Maybe. Or maybe Zeke would pretend to take it hard. He didn’t say it aloud. He knew Rob would be shocked and probably angry at such a suggestion. Adam knew he possessed a jaded world view. That was the trouble with their line of work. You couldn’t help being suspicious of everyone. Even the people closest to you. Adam had been a shy, quiet boy, but anytime he’d been late or failed to call when he was supposed to, his father had accused him of everything from sneaking out to meet girls—which was actually pretty funny—to embarking on a career of juvenile delinquency.

Zeke had struck Adam as kind of a prick, even so he liked Rob’s concern for his fellow deputy.

In fact, he thought Rob was a very decent guy. He had been impressed by the way he’d handled himself on the mountain. This had not been just another day at the office. Rob had stayed surprisingly cool under fire. Adam had met plenty of big city cops who hadn’t been nearly as calm once the bullets started flying.

True, Rob’s decision to explore the tunnel beneath Gibbs’s cabin indicated an impulsive streak. He was probably too soft-hearted. A man could have worse flaws.

“A couple of Medford deputies found her down by the lake,” Rob was saying.

Adam’s heart sank. “Where by the lake?”

“Near the restaurant. She was floating half under the dock.”

“You don’t have time of death yet, I suppose?” The SUV hit a pothole and Adam winced at the reminder of the day’s collection of bruises. And it looked like the day was going to get a lot worse.

Rob threw him a disbelieving look. “You suppose right. Sometime during the night. That much they could tell. She was nude and,” his face grew grimmer still, “her throat was cut.”

* * * * *

Rob was right. Zeke did not take the news of Azure’s death well.

By four o’clock Sunday afternoon, Sandy Gibbs was cooling off in a jail cell, the search for Tiffany had moved south, forensic anthropologists were excavating the remains Adam had discovered, and Frankie had given her first press conference.

Nearby was beginning to look like the crime capital of the northwest.

Shortly after the gentlemen of the press—or at least the Medford Mail Tribune, the Klamath Falls Herald and News, and the Nearby Nickel—were dismissed, Adam met with the Nearby Sheriff’s Office for a war council.

Crime scene technicians were still combing the Joseph house. So far there was no indication that Tiffany had met with foul play.

“Well, there’s no way that she went off on a ski weekend,” Frankie said. “I think we can rule that theory out once and for all. Our best bet now is Bert Berkle’s dogs and the teams searching the Back Bend area.” She cleared her throat. “We only have the preliminary findings on Azure, but we do have to consider the similarities between her case and Cynthia’s.”

“Was there a connection between Azure and the Josephs?” Adam asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Frankie said. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows each other. So in that way, I guess there’s a connection.”

“Azure and Tiffany didn’t get along,” Zeke said. His eyes were still red. Otherwise he seemed composed. “Back when they were both on the cheerleading squad. Azure said Tiffany was a snotty, spoiled brat.”

“Azure was how old?” Adam inquired.

“Nineteen,” Zeke said.

Zeke was probably in his mid-to-late-twenties. Not that that meant much. Zeke seemed a bit young for his age and Azure, at least from what Adam could remember, had struck him as seasoned.

“Okay.” Frankie shuffled the papers in front of her. “Well.” She glanced at Zeke. “Zeke, maybe you ought to take the afternoon off.”

“The hell!” Zeke returned hotly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“All right then. Have it your way.” Frankie cleared her throat. “Both Azure and Cynthia Joseph had their throats cut. Cynthia was knocked out first. Azure went down fighting. The weapon used on Cynthia was dull and rusted. The weapon used on Azure was razor sharp, and that’s about all we can tell.”

Rob suggested, “Cynthia’s death was a crime of opportunity. Someone went hunting for Azure.”

Frankie nodded. “That’s how it looks to me too.” She glanced at Adam.

Adam agreed. “That doesn’t rule out the same offender though.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Or,” Rob said, “somebody could be trying to make it look like the same offender.”

“Yes.” Adam studied the crime scene photos now tacked and taped across the wall of Frankie’s office. The artistically arranged crime scene wall was Aggie’s contribution. There were several disturbing shots of the girl with the mermaid hair floating in the lake. Meanwhile, in the background, he could hear Aggie at the front desk doing her best to keep up with the flood of phone calls coming in.

