Splintered (8 page)

The ride back to the hotel passed in silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. Every case was important. The three of them worked well together and had a kickass arrest record because they all had the same belief. It wasn’t about the money or recognition, but a strong desire to protect against the monsters that walked among them. For Byte and Hutch, this case was even more important. It was personal.

“You doing better?” Granite finally asked as he pulled into the hotel parking deck and killed the engine.

Hutch laid his head back and stared straight ahead. “What is it about people?”

It was a rhetorical question that didn’t really call for an answer. Granite waited in the silence of the car for Hutch to continue.

After several long moments, Hutch turned his head and looked at Granite with tired eyes. “What makes someone look at a gay man as something less than human? That their death doesn’t matter because of who they shared their bed with?”

He knew Hutch was no longer focusing on the killer but on the mentality of many in the law enforcement community. He didn’t have the answer. He doubted that Hutch really expected one. Granite reached over and gave Hutch’s shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Good thing we care, then, right?”

Hutch gave a determined nod of his head, opened his door, and stepped out. “Let’s go find this bastard.”

Chapter 7

A
FTER
RETURNING
to the hotel, the only thing Hutch could think about was a hot shower, getting a little food in him, and getting back to work searching through the stacks of files. Somewhere in the mess was a clue that would perhaps not tell him who his killer was, but at least push him in the right direction.

“Hey, I found out some pretty interesting details while you two were out.” Byte motioned toward the chair near his. “Have a seat, and I’ll show you what a genius I truly am.”

“Nope. Taking a shower first. Your geniusness will have to wait five minutes.” Hutch kept walking toward the bathroom. He stripped out of his clothes, throwing them to the floor as he walked. “And food. If I have to focus on your computer mumbo jumbo, I need food.” He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door on whatever disgruntled comeback Byte could come up with.

Hutch set the taps and stepped into the warm spray. The visions he’d dealt with that night had left his skin crawling. It was like the heinousness of what he’d witnessed left its stench on his flesh. Turning the tap to the hottest setting, Hutch scrubbed at his skin until it was raw. No matter how much soap he used or how hard he scoured his skin, it clung to him.

In disgust, Hutch shut off the water and winced as he dried his burning skin. After slipping into comfortable sweats and a soft T-shirt, Hutch rejoined Byte and Granite in the main room.

“Jesus. You look like a stewed tomato,” Granite said as Hutch took the chair next to him.

“Shut up.” He wasn’t about to discuss his shower habits with Granite. Nor was he in the mood to discuss the reasoning behind the habit. “So what have you got for me?” he asked Byte, changing the subject quickly.

Both men stared at him expectantly. When he didn’t say anything further, Byte shrugged and pulled up the document he’d been working on.

“I checked ViCAP, some underground sources, and poked around some international resources. Lots of sick fucks in this world who like to mutilate, but there are only a couple that
might
be connected to our perp.”

Hutch raised a brow at him. “And?”

“That’s the thing. When I did some further digging, I found that there was no way it could be him. I can’t find a single case anywhere that completely fits his MO.”

Hutch heard what Byte said, he just couldn’t believe it.

“Are you sure?” Granite asked with disbelief in his voice.

“There has to be something. No way was Martin his first kill. The scene was too clean.” Hutch could have sworn there would have been a previous vic.

Uncertainty, fear, and inexperience would have demanded something be left behind. No matter how much this maniac read on forensics or crime scene investigation, he would have been nervous as hell. He’d either been incredibly lucky or there had to be previous crimes.

Frowning at the stiff set of Byte’s shoulders and the way he avoided looking at either him or Granite, Hutch braced himself for what Byte was going to say. Not much got to Byte. Whatever was eating at him now, Hutch wasn’t going to like.

“From what I can gather, the reason there isn’t any evidence is because no one bothered to look for any.” He looked at Hutch, anger simmering in his eyes. “They didn’t bother to collect any at the second scene either.”

“Motherfuckers!” Hutch bellowed. He was instantly on his feet, pacing. “You have got to be kidding me!”

Byte shook his head stubbornly. “I talked to the lead detective, one Travis Harding. He recognized Jared Martin from a disturbance call he’d investigated at the Ram Rod, and came to the conclusion that Jared had allowed himself to be tied up and abused. That basically he was partially at fault in his own death due to the, and I quote, ‘disgusting lifestyle he lived.’”

“What about the mutilation? This asshole couldn’t possibly think that anyone would voluntarily allow that?” Granite asked skeptically.

Byte looked back and forth between the two of them, the anger and sadness apparent in his dark eyes. He pursed his lips and blew out a heavy breath through his nose. “At first I thought this was an isolated case of incompetence, that this asshole Harding had some kind of major influence. That quite possibly he pressured the coroner to rule the death as suspicious instead of homicide. Then I checked out the report on Croft, the second murder victim. He was killed in a different jurisdiction, different lead detective as well as coroner. Croft’s death was also ruled as suspicious in nature rather than homicide.”

Granite gave a low whistle. “They basically gave him time to perfect his skills.”

“That’s about the gist of it,” Byte replied with a curt nod.

