I had just slid the strap to my shoulder bag over the back of my chair when Burke summoned me into his office.
“Good job on the sex trafficking case, Detective. I thought you’d like to know that forensics discovered bone fragments and several teeth while sifting through the debris from the boiler explosion. They’ve identified the remains as belonging to Alexander Wright.”
I feigned surprise. “No kidding? Huh, I combed every inch of that house.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Crenshaw. Rats are masterminds when it comes to hidden tunnels. Anyway, according to the informant, all high-ranking individuals in the organization are now either dead or in police custody. That’s not to say we don’t intend to keep our ears to the ground. Ramirez and Chastain have contacted the parents of the six girls who weren’t on our radar or your impressive little whiteboard out there. Take that thing down before you clock out. Anyway, another mystery solved by our department. They all resided in Kansas. All runaways. I think it’s safe to say they’ll be sticking close to home from now on.”
I couldn’t imagine the level of anxiety the parents must have suffered. “Let’s hope so.”
“That’s not why I called you in here. I just received a requisition order from IT for a CCTV camera and one of the IP cameras in Interrogation Room 1. The IP camera apparently short-circuited. We’re lucky it didn’t burn the whole place down. But, this is where it gets interesting. The IT guys tell me the CCTV camera appeared to have been intentionally disconnected. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”
“No, sir.” I had to throw him off my scent and wished I could accomplish that without throwing Ramirez under the bus, but I had few options. “Who was the last person the camera recorded going through the door?”
“Ramirez. I’ve already talked to her. The camera also recorded her leaving the room. According to the report, you obtained the suspect’s confession; the audio from the second camera confirms that. Which means, and correct me if I’m wrong, you were the last one through the door.”
I considered various scenarios, and a whirlwind of options came to mind. “Come to think of it,” I said, “you’re right about Ramirez. But I wasn’t the last. I distinctly remember seeing some suit enter after I left the room. I guess I just assumed it was someone from the DA’s office or a detective from another shift I had yet to meet. You might want to watch the footage again.”
Burke winged both nostrils. “I’ll do that,” he said and accessed the file on his hard drive while I gritted my teeth and inserted the image inside Burke’s psyche that I needed him to see.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said moments later, then mumbled an anemic apology. “I don’t recognize that guy. Never seen him before. You can bet I plan to get to the bottom of this.”
“I have no doubt, Captain. Are we done here?”
Burke gnawed his lip and studied me, his steely gaze meant to unnerve me. “Not quite. While we’re on the subject of unexplainable circumstances, we received an anonymous tip, which solves the mystery surrounding the two men who fell to their deaths in the parking lot at Bully’s Bar and Grill.”
“No kidding?” I asked past a lump in my throat.
“It seems a member of the KC Crusaders has claimed the bragging rights. Apparently, he stayed behind that night to even the score.”
I attempted to disguise a giddy exhale. The lucky breaks just kept coming. That wouldn’t be the first time a gang’s new recruit wrongfully confessed. I could easily recite a handful who had risked jail time to ingratiate themselves with a particular gang. And, this time, I couldn’t be more grateful.
“Well, I guess that explains that.”
“Does it?” he asked, pitching forward. “I’d like to know how it was you weren’t aware of this guy’s presence?”
I shrugged past a tremble. “It was dark. So dark that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. And remember, I’d found myself thrust into a situation which required me to fight for my life, Captain. All without sufficient backup.” I forced a laugh. “I’m human after all, not some kind of superhero.”
He grunted his response, then said, “There’s something else we need to discuss.”
I nearly choked on the apprehension.
“We’re spread thin, as you know. With Quaid out for God-knows-how-long and a couple of detectives on vacation, we need to fill spots whenever the situation calls for it. I want you working the unsolved homicide cases until I say otherwise. Which reminds me,” he said, sorting through papers spread across his desk, “a few minutes ago, I intercepted a call from the sheriff in Drexel . . .” he paused and referenced his notes. “Wayne Davis is his name. Here’s his number,” he said and passed me the sticky note. “The Jane Doe who was missing . . . they just discovered her body.”
Back at my desk, I gave Davis a call, and he answered on the first ring and instructed me to meet him at his office. When I arrived, a harried-appearing man with bloodshot gray eyes and a silver goatee raised his head. The placard on his desk confirmed his identity.
“Sheriff Davis, I’m Detective Crenshaw.”
He reached across the desk and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming, Detective.”
