Deadworld (12 page)

Chapter 19

“Where is he, Reg?” The echo of gunfire was still ringing in Nick’s head, but the dream had been wiped away by the abrupt, cold brush of Reggie’s hand through his shoulder.

“Floor of the vault of the Woodbridge Federal Credit Union.” There was a tinge of sadness to his voice this time. “Got him laid out on a pile of pennies, boss.”

Damn. Drake was really going to rub it in this time around. “Any law enforcement there yet?” Nick turned and glanced at the bedside clock. It read 8:26 AM.

“Got called about five minutes ago, I’d guess.”

So much for an advance investigation of the scene. “Okay, see what you can find, but get out of there before Agent Carpenter shows up. I don’t want any more suspicions tossed our way now.”

Reggie rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Little late for that, if you ask me, but I’m on it. What are they looking for out here? They aren’t being very subtle.”

“Playing out the penny angle, I believe. Agent Rutledge wanted to see if I’d take some bait.”

“They would be more useful
with
us, boss, but I guess you already know that.”

Nick held up his hand. “I know, Reg. I can’t risk any more lives on this.”

He shrugged. “They get paid to take these risks. Should let them earn their paycheck, boss. They have resources and manpower.”

“It’s not something they are prepared to handle,” he said.

Reggie snorted. “Hell, Sheriff, it’s not something we’re prepared to handle.”

“True enough.” Nick dropped his hand. “I’ve enough blood on my hands already.”

He nodded. “Understood. They may give you no choice, you know.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, see what you can come up with. I’m tired of us chasing our tails in the dark.”

“Will do, boss.” Reggie waved. “Check in later.”

“Hey,” Nick said quickly, stopping him halfway through the wall of his bedroom. “How are you holding up? I know this has got to be hard.”

He shrugged, a wry smile crossing his face. “It’s draining me, but we’re near the end. Either way, I’m good.” He turned and vanished beyond the wall.

Nick could feel his presence glide away and then vanish through that doorway to the world of the dead.

“Either way,” Nick muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Either way, Reggie.”

Sleep had been spotty the night before, worried as he was about Shelby, who had continued her search until after three AM. He could tell her to abandon the search, but it was pointless now. The victim had died hours ago, and Drake would be found only if he wanted to be. The bastard had an incredible knack for staying just out of reach. With a twinge of guilt, Nick found himself wondering more about what Drake might have left behind than whom he had killed. It would indicate who the next victim might be, more specific perhaps than a simple penny had been.

Nick took the time to make a decent breakfast of ham, eggs, grits, and toast and sipped on a full cup of espresso. Next to the plate, Joshua’s penny stared mockingly up at him. It had been the last one collected, picked up on the day the new pennies had arrived at the bank. Three days before Cornelius had come sauntering into town on his brightly painted wagon. The image of Josh, grinning ear to ear as he held it up to the sun, glinting in the light, marveling at its shiny newness, was remarkably clear and painful. Funny how all the years didn’t dull memories such as those.

Finally, Nick picked up the penny, put his dishes in the dishwasher, and marched upstairs, opening the narrow door that led into the loft space over the garage. There resided the past Nick could never let go of, the memorabilia of days long gone, painstakingly arranged to provide the sharpest reminder of what had been taken from him all those decades ago. In a handmade binder, painted and decorated with stamps and postcards pasted on by Joshua with the help of his mother, Gwen, Nick turned to the last page, and in the last spot—which had remained empty these 144 years—Nick carefully slid the penny into its rightful place.

Straining his senses, Nick could almost hear their voices if he remained perfectly calm and still. His heart pounded now in his chest, and he sniffed away a tear that threatened to spill. In moments like these, Nick wanted nothing more than to just lie down and let that doorway draw him through to the end.

“Goddamn you, Cornelius. Damn you to hell.” He slammed the book shut and marched out of the room.

Chapter 20

There was another victim.

At least the call came while they were on their way downtown, allowing them to avoid some traffic and head toward the bank.

Jackie glanced at the GPS system in the dashboard after Laurel put in the address. “This bank is close to Special Investigations, isn’t it?”

Laurel nodded. “About six blocks.”

“Coincidence?”

“Doubt it.”

“Anderson isn’t dumb enough to dump the body right by his place of work,” Jackie said.

“Unless he has good reason to put it there.”

Jackie pulled her five-shot venti on ice from the cup holder and took a long draught. She needed it after last night’s endlessly frustrating picking through of Nick’s story. The key piece of information still eluded them.

She could see the flash of blue and red before they even arrived at the scene. Television vans were parked along the street. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk along the bank’s parking lot.

“Or someone is trying very hard to make Anderson look like a suspect,” Jackie said. She had gone to bed last night with that thought, based on a question Laurel had given. Who else could be involved and why? As much as she wanted to hold on to the idea that Nick Anderson might be a split personality, a far more disturbing notion waited in the wings. The original killer was still following Nick Anderson around.

