Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset (35 page)

“If someone was killed anywhere outside, the storm would have gotten rid of most of the evidence, giving the killer a clean slate.” Cooper watched Hart shake the mud from his feet. “Leave the dress shoes for church, Detective. You don’t have to impress the dead.”

The facility’s entrance door was propped open, and Cooper saw officers and forensics teams combing the hallway, setting up battery-powered lights. Cooper lingered at the door, examining the digital security pad. She leaned in to get a closer look. The display was off, as the power in the facility was still down, and the molding around the lock was fresh. She looked along the wall at the bright paint, which contrasted against the aging discolored roof. “Odd for a place that hasn’t been used in three years to have a new security system.” She tapped one of the forensics members on the shoulder and pointed to the digital lock. “Make sure you tag that for evidence.”

Cooper reached for her flashlight and allowed it to guide her through the dark halls. Storage units lined both sides of the narrow hallway, with some of them already opened. Broken and discarded locks littered the floor next to the doors. Most of the units were empty, but a few had abandoned belongings still tucked away after the business closed. Forgotten memories crammed into the small spaces, once-treasured items no longer of any use. Cooper shined her light inside one of the units, and the graveyard of lost property. None of the items looked important: old toys, decrepit furniture, lamps, shoes, shirts, coats. But suddenly Cooper stopped, and the spotlight of her flashlight lingered at the sight of a baby’s crib tucked in a corner, half hidden by an old tarp.

The pause caused Hart to add his light inside. “You find something?”

Cooper quickly cast her light away. “No.”

The storage unit hallways were connected in the shape of a large U pattern. Once into the second hallway Cooper found the majority of the forensics team clustered around a particular unit halfway down the hall. Lights had been strung up around the unit’s entrance, and the quick flashes of cameras burst into the dark hallway like lightning. Cooper stopped at the unit’s door and examined the lock, which matched the digital keypad at the front entrance. She ran a gloved hand over the edges, the molding fresh like its partner outside. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure this unit could be accessed quickly.” She leaned against the wall, taking her shoes off before entering, then looked to Hart. “Try not to touch anything.”

Inside the unit there were only three items: a bed, a bucket, and a lamp. The mattress rested on the far side, no bigger than a twin, stripped bare of any sheets. Against the wall on the opposite side rested a bucket, empty, and the small battery-powered camping lamp sat against the third wall. Each of the items had already been tagged, and Cooper sniffed the air where she caught the heavy scent of bleach. “It’s been scrubbed clean.” The walls were grey and barren, and the floor the same, except for the tagged evidence.

“Whoever bleached it was thorough.” One of the techs pointed to the wall. “We found cleaning residue on the walls and the ceiling.” The tech scribbled a few notes down on his pad and joined Cooper in the center of the room. “We took a few samples from the bed and the bucket, but I don’t know if we’ll find anything. We couldn’t even pull any prints off the lantern.”

Cooper leaned over the mattress, her nostrils catching the same bleached scent that covered the rest of the room. “So is this Kate Wurstshed’s room, or the person she heard screaming?” She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. “How many units does this place have?”

“Two-eighty.”

Cooper whistled a long, low pitch. She stalked the walls closely, ignoring the lantern and bucket. Hart appeared in her peripheral and knelt down to the bucket. “Careful with that,” Cooper said, placing her palm on the wall next to the lantern. “It used to have shit in it.”

Hart flared his nostrils and set the bucket down. Cooper stepped back from the wall, her hands at her hips, and she cocked her head to the side. “Why would he bleach the walls?” She glided her eyes down to the crack where the wall and floor collided, shining her flashlight in the crevice. She ran the light along the space slowly and stopped just before she reached the corner.

Tiny round balls were clumped together in the crack of the wall, but they were too small for her to gauge what they could have been. “Hart, I need a bag.” She stuck her hand out, keeping her eye on the granules, and then scraped the particles inside and sealed the evidence shut. She handed the filled bag to the forensic tech, who examined it under the light. “I want that tested at the lab as soon as possible.” She stepped out of the storage unit and glanced down the hall, where the second half of the hallway still had locked doors the team had yet to inspect. Cooper flashed her light down the corridor, the glow catching the shine of the steel locks. Leaving her shoes, Cooper padded the floor in her socks, flashing her light on each unit.