“Was Azure sexually assaulted?” Adam asked.

“We don’t have that information yet.”

“She was nude. So.” He really wished Zeke would go home. This was tough enough on them without Zeke sitting there struggling to control his face and breathing. There just wasn’t that kind of room for sensitivity in a homicide investigation.

Rob said, “According to you there was an attempt to stage Cynthia’s body. But there wasn’t any attempt to stage Azure’s crime scene. She was left floating in the water.”

“If there was an attempt to stage the body,” Adam said, “I may have interrupted it.”

“You? How?”

“I heard what sounded like a scream around three thirty this morning. I went down to the lake, had a look around. I didn’t see anything. It was still dark.” He didn’t want to make excuses. He was angry and sick thinking about it.

There was silence, and then Rob said, “For all you knew it could have been a screech owl.”

Adam gave him a speaking look. Rob had kind instincts. Adam knew he had not heard a screech owl. He had heard a scream. He had convinced himself he’d dreamed it.

“What were you up to at three thirty in the morning?” Zeke demanded.

“I wasn’t up. Whatever sound I heard woke me.”

“And you didn’t think you should call anyone? That you should have fully investigated?”

“I wasn’t sure what I’d heard. I spent forty minutes looking around. There were no sounds, no movement. I thought I might have dreamed it.”

Zeke sneered, “You have a lot of bad dreams?”

“I do. Yes.”

That left even Zeke without a comeback.

“Agent Darling wasn’t the only one bunking down by the lake,” Rob said. “None of us would have handled it any different, Zeke. And it wouldn’t have made any difference to Azure. If she’d still been fighting, Adam would have seen or heard something.”

“She wouldn’t still be fighting after that wound,” Adam said.

Zeke’s eyes filled with tears again—a good part of that was rage, in Adam’s opinion. Which didn’t make his feelings any less powerful or real.

Frankie said, “I guess we need to try to understand what links these victims together. Because there has to be something.”

“I’ll tell you what links them,” Zeke said. “They’re the victims of a serial killer.”

Frankie scowled at him in warning. “What we need to do is find Tiffany.”

Zeke stared at her. “You think Tiffany murdered her mom and then went after Azure?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“I think you’re right,” Adam interjected. “I think finding Tiffany has to remain a priority. The second killing does change things significantly. We still need to understand what ties the murders of Cynthia Joseph and Azure Capano together. These are two women of different ages, backgrounds, professions, appearance.”

“Victimology,” Zeke said knowledgably.

“Well, okay. Yes.”

Adam’s acknowledgement seemed to anger Zeke all over again. “You’re no profiler.”

“No, I’m not. Anyway, that’s television. There’s no such position at the FBI. But I do know—”

Zeke spoke over him. “Why is he even here? Why are we listening to him? I Googled this asshole. You know what his last big case was? A kidnapping. And the victim died because he fucked up. Royally.”

It blindsided him—though really it shouldn’t have. Not these days when anyone with a combination of curiosity, persistence, and rudimentary surfing skills could find out just about anything about anyone.

The bigger surprise was Rob, who was suddenly on his feet, hands braced on the table as he leaned into Zeke’s face. “We’re listening to him because he’s the only one here who has a clue of what to do in this situation. Why are you so afraid of hearing what he has to say?”

“Rob…”

If Rob heard him, he gave no sign. All his focus was on Zeke who knocked his chair over as he jumped up.

Zeke roared back, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. If you can’t handle this, you need to go home.”

“I can handle it fine. What I can’t handle is all of you acting like I can’t handle it!”

“Sit down, both of you!” Frankie shouted. She pounded the table. “I’m still running this investigation, and I’m asking Agent Darling for his advice. That’s why he’s here.”

Still blazingly angry Rob threw Adam a quick look, and Adam couldn’t help offering a quick, uncertain smile. He couldn’t remember anyone ever leaping to his defense like that.

Not that he’d ever needed anyone leaping to his defense until the Conway case.

Rob abruptly seemed to recall himself. He looked faintly uncomfortable before throwing Zeke one final hostile look.

Zeke glared back at him.

“Will you two idiots sit down?” Frankie requested. Actually it wasn’t a request.