“Where was the body discovered?” I asked.
“In an abandoned farmhouse about ten miles northwest. As I told you on the phone, I thought it best to meet here. Some of these places aren’t even on the map. I’ll grab my keys and you can follow me.”
Once inside a white Dodge Challenger, he started the ignition and gravel swirled below the baritone rumble thrown off dual chrome exhaust. He waited for me to maneuver my car behind his, and a cloud of dust concealed his taillights as he sped away, our bright headlamps illuminating the upper leaves of majestic cornstalks aligned in row after row of perfect symmetry as we traveled down the road.
The body was nude, mutilated, appeared exsanguinated, and had been there for a while. Insects had deposited eggs inside several gaping wounds, vermin had piecemealed flesh from bone in a random chaotic pattern, and bird droppings surrounded the body and competed with the chalk outline drawn by the investigators. The air stank of decay and the old, mostly windowless, house sagged beneath our weight. I noticed Sheriff Davis was content to guard the door. After informing forensics of my intention, I rolled the body onto the opposite side. The shoulder tattoo Mamie Martin had described was intact and remained clearly defined despite the red-blue-purple discoloration of the skin surrounding it, a result of livor mortis.
Outside, the Cass County ME’s van squealed to a halt, gravel dust blanketing the thigh-high grass in a gritty silver haze. The medical examiner swung one leg over the rotted threshold and clambered inside. Joy Trumbull was middle-aged, athletic in appearance, her words moderately friendly, her expression quite the opposite.
After tugging on latex gloves and pinching a surgical mask in place, she crouched to examine the body. The forensics team immediately gathered varying sizes of evidence bags they’d collected and stepped away. I stood close enough to Trumbull to appreciate her meticulous examination but far enough so as not to cast a shadow on the victim. Following a cursory inspection, she applied considerable pressure and managed to wrench the corpse’s legs back together again.
“Well, people, if this isn’t a case of déjà vu, I’ll buy the beers.”
A glance around the room convinced me the forensic team agreed.
I inched forward and waited until she’d discarded her gloves and removed her mask. I extended my hand and introduced myself. “You said déjà vu. Are you referring to the Callie Sutherland case?”
She nodded and signaled the team to load the body into the van. “That’s right. You’re outside your jurisdiction, Detective. Mind if I ask why?”
“We’ve recently closed an investigation into a sex-trafficking ring. Initially, I thought maybe the men responsible might have been involved in the Sutherland killing, but—” Before I could offer Mamie’s testimony surrounding the men with the tattoos, she shook her head and interrupted.
“Kidnappers don’t sample their wares, Detective . . . at least not until their handlers give them permission. Nor do they take things too far and destroy the merchandise. The men responsible for this crime and the murder of Callie Sutherland are vicious predators, not dimwitted muscle carrying out orders.”
“I agree but, with all due respect, how can you be sure the two cases are connected? Callie’s body was burned nearly beyond recognition and discarded in a field.”
She raised an eyebrow and hinted at a smile. “Someone’s been doing their homework.” She looked away briefly, her eyes settling on a weeping willow tree just outside the lone worm-eaten window frame. “But the corpse was not burned beyond recognition, Detective. And, as with this young woman’s body, those animals left their calling cards.”
Why had Detective O’Leary omitted that information? “Which are—?”
“The inverted cross on the inside of her upper thigh, for one,” she said with a nod toward the victim’s torso. “Crudely carved. Premortem, I’m willing to bet. Like I said, animals.”
“And the others?”
“The puncture wounds just below the ear,” she said, pointing to the body. “I suspect inflicted with some sort of hook scraper like those used in soldering. And the thirteen knife wounds—no more, no less—strategically placed to make each one count.”
The investigators dismantled then loaded high intensity LED lamps into their vehicle as I said goodbye to the medical examiner and thanked Sheriff Davis, promising to keep him updated. I slipped behind the wheel, a wave of nausea prompting me to inhale shallow breaths before successfully completing a U-turn, tires slipping on muddy vegetation. At a stop sign just over the rise, I pulled over suddenly, thick gravel crunching beneath the overinflated tires. I flung the door open and raced around the car, my feet sliding when contacting the soft shoulder. I vomited between dry heaves. Just when I thought I was finished, the retching began again. A terrifying explanation occurred to me as I thought about that single night with Tristan upon my return. I sputtered a laugh and quickly dismissed the ridiculous possibility that had popped into my head.