Everywhere She Turns (44 page)

“You just happened to walk through the area and see the vehicle sitting here?”

“Yeah.” The guy nodded over and over. Had the shakes. Bad teeth. Stringy hair.

Meth addict.

“I saw it sitting here and I thought, what the hell is a fancy car like that doing sitting here? I wandered over.” He shrugged. “Took a look through the window and saw the big nig—big
guy
with his throat slashed.” He shuddered. “I run all the way back over to my cousin’s and called y’all.”

Bullshit. “See that uniform right there?” Braddock pointed to the cop guarding the perimeter. “You give him your statement. Don’t go anywhere until he’s taken your statement. He’ll need a statement from your cousin as well.”

“Don’t worry, man. I ain’t going nowhere till y’all say so. This is some shit. I ain’t never seen no one murdered before.”

Braddock rested his attention on the vehicle once more. Tyrone Nash’s vehicle. A member of his unholy trinity behind the
wheel with a permanent grin beneath his chin. He and Cooper had gotten here maybe five minutes ago. Jenkins had arrived a couple of minutes later. Officer Larry Metcalf and his partner were watching Abbott’s house. Metcalf was the best of the best on HPD’s beat force. Braddock had known when he got the call with Nash’s license plate number that he was going to need both Cooper and Jenkins on the scene.

“Braddock!”

He turned to the warehouse. It was condemned. Part of the property had burned a few years ago. But that didn’t keep the homeless and kids from prowling around in it. Cooper and Jenkins had gone in to start the search inside while he’d gotten the sketchy guy’s story. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna want to come in here,” Cooper shouted at him.

Jesus Christ. Just what they needed. Another fucking body. He didn’t need a crystal ball to know who it would be.

Dammit all to hell.

He crossed the crumbling pavement. Weeds had grown up through the cracks. The city should have torn this damned thing down ages ago. Cooper waited for him at the door. “We got another body?”

She shook her head. “Three more.”

Son of a bitch.

“Is Nash one of them?”

She nodded. “Our killer got him good.”

Jenkins stood thirty feet from the entrance, his flashlight spotlighting Tyrone Nash. As Braddock neared, his eyes took in the killer’s latest work.

Nash had been secured to an old chair with duct tape. His nose and ears had been removed. Blood had run down his chest, over his shoulders. His fingers had been severed from his hands; same with the toes, which had been whacked off, leaving stumpy feet. Nash’s head was tilted back, his mouth wide open.

“Check it out.” Cooper shone her flashlight into his mouth.

Braddock swallowed. Leaned down to look. All those missing body parts, or at least a finger and a toe and maybe part of an ear, had been shoved into his throat.

“People always said he was full of himself,” Cooper murmured. She flicked her light toward an upper-level storage area. “The other two bodyguards are up there. Throats slashed just like the one outside.”

“No sign of the videotape?”

“Not yet, but it’s dark as hell in here. We need a generator and some lights.”

Fuck
. “Yeah. I’ll call for support.”

Jenkins dropped his flashlight, staggered a few feet away, and started puking his guts out.

Braddock and Cooper shared a look.
What the hell?
Jenkins had seen bodies before without losing it.

“Try not to contaminate the crime scene,” Cooper cautioned. She made a face at the violent heaves coming from their colleague.

“What about the ME?” Braddock asked her.

“Evidence techs and the ME are on their way.”

Perfect. Just fucking perfect
. Not only did they not have any evidence in this case so far, the last official suspect had just become a victim. The chief and the mayor were going to be seriously PO’ed when they heard this.

Fuck
.

Jenkins suddenly rushed out of the building.

Cooper stared after him, shaking her head. “Maybe he had something bad to eat at that party on Dubose.”

“Maybe.” Braddock caught up with the younger detective outside. He was braced on the side of the building, struggling to regain his composure. “You okay, Jenkins?” They all lost it at homicide scenes from time to time. But there wasn’t a cop at HPD who, for whatever reason, hadn’t been looking forward to this one.

Jenkins shook his head, didn’t make eye contact.

The fact that he was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm struck Braddock as damned wrong. “What’s going on, Jenkins?”

Jenkins turned to Braddock. “I want immunity.”

“Come again?” He couldn’t have heard what he thought he heard.

“I can give you the killer.” Jenkins wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I want full immunity.”

Braddock went stone cold. For more than two years he had been battling Nash. Trying to get one step ahead of him, and he could never make it happen.

Now he knew why.

“You have the right to remain silent.” Braddock grabbed Jenkins’s left arm, wheeled him around to cuff him. “Anything you say—”

“I want a lawyer,” Jenkins demanded.

Part of him felt victorious that Tyrone Nash had gotten what he’d had coming for a long time. For Kimberly. For the dozens of other victims he’d abused and murdered.

But there was something incredibly wrong here.

And it was way bigger than Tyrone Nash.

904 Williams Street

Tuesday, August 10, 1:59
AM

CJ jerked awake.

She rolled onto her back. Blinked. Had to gain her bearings. Edward’s home. She glanced at the clock.

She listened. Something had awakened her. A sound. She shivered, chafed her arms. Goose bumps covered her skin. She sat up and listened. All quiet.

But she was awake now. Throwing back the covers, she dropped her feet to the floor. She could eat. She’d scarcely touched a bite at the party tonight.

Party. She smiled. Shelley would have loved that. A party instead of a wake. That was definitely a first for CJ.

She stopped midway across the room. Why was the door to her room open? She’d closed it when she came in to go to bed. She was sure of it. Maybe Edward had peeked in on her.

