Wounds (21 page)

“Man, you are quite the conversationalist.”

“I'm a plainspoken man. Listen, I hear you've had a tough few days. Long night last night, too.”

“All nights are the same length, Hec. Something to do with Earth's rotation.”

“You know what I mean.”

“It was a tough one. I'm running on fumes.”

He sat on the edge of her desk. “Then I really hate to do this to you. I got a call-out for a found body. When I reported it to the Cap, he said I needed to talk to you.”

Carmen groaned. “Don't tell me. Something is weird about the body.”

“You could say that—”

“Hang on.” Bud had just walked in. He looked like he had just finished a fifty-mile hike. “Hey, partner. Wife kick you out?”

Bud shook his head. “Of course not. She's always supportive.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously. I just slept on the sofa so I wouldn't wake her.” He slipped off his coat and hung it on the back of his chair, then looked at Hector. “Hey, look who's here. I thought they fired you.”

“You're not that lucky.” Hector didn't move from his perch on Carmen's desk.

“Well, it's good to see you back . . .” His gaze bounced between Carmen and Hector. “Why has my stomach just taken a dive?”

“Hec was about to tell us about his new case.”

Bud squinted at Hector. “Is your new case going to be
our
new case?”

“The Cap thinks so.”

Bud dropped into his seat. “How about sharing that disease you had. I could use the rest.”

Hector looked at Carmen. “Really, it's been that bad?”

“It's a challenge. What have you got?”

Hector dropped a file on Carmen's desk. “Thirty-five-year-old male, found on the site of the old Navy barracks just north of Miramar. ME gave a tentative TOD as four hours before discovery. That'd have been about three this morning.”

Carmen opened the case file and studied the freshly printed digital photos, then handed each print to Bud. Hector continued.

“As you can see, the vic was found facedown on the asphalt, dressed only in his skivvies.”

Bud squinted at the photo. “What are the marks on his back?”

“ME thinks the guy was beat with dowels before being choked to death.”

Carmen studied the long red, black, and blue marks that covered the corpse from shoulders to his feet. “Bruising.”

“Yep, wounds were inflicted while he was alive.”

She rifled through the photos until she found a close-up of the victim's wrists. “He was bound. They look like Cohen's wrist wounds.” Carmen wanted to walk away, get a job as a waitress. “Horrible way to die.”

“They have all been horrible,” Bud said.

Hector looked from Bud to Carmen. “Okay, I'm in the dark here, probably because I've had my head in a toilet for a few days, but the Cap said you were the guys to talk to. What's up? Is this part of the serial-killer thing people are whispering about?”

“It looks like it.” Carmen couldn't believe how weary she was. “Who found the body?”

“Some old guys using the abandoned barracks as a place to race their motorcycles.”

“Old?” Carmen asked.

“You know. Bud's age.”

“Cute, Hec. You're a laugh a minute.”

Hector smiled, but only for a moment. “They were retired men trying to pretend they were still twenty. The body was lying in the open.”

“Let me guess—the motorcycle jocks go out there every week.” Carmen didn't bother looking up.

“True. How'd you know?”

“Let's go to the conference room and I'll regale you with a tale you don't want to hear.”

“Swell. Just the kind of welcome back I was looking for.”

Carmen held up a finger. “But first . . .” She picked up her phone and dialed Captain Simmons. He picked up on the first ring.

“Simmons.”

“Hey, Cap. It's Carmen. I want Hector on our team.”

“You asking me or telling me?”

“Asking, of course, sir.”

“I figured this was coming and I agree. I assume you think the case is connected.”

“I would be surprised if it isn't. Bud and I have our hands full. We need the help.”

There was a pause. “You sending Heywood back to patrol?”

“No, sir. We need him too.” Carmen hoped she wasn't pushing too hard.

“Do you want the rest of the force on this case too?” His voice carried a hint of humor.

“Thank you, Cap. That'll be great.”

“Forget it. You can have Hec and keep Heywood. I'm still dealing with cutbacks, you know. And remember, Hector is a senior detective, don't treat him like some shavetail.”

“Understood, sir.” She hung up, then looked at Hector. “Welcome to Team Nutcase, Hec. In about an hour you're gonna wish you were still dumping your guts in the toilet.”

“Gee, how can I turn down an invitation like that?”

The three filled their coffee cups and slipped down the hall to one of the small conference rooms. The room was equipped with a whiteboard, held a table and chairs that could seat eight. Carmen sat at the head of the table near the whiteboard; Bud and Hector selected opposites sides of the well-worn work table so they could face each other.

“Okay, Hec, bring us up to speed on your case.”

“Not much more to add.” He pulled his chair closer to the table and wrapped his hands around his coffee cup as if fearful it might fly away. “You've seen the body. Bizarre. We canvassed the scene looking for vehicle tracks but came up empty. While the ground around the old barracks is dusty, there's just not enough of a dirt film to leave tire or shoe impressions. Besides that, it's a popular place for off-road cyclists to tear up the place. We found plenty of rubber marks, but they were all from motorcycles. I doubt the perp gave the guy a ride on the back of his Honda.”

“That's the old Navy barracks, right? Near the Marine Air Station.” Bud looked more rested than Carmen felt, but he still looked a little wrung out.

“Yep. It was built during World War II and stayed active until the end of Vietnam, when the Navy abandoned it. They never sold it because they used to store some nasty chemicals and fuels there. That was after they stopped housing reservists there. Clean up would cost more than the property is worth, even in San Diego.”

“If it's a dangerous place, then why do they let cyclists ride out there?” Carmen leaned back.

