Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (10 page)

“So no official cause of death or manner of death?”

He shook his head. “Usually the bones really talk to me, but this victim was buried in wet soil on the shore of a lake, she was only loosely covered, and there is a lot of damage. The television shows exaggerate. We can glean a bit, but soft tissue is the magic wand. I think your biggest clue is the lack of clothing or anything else.”

Ellie wasn’t the greatest fan of the morgue. At least the day was bright and sunny outside. It helped her to constantly remind herself of that. “But,” she said with challenge in her gaze, “take a stab at a cause of death off the record.” She leaned and looked at the tag clipped to his scrubs. “Dr. Logan.”

He laughed softly and shook his head again. “Look, Detective, I want to help. But though I did this autopsy, this isn’t your case. Until you ride off into the sunset, especially after what happened down in Milwaukee not that long ago, the ME’s office will especially cooperate, but we are not obligated to give you information since we don’t serve your department.”

If he thought she didn’t understand
that
 …

“I know it. However this has a certain personal immediacy considering where the bones were found.”

To her surprise he remained silent for a moment. Then he said slowly, “I’m trying to decide if something I discovered means anything. I left it out of the report because I wasn’t sure it was pertinent. It smacks of speculation, actually. The last thing I want is to appear unprofessional, but there are always degrees of separation. I work with detectives from quite a few counties and I learn from you, just as you learn from me.”

“Go on. Please.”

“I have no idea if this will be helpful.”

“I’m okay with deciding that for you. My philosophy is just toss out all the information you have, I’ll take a look, and I will really thank you at the end of the day if any of it counts. Sound good? You have nothing to lose and I have everything to gain.”

Logan nodded. “I get it, Detective. Fine. I think the person who buried her could not do a better job. It was physically impossible for them to dig a deeper hole, or haul the body elsewhere. When the grave was disturbed, I assume they used some means to cover it because I would present the hypothesis that most of the damage was done almost as soon as the body started to decompose. Once the body had decayed, they probably just removed the cover and tidied up the site. Therefore, your killer, if there was one, was keeping an eye on it.”

“Or she died of natural causes and was improperly buried maybe because the family couldn’t afford it.”

“That is an excellent theory also, Detective MacIntosh, but I still think she would have been buried more deeply if there had been someone able to do it.”

He had a very valid—and most interesting—point.

“Going through the missing-persons files is going to be pretty tedious already. If she was killed elsewhere, that makes it worse.” Ellie thought about Santiago and the boxes she meant to foist on him with only a twinge of guilt. She had no illusions, he really
was
bored to death as he recovered, which was why he agreed to help. Not a secret. “I wish we had a better idea of how old that skeleton is.”

“I do as well.”

Ellie glanced around at the cold stainless steel tables and then focused on the tile floor.

White. Everything was white … generic.

She
. Such a generic word for those abandoned bones. Once
she
had been a person. And they didn’t know her name.

Ellie thanked him and went to sign out. She’d visited the facility before in her capacity as a detective with the county sheriff’s department and the officer on duty nodded in recognition. Automatically, she smiled back and pushed open the glass doors to the outside.

Bryce had stayed in a café across the street, more than happy to sit with his laptop. She slid into the booth as he pressed a button to save his work, and she essayed a serene expression.

Not a good job apparently. He said, “Lunch? You pick the place, and I’ll buy. Deal?”

“I don’t like it when you are too ridiculously nice.”

Mildly, he said in return, “Fine, you buy.”

“I dragged you up here.”

“You didn’t. I think I lobbied to go. I could have sworn you argued with me over it.”

She had. A little.

“Hmm. Just the same,
I
should buy. We have to go see my grandfather. We’ll stop along the way.”

“Oh, if we are going to see your family, you should
definitely
buy.” Bryce grinned and snapped closed his computer before he slipped it into a case.

“We are hardly more dysfunctional than anyone else.” She still liked that the mood had lightened, and truthfully, was pretty happy he’d come along.

