Fractured (15 page)

“The coats on all three victims have been fastened back up.” Santiago looked queasy but she already knew he disliked the morgue. Today he wore a white shirt under his dark blue jacket and his face was pretty much the same pale hue. “That probably means something, but this frickin' guy is off the charts. We all done here?”

“Just get Santiago out of here.” Dr. Hammet's voice was dry as she looked at Ellie. “This place makes your partner so uncomfortable
I
start looking over my shoulder for dancing corpses.”

“Normally, that would insult my manhood, but not now. And could you please never say dancing corpses in front of me again?” The man in question was halfway to the door. “Thanks, Doctor, we'll be in touch after the written report arrives.”

Ellie followed, going up the cold staircase behind him. He didn't like elevators, but neither did she. “You didn't call her ‘Doc.' Hammet was in shock.”

“She hates being called ‘Doc.'”

“But yet you usually do it anyway to annoy her. The light dawns. Do we have an agenda I am unaware of?”

He held up his phone. “I'm extremely popular it seems. Two calls. One from our resident upstanding citizen and drug-dealer informant and one from our young note-reader. Both are potential mother lodes, or could just be fool's gold.”

“This is not an old western, Santiago.”

“Hell, no, it isn't.” He shoved open the door at the top. “In those they didn't put their phones on vibrate in the morgue. Want to hold on a second while I answer both messages?”

When she checked her phone, she saw she also had a few messages, one from the front desk, which was expedient since she was right there.

The other was from Bryce.

“I've got a couple to answer too.” She murmured the words.

Santiago was already punching in a message with the swiftness of someone who did it often, but he glanced up and got her expression dead-on. “Lover boy? Did Ken call Barbie?”

“Shut up.” She moved away for privacy, or at least relative privacy because the hall was fairly busy. She called back, but got voice mail, and left a message:
Sorry, in the morgue when you called. I'll be in touch later
.

No use sugarcoating her job. It wasn't like he wasn't well aware.

She walked over to the front desk then, leaned her elbows on the surface, and said, “Hi, Joan. If I kill my partner here in the hallway, will you report it or do me a favor and look the other way?”

Joan, who was about sixty and had a coil of gray hair at her nape and glasses too big for her thin face, answered without a blink. “No report if you agree to cover it up when I murder my husband, who has just retired and is home all day. Every single damn day.”

“Did someone say cover-up? I'm your man,” Santiago drawled, walking up.

That was fast.

“Don't I wish you were mine, Detective.” Joan gave him a wink. “I texted you both because you have a date with the governor and Metzger asked me to give you the details and time. Aren't you fancy.”

He grimaced. “Not hardly. I think you've met me a time or two. When?”

“Saturday night. You have hotel reservations and transportation, all arranged courtesy of the fine state of Wisconsin.”

Santiago looked at Ellie with his signature smartass smile, propping an arm carelessly on the counter. “You'd better hope we got a king-sized bed. I'm kind of a restless sleeper. Word has it I snore too, but I've never believed that. Now you can put that nasty rumor to rest.”

Ellie muttered, “I know you
think
you're funny.”

Joan offered up a piece of paper. “Sorry cowboy, separate rooms. The state is cheap, but apparently not that cheap. It's a bummer, I know. There's a cocktail reception before dinner, and the chief suggests you get a haircut before you two leave for Madison and he isn't talking about Detective MacIntosh.”

He took the itinerary. “I've been meaning to, but I keep forgetting.”

“I personally like the lead-singer-in-a-rock-band look, but the chief can be picky. Did you know that our governor's mansion is one of only a handful of states that is not actually located in the capital? It's actually in Maple Bluff right on Lake Mendota.”

“Aren't you a font of interesting trivia. Tell me more.”

“Let me know when the two of you are done flirting, will you?” Ellie said mildly. “I have three homicides to solve that are getting more high profile all the time, and a pile of paperwork on my desk. Thanks for the information, Joan.”

“She's just jealous,” Santiago said in a theatrically lowered voice as Ellie started to walk away, before he caught up in two long strides. “Hey, I texted the kid back and said for him to meet us at the deserted school. Our drug informant apparently is not answering his phone, but give him a break, selling drugs illegally is a time-consuming business.”

All along she'd thought getting a lead on who was buying rufilin off the street and connecting it to the crimes was not going to pan out anyway, but the kid—that was a different story. That could mean something. “When?” she asked.

*   *   *

At least this
time they didn't have to go inside.

Jason got out of the car. The predicted clipper had brought not only colder temperatures, but it was snowing. Again.

The school looked more dreary and broken down than ever. There were two bikes propped against the flagpole, one on either side, and he had to think with some amusement that only in Milwaukee, well, maybe Minneapolis or Fargo, would kids ride bikes on the streets in this weather. Duluth—it got shit-cold there—and Chicago—anyway, he'd ridden his bike all winter long too. He'd never liked the school bus and it was cold riding your bike, but not as cold as walking. At least it went faster.

The first crime he'd ever solved was when his bike was stolen.

God, he'd been pissed. The kid that had taken it had never stood a chance. Jason got suspended for fighting, but he also retrieved his bike, so voted the entire episode worth it. He'd mowed a lot of lawns to save up for that bicycle.

“I'm guessing the stairwell of the entrance we used,” he told Ellie, who was wearing the little snowflake cap again. “At least it offers some shelter and privacy.”

“Tell them to come around to the front.” She refused to budge. “I'm distrustful of going down into that well with anyone I don't know, even if we both have weapons.”

“Not a bad call.” He reached for his phone and made a call and minutes later two boys—he'd guess twelve or thirteen—came around the corner. They looked scared underneath a definite swagger, and Jason also remembered being
that
kid.