Zeke picked up his chair. Rob sat down.

“Look,” Adam said to Zeke. He tried to keep his tone neutral. “I’m not part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, but every FBI special agent is cross-trained to deal with a multitude of situations, including violent crimes. Advise and assist law enforcement is a regular part of what we do.” He looked at Frankie. “If you want to kick this up to the Portland Field Office, I understand. In the meantime, you have to proceed with the investigation. You know as well as I do how crucial the first forty-eight hours are.”

“Go on then,” Zeke said. “Tell us about the victims.”

Adam shook his head. “That’s not how it works. You knew the victims. The three of you knew these women. You need to begin collating that information so that we can analyze what we’ve got. As you would in any homicide case.”

Rob said, “We’ve never handled a homicide case.”

“That we know of,” Frankie said darkly.

Rob and Zeke both turned to stare at her.

Adam said, “Since you brought it up, I don’t believe you sent for me because you thought this office couldn’t handle Cynthia Joseph’s murder. You could have turned to Klamath Falls or Medford for any support you require. You wanted me to fly up here because you knew I was working the Ripper case. I think consciously or unconsciously, you do suspect you have a serial killer on your hands.”

Meeting Rob’s disbelieving gaze, Frankie said impatiently, “Am I the only one paying attention around here?”

“To what?” Rob demanded.

“The fires, the dead animals.” She glared at him. “Pagan symbols scrawled on a church wall. For God’s sake, Zeke. You watch all these alphabet soup cop shows. Tell him.”

Rob spluttered, apparently unable to believe what he was hearing. “Wait a minute. We’ve had some vandalism, yes. And, yes, a lot of these kids have guns before they’re ready. Hell, everybody around here has a gun.”

“You don’t see it because you don’t want to see it,” Frankie said.

“Zeke doesn’t see it either!”

Maybe not, but what Frankie was saying made sense to Adam. He’d felt from the first that Frankie knew something was very wrong in her little burg, and one thing he’d learned through the years was to trust cops when it came to what was happening on their own beat.

Zeke said nothing. He was staring at Frankie as intently as if he was lip-reading.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for the other shoe to drop,” Frankie said. “When Dove’s body turned up, I thought this is it. But I was wrong. Wrong about Dove. Not wrong about the rest of it.”

She believed it. Every word. And Adam could see that as much as Rob wanted to argue, dismiss what he was hearing, he had too much respect for Frankie. She knew her job and she knew her town. He looked at Adam.

“She could be wrong,” he said.

Adam nodded. She could be wrong.

Two murdered women in three days indicated she could also be right.

“Okay,” Rob said. “Then let’s start pulling everything we’ve got on every one of these women.”

“What about that asshole Gibbs?” Zeke asked. “When do we question him?”

Adam looked at Rob.

Rob said grudgingly. “We didn’t find anything at his cabin.”

“And the Alaskan police didn’t find anything the first time they searched Robert Hansen’s house either,” Zeke said.

“Who the hell’s Robert Hansen?” Frankie demanded.

“The Butcher Baker,” Zeke answered.

Frankie shook her head. Rob said, “When did you become such an expert on serial killers?”

“You think you’re the only one around here who knows how to do his job?”

“No.” Rob held onto his temper with obvious effort. “I’m just saying I don’t think we can jump to any conclusions about Gibbs.”

“The hell we can’t! He’s the only freak around here that fits the profile.”

“We don’t have a profile yet,” Adam said.

Zeke looked ready to jump to his feet again and start pounding his chest. Frankie said, “I think a cooling off period might be a good idea for everybody. We’ll let Mr. Gibbs chill out in a cell for a bit. We’ve got plenty to charge him with when the time comes.”

That was real life due process. Practicality versus ideals. Adam said, “It’s too early to know whether Gibbs is involved or not. What we want to avoid doing is questioning him with an assumption of guilt.”

“No? Okay. Thanks for explaining basic interrogation techniques,” Zeke said.

Adam sighed inwardly.

“We do have information regarding the museum thefts,” Frankie said. “Aggie and I have been going through Cynthia’s records. It looks like two items were taken: a large wooden mask in the shape of a raven’s head, and a knife. The mask would be very valuable. Worth several thousand dollars.”

