Deadly Dreams (10 page)

“Uh . . . the southwest.”

“So you would have passed that World War statue. How far would you say you traveled beyond it before you got her call?”

“Not far. Seventy yards or so.”

She rested her forearms on the table and leaned against them. “Here’s the thing, Sam. That statue is situated nearly in the center of the park. If you were seventy yards past it, you were a helluva lot farther inside the area than you claimed earlier.” She let the moment stretch. Then another. “You want to rethink your story?”

“Jesus.” He shoved back from the table. “Statues, how many feet past . . . What the hell difference does it make? I’m trying to say here that I didn’t see anything.”

“A guy tells one lie, he’s liable to tell a lot more. That makes us think you’re holding out on us. Maybe about seeing the killer.”

He was sweating profusely now. Flicking a glance at Nate, he clearly saw no mercy in his expression. “I didn’t. I swear it.”

“But you saw someone.”

“Jesus. Jesus.” He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “He’s going to kill me.”

“Who?” Nate pressed relentlessly. “Who did you see? Who did you talk to?”

“He’s got nothing to do with the other. That killing.”

“His name.”

“Juicy.” With the word, all the fight seemed to stream out of him. “I only know him by that name, I swear. I stopped to, uh, talk to him, and the next thing Heather called and I left.”

“You bought drugs from him?”

He didn’t answer. Using drugs was an automatic parole violation and could land him back in prison. But it explained his lies and his reluctance to come clean about his trip into the park.

“Here’s the thing.” Nate hooked an elbow over the back of his chair. “You can tell us now, or we track down Juicy and ask him the same question. He’s not going to be likely to hold back, seeing as how you gave him up to us, told us he’s a dealer. And he will know that.” He paused a moment to let the import of that statement sink in. “I’ll make sure of it. Right now I don’t care whether you’re using or not, but if I have to go to all that work to find him to ask the same question I’m asking you, I’m going to care. And when I do, your parole officer gets a call.”

“A little pot. That’s all, I swear.”

Risa surveyed the man in silence. He was an idiot if he thought he could successfully pass the drug screenings if he was using. But that wasn’t their concern. His supplier just might be.

After several more minutes of questioning, it became apparent that Crowley had nothing more to offer. Nate shoved a legal pad across the table to him. “Write it up. Everything from when you left your place to meet Heather until the time you got back home.”

It was another twenty minutes before Nate was satisfied with the man’s statement. He and Risa left the interview room, and he gave a nod to the officer waiting outside the door. “Kick him loose.”

She easily kept pace with the detective as they headed down the hallway. “Admitting to the drug use explains his unwillingness to talk to us. I doubt he can shed any light on the identity of the killer, though.”

“But the mysterious Juicy might.”

“Exactly.” She slanted him a glance. The stubble of beard lent him a vaguely lethal air that had been missing yesterday. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has an arrest record and that Vice is very familiar with that name. Shouldn’t be hard to find, if so.”

“You read my mind.”

Nate felt in his suit pockets. He hated the sight of other people chewing gum and suspected he looked just as ridiculous when he had a piece in his mouth. But swapping cigarettes for gum had helped him kick the nicotine habit when Tucker had come to live with him a couple years ago. Now he just needed to find something to replace the gum habit he’d picked up in its stead.

His search was in vain. Instead his fingers came in contact with the crumpled paper he’d shoved in there earlier. Tatiana. He felt a quick surge of embarrassment. He hadn’t heard from her in over a month. He’d thought—he’d
hoped
—she’d given up. But apparently she fed off disinterest.

They entered the squad room and he spotted a wastebasket next to one of the desks. He pulled the paper from his pocket, meaning to three-point it into the trash. Was shocked to have it snatched out of his hand.

“ ‘Nate the Great?’ ” Risa read off the note. Her mouth quirked as she turned slightly to prevent his grab for the paper. “One of your conquests, detective?”

“She’s sixty if she’s a day, and has a strange fixation on me. I don’t encourage it.”

Risa flicked a nail at the message. “So inviting you over for borscht and kotlety isn’t an ethnic euphemism for sex?”

Dammit, he could feel his ears heating. “I was throwing that away.”

“No problem.” She tossed it neatly in the wastebasket from an admirable distance, then cupped a hand to her ear. “Is that the sound of a heart shattering I hear?”

“You’re hilarious,” he informed her, lengthening his strides. She kept up with him easily. She was nearly as tall as he was. And her legs . . . well, he’d noticed how long they were yesterday. Before he’d realized she had a sense of humor.

The fact that he was the butt of it tempered his appreciation of that quality. “Keep your voice down. These guys don’t need much encouragement.”

She smirked. “Ah, department humor. I miss it.”

“Stick around. A few days here should cure that.” He pushed open the door to his office, belatedly remembering to step aside for her to enter first. “You can take Cass’s desk. She’s set up temporarily near Brandau.” And hopefully Jett would keep her mind on the job. It had required some fast-talking to convince the captain that Cass belonged on the case. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her she was on very thin ice, professionally.

Rounding his desk, he powered up his laptop and accessed the departmental database. He tapped in Juicy’s alias, and after a moment he added
drugs
as a keyword, hoping at least for an arrest report to get them started. A minute later he gave a long low whistle. “Jackpot.”

“What? You found something already?” Slipping out of her suit jacket as she spoke, Risa hurried to look over his shoulder.

“Found a few somethings. Juicy is apparently a hot nickname among dirtballs.” He shifted to allow her a better view. “But my bet is on this guy.” He scrolled back up to the top of the screen.

“Possession with intent, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder . . . a varied career.”

