Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (30 page)

“There was a man there—he saw it happen. He can tel you. I picked him out of the photographs yesterday.”

“What happened with the man?”

“He tried to help me.” More with the frowning. “He cal ed nine-one-one. . . . I don’t remember . . . much . . . else—wait a minute.” Those beady eyes got shrewd. “You were there. Weren’t you.”

“Is there anything you can tel me about the animal.”

“You were there. You watched me get put into the ambulance.”

“If we could stay with the animal—”

“And you were watching him, too.” Kroner smiled, and the Mr. Nice-and-Normal pretense slipped a little, a strange calculation entering his eyes. “You were watching the man who’d been with me. Did you think he’d done it?”

“The animal. That’s what I’m interested in.”

“That’s not al l l l you’re interested in.” The
all
had a singsong lilt to it. “It’s okay, though. It’s al right to want things.”

“What kind of animal do you think it was?”

“A lion, a tiger, a bear—oh, my.”

“This is not a joke, Mr. Kroner. We need to know whether we have a public safety issue.”

Having studied interview techniques, she figured she’d give him an opening to be a hero. Sometimes suspects like him would play the game in hopes of ingratiating themselves, or trying to gain trust they would later enjoy violating.

Kroner’s lids dropped low. “Oh, I think you’ve taken care of the public just fine. Haven’t you.”

Yeah, assuming he didn’t flee this hospital, and the system slammed a prison door on him for the rest of his natural life. “It must have had fangs,” she said.

“Yes . . .” He touched his ruined face. “Fangs . . . and big. Whatever it was—it was overpowering. I stil don’t know why I survived—but the man, he helped me. He’s an old friend. . . .”

Reil y made sure that her expression didn’t change in the slightest. “Old friend? You know him?”

“Like recognizes like.”

As a chil rippled down her spine, Kroner lifted a hand up and stopped her from speaking. “Wait—I’m supposed to tel you something.”

“And what is that?”

Those bandages on his face crumpled up as if he were grimacing, and that hand went to his head. “I’m supposed to tel you . . .”

Considering he didn’t know her at al , that was impossible. “Mr. Kroner—”

“She had lolond hair. Straight, long blond hair . . .” He took a labored breath and batted at his temple as if he were in pain. “He’s stuck on the hair . . .

that blond hair with the blood on it. She died in the tub—but that’s not where her body is.” Kroner’s head went back and forth on the pil ow. “Go to the quarry. She’s there. In a cave—you’ve gotta go deep to get to her. . . .”

Reil y’s heart started pounding. The scope of her interrogation was supposed to be limited to the night of the attack, but there was no way she wasn’t fol owing up on this one. And no reason why Kroner would know that Cecilia Barten was a case she was working on.

“Who are you talking about.”

Kroner dropped his arm and suddenly his color took a turn toward the gray spectrum. “The one from the supermarket. I’m supposed to tel you this—she wants me to tel you. That’s al I know—”

Abruptly, he started to shake, the trembling in his torso escalating until he jerked back into the pil ows and his eyes rol ed into his skul .

Reil y lunged forward and punched the cal button and intercom. “We need help in here!”

From out of the seizure, Kroner shot a hold onto her wrist, those unholy eyes of his glowing. “Tel him she suffered. . . . He has to know . . . she suffered. .

. .”

B
ack at HQ, in the evidence room, Veck went through everything there was of Kroner’s col ection, filing away in his mind snapshots of the objects.

Unfortunately, there was nothing that he’d seen in the photographs at the Bartens’ that matched any of the jewelry or other things.

Stepping back, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Shit.”

“There’s stil more,” the investigator said. Without looking away from what he was doing, the guy threw back the drape that covered al that had yet to be cataloged.

Veck took a drink from his cold coffee, went over, and leaned in at the hips. No touching, of course, so good thing it had al been laid out side by side.

More jewelry . . . more hair ties with strands of black and brown and pink stuck to—

His phone went off, and he pivoted away to answer it. “DelVecchio. Yeah, yup . . . uh-huh . . . yup, that’s me. . . .”

It was Human Resources, verifying his information before they sent out his first paycheck. As he rushed through the questions, he thought, no offense, but he had better things to do.