“There’s a healthy market for stolen antiquities,” Adam said, “but I don’t believe the mask was taken to sell.”

“If that was the case, all the masks would have been stolen,” Rob agreed. “This nut had time to arrange Cynthia’s body in a diorama; he sure as hell had time to cart the rest of the masks out of the museum.”

“Then what?” Zeke asked.

Frankie said reluctantly, “The knife wasn’t so valuable. However, according to Cynthia’s notes, the handle of the stolen knife was also carved in the shape of a raven.”

Zeke looked blank. “What are we dealing with?” he said. “Some psycho birdman?”

“I’ve been reading up on raven legends,” Rob said.

“You’ve been reading legends about ravens?” Zeke said. Even Frankie looked surprised.

Rob’s expression was sheepish. “I checked a couple of books out of the mobile library last night, that’s all. Agent Darling guessed that the missing mask was a raven.” He shrugged, not looking at Adam.

“Well, what did you find out?” Frankie asked.

“Nothing. Masks were created to resemble certain animals that were considered sacred or powerful. Sometimes the masks were believed to have magical powers.”

“Magical powers!” exclaimed Frankie.

“I’m just telling you what I read. There are a lot of legends and stories about ravens—and crows—but nothing that really fits. In some cultures they’re bad luck or harbingers of death. They feed off carrion, so they’re sometimes viewed as mediators between the dead and the living. Not so according to the stories of the Klamath Tribes. Those are mostly creation stories. In Modoc legends they’re tricksters, pranksters. But that doesn’t mean they’re not the hero of the story.”

“You’re not looking deep enough,” Zeke said.

“They’re frightening,” Adam said. Zeke gave a harsh laugh. Adam ignored him. “They’re a menacing-looking bird. It may be something that simple.”

“Go on,” Frankie said.

Adam was still formulating his thoughts. “Supposing you’re right and Joseph’s killer is the same man who attacked, or tried to abduct, the girls in December and January. He was described as wearing war paint, which to me indicates this is someone who identifies with Native American culture and who is developing his persona.”

“His persona?” Zeke questioned. “Like what? He’s becoming a super villain?”

Rob said, “I see what you’re saying. He’s evolving.”

“Yes. He is. He’s creating a…self concept.”

“He’s making it up as he goes along,” Zeke said.

“I think that’s correct.”

“I mean you.”

“Shut up, Zeke.” Frankie seemed to be thinking. She shook her head. “This has to be an outsider. We’d have noticed somebody like that. Some crazy with a raven fetish.”

Rob said, “An outsider wouldn’t know about the museum.”

“You do get a lot of people moving through here during the holidays,” Adam said, “All the same, I think this is someone local. The kind of incidents you mentioned the other day: vandalism, animal mutilation, fires…that’s classic. It’s a serial killer on training wheels. This is someone who has been testing the boundaries for a while.”

“Male,” Rob said. “Caucasian.”

“Probably. In this case, almost certainly.”

“Young,” Frankie said.

“That’s going to be relative.”

“Late twenties to early thirties,” she qualified with great certainty.

Zeke said, “He’s not walking around wearing an I Love Ravens T-shirt.” He threw Adam a challenging look. “You don’t have to be in the FBI to know that much.”

No, you just had to watch a few episodes of Criminal Minds. If this were a TV show, Zeke would be the unsub. Adam said only, “A lot of those assumptions have been challenged in recent years.”

“We do have one piece of good news,” Frankie said. “Or maybe good news isn’t the word for it. The phone recovered near Echo Falls is definitely Tiffany’s. It’s pretty smashed up; it looks like she—or someone—dropped it on the rocks near the waterfall. The State Police are doing what they can to retrieve her data. Zeke, I want you to have another talk with the friend Tiffany was supposed to spend the weekend with. Something about that story doesn’t sit right with me.”

“I’ll be happy to.” Zeke shoved back his chair and rose.

Frankie glowered at him. “Go easy, Zeke. Azure isn’t the only victim. Tiffany is a victim too, until we know otherwise.”

After Zeke walked out of Frankie’s office, Rob said, “He needs to take some personal time off, Frankie. He’s a loose cannon.”

Frankie eyed Rob without emotion. “I can’t spare anybody, Robbie. Zeke’s a good cop. He’s just young. It’s a temporary situation.”

