Strip Search (30 page)

“Listen, Buster Brown—”

“Don’t try to do the bad cop routine on me. And don’t bother playing any head games, either. You’re not gonna crack me, got it? I heard how you took out one of Frank’s security nerds. Let me just tell you that I may not look like much, but I got a brown belt in karate, and if you come anywhere near me, your pretty face won’t stop me from taking you apart. Try anything with me and I’ll put you in the hospital.”

“You need to talk to me, Halliwell.”

“I’m not telling you a damn thing, you stupid bitch.”

So I shot him.

In the upper thigh, barely creasing his leg. I knew (from experience) that a wound like that would hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t do any lasting damage. Probably wouldn’t even bleed that much. But he didn’t know that.

He screamed, but I could hardly fault him, given the circumstances. I just had to hope no one was around to hear. Of course, if someone did try to intervene, I’d just do my Peace Officer routine and shoo them away.

He bellowed, clutching his leg. “I can’t believe you shot me!”

“Well, feeling is believing. Want to tell me now what happened? Or should I do the other leg as well?”

“No! God, no!” He held up one hand, then immediately returned it to his wound. “Don’t hurt me. I didn’t kill Josh. I didn’t!”

“I know that,” I said, towering above him, gun still in both hands. “No one ever thought you did.”

“But—I thought you’d suspect me. Everyone saw us fight. Everyone heard him fire me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I get it. You two juveniles had been fighting, so in your egomaniacal way you thought you’d be the prime suspect. You hid all the evidence of murder and told me Joshua was off visiting his mother with the untraceable name. Very smooth.” I tilted my head. “It would’ve been smoother if my research people hadn’t discovered that Joshua’s mother died ten years ago, but still. You did what you could with your limited resources. Mental resources, I mean.” I paused. “Was a part of Joshua’s body left behind?”

His face widened, and it wasn’t just because of the hole in his leg. “How—How did you know?”

Confirmation. It was our killer. “What part of the body?”

His eyes scrunched closed, as if trying to block out a painful memory. “His right leg.”

Ouch. “Tell me that you kept it.”

“It’s in the basement.”

“Don’t suppose you know where the rest of him is?”

“No. All the killer left behind was the leg and a lot of blood.”

“Tell me about the crime scene, before you screwed it up. Was there anything unusual about it?”

“I need medical attention!”

“So answer my question, and maybe I’ll remember that I have a cell phone.”

His eyes were watering; his face was losing color. He didn’t like any of this, but I really wasn’t leaving him any choice, was I? “There was just blood, a huge pool. And that ghastly leg. There were no weapons, no footprints, at least none that I could see. And so many people go in and out of there every day, I can’t imagine that you could get any fingerprints.”

“We already have the killer’s fingerprints. I need something more.”

“There was one other thing. A piece of paper.” Even though I could tell every movement hurt him, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a white scrap covered with pencil scribblings. I wasn’t surprised to see it was mathematical. I didn’t understand any of it. But I knew someone who would.

“Anything else?”

“No. I promise. Nothing. Now please call an ambulance.”

“I will. But remember—you can’t tell anyone what happened in here.”

“Are you insane? You shot me! I’m going to tell your superiors and everyone—”

“And when you do, I’ll tell them how you tampered with a crime scene and lied to a police officer and obstructed justice, all felonies. I’ll lose my job, but you’ll go to prison. Gee, I wonder who comes out worse?”

“But—”

“No buts. You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours. I’ll tell them an overzealous maid tried to clean up the blood.”

“But—there’s a bullet in my leg.”

“No, there isn’t. Just a graze burn. Tell the docs you were cleaning your pistol and didn’t realize there was a bullet in the chamber.”

“I don’t own a pistol!”

“You do now.”

“But—But—”

“Look, it’s your own fault. If you’d told me the truth in the first place, this wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“You still didn’t have to shoot me!”

