Deadly Abandon (17 page)

****

“Quiet down, people. Take your seats. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

Sully’s detectives, Marie Matisse, and eight uniforms grabbed their coffees and notepads, before gathering around the conference table. “It’s been over a week since the last attack on Dr. McGill at the arena. What do we have on the van used to transport the rats?”

“Not much that’s worth anything,” Millette muttered. “We were able to get the plate number off the dock security video but the plate was stolen. However, we did manage to locate the van. It was abandoned in a quarry near Ormstown, a late model white Econoline. It was stolen the same night as the fire at the veterinary clinic, from a rental agency near Magog.”

“That’s only an hour from here. What about the logos on the van, Millette? He must have had the van painted somewhere.”

“It’s a no go, Lieutenant. The Pest Control insignias were magnetic strips. They were also pilfered, came from a legitimate extermination company’s van. Our guy went to their lot and ripped the signs off the same night he took the van from the rental agency. He couldn’t steal the extermination company’s vehicle because the security gates were locked. He scaled the fence to grab the signs, and then made do by stealing the rental.”

Vince Marshall, a seasoned cop with more than ten years on the force, added, “The van was sanitized, Lieutenant, except for rodent droppings. No prints, candy bar wrappers, used tissues, crumpled bits of paper, pens, drinking cups…nothing. Our perp was careful not to leave any evidence behind.”

“You’re missing something there. Did you check the outside? Maybe the guy pumped gas and got his fingerprints on the gas cap? He must have filled up somewhere, hauling the rats to the arena and then driving to Ormstown to dump the van. He also might have checked under the hood for oil or other fluid levels. His prints could be on a dipstick, for Pete’s sake. Do I need to tell you how to do your job?”

“No way,” Vince said, visibly shaken by the reprimand. “I’ll notify the lab to go over it again.”

“Good thinking, Marshall, and make sure you’re there when they do it. Do we have a picture of the guy on the surveillance videos?”

“No, at least nothing we can use.” Clemente offered. “He kept his head down and his face hidden under a ball cap. With those bulky coveralls the guy wore, it’s impossible to even get an accurate take on his body type.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Sully bit back a frustrated groan. “He knew the cameras were rolling, and he knows police procedure. Small wonder he’s gotten away with murder for so many years.”

“You’re right.” Clemente agreed. “There are so many forensics shows on television these days, almost anyone can figure out how to cover their tracks.”

“Wrong answer, Sal. I want you to go back to the docks and pull every security tape they’ve got. Our guy knew the cameras were there because he had already scoped out the location. I want every license plate number off every vehicle down at the docks between the date of the clinic fire and the rat attack. Check with the guards at the gates for their records and get started on screening those videos. Our killer showed his face sometime, unless he’s invisible.”

“I’m on it, Loot.”

“Good. I also want some of you tracking down the crates he used to haul the rats. Where did he get them? What about the coveralls and ball cap he wore? Did he buy them at a uniform store? Come on, people. We need answers.”

“Lieutenant, we’re doing our best,” Millette challenged.

“Sergeant, if you want sympathy—you’ll find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary. That’s the only sympathy you’ll get from me. A woman’s life hangs in the balance here. The creep has already gotten to her twice. If I were an insurance salesman, I sure as hell wouldn’t be selling Dr. McGill life insurance policies for the foreseeable future. Let’s get our act together.”

Sully called a ten-minute break and got himself back under control. The whole thing made him crazy, more so since Breeana insisted on setting herself up as bait.
No bloody way is that going to happen
. He noticed the detectives shooting wary glances his way as they filed back into the room after the break. He couldn’t blame them.

“Okay, let’s move on. What about the rosaries? Have we got a hit on those yet?”

“Yes, we caught a break there. A shipment of rosaries was stolen from St. Patrick’s Cathedral fifteen years ago,” Millette said. “You won’t believe it, but the church secretary is still the same woman who placed the order, an old doll named Hannah Grimes. She remembers the twenty-five rosaries being delivered by parcel post. They disappeared from the rectory on the same night. The break-in was blamed on some local thugs working the area. They were known to police for home invasions and stealing electronic equipment.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Jacques. There’s a huge difference between stealing stereos and televisions, that are easy to unload, and a shipment of rosaries with no street value. I want you to get over to St. Pat’s and have another talk with the secretary.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant. The church office is closed for the night, but I’ll be there when it opens tomorrow. Is there something specific you want me to ask her?”

