The Botanist (13 page)

“Can you find out?”

Alex sighed. “Yeah, I
can . . .”

“You don’t want to?”

“If I call my parents and start asking questions about that, they’re going to know something is wrong.”

“You haven’t told your parents about all of this yet?” Cody burst out.

Alex chuckled under her breath. Yeah, lots of work getting done over there.

Tom glared at Cody, but Cody ignored him.

“You really ought to have a support system, Alex,” he said.

She gave him—all of them, really—her best pleading look. “I’ll tell them. I promise. But my dad just got back into the country, and my mom just had hip replacement surgery. They don’t need this kind of stress. I would just like to have more answers for them first.”

“Alex.” Tom threw another annoyed look Cody’s way. “Was there an investigation into where you came from?”

“Yes. Search parties went out on the highway, apparently, looking for my family. I think they were afraid I might have wandered away from an accident or something. They never found anything. They figured my parents were either junkies and didn’t even realize I was gone, or that I was deliberately abandoned. How else would I have gotten out there?”

Tom nodded. “As I said, I think there’s a good chance that this was random. You said it yourself: your assailant is psychotic. His attention to your bracelet may be no more than thinking it was pretty and wanting it, and that’s why he decided to attack you.”

“But then why let me go the first time?”

“Who knows? Psycho, remember? Now, adoption records are sealed, but as you were an abandonment case, I don’t see that it makes any difference. I’ll try to dig up the old police report, if you can just supply me with the date?”

Alex nodded. “Sure.”

“Good. That will tell where you were found and some other details. That way you won’t have to bring your folks into it. We’ll go from there.”

Chapter 22

Cody tried not to sigh as he put the receiver down onto the ancient phone’s base. “Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re not sure if they can get it for us today.”

“What?” It was a bit muffled. The next instant Tom appeared from around the corner, and Cody understood why. Tom’s lips were clamped around a donut and a cup of some steaming drink was balanced precariously atop a stack of files he was carrying.

Tom made it to his desk and managed to set the files and the Styrofoam cup down safely. Only then did he remove the donut from his mouth. It came away with a huge, smile-shaped bite missing. “Why not?” Tom asked around the mouthful of sugar.

“The secretary says they’re really busy. She’s got someone working on it, though. If they can’t get it to us today, they’ll fax it over first thing tomorrow.”

Tom grumbled under his breath about computer databases and email, but Cody stopped listening. He was combing through reports: CSI reports, search and rescue reports, environmental reports. Every report under the sun that might have something, even obliquely, to do with the Shakespeare case had made its way to his desk this morning. He had to read and retain them all. He had a long evening ahead of him.

Alex had been at the station for most of the morning. Around noon Shaffer had taken her to the safe house. Cody knew it well. It was one of only two the police department had within the city limits. It was the larger, nicer one, so they used it first, by default. He knew she’d be comfortable there.

With a sigh he scanned a report about tire treads. It confirmed what Alex had already told them: the tread belonged to the same kind of tire that was used on squad cars in the eighties. They were hard to find nowadays, but not impossible.

There were so many things that bothered Cody about this case, aside from the obvious. Everything they had was discontinuous—bits and pieces of information, but nothing coherent. They had leads; they had bodies; they had a phantom killer somewhere out in the desert, but they didn’t know where to start looking for him. Just random pieces of a puzzle they didn’t even realize they were constructing until a few days ago.

Cody picked up yet another report and skimmed it. His eyes burned from reading so many pages, but he plowed on, hoping something would strike a chord or point to a lead.

This one was about the land the mass grave was on. The last private owner of that land was named Alastair Landes, but he’d died in the eighties. The county had liquidated Landes’ ranch to pay the back taxes, which generally meant the man had died without leaving any legal instructions or heirs to take on his debts.

Cody didn’t see how that would help the investigation. The land was now just another plot of undeveloped public desert. Anyone could have gone out there, chosen a spot, and started digging graves. With a sigh, he put the report down and picked up another. There was no end in sight.

A voice, strangely high-pitched for the back office, cleared its throat, and Cody looked up to see Melissa standing in the doorway.

“Hi, Cody. Rose said I could come back. I hope that’s okay.”

Cody was instantly on his feet, mind searching for why she was there. Had he told her to come? Had they planned a date he’d forgotten?

“Melissa. What . . . are you doing here? Did I forget something?”

“No, nothing like that.” She glanced nervously at the other detectives and ran a hand through her dark brown hair. “I just wanted to talk to you. I’ve been calling you for three days and couldn’t get you on the phone. I even left a few voicemails.”

Cody sighed.
“Sorry about that. My phone’s been ringing off the hook for two days. I’m sure I haven’t gotten to all of my messages. Actually, I don’t think I’ve gotten to
any
of them. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Melissa gave him an understanding smile. Cody almost asked her to have a seat, but thought better of it. Tom and Court were both studiously reading reports, but Cody was sure their ears had never been more open than at this moment. Frank didn’t even bother trying to look busy. He grinned at Cody and gave Melissa a coy little wave.