One was fairly tall, but still obviously young, and the other one was short and pudgy, but there was every chance from the width of his shoulders he might grow out of it.

“MacIntosh, let me do the talking, okay?” Jason said it pleasantly as the two of them skirted the sidewalk. “Pretty blondes rattle boys their age, so just don't say a word. Hey.” He held up his badge briefly. “It's damn cold out here so we'll keep it fast and you can get home.” He lifted his chin briefly. “We appreciate you calling in. How can you help us?”

“Dead guy across the street.” The pudgy one wore a dark blue parka and a gray skullcap and might have been trying to grow a mustache but wasn't old enough yet for success. “We can tell you exactly when he bought it.”

“Bought what? The house?”

“No. Like … died.”

“Oh.
Bought it
. This isn't a cop show, this is real-world stuff and we need for you to say exactly what you mean instead of what you think are cool phrases, okay? So you saw him being killed?”

God, that would be the ultimate break
 …

“No. but we might have heard it.”

Jason glanced at the two bicycles and remembered what it was like to be that age. Long summer nights, sidewalks, mud football …

“Okay, go ahead. You heard something that bugged you, right? Like what?”

“Screaming. It came from that house, or that's how it seemed.” He pointed across the street. “We were just coming out of the school.” He looked wary over that admission.

The other one added, “It didn't last very long and we didn't see anything, but it was, you know, kind of freaky so we took off down the block.”

“The police didn't occur to you?” Ellie evidently couldn't help that question, her hands stuffed into her pockets. “Someone screaming? Maybe call the police?”

Both the boys looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, which he could have predicted. Jason asked smoothly instead, “Can you give us a time and a day? That would help a lot.”

True enough. Forensics hadn't been able to pin time of death down with any conviction because of the temperatures so they still only had a vague time frame.

“It was a Friday.” The tall one said it positively. “I go to my dad's on Saturdays and I remember thinking about telling him. But he's, like, ex-military, and would probably kick my ass for the breaking into the school thing.”

Okay, they had a time frame. Excellent. The body wasn't found until Monday.

This
was
gold.

“So after school then? Was it dark out?” Ellie asked.

They both frowned. “Kinda dark,” the pudgy kid said. “The old lady, the one that walks her dog all the time, had her front porch light on already.”

“Did you realize someone lived in that house? Had you seen him?” Jason did his best to keep the urgency out of his voice. He didn't want to spook them or have them make something up just for the attention.

“Didn't think about it.” The boy shrugged. “Lots of people that live around here stay inside most of the time or work all day. That's why we hang around here so much.”

Jason could get that. For instance, riding your bike was sure easier if there wasn't much traffic so this quiet street was perfect. “Was there a car parked on the street out front?”

“Most people park off the alley out back.”

They'd discovered that during the initial visit to the scene, and the neighborhood was within reasonable walking distance of public transit. Considering the general lack of affluence, he suspected a lot of people opted to not even own a car. “Which means you might remember it even more,” he urged, glad he'd worn his heavier parka for this outside discussion. The wind was really picking up.

The tall kid wiped his nose with the back of his hand and brightened. “Hey, there was a really nice car parked in front of that house, not that night but a few days before. I remember thinkin' it was kind of out of place.”

“Can you tell us what kind?”

“Black.”

Not helpful. The days of boys their age being car crazy seemed to be over. Now it was video games and surfing the Net. Jason still mourned his vintage Mustang. He inquired patiently, “Four doors or two? Expensive old-person sedan or an SUV?”

“Um … okay, lemme think. Four. Pretty sure. Hey man, I just noticed it, you know.”

They were getting restless, and probably cold, and that really was the sum total of what they knew, so Jason said, “Okay, thanks for calling and meeting with us. We owe you one. Stay out of trouble.”

“Just one more question,” Ellie said. “Very quick. When the man was screaming, could you make out a name or any words, or did he just scream in pain?”

Pudgy shook his head. “You've got it wrong. It wasn't a guy screaming. It was a woman.”

 

Chapter 15

Ellie rose and switched off her phone. It was office policy anyway, and it wasn't too much to ask for half an hour now and then of strictly personal time, especially when she was off duty. Dr. Lukens came to the door and opened it—she always did. Today she wore her usual tailored dark slacks but her blouse was a brilliant turquoise and the vibrancy suited her coloring.

“Good morning, Detective. Have a seat.”

They both settled into chairs and Georgia Lukens asked, “Not as your therapist, but as a concerned citizen, how is the investigation going? I read in the paper there's been another murder. The article said the police department believes they are linked together.”

“We've had a small break,” Ellie acknowledged, because she had, after all, shown her the picture of the second victim. Neither did they have a typical doctor/patient relationship. “It is possible there is a witness to the second murder. All we need is for them to come forward.”

“Promising, but I find it disturbing they haven't done so already.”

“You aren't the only one who thinks that's strange, but then again, the victim was living illegally in the house where he was murdered. This case seems to be riddled with people breaking trespassing laws. We are cooperating with the media a little more than usual to make sure the word is out that we are looking for this person.”

“I truly hope you find them soon. Now then, how is Ellie MacIntosh the woman, not the police officer?”

That was a good question. To her, the best part of therapy was being able to just speak freely and never have it leave the room. “The woman is very unhappy living in Bryce's house without him there,” she said frankly. “It makes me uncomfortable in about a dozen ways.”

“List a few of them for me?”

“It's his house, for one. My house is still up north. That's my home, the house I chose and paid for, and my furniture and personal taste are part of it. I would never have moved in had I known he was going to move out, even if it is temporary. If you want to talk about trespassing, that's how I feel when I walk through the door each night.”

Dr. Lukens regarded her thoughtfully. “Do you think you would feel better if the two of you had bought a house together instead of your current circumstances?”