“You looking for something in particular?” Hart asked, adding his light to the cause.

“The keypad on the storage unit. It was recently installed. And I’m guessing that if the kidnapper was keeping more than one person here, then they probably—” Cooper slid to a stop, her socks slick against the smooth concrete floor. Her light caught sight of a digital keypad, identical to the one outside and the unit they had just inspected. “Had more locks like this.” She reached out a gloved hand and gently curled her fingers around the door handle.

Hart pulled his weapon and aimed at the door, giving a nod when Cooper looked back at him. She yanked the door open and flashed the light inside. The beam penetrated the darkness but found nothing in its first sweep. And then the smell hit her a half second later. It was unmistakable, a stench she’d never been able to rid herself of since she started the job. She shifted the flashlight’s beam to the far corner, where a bloody, faceless head stared back at her. “Looks like we found our screamer.”

***

The forensics team snapped their pictures, and Cooper crossed her arms over her chest while Hart dry heaved down the hall. She turned around and tossed a piece of gum in her mouth. “If you’re gonna pop, do it outside. We don’t need any more DNA in this crime scene than what’s already here.”

Hart held up his hand, waving her off. Cooper smiled and stepped back into the storage unit. The victim’s head was completely unrecognizable. The face had been replaced with nothing but the bloody pulp of bone and brain. From the abrasive nature of the death it was clear she was bludgeoned, but until they sent her to the coroner they wouldn’t know if that was the cause of death. “I want the deluxe package for her,” she said, grabbing the forensic tech’s attention. “Rape kit, everything. And then I want it compared to Kate Wurstshed’s results.”

Hart appeared behind her. “You don’t think the same guy who raped Kate Wurstshed killed this woman?”

“We’ll know soon enough.” Cooper peeled her gloves off and tossed them in the trash. She shook her head, examining the carnage the young woman endured. “He was angry when he did this. Something didn’t go according to his plan.” She looked to the key lock on the door, still disabled from the power outage. “She definitely wasn’t killed here, no traces of blood around the body. She must have tried to make a run for it when the power went out.” She cracked her knuckles and then smacked Hart on the stomach, causing his face to shimmer green again. “Let’s go track down the owner of this place. See what they have to say about their new renter.”

Hart radioed dispatch, and they had the owner’s address before they returned to the car. “William Barnesby, 335 South Baker Street. You want me to give him a call, make sure he’s home?”

“No.” Cooper took one last look at the crime scene from behind the wheel, her hand hovering over the ignition. “Secluded, secure, sophisticated—whoever killed that woman and kidnapped Kate Wurstshed put a lot of effort into this.”

Hart clicked his seat belt into place, his cheeks still pallid. “You think whoever did this has done it before?”

Cooper started the engine and shifted into reverse. “If they haven’t, then they certainly did their research.” Mud flung from the wheels as Cooper hit the gas, backing into the road. She shifted into drive and peeled out on the wet asphalt of Highway 86.

The trip took thirty minutes, and the trek across town revealed a more-detailed account of the storm’s damage. They passed debris-shattered store windows, downed power lines, felled trees, and flooded streets. But while the rest of the city may have experienced the wrath of the storm, the condition of William Barnesby’s neighborhood looked as though the storm had never happened. The landscaping trucks that lined the streets and the dozens of workers in the yards had restored the estates to their immaculate condition before the rest of the city could turn the traffic lights back on.

Barnesby’s address wasn’t a zip code Cooper found herself in very often, though she knew the area by reputation. The city’s titans of industries, politicians, and other wealthy individuals inhabited this particular neighborhood, and her annual salary was what most of those people paid in income taxes every year.

The community was gated, and the large marble columns that rose high on either side of the wrought-iron gates at the entrance set the precedent of grandeur the neighborhood offered. Massive two-story homes sprawled across luscious green estates. Brand-new luxury cars, shining under the afternoon sun, lined the driveways. Though the community was gated, most of the properties had their own fences that shielded their homes from unwanted guests. A few had video monitors that added a higher level of security.