Braddock had called to check on her before midnight. He’d told her about Nash. As much as she was relieved that the village residents would no longer be held hostage by him, the news hadn’t given her the solace she’d hoped it would. Shelley’s murder, Ricky’s, Lusk’s, and Cost’s were still unresolved on some level. Unless Braddock could find evidence linking those murders to Nash, would they ever know what really happened?
The idea that they might not twisted inside her as she padded along the wide upstairs corridor.

At the top of the stairs she paused. Was that music she heard coming from Edward’s wing? She wasn’t sure that side of the house was actually a wing, but if it was as large as the opposite side, it was certainly big enough to be one in her opinion.

Maybe he couldn’t sleep, either.

Just in case he was sleeping, she moved as quietly as possible down the stairs and toward the kitchen.

She paused at the entrance to the parlor. Sniffed. What was that smell? Moving with caution, she entered the parlor. It was dark, but the smell was much stronger. She switched on a table lamp and glanced around.

Recognition startled her. It smelled like the rubble of her burned-out home.

Had something been burning?

No alarms had gone off.

She walked over to the massive fireplace and squatted to get a look. Frowning at the dust—Edward’s house was always immaculate—she reached down and touched it. The bricks still felt warm. Had he burned something? It was as hot as Hades outside. That didn’t make sense. She sniffed her fingers. Not dust. The soot left behind by ashes.

Something snagged her attention. She reached deep into the fireplace, beyond the grates. She picked up the object. Black. A scrap of fabric. She’d have to ask him. Strange.

Who knew? Maybe he burned any personal papers he didn’t want to throw in the trash. With the rampant identity theft, she couldn’t blame him for that. But what about the piece of fabric? That he had been wearing a black tee tonight entered her mind.

whatever, CJ
. She was being ridiculous. It was his house; he could burn whatever he wanted. Maybe he’d gotten blood on his T-shirt and had decided not to try to wash it out. Big deal. Weird. But then, he could have simply tossed it in the trash. Weird.

She left the scrap of fabric on the brick hearth, dusted her palms together, and pushed to her feet. She resumed her trek to
the kitchen, washed her hands, then opened the fridge and considered the contents. A sandwich didn’t really appeal to her. She checked the freezer. Smiled. Ice cream would definitely hit the spot.

Chocolate. Edward always stocked her favorite snacks whenever she was in town. She set the container on the counter and searched for a bowl and scoop. When she’d found what she needed, she heaped a generous portion into her bowl.

She grabbed a spoon and started out of the room but noticed she had dribbled ice cream on the granite counter.

“Paper towel,” she mumbled as she scanned the kitchen counters. By the sink, of course. She wet the paper towel and cleaned up her mess.

Munching on her ice cream, she padded back to the entry hall. Some reading might help her get back to sleep. Something mundane and clinical.

She shuffled to the library and switched on the light. A smile touched her lips. Books, books, and more books. All around the room. Still nibbling on her ice cream, she drifted around the room, scanning titles.

Electric Wiring for Dummies
. She laughed, shook her head. Not quite that mundane.
Compost Gardening
. “I don’t think so,” she mumbled.

By the time she’d made it around the room, she’d decided that she was too tired to read. She reached for the switch at the door, but then wandered back to Edward’s chair to look at the selections he had set aside.

Climbing into his chair, she pulled her feet under her and set her bowl in her lap. She picked up the first book.
Self-Defense
. She made a face. Was Edward brushing up on self-defense because of what had happened to Shelley? She thumbed through the book. A chapter on handguns and Tasers caught her eye. Then there was another on disabling an attacker. Maybe she should study this book.

She set the book aside and picked up her bowl of ice cream. As she savored the delicious dessert she considered the titles of the other two books.
Surgical Procedures
and
Police Procedures
.

Odd. Edward had always been well read, but those two were a little strange considering what had been going on. Maybe he’d looked into the subjects after all she’d told him. She supposed the horrific goings-on in her life at the moment were plenty enough to stir anyone’s curiosity.

That could very well be the reason he had chosen to read them. Edward made it a point to keep up with basically any subject that concerned her.

The fact that she’d never had a decent father had not once bothered her because she’d had Edward.

Go to bed, CJ
. She placed the books back in the order Edward had left them and turned out the light. In the entry hall she peeked out a window to ensure her surveillance was still on duty. Now that Nash was dead, that might no longer be necessary.

Braddock wasn’t taking any chances. The car was there.

As she reached the second-story landing she heard the music again. Was Edward still awake? He’d never played music at night before. Okay, she was being beyond ridiculous here. Just because she’d spent a few nights here and hadn’t heard music didn’t mean he didn’t ever play music.

She needed to stop second-guessing and analyzing everything. Maybe hearing about yet another murder had her nerves on edge.
Just stop, CJ
.

Edward was fine. She was fine. The decision to go back to Baltimore was a good thing. As much as she felt compelled to help here, for now her future was in Baltimore.

But that meant leaving Braddock. For the first time in her life she really wanted to be with someone, to see where it went. To try out the whole relationship thing.

A thump slowed her progress.

She turned back to the double doors leading to his suite. Was Edward ill? Maybe they’d missed something in the CT scan.

He hadn’t been himself tonight.

She walked straight up to those double doors.

CJ bit down on her bottom lip and held her breath. She leaned close to the door and listened.

She could hear nothing but the music. She was being foolish. Going back to bed was by far the best idea.

The knob turned.

Her eyes widened and she stumbled back. As the door started to open she flatted herself against the wall behind the decorative column that stood on that side of the double doors.