When he was final y off with them, he turned back around to the tray. He’d been so sure that Sissy had been taken by Kroner. Fucking hel —

From out of the investigator’s latexed grip, a gold glint flashed as whatever it was got put under the microscope.

It was an earring. A smal , birdlike earring. Like a dove or a sparrow.

“Can I see that?” Veck said hoarsely.

But even without the closer look, he recognized what it was . . . from the Bartens’ bookcase, that close-up of Sissy when she’d been unaware she’d been photographed. She had been wearing an earring just like it.

Maybe she’d been wearing that exact one.

His phone rang again just as the investigator held up the piece of evidence.

When Veck glanced at the screen and saw it was Reil y, he immediately accepted the cal . “You’l never believe this—I’m looking at Sissy Barten’s earring.”

“In the Kroner evidence.” It was a statement, not a question.

Veck frowned. Her voice sounded al wrong. “Are you al right? What happened with Kroner?”

There was a brief pause. “I . . .”

Veck stepped away from the investigator, going into a corner and turning his back to the guy. Dropping his voice, he said, “What happened.”

“I think he kil ed her. Sissy. He . . . kil ed her.”

Veck’s grip squeezed down on the phone. “What did he say.”

“He identified her by the hair and the Hannaford.”

“Did you bring any photographs of her? Can we get a positive—”

“He went into a seizure in the middle of the interview. I’m outside the ICU right now and they’re working on him. No tel ing whether they’l pul him through or not.”

“Did he say anything else—”

“The body’s somewhere in the quarry. According to him.”

“Let’s go—”

“I’ve already cal ed de la Cruz. He’s going over there with Bails—”

“I’m leaving right now.”

“Veck,” she bit out. “This case is no longer missing persons. You and I are off of it.”

“The hel we are—she’s stil mine until they find a body. Meet me there so you can suspend me if you want. Or even better, come to lend a hand.”

There was a long, long pause. “You’re putting me in a terrible position.”

Regret made him grind his molars. “I seem to excel at that when it comes to you. But I have to do this—and I promise not to be a pain in the ass.”

“You excel at that, too.”

“Stipulated. Look, I can’t pul out of this until I at least know what happened to her. I don’t have to be al up in Kroner’s face if we find something and I won’t touch a goddamn thing, but I’ve got to do this.”

Another interminable pause. Then: “Al right. I’m on my way. But if de la Cruz shuts us out, we’re
not
fighting him, clear?”

“Crystal.” Veck sent up a prayer of thanks. But then . . . “Did he say anything else? Kroner, that is?”

There was a rustling, like she was switching the phone from hand to hand. “He said he knew you.”

“What.”

“Kroner said he knew you.”

“That’s a fucking lie. I’ve never met him before in my life.” When there was nothing from her, he cursed. “Reil y, I swear. I don’t know the guy.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t sound like it.” And for some reason, her opinion didn’t just matter; it was dispositive. “I’l take a polygraph.”

Her exhale sounded exhausted. “Maybe Kroner was just screwing with me. It’s hard to know.”

“What did he say exactly?”

“Something along the lines of ‘like recognizes like.’ ”

Veck went dead cold. “I’m not Kroner.”

“I know. Here, let me get to my car and start driving. The quarry’s on the far edge of town, and we might as wel get in on the ground floor if de la Cruz wil let us. I’l see you in a half hour.”

As he hung up, the investigator glanced over from the microscope. “Get what you need?”

“I think so. Let me know if you find anything on that earring? I have a feeling it’s from my missing girl.”

“No problem.”

“Where’s the ‘quarry’?”

“Take the Northway south about twenty miles. I don’t know the exact exit, but it’s marked. You can’t miss it, and there are signs that’l take you in.”

“Thanks, man.”

“It’s a good place to hide things, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Unfortunately.”

Five minutes later, Veck was on his bike and roaring off toward the interstate. No reason to cal de la Cruz ahead of time. They’d just do the showdown face-to-face when he arrived.

