Everywhere She Turns (24 page)

“CJ, I must insist that for your own protection you stay at my home for the rest of your visit.”

Braddock’s cell phone vibrated. For once he was glad. This guy was about to make him gag. “Braddock.”

“I found it.”

Cooper.

“It?” Braddock’s attention was still on Abbott, who was countering oh so eloquently and kindly each of CJ’s protests.

“E. Noon. Get over here, Braddock. You’re not going to believe this.”

Cooper waited at the front door.

Twenty or so neighbors still loitered just outside the crime scene perimeter. Hoping to get a glimpse of Banks carted away in a body bag, no doubt. Some would linger out of morbid curiosity; others, the ones who had been the deceased’s employees in one capacity or another, more likely to ensure he was actually dead.

Braddock’s partner motioned for him to hurry. He weaved his way through the crowd. When he’d double-timed it up the steps, Cooper shoved shoe covers and gloves at him and whispered, “You gotta see this, Braddock.”

“You’ve pushed my expectations to the max.” He hopped on one foot, then the other, to pull on the protective shoe covers. “This better be good.”

She cut him one of those I-am-not-shitting-you looks as she ushered him through the door. “Trust me, our perp has a truly warped sense of poetic justice.”

Braddock snapped the gloves into place as he went. “Nothing like a little originality.” The organized chaos of the evidence techs continued to play out in the kitchen like a carefully choreographed theatre production.

The ME’s assistants were bagging the body. Obviously the
perp hadn’t left his John Hancock on the body. Before Braddock could ask just where the big surprise was, Dobbins said, “We found the penis. The dog didn’t eat it.”

“Show it to him,” Cooper urged, that just-wait look still on her face.

Braddock’s curiosity spiked. “Where’d you find it?”

His partner and the ME exchanged a look. “You tell him.” Cooper smirked.

Dobbins picked up the plastic container next to her gear and turned back to Braddock. “The dog didn’t consume all of the victim’s genitals. The penis was severed and inserted . . .” Another of those glances at Cooper. “Into the victim’s rectum.”

His partner pressed her lips together, but there was no way to disguise the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. It wasn’t actually funny, but when guys like Banks got theirs like this, it was hard not to be somewhat entertained.

Dobbins opened the container. “There’s the signature.”

Despite being smudged with blood and other
stuff
Braddock didn’t really want to think about, the signature was visible.
E. Noon
was written in black, maybe with a Sharpie or other permanent felt-tip marker, along the flaccid length of the victim’s penis.

The rub of metal against metal announced that the assistants were preparing the gurney for exiting the premises. “That’s my cue.” Dobbins closed the container and grabbed the bag that accommodated the tools of her trade. “Considering the connection between this homicide and Shelley Patterson’s, I’ll try to fit Banks in late tomorrow.”

“That would be extremely helpful.” Braddock held up a hand before she could get away. “One other thing. You’re sure there was nothing like this”—he gestured to the container—“when you did your prelim exam on Patterson?”

Dobbins shook her head. “Not that I encountered. But, as you say, in light of this . . .” She glanced at the container. “I’ll certainly be looking for her missing clitoris.”

When the ME was out the door, Cooper said, “So far none of the neighbors saw or heard anything last night. Other than the dog barking, but he did that a lot, so it wasn’t something
that would have aroused suspicion. Not until he started howling.”

“Of course no one heard anything.” That was always the case in the village. Hear no evil, see no evil. What you didn’t see and didn’t hear couldn’t get you killed. As far as the dog howling, Braddock had a theory on that. The poor animal had probably gotten confused and distressed after his frenzy ended.

“A couple of uniforms have Nash’s residence under surveillance. Nothing’s moving around over there.” Cooper glanced around the room. “You want to poke around here a little more or go on over and question the King.”

“Let’s pay Nash a visit now. We can come back here later when the techs have finished up.”

“So what happened over at the sister’s?” Cooper asked as she picked her way through the living room.

Braddock waited until they were in his G6 and headed for Dubose Street before explaining. “She woke up with blood all over her sheets this morning.” He met his partner’s gaze as he slowed for an intersection. “Forensics is rushing the test to determine if the blood could have come from Banks or if we have another body waiting somewhere.”

“Another one?” Cooper’s brows lifted. “There was that much blood?”

“Enough to indicate someone had been seriously, maybe fatally injured.”

“Damn.” Cooper shook her head. “This is stacking up like a war.”

Exactly. And Braddock had started it by using Shelley Patterson to get at Nash. He’d have to live with that one.

He’d let her down just like he’d let down his niece. What kind of cop allowed a nineteen-year-old girl to give him the slip?

Would CJ Patterson be the next victim of his failing ability to get the job done?

Nash’s usual array of eyes and ears loitered on his porch. Reclining on chairs that the manufacturer hadn’t intended to be utilized out of doors.

Braddock didn’t wait for an invitation. He climbed the steps and flashed his badge for the first gorilla that sauntered his way. “We need to see Nash. Now.”

The gorilla jerked his thumb toward the door. “Go on in. He’s been expecting you.”

Cooper rested her hand on the butt of the weapon clipped to her hip. Even though they’d been welcomed with open arms, that didn’t mean things couldn’t change once they crossed the threshold. Far too many folks here in Alabama considered anything that moved inside their house fair game when came to protecting one’s self and property.

The King reclined on a red leather sofa, his black silk pajamas worth more than he was. The unholy trinity, as he called his personal bodyguards, stood close by, prepared to protect him at all costs.

“I’d ask you to sit,” Nash said in greeting, “but you won’t be here that long.”

