Vanished in the Night (24 page)

“This is a mess,” Elise said. “A right nasty mess.”

*     *     *

Lyle Burton was a decent-looking guy in his late forties. He had an athletic build and a hard jaw. Zach guessed he might be a little thicker in the middle than he’d been in his twenties, but he still looked fit and strong.

He had a good firm handshake, too. He sat down behind his desk after shaking both Zach’s and Frank’s hand and asked, “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Mr. Burton, were you ever employed at the Sierra School for Boys?” Zach asked.

Burton’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why, yes, I was. I was fresh out of college. It was one of my first teaching jobs. Why do you ask?”

Because your name keeps popping up every time I turn around.
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard much about the remains that were discovered in a construction area in downtown Sacramento, but they belonged to a student who had run away from the Sierra School.” Zach watched Burton’s face carefully, and he knew Frank was doing the same. They’d compare notes afterward.

“You know, the name rang a bell. Shepherd or something, wasn’t it?” Burton shook his head. “Terrible shame.”

“Max Shelden was the kid’s name,” Frank said.

Burton’s face stayed still. Almost too still. “I don’t have any specific memories of the boy. Is there a reason you’re talking to me about it? Surely the school has some records.”

“The school’s been shut down for a long time. Their records are spotty, to say the least. We found your name on a list of staff members and you were pretty easy to locate.”

Zach made it sound as innocent as possible, but he was getting a very bad vibe from this guy. His face was too calm. His hands were too still. He was looking Zach a little too directly in the eye. Zach’s gut screamed “liar.”

Burton shook his head. “I’m sorry. There were so many boys, and it was so long ago. I’m afraid the name doesn’t ring any bells.”

“How about a picture, then?” Frank slapped the photo of Max and Veronica down on the desk. “Does this ring any bells?”

Burton looked at the photo for a moment and then shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“How about when the boy’s stepfather called you?” Zach asked. He wasn’t going to bring up the grave yet.

Burton went very still. “Excuse me?”

“George Osborne. He called you and spoke to you for . . .” Zach checked his notes. “Approximately two minutes four nights ago.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any recollection of that call. Perhaps one of my sons answered and took a message. They’re not always good about passing them on.” Burton laughed.

Zach didn’t laugh with him. He didn’t say anything at all.

“Perhaps you could ask this Osborne fellow,” Burton suggested.

“We can’t. He’s dead,” Frank said.

“Oh my. How terrible.” Burton pushed back in his chair and stood. “It was all so long ago, I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”

Zach stood. “We’re sorry to have taken up your time. You’ll call us if you remember anything?”

“Of course. I’m afraid it was just too long ago.” Burton smiled.

Zach was pretty damn sure something smelled in this room.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Lyle sat behind his desk, shaking. The cops had been gone for ten minutes and he still couldn’t pick up a pen without it practically flying across the room. What was he going to do?

It was only a matter of time now. Somehow they’d put it together. There’d be a fingerprint or a hair. Someone would have seen his car.

He called his secretary and canceled his appointments for the rest of the day.

*     *     *

“You did what?” Zach stared at Veronica in disbelief. “You found another box on your doorstep, quite likely from a murderer, and you just picked it up, carried it inside, and
opened
it?”

“I wore gloves. I didn’t contaminate it.”

She didn’t get it. If she got it, she wouldn’t be sitting there all calm and pleased with herself.

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. This person has killed at least three people now.”

Her head came up. “Three?”

“Yes, Veronica. Three. A former staff member of the Sierra School for Boys was found murdered up in Placerville last night. We’re pretty sure it’s linked.” He hated making her shrink back into herself like that, but at least she was paying attention now.

“I didn’t know.” She looked down at the table.

“Can I see what you found?” There was no point in lecturing her further; the damage was already done.

He followed her into the kitchen. In the middle of the table, on a blue piece of paper, sat an odd-looking watch.

“What is it?”

“It’s a watch that clips to your collar. It’s something that you give to new nurses when they graduate. And it’s engraved.” She put a pair of latex gloves on and turned the watch over.