Bryce rose and waited politely for her. “That needs to be debated over a hamburger and some hash browns.” He walked to the door of the shop and opened it, holding it open. The air outside was cool and crisp and the sidewalk clean. Across the street Dr. Logan was getting into his car, a dark sedan, and she avoided eye contact. The interview gave her a lot to think about.

She’d left her car unlocked, so when she pressed the button, it locked instead. Old habits were hard to put aside. She did miss the freedom of small towns.

Bryce took the keys from her hand and remedied the situation. “Let me drive. You relax. Have I ever mentioned that one of things I like about living in Wisconsin, other than freezing half to death in winter, which is always a perk, is that pretty much everywhere hash browns are offered? Why would anyone not want to live in the tundra existence we all seem to tolerate if they could have hash browns with every single meal? Forget cheese. We should be known as the Hash Brown State.”

So the tension was obvious, and he was trying to ease it. With an inward sigh she acknowledged it probably was. “I can see your point. Throw on some ketchup and all is right in this world.”

When they were both in the car and he carefully stowed his laptop in the back, at least she was able to get beyond her self-absorption to ask, “How is the book going?”

Bryce tended to be reticent about his work so she didn’t ask often, but now and then she was curious. He started the vehicle. “I actually have an agent in New York who is interested in the manuscript.”

She stopped in the act of fastening her seat belt and stared over at him. “What?”

He hadn’t mentioned that before. His dark eyes were amused. “Don’t act so surprised.”

“I’m not … I’m not. More curious than anything. When did this happen?”

“Last week.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I’ve been working on the proposal she wants before she starts to shop the book.”

Shop the book
. That sounded quite official but she knew absolutely nothing about publishing. “That’s wonderful.”

The truth was, she
might
be a little surprised, she thought as they pulled out onto the street. He was extremely successful at what he did as a programmer. Until this very moment it hadn’t struck home she hadn’t quite realized he was so serious about the book. The writing, in her mind, was more a hobby. Bryce murmured, “To me it was an affirmation it wasn’t a bunch of crappy words on the screen when she said she thought she’d represent it. Now, once again, where the heck are we going to eat between here and the wilds of Oneida County? I’m starving.”

It was so much like him to deprecate the moment—and so much like her to not know the right thing to say. He had to be elated over this news.

“Let’s wing it and just pick somewhere.”

“Fine by me.”

No, she couldn’t let it go without more. “The agent in New York. It’s
really
wonderful.”

He said simply, “Thanks.”

Ellie would have gone on, but he said, as if to deflect further comment, “Tell me which way to go, will you? Or should I use the GPS?”

*   *   *

Kate.

Jason had walked down the block to his favorite tavern and saw her instantly, the swing of her dark hair unmistakable around her shoulders. She wore jeans and a red sweater tight enough it emphasized those full breasts he remembered so well, and when she glanced up as he walked in, their gazes caught for a telling second.

Well, shit
. Not surprised to see him at all.

His reaction was a bit more visceral. Kind of like taking an unexpected jab to the gut.

A person would think he could grab a burger with impunity.

So … his ex-girlfriend was there and not by accident. No way. They used to eat at this place twice a week. On the other hand, maybe she just missed it and there was no law that said she couldn’t have a drink with whomever she wanted, wherever she wanted.

Even if it was with some young guy with overlong hair and a pretense of a mustache. They were in a booth in the corner and Jason had to resist the urge to walk over and say something to his ex—the one who hadn’t bothered to visit when he was in the hospital with tubes sticking out of his chest everywhere. Actually, other than other police officers, no one had come to visit him. It stung a little.

Kate had just broken up with him before the shooting happened, so maybe she didn’t owe him anything.

He’d always felt she should have at least stopped by. It wasn’t like the media hadn’t been all over the case. The resentment was fluid; he felt the wash and then immediately the ebb because the former wasn’t reasonable, and then he went to sit at the bar and ordered a draft. What did he care?

Some, an inner voice chided.
It matters some or you wouldn’t be ticked off at her about it
.