“Actually, I did. Because I don’t have time to screw around with your sleazy little showbiz games. This man has killed four times, and has threatened to kill someone linked to the police department. We think he plans to strike today. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

I EXPECTED THE forensic team to show up at the Florence as soon as I reported what had happened, but I didn’t expect to see Darcy sitting in the backseat of his father’s car. Of course, I’d wanted to check in with him anyway, to see if he was making any progress on the equations I got from Halliwell and read him over the phone. I just expected to have to do so surreptitiously.

The window was down, so it was easy to get his attention, despite his intense concentration. “Hey, Darce. Got those equations solved?”

“Yes. They were easy. I cannot believe you could not solve them.” Somehow, when he said it, it wasn’t an insult. Just a statement of fact regarding relative intelligences. “The equations are easy. What I do not understand is what good they are.”

“Are equations normally good for something?”

“Of course. Do you know about the Enigma machine?”

“Umm…”

“It was a code making and breaking machine the Germans used during World War II. It was based on mathematics. Most good codes are.”

“Well, I suppose—”

“The atomic bomb is based on equations. Numbers put into use.”

“Tell me the killer hasn’t left us the formula for an atomic bomb.”

“I cannot tell what it is.”

I put my hand on his head and tousled his hair. “You’ll figure it out. I have confidence in you.”

I went inside, determined to remain low-profile, but alas, O’Bannon spotted me before I had a chance to duck for cover.

“Pulaski. I got three questions for you. And the answers had better be the right ones.”

“Fire away,” I said.

“This business of someone cleaning up the blood—that was really the manager, right?”

“Right. But I promised not to tell.”

“And the fact that he’s currently in the hospital because he accidentally shot himself in the leg—that has nothing to do with you, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good answer. And you’re the one who gave Darcy the latest secret formula, right?”

“You said it was okay to involve him in the math part.”

“As if that was all you’ve done. But you haven’t answered the question.”

“Yes. ’Twas I.”

“Figured as much. You see him outside?”

“Sure.”

“He got it solved yet?”

“No. But he will.”

A voice from behind me: “Well, that beats doing your own work, doesn’t it?”

Granger, natch. “I really resent that, you stooge.”

“Hear that?” he said, glaring at O’Bannon. “You hear it?”

“Hear what?” I asked.

“There’s only one
s
in resent and stooge. At least, when you’re sober.”

My eyes flared. “You son of a bitch!” But I couldn’t help listening to myself. My
s
’s did seem exceptionally sibilant. Guess I overdid the medication. “I’ve been sober for six months.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been slurring since this case began.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know your eyes are at half-mast.”

“You pathetic dickless wonder. You’re so scared of me you’ll try anything to get me off the case before I show you up by solving it.”

“So far, there hasn’t been much danger of that. Your report was the most—”

“Both of you, stop it!” O’Bannon bellowed. “Now!” He turned his head away. “David would be so ashamed. Of both of you!”

“Chief, I have not been drinking.”

“Fine. There’s an easy way to prove it. I’m sure every trooper outside has a Breathalyzer in his glove compartment. Are you willing to take the test?”

Granger folded his arms, gloating with pride. I hesitated, just to make it good. Finally, feigning nervousness, I said, “Okay, I’ll do it. But we do it out of sight and if I’m clean—” I jerked my thumb toward Granger. “You have to promise to keep this ape off my back.”

“Done.”

“That means I don’t take orders from him and my employment is not dependent on his approval.”

“Wait a minute!” Granger said.

“What’s the matter, big boy? Not willing to put your dick where your mouth is?”

His eyes flared, enraged. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

So Officer Tompkins was called in, the test was given and—surprise!—I passed. Not a drop of liquor in me. Happily, benzochloriphine doesn’t show up on a Breathalyzer. They couldn’t possibly know what I knew. That I’d traded one drug of choice for another. Granger’s problem was that he couldn’t keep pace with the changing shape of my dependencies.

Nonetheless, I smiled defiantly at Granger. “Gosh, you must feel like…what’s the phrase?…a total ass right now.”

His fuming was so strong I could smell it.

“Maybe we should run the test on you. You have been acting rather erratic of late.”

“Go to hell.”