As he continued to pace, Hutch curled his hands into fists. The rage surging through him was begging for an outlet, his mind screaming that it should be the incompetent assholes on the receiving end of his rage. The room grew silent, with only the sound of Hutch’s bare feet padding across the carpet and his labored breathing. If he let this eat at him, he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything other than his anger.

Hutch grabbed his cigarettes and lighter and headed for the balcony. He stepped out as he lit up and took a long pull, letting out the smoke in a long, drawn-out stream. He didn’t pay any attention to the lights of the city or the hazy moon that hung low in the sky. He blocked out the low rumbling of Granite and Byte talking, his entire focus on turning his outrage into something he could use. He wanted vengeance for these discarded men who weren’t given any more regard than stepping into a pile of shit. These were men, human beings with families and friends. They weren’t something to wrinkle up your nose in disgust at like shit on the bottom of your shoe, wiped on the grass and forgotten.

It took a second cigarette and one hell of a fight before Hutch got himself under control and a plan of action set before he rejoined the others. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” He pointed a finger at Byte. “I want everything you can get on Martin and Croft. Prior addresses, friends, family, how often they shit. Everything. Got it?”

Byte smirked as he nodded and let his fingers fly across the keys of his laptop. It was all Hutch needed to see. It would get done.

“Granite, help me pull every crime scene photo we’ve got.” He moved to the files stacked on the bed. “Start with the newest over there on the TV.”

“Anything specific I’m looking for?” Granite asked as he stood and grabbed the first file from the TV.

“Gawkers. I want any photo that shows the crowds around the scene.”

“You think our guy was in the crowd?”

Hutch shrugged. “It’s possible, but I doubt it.” He began rummaging through the files looking for pale blue eyes.

Pulling every photo and getting some help from Byte with accessing even more from the news agencies that covered the scenes was a daunting task. By two a.m. they were exhausted, not only physically but emotionally as well. The amount of death and destruction depicted in the photos was taking its toll. How could it not?

“It would be easier if I knew what the hell I was looking for.” The fatigue in Granite’s voice was evident.

Hutch frowned. “I saw someone at the last crime scene. Not the ones we checked out tonight, the one behind the boutique. There was this guy, muscular build, shaggy blond hair, your typical college kid. Something about him… I’m not sure, but something about the way he looked at me, it piqued my interest.”

“You mean we’re looking for someone in a crowd, a bystander that may or may not know something?” Byte raised one brow at him. “Well, you do like ’em with big muscular chests and blond. You sure what you’re feeling has everything to do with the case and nothing to do with being horny?”

Hutch flipped a close-up shot of Kimura’s savaged body at Byte. “If you can think of banging anyone after looking at this shit all night, then you’re one sick whack job.”

Byte grabbed the photo and added it to his growing stack without looking at it. “Good point. Besides, I can’t think much past trying to decide if I’m going to curl up here on the floor or beg you to carry me to bed.”

“Me too, Big Daddy, carry me to bed,” Granite whined.

Shaking his head, Hutch bit back the nasty reply that first popped into his head. With as beat as he was, if they were depending on him to help them to bed, the three of them would all be sprawled out on the floor come daylight. The whirl of the printer as it continued to spit out photos was like a lullaby easing him to sleep.

“How much longer on those photos?”

Getting slowly to his feet, Byte shuffled to the printer and read the screen. “It’s going to be a while. Still have about thirty in queue.”

Heaving himself out of his chair, Hutch set the stack of photos he’d been studying to the side. “Let’s get a couple hours’ sleep.” He reached out a hand to Granite and helped pull him to his feet. “You can carry me. And if you’re real good, I’ll even let you rock me to sleep. But no singing. Your voice sucks.”

Granite chuckled and pulled away from Hutch. “Fuck you.”

“You wish,” he countered as he headed toward the pullout. “Night, Byte.”

“Night.”

“Oh yeah, gonna fill you like….” Granite removed the files from his bed and climbed in without even bothering to take off his clothes or get under the covers. “Who am I kidding? I’m too fucking tired to fill you tonight. I’ll sleep on it,” he mumbled as he pulled a pillow over his head.

Hutch’s and Byte’s gazes met, and they both laughed softly before heading for their beds. He knew Granite was beyond exhaustion when his witty repertoire failed him. Hopefully they’d all get some sleep and be able to make some headway on the case in the morning. As he flipped off the light and pulled the covers up around his chin, Hutch sent up a little prayer that he’d be able to sleep without his usual nightmares.

Chapter 8

H
E
NEEDED
a week’s worth of sleep, but what Hutch got was random moments of a trancelike state as he stared at the ceiling. Spending the night trying to figure what the hell the spots were on the ceiling and how they got there was a lot better than dealing with the nightmares. He slipped out of bed around six and went to make coffee—another little thing he did to protect the masses. His body felt a little rested, if not his mind. Who was he kidding? He was running on fumes, and he briefly wondered which would snap first, his body or his mind.

The smell of brewing coffee roused his sleeping companions, and by the time the pot was done, Byte and Granite were doing their best to shove Hutch out of the way to get their fix. Luckily for him, Hutch was crafty and took his steaming brew to the table first.

“So please tell me one of you was visited in the night by the ghost of one of our vics who told you who his murderer was and where we can find him. ’Cause I got nothing,” Hutch said over the rim of his mug.