“For which it looks like he’s only done time once. Three years on the attempted murder charge. That doesn’t make sense.” He read more carefully, jotting down notes on a pad he took from his center desk drawer. One of the arresting officers was in a neighboring district. He took out his cell and called the number given on the report. Risa leaned forward and nudged his hand away from the keyboard so she could scroll through all the listings.

She had her dark blond hair pulled back today, but one long strand had worked free and curved along her jaw. In profile she looked almost delicate, which was a joke. Even in the short time he’d known her, he had a feeling that she was about as delicate as a pit bull.

“The third one’s a possibility, too,” she said, and turned to look at him. Her eyes were an odd amber color, wide and thickly fringed. And when the call went to Randolph’s voice mail, he had to clear his throat before speaking.

“This is Detective Nate McGuire, Homicide. I’m heading the task force on the three dead detectives and one of your old arrests may be of interest to us.” To divert his attention from the female standing too close to him, he scrolled back up the screen to check the name again. “Javon Emmons.” He read off the arrest report number. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call back at this number.” He rattled off his cell and disconnected. Thankfully, Risa moved away, her arms folded across her chest, looking thoughtful. He made a second phone call on the photo she’d indicated, identified as Dwayne Jersey, and once again had to leave a message, this time for an Officer Pelton. After consulting the list on-screen once more, he made a third and final call concerning one William Fox.

“We could show Crowley an array of these photos and see if he IDs one of them.”

“And we will. But I’d like to have a pretty good idea who he met there so if he thinks about lying to us again, I can nail him.”

Before Risa could respond, the ancient department phone on Nate’s desk rang. He reached out to snag the receiver. “McGuire.” After listening for a moment, he bolted out of his chair. “On my way.” He dropped the receiver in the cradle with a clatter. “That was the captain. IT just dropped off a dub of the tape we found at the scene.”

Morales already had a wheeled cart with a TV/VCR combo sitting in his office when they got there. Nate took a moment to wonder where he’d dug up the system. From the thick coating of dust everywhere except on the freshly dusted screen, no doubt it’d been resurrected from the tombs of the basement.

“Karen Loomis. Detective Nate McGuire. Marisa Chandler.” Morales made short work of the introductions as they crowded around the TV. “Ms. Loomis is from IT. She’s going to explain what we’ve got here.”

Loomis was a foot shorter than Nate and probably only twenty pounds lighter. Her dark brown hair was sticking up in odd spikes all over her head. After a moment he decided the style was deliberate. But she carried her weight lightly and sounded authoritative when she began speaking.

“What you’ve got is one very old tape.” She tapped the panel covering the tape insert. “Well, not the copy we made, but your original. It’s well worn and I’m guessing it might be a relic from the eighties. Mainly because that’s the decade the camera heralds from. But given the wear on the tape, it was either used over and over or it’s aged, as well. Or both.” She punched the buttons to turn on the TV and the VCR. If the unit came with a remote, it was obviously missing.

There were a few moments of blank screen before the recording came into view. Nate saw immediately what she meant. The picture crackled with static before settling into view. And the scene had his throat drying out.

“Ah, Jesus,” he whispered, when he saw the flames shooting skyward. They were imprinted on the inky blackness of the surroundings. A macabre beacon against the night sky, gilding the dark figure at their core.

“Is there sound?” Morales demanded.

Loomis turned up the volume. The crackle of the flames was heard. In the distance was a barking dog. But nothing else.

It took a moment for Nate to find his voice. “The other victims weren’t gagged. Liz didn’t mention finding anything to suggest this victim was either. Chances are he was dead by the time the tape was turned on.”

“Which begs the question of why the tape was started at that time.” The captain was frowning fiercely at the television screen. “Either he wants to film the entire scene to relive later or he wants to catch the crime scene being discovered and worked. Each way means he’s coming back for the tape.”

“Maybe he’d already filled one tape,” Risa suggested. It was the first time she’d spoken. Nate glanced at her. Her face was bloodless. Her eyes fixed on the screen.

“Possible,” Loomis answered cheerfully. “And no way for us to know for sure. What we can be certain of is that this particular tape was set to record for eight hours. Which means, of course, that you get a lower-quality recording. And you’ve only got about six hours of recorded material here. The first hint of a live person in the area comes sometime around dawn.” She fast-forwarded the tape until she found the bit she was looking for.

An unseen woman’s voice sounded. “Buster. Buster, stop it. Damn, would you just . . .” An excited barking was heard. “Yeah, I see it. What is that? It looks . . . ohmyGod, ohmyGod . . .” They all listened in silence as a still unseen Heather Bixby called 911, described what she’d found.

Afterward they watched as the woman moved onto the screen, pulled by the large mastiff, and got much closer to the smoking body than she’d led them to believe. Her next call, as expected, was to Crowley.

“Baby, you’re not going to believe this. There’s been nasty doings in the park last night.” She stopped. Listened. Gave a bray of laughter. “No, not that kind of nasty. You have a one-track mind. Yes, you do! Oh, shit.” She fumbled with the phone as she tried to pull the straining dog away from the pad of cement. When her voice came again, she had moved out of the picture. “I’m telling you, someone burnt something here last night and I think it was alive. Maybe even human.” After a moment a pout sounded in her voice. “I’m not exaggerating. Whatever it was is still smoking. I called the cops. Why? Because I had to. I’m telling you, this . . . thing . . . it might have been a person. You shouldn’t come. You know what your parole officer told you about avoiding trouble.”

There was a great deal more that Nate could have gone without hearing. Apparently Crowley berated her for calling prior to their hooking up, instead of after. And then there was a long-winded conversation about the details of the acts they were going to have to forgo because of the call she’d made summoning the cops. Details that included a great deal of imagination and an ingenious flexibility that had him frowning consideringly.