“Get a list of parishioners for the time when those rosaries were taken. My gut says the theft was an inside job.”

“You’re thinking our perp had a score to settle with the church and that’s why he stole the rosaries and started killing women?” Sal asked.

“Nope, not our guy. I believe he’s a predator who can only achieve sexual gratification by killing his victims. I think he’s impotent.”

Marie smacked her palm on the table. “Of course. That would explain why no semen was present on Rainey Dubé or Miranda Greene, or any of the other women in the cold case files, according to their autopsies.”

“Exactly. His religious beliefs are only the excuse he uses for committing the crimes. If he thinks of these women as whores, they become fair game.” Sully drummed his fingers on the tabletop and leaned back in his chair to ruminate. “But I’m betting he attended services at the parish he stole those rosaries from. And he may have stood out in the congregation. Millette, take Sanchez and some uniforms with you and see what you can find out. Canvas the neighborhood. Talk with the church secretary, the priests, and anyone else from the parish who was a member fifteen years ago.”

“It’s too late to go door-to-door now.” Millette said, after glancing at his watch. “We’ll start first thing in the morning.”

“You and Sal can spend some time tonight with Lemieux and Bruno. Fill them in on your other cases, since they’ll pick up the slack until we catch the guy.” Sully turned his attention to the coroner. “Marie, what about the autopsy report on the tournament official? Please tell me you’ve found something to point us in the right direction.”

“I wish I could. Serge Lacroix’s throat was slashed before he hit the river, and that’s about all I can tell you.”

“Let me guess, there’s no trace evidence on his body.”

“If there was anything to be found, it washed away in the water. His pockets were empty, other than a booze flask and a wallet containing five hundred dollars. Only the vic’s fingerprints were on the flask. Forensics is trying to retrieve prints from the money, but the bills were reduced to a soggy pulp. I’ll let you know if they find anything.”

Sully nodded, shut his laptop, and stood up. “There’s a buffet set out for everyone in the cafeteria—pizza and salads. Grab some dinner and then get started on your assignments. Millette, make sure everyone knows what they’re working on. I’m out of here. You can reach me on my cell phone anytime, day or night. Be sure to keep me updated on your progress.”

As if on cue, his cell phone chimed the opening anthem of
Hockey Night in Canada
. Caller ID registered the call as coming from the hospital in Mallard Bay.

What now?

Chapter Eleven

Sully paced the corridor outside of the emergency room while he waited to see his brother. According to the EMTs who’d brought Theo in, he had plowed his Corvette into a telephone pole. The EMTs recognized Sully from other crime scenes and provided a quick rundown on his condition.

Their diagnosis included possible cracked ribs, bruised sternum, and a nasty cut over an eye. There was also damage to his larynx from impacting the steering wheel. Nothing life threatening as far as they could tell, but an ER doctor would have to make that evaluation.

Shit.
This could keep Theo on the injured list for a while.

Stopping at a vending machine, Sully inserted enough coins for a cup of coffee then moved to a bank of windows. It was pitch dark outside, his reflection staring back at him from the glass. He stood motionless, his jaw clenched tight while the wheels spun in his head. Flipping his cell open, he hit Hawke’s number on speed dial. It was answered on the first ring.

“Where are you?”

“At the hospital. Theo smashed up his car.”

“That doesn’t sound like him. How is he?”

“From what the EMTs tell me, lots of bruises, contusions, and possible cracked ribs.” Sully exited the hospital and walked a few paces from the electronic doors. “Listen, it might not be an accident, Hawke. Alert the other guys and keep them on their toes tonight. But don’t say anything to Bree and Cody. They have enough to worry about.”

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll see you when you get back.” Hawke disconnected the call.

Sully pocketed his phone and returned to the ER. He wanted to evaluate his brother’s condition for himself before sounding unnecessary alarm bells for his own family. San Antonio and Houston were a long way off for his folks and sister to travel if Theo would be back on his feet in a day or two.