“Good morning to you, too, Tyrone.” Braddock liked the way Nash’s lips flattened into a frustrated line whenever he called the scumbag by his first name.

“Mr. Nash,” Cooper announced, “you do have the right to have an attorney present before answering any of our questions. Would you like to call your attorney?”

Braddock suppressed a smile.
Way to go, partner
. She wanted the piece of shit to know they weren’t fucking around.

Nash looked Cooper up and down, then curled his lips in disapproval. A scowl lined his face, made the scar on his cheek pucker slightly. “I don’t need no lawyer. I don’t know shit about what happened to Banks, so save yourself some breath. I was at home all night last night, ask anyone here.”

“Is there anyone who doesn’t work for you who can verify that you were here all night?” Cooper countered.

Nash flared his hands. “This is the village, policewoman. Everybody works for me.” He motioned around the room. “These are my people. They all work for me.”

Yadda, yadda, yadda. “Since that included Ricky Banks,” Braddock offered, “we’ll need a list of the people who worked
with or for him.” Braddock had the little black book, but he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to yank Nash’s chain.

Nash settled a glare on Braddock. “You think someone in this village killed my man Banks?” Nash shook his head. “No way. Don’t nobody do shit in this village without my authorization.”

“I guess that leaves you, then,” Braddock suggested. “Why don’t we go over exactly what you were doing between the hours of midnight and three this morning?”

“Like I told you,” Nash shot right back, “I was here. Watching reruns of
True Blood
and sipping Patrón.”

Braddock claimed the few steps that stood between him and the red sofa. The threatening glares of all three tough guys followed his every move. Braddock ignored them, sat down on the coffee table in front of Nash. “I would think, seeing you’re the king of the village and all, that you would be just a little”—he held his thumb and forefinger slightly apart—“ticked off that someone murdered your number-one go-to-boy right here in your own territory. There must be someone out there who isn’t the slightest bit afraid of you or your reputation.”

Nash stared at him a long moment. “I got my ways of dealing with these matters.”

Braddock belted out a laugh before his face captured and reflected the sheer fury throttling through his veins. “I know you do.” He reached into his jacket pocket; the trinity reacted by reaching for the weapons stashed in their waistbands. Braddock lifted an eyebrow at each before withdrawing a business card from his pocket. “Call me when you’ve got that list ready.” He tossed the card at Nash. “
Today
.”

He stood. “I won’t even ask if these thugs have licenses to carry weapons.” One last look at the bastard on the sofa and Braddock turned his back and headed for the door. The only way he would get anything from Nash was if a gun was bored into his skull, and maybe not even then.

“You got people, Five-oh?”

Braddock froze. His gaze locked with his partner’s. She gave her head the subtlest shake, warning him not to go there.

“We all got people,” Nash went on nonchalantly. “Even my boy Ricky had people. I’m sure they’ll be deeply pained by this tragedy. Sometimes you cross a line . . . make a mistake and somebody gets hurt. You know what I mean, don’t you, Five-oh?”

Oh, he knew. The urge to kill this bastard with his bare hands roared like a hurricane.

Now was not the time.

And Nash was right. There was a line to be crossed here. Braddock wanted to lunge across it; he wanted it so bad he could taste it even as he walked away. But he had no choice but to wait. And when he had the evidence he needed, then he would cross that line so fucking hard this piece of shit wouldn’t know what hit him.

Cooper followed Braddock out the door and to his car. She didn’t say anything, though he knew she wanted to, until they eased away from the curb.

“You can’t let him get to you like that.”

“Easy for you to say.” His fingers clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel. The rage pulsed beneath his sternum, ballooned in his chest.

“If the chief gets wind that you’re letting Nash get to you, he’ll take you off this case.” She stared at his profile. “I know you don’t want that to happen.”

That was the thing his partner didn’t understand: The only way Braddock would be off this case was if he stopped breathing.

Village Medical Clinic, 7:18
PM

CJ paced the pavement between her rental car and the clinic’s rear entrance. Where the hell was Cost?

She’d called him half an hour ago. How long did it take to get from Governor’s Bend to here? Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.

The entire day had passed with her combing the city for Celeste Martin. CJ had started with a door-to-door search in the village. No one admitted to knowing the woman, much less having any idea where she might be.

Jenkins or one of his colleagues had followed her every step of the way. She’d gotten worried that no one would talk to her with him around, so she’d given him the slip.

It hadn’t been easy. She’d had to park down a narrow little road that only longtime residents of the village knew about. It paralleled the train tracks off the west side of Holmes. She’d waited a good twenty minutes and then she’d taken a back way through Huntsville Park to get back to the village.

It infuriated CJ that no one would open up to her. Every damned one she asked pretended not to know Celeste. That was bull. The girl had been working the streets around here for months. Prostitutes were like actors or secretaries or any other group of professionals: they chatted amongst themselves about work.

She’d questioned folks at the Kroger parking lot. Then she’d moved to the Wal-Mart lot across the street. She hadn’t bothered with the mall across the parkway—too much security for any of Celeste’s friends to mark that territory.

How could the girl have simply disappeared?

It wasn’t possible.

Unless . . .

Guilt congealed in CJ’s gut.

That girl was missing or in trouble because of CJ’s meddling.

Ricky Banks was dead. CJ had pushed him for answers about Shelley’s murder. Celeste Martin was missing. CJ had questioned her extensively. The girl had been too trusting or naive or maybe just desperate for someone to care not to realize her mistake until well after she’d made it.

Dammit
.

CJ folded her arms over her middle and fought to contain her emotions. Her sister was dead. The police had no idea who had killed her. CJ’s efforts to solve the mystery were only causing more trouble.