Zach bent down to look at it. It was engraved with the initials ST.

“I think this is Susan Tennant’s watch,” Veronica said. “Somebody left it for me. The same person who left Max’s photo. Someone wants to make sure I know they’re connected.”

“You need to tell your girlfriend not to tamper with evidence.” Little Hillary was not pleased to receive the undone package that had held Susan Tennant’s watch.

“We had a conversation.”

She looked up sharply. “So she
is
your girlfriend, then?”

Damn, he must be tired. He’d walked right into that one. “Can we just talk about the package?”

Little Hillary looked over at Frank, who held out his hand. She sighed, took her wallet out of her purse, and pulled out a twenty. “Someone finally got her hooks into McKnight. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“You’re betting on my love life?” Zach asked.

“Beats the ponies.” Frank pocketed the bill.

Zach sat down. “The package please.”

“There’s nothing here. It’s the same as the last one. Whoever wrapped it up wore gloves. The paper and the tape and everything else are things you can buy at any office supply store.” Hillary shrugged. “I’ll run more tests, just in case, but I don’t think you’re going to solve this one with trace evidence.”

“Little Hillary’s right,” Zach told Frank when they were back at their desks. “This isn’t going to be solved based on forensic evidence. Whoever killed Tennant and Arnott was too careful, and the evidence from the Sierra School is too damn old.” Osborne’s murder was a whole different ball of wax.

“So what do you suggest?” Frank asked.

“We’re going to have to think this through ourselves.” Evidence was so much easier. He’d much rather have a fingerprint or a DNA sample over motive or opportunity.

“We’ve been looking at the names of teachers. Maybe we should be looking at the names of students. I was thinking about how Arnott was killed. How very personal that was. And Tennant was killed in a way that was very intimate, too,” Frank pointed out. “Maybe our perp isn’t one of the staff members. Maybe it’s one of the former students.”

Zach went very still. “But why now? I keep coming back to that. We’re agreed that Susan Tennant dug up Max’s body and dumped it in that construction site. Why do it now, after all these years? And if that’s what sparked somebody into a revenge killing spree, again, why now?”

“I don’t know, buddy. I don’t know that we’ll ever know. And even if we find some explanation, it might never make any sense to us. I just know that
looking at students feels like the right direction to go right now.”

Zach pulled another box of files toward himself. “Lets give it a try.”

“That’s a lot of names.” Elise Jacobs looked at the list and back up at Zach. “A lot of names.”

It had taken Zach two hours to find the roster of students for 1991, and there were approximately thirty boys. “I know. It’s why we need help.”

“What are we doing with them?”

“Running down addresses and current disposition. Seeing if any of them could make a good suspect.”

Elise nodded and looked over at Josh, who shrugged one shoulder. She turned back to Zach. “We’re in.”

A few hours later, Elise laid her short list down on Zach’s desk. “I’ve got three names.”

“I’ve got two.” Josh set his list next to his partner’s.

“We’ve each got one,” Zach said.

“Seven total,” Frank said.

“Pretty fancy math skills there, Rodriguez.” Elise clapped him on the back.

Frank smiled. “I did it all in my head, too.”

“You guys want to take these three and we’ll take the other four?” Zach asked.

Elise picked up their list of names. “Sounds good.”

*     *     *

Gary was getting more and more uncomfortable as he followed Lyle Burton—the Devil. As Burton made another turn, Gary couldn’t believe his eyes. The Devil was turning onto
his
street. What was he doing?

Gary went past his street to the alley that cut behind his house and parked his truck. He slipped through the back fence, then into the house. The Devil was ringing the front doorbell. What the hell was he doing here? Was he marking Gary himself?

Gary took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, then opened the door.

“Hello, Gary. Do you remember me? My name is Lyle Burton. May I come in?”

Gary stepped back and let the Devil into his home, into his sanctuary, into his haven. He let him take two steps in, shut the door—and then crashed the wrench he’d been holding behind his back onto the Devil’s head as hard as he could.

When he dragged the Devil out to the shed it left a nasty smear of blood running down the hallway. That would be hard to clean up. Sometimes it was impossible to get that much blood out of a carpet. Damn him, he was ruining everything!

