Charred (27 page)

The very first thing was to find a connection between Cameron and the late Ms. Blake.

Jason had a positive feeling about this … if a person could have a good feeling about multiple homicides. He let MacIntosh continue to talk to the old man and picked up his phone.

Chapter 23

Decisions needed to be made occasionally. Actually, often. What to wear. What to eat. Where to go if traffic was thick. How to manage a difficult situation. Trivial and significant. It never let up.

Who to kill and how to kill them
.

I had no idea how most people might go about it, but this really wasn’t about the kill for me, it was about resolution. I am as important as anyone else on this planet, and like food or water, which everyone rushes to give to the needy, I needed this. Not a difficult concept to understand.

To a certain extent I get that it is a simplistic explanation, but it is one.

I’m as entitled as anyone, aren’t I?

I have a whole new appreciation for the art form of profiling. All I wanted was to be done with it. If it was necessary, then getting it over with was like ripping off a bandage and I was eager to heal this wound.

They had evidence. An eyewitness, a link back to me that was solid, and I wasn’t sure if what I was about to do was the correct decision, but like a train with momentum, I didn’t want to stop now and try to start the engine again.

What if it stalled and then I was never free?

So it might sound reckless, but I would go forward and hope for the best. This was the trickiest choice, of course.

But then again, I’d saved the best for last.

*   *   *

“Tell me about
Grasso.” Ellie was tired, her coffee was cold, and she just wasn’t in the mood for more waltzing around the subject.

It did not help when Chief Metzger looked bland. “MacIntosh, you know the story.”

Her hands went flat on his cluttered desk and she wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t frustrated. “Actually, I don’t. I know the whispers and the suppositions, but you know, I have no idea what the real story is, and I am going to tell you right now that while no one around here, even my partner, is about to admit it, they think he leaked the story of me being on this case. I do not mean to be disrespectful, sir, but could you at least do me the courtesy of telling me what exactly happened?”

The chief stared at her for a second and then said, “All right. Fine. Sit down, Detective.”

She did, taking a chair in front of his desk. Metzger had a presence when he chose to exercise that muscle.

His office was stylish, and the chair she chose was upholstered in some sort of soft material and actually comfortable. He laughed quietly before he shook his head. “MacIntosh, please take my word that when I hired you, I never thought we’d have another serial here. The odds are against it in about a thousand ways, and that first burning case … how would I know it would turn into what it did? Give me that at least.”

“I am trying,” she said evenly, “to give you exactly what you want. The killer.”

“No one wants that more than me.”

This could be her job. Ellie took in a breath. “I wonder, sir. Any possibility it could be Grasso?”

That stopped him cold in the act of reaching for the glass on his desk. “What?”

She had not one shred of physical evidence.
Nothing
. Of course not. The killer was too smart. “He wants back on homicide and he knows how to work it. Even the FBI says it could be a law enforcement officer. He has a cold case and so he exactly mimics what happened before and draws himself in.”

It was at least a little gratifying that Metzger took a minute to think about it. “Not a bad theory, but not Carl.”

“With all due respect, premeditated murder is not new to him.”

“Not one person who knows him will believe it.”

“That might just be the beauty of it.
Sir
.”

“Detective, you add that last form of address as if you have worked with Santiago for the past few weeks. It has never done him any favors, by the way.”

It was getting late, it was sultry outside, and she was tired of attempting to second-guess everyone else. “I’m trying to make sense of it. It is so neatly done that I can’t dismiss Agent Montoya’s theory, and I’m sorry, but Grasso comes to mind. How did he manage to stay on the force?”

“Because there was no proof that the shootings didn’t happen exactly as he recounted it. No witnesses and no other evidence. One of the suspects had discharged his weapon and quite frankly, the only reason there was even an inquiry was that the second man was unarmed. Considering you yourself have shot a suspect and killed him in the course of doing your duty, Detective, I am sure you understand that once an exchange of gunfire begins, keeping a cool head is very difficult.