Rob looked unsold. Frankie pushed forward a stack of files. “We’ve got the personnel files on everyone who ever worked in the museum. Let’s see if any names jump out at us.” Then she lifted her head and yelled, “Aggie! We need more coffee in here.”

It was after seven when they finished reading through the files, and it seemed to Adam that pretty much every kid in Nearby had worked at the museum one time or another. Azure had worked there two years ago, and Tiffany continued to work there, though unofficially. Terry Watterson had worked at the museum the summer he had drowned in Blue Rock Cove.

“What about Bill Constantine?” Adam asked. He kept thinking about that photo on Tiffany’s mirror. She was a pretty, popular girl, but there did not seem to be anyone special in her life. Not so much as a Justin Bieber poster decorated the pink walls of her bedroom. The only hint of…well, romance would be too strong a word…was a very old snapshot of two boys: one dead and the other someone everyone insisted Tiffany could never be involved with.

He knew firsthand how wrong everyone could be.

“Billy? No,” Frankie said definitely.

“Why? Is he gay?”

“Billy? Not that I know of.”

“No,” Rob said.

Frankie yawned and stretched. “Boys, I think we need to call it a night. Why don’t you two go get some chow and some shut-eye, and meet me back here first thing tomorrow?”

“Why don’t you go get some rest, Frankie?” Rob retorted. “You never went to bed last night. Aggie said you were still here when she got in this morning.”

“I want to know what Zeke found out when he interviewed Tiffany’s friend. Anyway, I’ve got to wait to hear from Doc Cooper. He promised he’d call this evening with the autopsy report on Azure. You two run along.”

Adam tried to remember the last time anyone had told him to “run along.” The truth was he was starting to feel like someone had thrown him off a mountainside—which wasn’t too far from the truth. He wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t cracked a rib. Even if he hadn’t, he was starving, exhausted, and feeling unpleasantly wired from far too many cups of bad coffee. It was going to take him a while to unwind, and a couple of drinks were high on his list of priorities since all the other things he’d have liked—starting with a hot bath and ending with Rob—were not on the agenda.

“Thanks, I think I will call it a night,” he said.

“Appreciate all your help today, Agent Darling,” Frankie said absently, reaching for the files they’d left spread over her desk.

The main floor of the station was unlit and eerily silent after the noise and activity of the day. Aggie still manned the front desk. She didn’t answer Adam’s “Goodnight,” staring gloomily into space as he walked past her and pushed out through the front door.

Hazy lamplight diffused the darkness. What was left of the snow had turned to gray slush.

“Hey!” Rob called from behind him.

Adam stopped on the wooden walkway. The night was clear and cold, and his breath rose in front of him, mingling with Rob’s.

Rob asked, “Where’s your partner?”

Adam felt a flash of disappointment. What had he expected? He said, “At a guess? Filing an official complaint.” He was too tired to care how that sounded.

Rob’s grin was lopsided. “He strikes me as a guy with a lot of complaints. That could take a while. Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner?”

Exhausted as he was, Adam’s heart jumped at the prospect of dinner with Rob. He hesitated, and seeing his hesitation, Rob said, “Look, don’t take this the wrong way. I respect that you don’t want to get involved with a coworker, but we can still have dinner together, can’t we? Coworkers eat dinner together.”

“Of course.” Hell yes, they did, and Adam’s instinctive caution was easily dismissed when he thought of countless meals spent with Jonnie—and Russell—though he’d actually enjoyed the meals with Jonnie.

Seeing that he was wavering, Rob coaxed, “A hot bath. A hot meal. A comfortable bed—in the guest room. You wouldn’t object to that, right?”

Adam did his best to remain stoic, but after the day he’d had? Tears of gratitude would not be amiss in the face of such generosity. He admitted, “No, of course not.”

“And we can always talk over the case, if it’ll make you feel better.”

Rob was teasing him. Flirting with him? Adam smiled uncertainly. “True.”

“And then we can be back at work bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Yes. That would be…”

Heaven? Sort of.

“See how easy that was?” Rob said. “Easiest decision you’ll make tonight.”

It was hard to tell in the grainy light, but Adam thought Rob winked.