Hell, he had survived JTF2 with some harrowing experiences under his belt. He had the scars to prove it. He was more than tough, and Sully predicted a fight with a telephone pole wouldn’t slow his brother down for very long. Of course, when he saw him, it was difficult not to flinch and show any signs of sympathy. The man looked like crap with his forehead bandaged and his eyes blackened. He lay on a gurney in the ER, a curtain separating him from a pregnant woman in the next bed.

“Hey, bro, it’s about time you got here.” Theo’s voice was little more than a croak. He struggled to get his legs over the side of the gurney. A blue hospital gown slid from his shoulders and landed in a puddle on the floor. The only thing saving his modesty was a pair of black silk underwear.

“Great boxers, man.”

“Yeah, the ladies like them. I’ll have to give you the name of my tailor. Breeana’s a classy woman and she might appreciate a man wearing something finer than those packaged tighty-whities the guys in the unit like.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. How are you doing?”

“I’m good to go. I’d have checked myself out of here, but my witch of a nurse hid my wallet and clothes, plus my car will be in surgery for a while. I had her towed to the usual garage servicing her. My mechanic says he made the sign of the cross when he saw her. Sarcastic bastard.”

Theo reached under the gurney for the lock box containing his Glock and tossed it to Sully. “Here, carry it for me. Let’s make tracks.”

“Hold up,” Sully said, as he pushed his brother back down on the gurney. “If your nurse hid your clothes, it’s because you were being a stubborn jackass about staying in bed, and you aren’t ready to be released yet. Let me talk to a doctor first.”

“Sure, talk all you want. While you’re talking, I’ll grab myself a cab in my manly underwear to Breeana’s house. I’m pretty sure she’ll pay the cab fare when I tell her you wouldn’t help me break out of here.” Theo glared as he sat up again. There was no mistaking the Sauvage determination. “I’m going, whether you like it or not. No way I’m letting you have all the fun.”

“Theo, sit your ass back down, or I swear I’m going to handcuff you to the bed rail.”

“Back off, Sully. It wasn’t an accident. I was run off the road because someone doesn’t want me on the team protecting your lady. We’ll all have to watch our backs now. What do you have to say about that?”

“Okay, okay. Let’s roll, but I’ll sign you out first. And, you’d better be telling me the truth. If this is just an excuse to get you released from the hospital, I’m going to drag your ass back here. You can tell me what happened in the car.”

“Yeah, yeah. Is there anything else, Mom?”

There really wasn’t much more for his brother to tell him, just enough to convince Sully Theo’s instincts were correct. The driver had hit hard and made his escape fast. He had never slowed down and never reported the accident. Their unsub had tried to take Theo out of the equation and the reason was obvious. He didn’t want the brothers teaming up.

Sully had every confidence in his homicide squad. But, he and Theo together—with Hawke and the other guys—now that was a force to be reckoned with. For the first time in a long time, he felt he held the upper hand. The killer had panicked, maybe because he was about to make another move against Breeana.

Come on, just try to get close to her again, you prick.
We’ll be ready.

Cody shot a look at Theo as they came through the door and engaged his big mouth. “The next time you leave the house, I’d better be riding shotgun. What happened?”

“He was out joyriding and smashed up his ’Vette. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” Sully knew the boy was scared. It was understandable. If the freak could get to Theo, he could get to his mother. Reece and Hawke lowered Theo into a chair and propped his legs on an ottoman. Breeana covered him with a quilt and handed him a couple of painkillers with a glass of water.

“Have a heart, Doc. Don’t you have anything stronger than this for my giant headache? These are over-the-counter meds,” Theo grunted.

“Sorry, champ. You could have a concussion. If you had half a brain, you would have stayed in the hospital where you could be monitored by all those pretty nurses.”

“You’ve never met Nurse Ratched,” Theo snapped. “The woman is three hundred pounds of muscle, mean, and bad breath. And while my other nurse was very cute, had minty breath and wanted to give me a full body massage, his name was Simon and he really wasn’t my type.”