“What are you afraid of?” I cried to his back as he stomped away. “I proved I was clean and sober.”

“You proved you were sober,” O’Bannon said, in a quiet voice. He gave me a quick look—I didn’t even want to contemplate what its meaning might be—and then he returned to the crime scene.

“YOU UNDERSTAND what you have to do?”

“Yes.”

“You know the target?”

“Yes.”

“You recognize the risks involved?”

“Course.”

Esther took Tucker by the arms and held him firmly. “You know this will be harder. Harder than anything you’ve done yet.”

Tucker looked away. “I…try not to think about it.”

“But you will have to think about it. This will require all your attention. All your strength.”

“I know that. Are…Are you sure this must be done?”

She touched his sleeve. “I’ve performed the calculations. I’ve checked and double-checked them. It is the Way, the Truth, the Pathway to the Eternal. It is written in the Tree of Life. It is illuminated in the Letters of Light.”

He nodded gravely. “I understand.”

“Do you? Really? Do you understand how important this is?”

“I…you told me…”

“But do you understand?”

Tucker inhaled deeply, as if purging his inner self. “I don’t have to. You understand. That’s good enough for me.”

As if swept away by the moment, Esther pulled him close, hugging him tightly against her breast. “My God, Tucker, I love you so much. You are so…so good.”

“I’m not. Good.”

“You are. You’re good to me.” She pulled him away again, holding him at arm’s length. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“I could do anything. For you.”

They each raised their left hands and pressed the blue stars together. “We are the Brethren of Purity,” they chanted. “We preserve the mysteries of the cosmos. We hold the universe in our heads. We know the secret names of God.”

Their elbows bent and they drew closer to each other, then closer still. She kissed him, long and passionately, pushing against him as if with a driving need, only separating when it seemed evident any further continuation might lead to an encounter that would delay her plans.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you return,” she said, her meaning unmistakable.

“I can’t wait,” he said breathlessly, turning toward the door.

“Darling!”

“Yes?”

She smiled. “Don’t forget your knife.” She held it out to him.

He took it from her and turned back toward the door, his steps a fraction heavier than they had been before.

“Remember,” she said, calling as he headed toward his quarry. “This is the turning point. This is when we make our intentions unmistakable.” A thin smile spread across her face, invisible to him, but satisfying to her. “This is when we get to the heart of the matter.”

“HE’S LOSING IT,” Amelia pronounced, with a certainty that made my heart swell. “This was the killer’s sloppiest job yet.”

“How can you tell?” I asked, unable to come up with a more intelligent question, mostly focused on making sure my
s
sounds only had one syllable. “Especially after Halliwell screwed up the crime scene.”

“Talk to Tony. So far, we’ve come up with hair samples, fabric fuzz, blood not belonging to the victim—we think he cut himself when he was severing the leg—and epidermals that are almost certain to be good for a DNA match. This is a CSI feeding frenzy. If your killer had a record, we’d have him by the short and curlies.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“Evidently not. Still, surely we’ll find something we can trace back to him. There are more tire tracks outside and we have an eyewitness who thinks he saw the UNSUB’s car. Combine the two, make a call to VIR, and we should be able to significantly narrow the field. I need to get some of these samples back to the lab. Meet you back there after a bit to compare notes?”

“The sooner the better. Remember—this is the prime number day.”

“I haven’t forgotten. But take care of yourself, okay? These murders aren’t your fault. You’re a good person. We need you healthy.” I had to smile. Amelia was not only unpredictable—she was damn nice. And she loved me, even though I didn’t deserve it. “Tonight then.”

I heard Darcy bounding through the door of the dressing room, almost bowling over the plainclothes posted there. He was flying toward me in great sprawling leaps, like Nureyev on acid. “Suuuuuu-sannnn!”

Amelia watched him, more than faintly amused. “This is where I check out. Later, amigo.”

“Yeah. See you,” I said, just as Darcy all but crashed down at my feet.

“See you?” he said, his head tilted as if he were processing new input. “Where will you see her?”

“Umm, later tonight. At the crime lab.”