“Carl kept his job because he successfully apprehended two men who had beaten a young woman working at a convenience store almost to death with a metal shelf, putting her in intensive care for weeks and leaving her disfigured for life. He was reassigned to vice because he killed an unarmed man. Was it vigilante justice? I don’t know. He stuck by his story throughout the investigation by internal affairs, and if they were finally satisfied, then I am as well. Does that clear it up for you?”

Evenly, she said, “That part of it, yes, it does. However, because you wanted a suspect, I’d like to put it on the record that Carl Grasso is right now at the top of my list. He is law enforcement, he knew the old murder/arson case inside and out and that has won him a foot inside the door, so to speak, sir, since he’s on the task force. He even drives an expensive black car.”

Metzger rubbed his chin and then he exhaled audibly. “Look, Ellie, before you toss this suspicion out there, I had better see some sort of evidence. I mean this; don’t say a word until you come to me first. Even with the shootings Carl Grasso has a reputation as an excellent police officer, and being accused of something like this damages your reputation even if it proves to not be true.”

He had a very valid point. No one knew that more than she did. Look at Bryce, falsely accused with his name splattered across the media, and people still connected him with those murders.

She rose and nodded, leaving Metzger’s office with the feeling she’d been swimming underwater for a little too long, not quite woozy but getting there, tired but still charged up.

And speak of the devil. When she rounded the corner, she saw someone sitting in the chair by her desk, which was more than a bit of a surprise because Bryce had never come by the station before, his avoidance natural because of the very conversation she’d just had with the chief.

“Hi.” He stood the minute he saw her, his smile brief. “I come bearing gifts. Your text said you’d be late for dinner and not to bother. I thought I might bring it to you.”

The man had his faults, but … she was starving actually and whatever was in the bag on her desk smelled delicious.

“I didn’t expect you.”

He sank back down as she sat. “That would take away the surprise, wouldn’t it? I brought Thai.”

“You hate police stations.”

“I do. No argument there.” He reached for the bag and opened it. “But for you … there’s beef and chicken. Preference?”

“I’ll take anything. I’m pretty sure they brought in some sawdust sandwiches late morning, but I didn’t move fast enough. Men do know how to take care of themselves in the food department. It is definitely first come, first serve. I was left with a small container of potato salad, which I gratefully consumed during the briefing.”

“It’s what you get for being a badass cop.”

“I’m not a badass—”

“I meant a very hardworking member of Wisconsin law enforcement. Now, is there something new?”

He gave her beef, spooning it onto a paper plate, and it was fabulous, fragrant with garlic and lemongrass and a hint of heat.

She devoured it with what was probably embarrassing speed. “I had a short meeting with Chief Metzger. There’s a task force. Some DCI and Carl Grasso are on it.”

“I see. How do you feel about that?”

“He investigated a case a few years ago that was really similar,” she explained. “Long story short, the cases aren’t exactly the same and we can’t figure out why. Bottom line is we are trying to break this quickly.”

“Why wait years and then commit five murders in just a few days?”

“That is an interesting question we have actually asked among ourselves.”

Bryce regarded her across the desk, fork in hand, his dinner half eaten. “The sarcasm is undeserved. I was just thinking out loud. Does Detective MacIntosh have a theory?”

She loved this about him. He was smart, and he had a rare quality that most people were missing, and that was he actually
listened
. Talking to Bryce allowed
her
to think out loud in some ways, and he was patient about it.

“A small one.” She pushed her plate aside and propped her arms on the table, chin on palms. “I really can’t take credit for it either, but I am wondering if we are going to find out that maybe both Cameron and Blake had the same foster kid. That’s the only link. The timing is exactly right. If Elizabeth Blake had a child in her care who was setting fires and Cameron had him as well, suddenly we have a suspect.”

“The others?”