“They don't
let
people ride out there, bikers just do it.” Hector sipped his coffee, then grimaced as if the strong brew had awakened his irritated stomach. “We're lucky the guys who found the body called it in. By doing so, they had to admit to riding on government property without permission.”

“Did you bust, 'em?” Bud grinned.

“Nah. Would you? They did us a favor.”

The door to the conference room opened and Carmen stiffened. Assistant Chief Barry Claymore entered. Captain Darrel Simmons followed, an apology on his face.

“May I join you?” Claymore moved to the end of the table as if answering his own question.

No.
“Of course, sir. Glad to have you here.”

His expression said he was doubtful. “Captain Simmons tells me there's been a couple of developments. I need to be brought up to speed. The chief is at an IACP-related meeting in Denver. He told me to stay on top of this and keep the mayor briefed.”

The International Association of Chiefs of Police held several conferences throughout the year, the annual conference being late in May.

“Yes, sir.” Was it better to stand or to remain seated like the others? “Detective Garcia was filling us in on this morning's case.”

“I don't have any details.” Claymore leaned back in his chair like the CEO of a large corporation surrounded by his minions. “Maybe you can start from the beginning.”

“Yes, sir.” Carmen looked at Hector. “Floor is yours, Detective.”

Hector broke it down from the time he received the call and laid out everything he had just told Carmen and Bud. “I was just saying that there is almost no physical evidence—”

“What do you mean ‘almost'?” Claymore kept his voice low, but the comment seemed abrasive.

“No physical evidence apart from the body, sir. I was just getting to this part. The riders get in through a double-wide gate. The Navy secures it with a chain and padlock, but the chain gets cut nearly every week.”

“How do you know that?” Claymore asked.

“I spoke to the department responsible for the property. That took an hour to unravel.”

“And the vic was beaten to death?”

Carmen was impressed that Hec didn't show any irritation since he'd just covered that. “Technically, he was suffocated, according to the ME, but that's not official yet.” Hector opened the file and slid it to Captain Simmons, who glanced at it before pushing it down to the assistant chief.

At the sight of the body, the chief cringed.

Hector didn't let up. “If you look closely, you can see that some of the stripes have cuts in them. We think the perp was using wood dowels—probably a half-inch in diameter—and he used such force they broke.”

Claymore grunted. “One man did this? It looks like it would take two or three to do this kind of damage.”

“It's probably one guy doing the beating, sir.” Hector nodded at the picture. “Notice the angle and direction of the marks. They're all the same. We're certain the vic was hung up by his wrists, and the perp had at him. Not to be insensitive, but the guy used him like a human piñata.”

“This fits with one of the other murders.” Carmen opened one of her files as if checking it for information. She didn't need the file. Every word and image in it were committed to memory. “Cohen had marks on his wrists consistent with a man tied and suspended with his arms over his head. From first glance at the marks on our newest victim, I'd say the width of the binding is the same.”

Captain Simmons broke his silence. “This guy have a name?”

Hector nodded. “Yes, sir. We found his wallet nearby. As you can see, the guy is wearing nothing but his chones. Vic's name is Rolf Brady, thirty-five years of age, single, lives in Mira Mesa, which is far from where his body was found. No criminal record apart from a traffic citation for rolling through a stop sign. No photos of family. He had one credit card, one debit card, and forty-three dollars in cash. Still trying to track down his employer and search his home as soon as we get done here . . . if that's okay with you.” He looked at Carmen.

“It is, but we'll get to that in a minute.”

Claymore studied Carmen for a moment. “You're taking lead on this?”

Carmen tensed.

Simmons answered. “She is. She drew the first case, and she and Bud have been running the investigation of the four murders.”

“Four?” Claymore snapped his head around. “There's a fourth?”

“Yes, sir. Carmen was about to factor that in for us.” Simmons motioned to Carmen. “Go ahead.”

“Late last night a body was found in a VW bug that was submerged in one of the small bays of Lake Murray. The car belonged to our first victim.”

“Oh, this is a mess.” Claymore's face reddened. “Four murders in what? A week?”

“Yes, sir. A little over a week.” Carmen leaned on the table, pushing her coffee cup to one side and resting her hands on the case files. “Bob Wilton—the man in the car—was a friend of our first victim. They had been seen in each other's company, and Wilton's neighbor had seen them drive off together in the VW. We're very sure that Wilton was killed when Doug Lindsey was abducted. They jogged in the park next to Lake Murray.” She explained about the two punctures that were consistent to a police-level Taser.

She continued. “Here's the kicker: Wilton was killed outright. GSW to the head.”

“Why?” Claymore said.

“The very question eating us, sir. Why torture three people to death, one at a time, but pop the guy with Lindsey?”

Claymore thought for a moment. “Could he have been a threat to the attacker?”

“Doubtful, sir. Evidence indicates he was shot while still in the Beetle. I doubt he even got out of the car.”

Claymore pinched the bridge of his nose. Carmen hoped he was getting the same headache this case was giving her.

“Again I ask, why?”

The room was silent. It fell to Carmen to respond. “He's delivering a message.”

“What message?”

“Sir, I have no idea.”

23

A
fter Assistant Chief Claymore excused himself, the air in the room seemed a little easier to breathe. He was not a bad man and was an able and conscientious cop. He had earned the decoration he wore on his dress uniform. Still, the man knew how to suck the life from a room.

Simmons stayed behind. “How do you plan to proceed, Carmen?” His tone was even, professional. The fact that he used her first name indicated he was setting a more relaxed tone. Of course, that courtesy only went one way. She would never call him Darrel with other cops around.