“You didn’t want to entertain that idea last night,” Laurel said.

Jackie shrugged and swung their car up into the bank parking lot behind the flashing lights of several police cars. “Because I have no clue how we’ll find out who that is if Anderson won’t tell us.”

“I still think we should just ask him. Our info didn’t indicate who killed his family. They were never caught.”

“And for some reason, the bastard doesn’t want to clue us in.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening the car door. “Look at this mess. It’s sad that the TV crews are out here before we are.”

She closed her door and leaned on the roof, looking out at the crowd, a very different look on her face. The skin between her eyebrows crinkled down in concentration. She turned and leaned back against the car a few seconds later. “He’s not here. I don’t think anyway.”

Jackie walked off toward the bank. “Figured. Let’s go have a look.”

Inside the bank, the officer in charge of the scene was actually someone Jackie knew. He was a detective from their violent crimes task force, a lean, tall black man with facial features sharp enough to hurt yourself on. She had slept with him a few years back after hooking up in a hotel bar during some law-enforcement conference. He had abs you could springboard off of.

“Detective Morgan,” Jackie said, shaking his hand. “Good to see someone familiar on the scene. This is craziness.”

“Cluster fuck is more like,” he said, frowning. “Some bozo ran down the street screaming his goddamn head off. This a fed case now?

“Think so. You got someone drained of blood?”

“In the vault there. It’s all yours, Jackie girl. I hate these freaked cases.”

She waved him off. “Coward. You have the guy who went screaming down the street?”

“Yeah, somewhere. I’ll make sure he sticks around.”

“Thanks. You’re on the task force, Morgan, so we’ll be seeing you later today I expect. Let’s go have a look, Agent Carpenter.”

In the middle of the vault floor, thousands of pennies had been poured into a large pile. On top of it, a young man lay in coffinlike repose, feet crossed at the ankles, hands folded over his chest. He looked peaceful. The gentle smile on his face gave her the uneasy feeling that he was glad to be dead. Jackie knelt down next to the pile, surveying the body. Her finger trembled slightly as it pointed at the body’s hands.

“Care to take a guess at how old our vic is here?”

Laurel nodded. “Fifteen.”

She had no doubts now. Two down and three to go, which meant that soon a little eight-year-old girl was going to fall into the hands of this monster.

“Look, Laur. Same ligature marks on the wrists. Zip ties.”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice hoarse and quiet. “Same sense of evil, too.”

The forensics team was coming in then, the toolboxes in hand. Jackie stood up and nodded to Mike Leavy, who led their group of micro snoopers. “Mike, you let me know if you find anything odd on the body.”

“Like?”

“No clue. Last vic had a collectible penny under him. Just keep an eye out, okay?”

“Sure thing, Jack. You okay?”

She shook her head. “Not particularly. This case is really starting to get on my nerves.”

He gave her a grim smile and went to work. Jackie led Laurel out of the vault. No reason to be in there until they were done, and the feeling Laurel had was wigging her out, as evidenced by the heavy sigh she gave upon passing the threshold. Jackie touched Laurel lightly on the elbow as she stopped. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. This guy is just really bad, Jackie. It’s going to get worse, you know.”

Words of encouragement. “Then we better hurry up and catch this fucker.” She turned and looked at the vault door, going over the frame and edges of the large metal door. There was not a scratch or ding on it. “Hey, Morgan!” she shouted across the lobby at him. He had moved over by the main door, likely hoping to sneak out. Jackie pointed up at the video camera.

“It’s clean,” he replied. “Not a thing on it.”

“Security company?”

“On my to-do list,” he said with a humorless grin.

“I’ll track that down later, Jackie,” Laurel said.

“I want a report on what you got before you bail on me, Morgan.”

He nodded and went back to talking to one of his officers who had popped his head in through the door. Jackie looked around in thought, trying to think how someone could have gotten into the vault without causing any damage. “Someone had to have let him in.”

Laurel agreed. “Sure looks that way.”

“Or gave our perp the code.”

“That could be, or maybe they work here.”

“We’ll check them all out, but that is way too obvious for this.” Jackie stared at Laurel, noticing the little crinkle in her forehead had never gone away. She was still stressing. “What else?”

“Huh?”

“You have another theory. I can tell by that look, and it’s probably one of those shitty ghost theories that I’m going to hate.”

Laurel gave her a hesitant smile. “Probably.”

“Jack? Got something here,” Mike’s voice called out from the vault.

Inside the vault, Mike sat crouched on the balls of his feet next to the victim. In his hand he had a pair of large tweezers, which grasped a card-sized object.

“What is it?”

He held it up for her. “Looks like a tarot card to me.”

“Oh, really?” Suddenly interested, Laurel leaned over Jackie’s shoulder to look. Her gasp hissed in Jackie’s ear. “Wow. I think I know what that is.”