The exit in question appeared fifteen minutes later and read, THOMAS GREENFIELD QUARRY. The signs were easy to fol ow, and no more than a couple miles later, he was turning off and fol owing a smal dirt road that had trees tight to its flanks. In the summer, they would no doubt form a romantic canopy; at the moment, they looked like skeleton arms clawing at one another.

He cut the speed back as he rounded a fat right-hander that gradual y climbed higher and higher. Wind whipped around, cold and stark, and the clouds seemed to close in as if to choke the ground. He was beginning to think he was lost when he crested the rise, and there it was.

Quarry? More like the Grand fucking Canyon.

And members of the CPD as wel as the Caldwel Fire Department had already gathered: Two search and rescue vehicles. A couple of squad cars. An unmarked that had to be de la Cruz. A K-9 unit.

Veck parked a ways away and made no bones about his approach as he came up to the huddle of men and women and dogs.

De la Cruz peeled off from the core and came toward him. The detective’s permagrim expression didn’t shift in the slightest. Then again, he couldn’t be al that surprised, and the arrival was hardly happy news.

“Fancy meeting you here,” de la Cruz muttered. But he put out his hand for a shake.

“This place is huge.” Their palms met in a clap. “Betcha can use some help.”

The quarry was easily a mile across and a half mile down—and more of a natural formation than anything left over from a mining operation. Three-quarters of its wal s were solid drops, but the one to the south was a nasty-looking slope that was marked by boulders, scruffy brush . . . and a lot of dark holes that had to be caves.

“So are you going to let me work?” Veck demanded.

“Where’s your partner.”

“On her way.”

De la Cruz glanced back at the tight band of col eagues. “We’eeping a light crew on here because we don’t want any attention. The press gets word of this, we’re going to have a field day with the rubberneckers.”

“So is that a yes?”

De la Cruz nailed him right in the eye. “You don’t touch a goddamn thing, and you don’t go out until Reil y’s here.”

“Fair enough, Detective.”

“Come on—you might as wel join in the planning stage.”

Jim’s old place was not al that old and not his, either.

He’d rented the garage and its second-story studio apartment from an ancient guy in a butler’s suit after he’d first come to Caldwel , and when he’d pul ed out about a week ago, he’d assumed it was for the last time: His former boss, Matthias the Fucker, had been breathing down his neck, and he’d been Boston-bound to fight the next battle with Devina.

But real y, what went according to plan? Matthias was no longer in the picture, Jim had returned to Caldwel , and he and Adrian needed a secure place to stay.

Hel o, old haunts, as it were . . . And it was time to pray that the owner hadn’t gone in to find the rent money and key that had been left behind.

Pul ing his F-150 into the long drive that led to the place, he checked to make sure Adrian was stil behind him on that Harley—and the guy was.

Together, they passed the owner’s vacant but perfectly maintained farmhouse and continued down the lane, cutting through a rol ing meadow that had to be a good twenty acres in size. The garage was far back on the property and had probably been used to house farming equipment and mowers, with a caretaker living above. He’d gotten the impression when he’d leased it, however, that it had been empty for a while.

Stopping gril first at the big double doors, he got out, grabbed one of the drag handles and threw his weight into it, wondering whether the place would be—

The panel rumbled open on its tracks, revealing a perfectly clean cement floor and a raw beam ceiling more than tal enough to park a horse trailer in.

Jim got back behind the wheel and let the engine’s idle take him inside. And Adrian was right on his ass, parking the Harley and yanking the door shut behind them. As the gray light of day was cut off, Jim kil ed the motor, sprung his door—

The clean, fresh scent of flowers invaded the air. To the point where he nearly retched, even though the smel was arguably beautiful.

He and Adrian didn’t say a word as they took up res on either side of the truck bed by the back. The tarp they’d bought at Home Depot an hour ago was secured by a half dozen bungee cords, and one by one they freed the hooks and bands. Rol ing up the thick, blue cover, they revealed the sheet-wrapped body they had been so careful with.

They had left the lobby of the bank not long after Jim’s fury had busted out al the windows, and they’d taken Eddie with them—which had been no struggle, as it had turned out; at least not physical y. After the death, the body was light as a feather, as if al the critical mass had vacated the skin and bones, and what was left behind was nothing more than the outline drawing of what Eddie had once been.