Quickly he bound the Devil’s wrists and ankles
with duct tape. Then he sat down on the bench in the shed to catch his breath.

As he sat there, the Devil began to regain consciousness. First he moaned. Then he tried to roll to his side. Finally his eyes opened and he tried to sit up. Gary watched as realization dawned on the Devil’s face. He looked up at Gary and said, “You’re never going to get away with this.”

“Who said I ever expected to get away with it?” Gary stood up, swung back his leg, and kicked the Devil as hard as he could in the ribs.

Zach and Frank approached the third house on their list.

Frank knocked on the door. Jimmy Lopez, a beefy-looking Latino with a bit of a beer gut, opened it. He squinted at Zach and Frank and their badges. “What do you want?”

It wasn’t the friendliest greeting, but it was late and nobody really liked the cops showing up on their doorstep. “Are you the Jimmy Lopez who attended the Sierra School for Boys in 1991?”

Lopez glanced behind him and then came out onto the porch. He shut the door behind him. “I am. What about it?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“We’d like to know your whereabouts for a couple
of nights.” Zach whipped out his notebook, ready to write down information.

“You want to know where I was when the nurse and the teacher were murdered, don’t you?” Lopez’s eyes narrowed.

Zach stilled. “We do. You know about them?”

Lopez shrugged. “It’s been in the news. Kind of hard to miss. They aren’t names I’d forget. Ever.”

“So you were acquainted with both the victims?” This was farther than they’d gotten with the first two men they’d spoken to.

Lopez snorted. “Acquainted? I guess you could put it like that, if you call getting acquainted being tortured by someone.”

“So you held a grudge against these people?” Frank asked.

Lopez narrowed his eyes. “Look. I wouldn’t cross the street to piss on those people if they were on fire. They did things to us kids that you read about happening in prison camps. But let me make your job simpler. Whatever night it was, I was here. With my family. You want to know anything else, you can contact my lawyer.”

Lopez went back inside and slammed the door in their faces.

*     *     *

Gary changed clothes. The ones he’d been wearing had gotten sweaty and bloody. He’d need to be clean and fresh for tonight. The Devil coming to his doorstep had been a sign. It was time to finish this.

He’d left the Devil bound and gagged in the shed and he’d deal with him when he got home. Or if he was dead when Gary got home after dealing with the Pop-Tart, it would already be done. The bones would be satisfied. They would be avenged.

He put on a uniform that was close to the ones he’d seen the staff wearing at the hospital, got into his truck, and headed to St. Elizabeth’s.

“Matthew Cassell?” Zach asked the man who opened the door.

“Nah. He’s at work, man. I’m his roommate. And you are?” he asked.

Zach held up his badge. “Sacramento police. Where does Cassell work?”

“Why do you want to talk to him?” the roommate asked. “He’s a pretty straight arrow.”

“We just need to ask some questions. So where does he work?” Zach didn’t feel a need to explain their case to what looked like a thirty-year-old computer programmer.

“All over the place, man. He’s a paramedic. He could be anywhere.”

“A paramedic?” Zach turned to look at Frank. A paramedic, who could waltz in and out of a hospital anytime he wanted with no questions asked. “And he’s working tonight?”

“I assume so. He’s not here and his truck’s not here.”

Frank was already headed back to the car. “You call. I’ll drive.”

Zach called dispatch. “I’m looking for a paramedic.”

“You hurt?” the woman on the other end asked.

“No. I’m looking for a specific paramedic. I’m hoping you can tell me where he is. The name is Matthew Cassell.”

“Let me check.” The line went silent. Zach drummed his fingers on the dashboard as Frank drove toward the freeway. Then she was back. “Looks like he’s gone on break. He’s heading over to St. E’s.”

“St. Elizabeth’s?” Zach hung up and looked over at Frank. “He’s going to St. Elizabeth’s.”

18

“So what’s up with you and the hunky paramedic?” Veronica asked Tina as she logged in test results on the diabetic lady in bay number 4 who had passed out at the grocery store.