“Yeah? Mike, you get that bagged up for us? I think I’d like to show it to someone.”

“Sure. Let me dust it and log it in, and it’s all yours.”

A few minutes later, Jackie held the sealed card out to Laurel. “You okay to be touching this? In case it’s . . . evil or whatever? I don’t want you puking on my shoes.”

Laurel grabbed the card, turning it over in her hands. “I’m prepared for it this time, thank you very much.” She squinted, holding the card close to her face. “I think this is handpainted. If it’s an original, this thing is worth a lot of money. I have a printed version of this deck at home. They’re . . . There is something odd with this.”

“Odd like what?”

Laurel held the card squarely between her hands, the edges digging into her palms, and closed her eyes for a moment. “It’s got that thing’s presence all over it, but there is something else, something . . .” She sighed. “I don’t know. It’s really faint.”

They walked out a few minutes later, after forensics had finished and found nothing else out of the ordinary. Jackie had begun to wonder. “Did it feel like Mr. Anderson again?”

“Could be.”

“I think we need to go have a little heart-to-heart with Nick Anderson and company.”

“Good idea. I think we should see them again, too.”

Jackie took out her phone and called up Gamble. “Hey, Gamble. You back out at Anderson’s?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s out at the ranch here, Ma,” he said in a horrible Texas drawl. “You comin’ out?”

“Yeah, bonehead. We’ll be out in a bit.”

“Sweet. I want to see the inside of this place.”

There were details to go over at the scene, but Jackie felt positive there would be little to gain from it, and she was itching to talk to Nick. The crew could handle things, question the employees, and finish gathering what little evidence she knew there would be. This guy was squeaky clean and operating with methods they could not get their minds around. Worse, he was working fast, which meant there was no more time to waste. So, after delegating tasks, they were on the road to Nick’s.

They crested a hill and found Gamble’s car parked across from a sprawling ranch-style log house, and Jackie slid to a stop next to him. “Keep an eye on things out here, Gamble. I want to know if anything goes on while we’re in there.”

“Aw, come on. I want to see inside.”

She smiled and rolled the window back up, ignoring the bird he flipped her as she pulled across into Nick Anderson’s driveway. She stopped next to a slick-looking BMW motorcycle. A thick growth of oak and maple lined the edge of the garage and ran down the side of the house to the back. The grassy mound of the front yard sloped down around the opposite side and faded into a field of long grasses and wildflowers. Out beyond the field was another dense copse of trees. The house itself was one of those custom log-cabin deals and spread out in a long, angled line. Jackie guessed four to five thousand feet easy.

Laurel whistled. “I want to live here. This is awesome.”

“Come on,” Jackie said. “And quit drooling. Feds don’t drool.”

“You can honestly tell me you wouldn’t give just about anything to live out here in a place like this?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“You are such a liar.”

Jackie spread her arms. “What the hell would I do with a place like this? It would take all damn day to vacuum the stupid thing. Who wants to spend their weekend doing that?”

“Can’t you see yourself sitting on the back porch, sucking down lattes, watching the sun set?”

Jackie stopped at the front door, eyeing the rainbow of stained-glass windows lining either side. “I’ll bet you it’s a bachelor’s cesspool inside.”

“Five bucks says one look inside and you’d live out here in a second, minus the possible serial killer, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “Make it a Starbucks with a cinnamon roll, and you’re on.”

“Done!” she said, far too cocky for her own good.

The door opened before Jackie could hit the doorbell, and Nick Anderson stood in the doorway, his eyes raised in mock surprise. “Hello, Agent Carpenter, Agent Rutledge.” He offered them a faint, welcoming smile and stepped back to let them inside. He wore faded blue jeans and a Northwestern University sweatshirt. His feet were covered in bright white socks. He watched them coolly with those same, unnaturally bright eyes.

Jackie paused for a moment. “You expecting us, Mr. Anderson?” The lack of nerves bothered her. Most people got nervous around federal agents regardless of their guilt or innocence. They tried too hard to be cool. Nick Anderson looked relaxed, unworried.

He gave her a little shrug. “After seeing this morning’s news, I figured there was a good chance.”

“We have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind. As you expected, I’m sure,” she added and stepped past him into the foyer.

“Anything I can do to help.”

The foyer opened up to the second floor. A landing led to what appeared to be an office of some kind. Skylights let the sun pour through onto a slate floor. A large grandfather clock quietly chimed the quarter hour on one side. Beneath the landing, two large archways led into the main living space, and Jackie could see the wall of windows beyond, surrounding an enormous stone fireplace made of river rock. No fire blazed away in it now, but she could well imagine. Unfortunately, the place was immaculately clean.

Laurel nudged by her with a smile and stepped into the living room. Jackie followed. Starbucks was going to be on her after all.