Hart kept his head on a swivel, glancing between the different castles on either side of the street, intoxicated by the wealth and grandeur. “How much money do you think these people have?”

Cooper narrowed her eyes as she read the small numbers that lined the gates and stone columns as they drew closer to Barnesby’s address. “Enough to get away with anything they wanted to do.” Three-three-five finally came into view on the left-hand side, and Cooper pulled into the driveway, the gate already open.

“It doesn’t look like Mr. Barnesby’s failing storage unit is giving him too much financial trouble,” Hart said, whistling as he glanced out the windows. The perimeter of the property was encased with neatly trimmed hedges that neared six feet in height, and freshly cut grass comprised the open fields right up to the driveway, which ended at a sprawling three-story mansion with a garage bigger than most four-person homes.

“Or he’s just really good at hiding it.” Cooper circled around the fountain centered in the middle of the driveway in front of the house and stopped behind the red Mercedes parked near the front door. She tilted her head up, nearly throwing her neck out to look all the way to the top of the house. “Very good at hiding it.”

Cooper knocked on the door, and she heard a woman’s muffled scream. Hart hesitated a moment, but Cooper reached for her pistol. “Head around back, make sure no one makes a run for it.” Hart nodded and sprinted around the left corner of the house, keeping low past the windows. Cooper reached for the door, which was unlocked, and stepped inside. She padded softly along the marbled tile, the end of her pistol scanning the massive foyer that led to a winding staircase up to the second and third floors.

Another scream brought the aim of Cooper’s gun up the staircase, and she hurried up the steps, reaching for her radio on the way up. “Hart, the screams are coming from the second floor. Secure the back door.” One more shriek echoed through the vaulted ceiling of the mansion, this one followed by the low grunts of a man.

Closed doors and paintings hanging in golden portrait frames lined the hallway as Cooper rushed toward the hysterics, the screams growing louder on her pursuit. She kept the pistol elevated, her knuckles white against the black grips. Without hesitation Cooper reached for the handle and shoulder checked the door open, her finger on the trigger, the adrenaline coursing through her veins reddening her cheeks. “Baltimore PD! Freeze!”

The woman, bent over on the bed and with her skirt down around her ankles, gave another bloodcurdling shriek that was louder than any of the cries prior, while the man behind her, his pants also around his ankles, fell backward, his manhood flinging with him as he crashed to the floor. “Jesus Christ!”

Cooper exhaled and lowered her weapon while the two individuals scrambled to cover themselves. Hart burst into the room, pistol aimed, which he quickly lowered at the sight of Cooper’s holstered weapon. He looked at the scene and connected the dots as he holstered his own weapon, then looked to Cooper and grinned. “I guess we should have called first after all.”

***

Once they were clothed, Cooper brought Mr. Barnesby down to the kitchen, while Hart questioned the woman in the living room. If there were a magazine for how the wealthy aged with the help of modern science, then William Barnesby would be the cover model. At fifty-six he was in better shape than most twenty-somethings at the station. His hair was cropped short, with the perfect amount of grey peppered into his streaks of black that gave him the Clooney look so many younger women found attractive. He didn’t wear much jewelry, which he made up for with his clothes. Everything was tailored, and everything was designer brand. Despite the early morning, he reached for a crystal bottle filled with liquor and poured himself a drink. “I’d offer you one, Detective, but I know it’s against the law for you to drink on the job.” He smiled, sipping from a matching crystal glass.

“You’d be surprised at what I can get away with, Mr. Barnesby.” Cooper drummed her fingers on the granite countertops and cocked her head to the side. “You’re the owner of the Baltimore storage facility located on Highway 86, correct?”

Barnesby winced, though she wasn’t sure if it was from her question or the liquor. “Owner is a loose term. I bought it, but I haven’t done anything with it in years. It was my ex-wife that purchased the property while we were still together. Though it’s been nothing but a money pit. Not to say that it hasn’t pleased her.” He took another sip and set the glass down. “Do you have a warrant for this intrusion, Detective?”