“I don’t know … the victims really are all older. Maybe they also took in kids at one time. We are waiting on the information to come back because we don’t know who they are. The offices are closed and the files will have to be dug out anyway. We are talking fifteen years ago or so at least. It’s flimsy anyway, but it is better than nothing. This is predicated on the assumption that Lisa Martin is a part of this and Cameron’s murder is linked to the others.”

Bryce shook his head, his dark eyes somber. “What would make someone go back and kill people who were kind to them?”

She always had a problem with that one too. And people who killed perfect strangers … and hell, people who killed other people in general …

And then there was Grasso. But she couldn’t say anything.

“I wouldn’t,” she said moodily. “You wouldn’t, but who the hell knows these days. Besides, according to Lisa, Cameron was far from kind.”

“She could be stringing you along.”

“She could be.” Ellie paused. “But you know, I don’t think so.”

Bryce stood and took her empty plate. “Maybe she’s hoping you’ll somehow help to get her out of prison if she gives you valuable information. Surely that counts as good behavior.”

“I’m not going to argue that one, but keep in mind we went to see
her,
she didn’t contact us, and her story hasn’t changed. Not to mention that she certainly didn’t kill any of these women and burn the bodies. You can’t have a better alibi than being locked up in penitentiary at the time of the crime.”

And tonight someone else might die because they had no idea who might be next. It was frustrating to think that the information might be out there, but they couldn’t get to it until tomorrow because office hours played a part in it all. The archived files they needed were going to take time, and she was worried as hell they didn’t have the minutes even now ticking by.

As if he could read her mind, Bryce murmured, “What if he isn’t done? I know the profiler said it might be over, but what if it isn’t?”

“If we had the slightest clue who to protect, we would.” She had to fight to not sound defensive. “Other than Cameron, Blake, and the old man who was probably just an accidental casualty, we don’t have identities on any of the other victims. It is hard to say for sure, but it doesn’t appear any of them were killed where they were burned, so … we’re stumped, frankly. The table he brought to the scene himself was sold by a major retailer with hundreds of outlets. We have someone trying to trace back recent purchases, but unless he used a credit card, and I am going to say he is too smart for that, it won’t really help us probably. Forensics doesn’t think the table was really all that new. Traces of food stains or something … he probably just brought it from home.”

“That’s interesting.” His dark eyes reflected inner contemplation. “I wonder what the table symbolizes. I don’t think it takes an expert to figure out the table is intrinsic in all of this. An altar? Cameron was a minister, right? So was Blake’s father. Does that mean anything?”

“Could be.” Ellie took an idle sip of water from the bottle on her desk. “I’m less of a psychologist than you, but that’s occurred to me too. At least you have the desire to create characters and get into their heads. I really don’t want to know what other people are thinking. Scares me half to death most of the time. I want to catch them if they do bad things. Understand them? Not so much.”

It was true.

“Let’s change the subject,” she suggested, the case weighing on her—heavily—and she needed some distance. “What did
you
do today?”

It was actually a pretty innocent question. She just didn’t want to talk about the case at the moment. She was stymied, they all were, and for about five minutes at least she just wanted to sit and talk about something else.

He considered his bottle of iced tea like he’d never seen one before but then lifted his gaze. “This is really strange, but Suzanne stopped by.”

Okay, she wanted to talk about something besides the investigation, but not
this
.

She merely said, “Really?”

His smile was ironic. “Really. When I saw who it was, I admit I was … well, I don’t know what I was. Cautious, maybe. She does nothing without an aggressive purpose. I was wary enough when she called me out of the blue last week, but she claimed she had stumbled across some pictures she thought I might want, so I agreed to stop by the loft to pick them up.”

Ellie took in a breath. This was not a particularly good time for her personal world and her professional world to both take an unexpected turn, but at least he wasn’t keeping it from her and
he’d
been the one to bring it up. “The pictures I understand, but today? What did she want?”