Some
. That was the problem. He hadn’t ever cared enough, not so much that he had even tried to talk her out of it when she’d decided to move out, but now, seeing her—

It sliced deeper than he imagined.

Goddamn it
.

“The infamous Santiago.”

He glanced up and laughed on a short breath, the interruption actually welcome. “Lieutenant.”

Grasso sat down. “Local place. You mentioned you could walk here. When you weren’t at home, I thought I’d give it a try. I must have just missed you.”

Jason lifted his glass. “Beer and painkillers. I really recommend the combination.”

It was a lie. He hadn’t taken so much as an aspirin.

“I want to talk about Fielding.”

Yeah, Grasso wasn’t one for pulling punches.

Jason contemplated his beer and shook his head. “I’d like to, but I really didn’t know him.”

“That’s perfect. Tell me what you didn’t know.”

At his quick inquiring glance, Grasso just looked bland. “He’s clean. I can’t find anything on him, or on Chad Brown. But it’s there, I just
can’t
find it. They were murdered. That means there’s something we don’t see, and I don’t like the creatures lurking in the dark.”

“That’s a descriptive way to put it.” Jason took a drink, but he had to admit he was thinking about the case quite a bit too. The questions Grasso and MacIntosh raised were a welcome distraction in his life. That was why he was here, not sitting in his apartment staring at the walls. Silence was just not this thing.

“There has to be a link.” Grasso shook his head when the bartender asked if he wanted a beer, ordered a bottled water instead, and pushed a small business card across the bar. “Who is this?”

Jason picked it up and squinted at it. “Lieman? Don’t know him.”

“DEA.”

He really wished he couldn’t see Kate lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the brush of her dark hair swinging against her cheek as she laughed at something her companion said. He could remember how those silky strands felt under his fingers, and that was an unwelcome recollection at the moment.

His attention returned to the conversation. “DEA? What the fuck? You just said neither Fielding nor Brown were dirty, which I’d told you already about Chad.”

“I said I couldn’t find anything, so you’re probably right. But, for some reason, Fielding communicated lately with this Lieman, and now Fielding is dead and Brown is dead as well. The two of them were pretty tight, and you were friends with both Brown, too. Metzger is worried because both shootings were pretty smooth and spoke of a well-trained marksman, but maybe it is drug related.”

Jason forgot about Kate sitting only about thirty feet away. Which, she would probably tell him, was part of the reason she’d left him. He frowned, his beer halfway to his mouth. “Once again, these are patrol officers. They aren’t involved usually in big drug busts. I get what you’re saying—opportunities are everywhere, but I don’t see they are worth a hit. How did you get the tip on Lieman?”

“Lieman came to see the chief when he heard about Fielding’s murder. I was at loose ends today and was just thinking about it.”

Loose ends? Of course he was. The guy must have his reasons, but he spent a lot of his time at the station. “The next logical question is, what the hell did Fielding want?”

“Lieman has no idea. He just called and left a number for him to call back. Lieman was working a case undercover and didn’t get the message for a few days, and by then, Fielding was dead.”

It was a lead—maybe. “He could have gotten a tip off the street.”

“You’d think Fielding would just tell Metzger or the lead detective, which is Fergusson, and they’d make the contact. And why Lieman? The guy claims they’ve never met. If it was a tip, is there some reason he didn’t use the chain of command to pass it along?”

A valid question, for sure. Jason stared at his half-empty glass, the froth now subsided to a thin white layer on top of the golden liquid. “Obviously you need to go talk to the guy’s wife.”

Grasso leaned his elbows on the bar and shook his head. “We aren’t part of the official investigation. I believe we pointed that out.” He stopped and seemed to hesitate. “Look, I got a tip that Brown was involved with Danni Crawford. An angle is being played. Why?”

Jason had to agree. Good question. Not everyone had been aware of the relationship, but the significance escaped him. “I don’t know. It is somewhat of a leap from DEA to a romance that is none of our business. I can’t see what connection there can be. Not everyone in the department knew about Danni and Chad, but some did. They tried to keep it under the radar.”