“Why don’t we walk?” Cody said.

Melissa nodded.

They walked out the back door and toward the parking lot to avoid the press. It was only 5:30, but even the reporters were learning that Mt. Dessicate more or less settled down with the sun, and most of them went to their hotels about that time. If Cody tried to walk past the cameras with Melissa, they’d mob her for information as much as they would him.

Cody didn’t speak until they stood beside her light green sedan in the otherwise deserted parking lot.

“I’m sorry, Melissa. I don’t mean to be distant. It’s just that . . . this case is . . .”

“Huge. I know, Cody. I’ve been glued to the TV just like everyone else. I can see how they have you running around. I’m not angry. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Are you?”

Cody sighed, thinking about his state of okay-ness for the first time since this all began. “I’m exhausted. And really busy. And stressed out. I’ve never run an investigation of this magnitude before. It’s . . . overwhelming. But, it is what it is. It’s work. Yeah, I guess I’m okay. I’m handling it.”

Melissa nodded. She unlocked her car with the keyless entry and ducked into the backseat, re-emerging with a paper bag.

“I brought you some food. I’m sure you’re eating all kinds of nutritious take out, so…”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

“Thanks.” He knew he ought to leave it at that, but he couldn’t. The truth was that he hadn’t even thought about Melissa in days, and that might not change for a while, not until the case cooled down a bit. And that wasn’t fair to her. “Melissa, listen. I don’t mean this to sound like I want to break up, because I don’t—”

“I don’t think we’ve been together long enough to actually ‘break up,’ Cody.”

A small sedan pulled into the parking lot of the station. Cody looked over, but didn’t recognize the driver, so he turned his attention back to Melissa. The driver exited the car and went into the station.

“Okay, but I don’t want you to think I’m ignoring you. I don’t mean to, but it may feel like that for a while. This case has me going in circles. It’s taking up every waking minute and . . . I don’t think I can do anything else right now.”

The sound of the station door opening and closing came from behind him, but Cody barely registered it. Melissa stared at him for several seconds before nodding. “You know, the semester is almost over for me, which means finals are coming up. I have way too much to do right now, too. Maybe it would be a good idea for both of us to put this on the backburner and let our professional lives take over for the time being. When things get easier, we’ll see where we are.”

Cody smiled. Melissa was getting her Master’s degree. Despite not working, being a full time student did keep her very busy. Still, she was being entirely too reasonable, and he felt guilty. “You’re too good to me, Melissa.”

She grinned and stepped closer to him. “Only because it works for me, too. But I intend to remind you of that the next time you try to blow me off.”

He opened his mouth to object but she put a finger to his lips, then went up on her tip toes to kiss him lightly on the mouth. He returned the slight pressure, and then she turned and got into her car.

She rolled down the window. “Cody?” She buckled her belt as she spoke. “Take care of yourself. I get that you’re busy. Trust me, I know a thing or two about pulling an all-nighter, but you aren’t going to catch a killer smart enough to say off the cops’ radar for so long on two hours’ sleep and a ninety-nine cent chicken nuggets meal.”

He smiled. “I’ll take care of myself. I promise. You do the same.”

She nodded and he stepped back as she pulled forward. Just before pulling out of the lot, her hand appeared out the window and she twiddled her fingers at him. He raised an arm in farewell. Then she was gone.

A rumble sounded behind him as a deep voice cleared its throat. Cody turned to see a man he didn’t know—the same one who’d pulled into the station two minutes ago—standing a few feet away. The man was tall, broad shouldered, but lean at the waist. He had middle-aged jowls, deep crow’s feet around his eyes, and salt-and-pepper hair and mustache.

“Forgive me,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but are you Cody Oliver?”

“That’s me.”

The man nodded. “I spoke to your captain and he said you were the lead detective on the case. I have some information for you, about the case. I’d really like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“Who are you?”

The man stuck his hand out. “I’m Lars Stieger, PI I’ve been digging through county records for the last few days. There are some things I think you should hear.”

“PI, huh? And you’re investigating
this
case? The Botanist?”

Stieger spread his hands. “I’m not here to step on any toes. Will you allow me to explain?”

Cody nodded, then looked from the bench to the station. “You wanna go inside so I can take an official statement?”

“I’m okay with the evening air if you are.”

They walked to an abandoned bus bench and sat down. “I have a client up north,” Stieger said, shifting a thick file he was holding to his other hand so he could set it beside him on the bench. “Name of Claire Pert. Her daughter disappeared almost ten years ago.”

“You think she was one of the Botanist’s victims?”

“It’s possible. I’m retired from the SLPD, Detective. Thirty years on the job. I started doing consultations after that, and eventually started doing my own PI work. Mrs. Pert hired me ten years ago to find her daughter. Daughter’s name was Miranda. She was nineteen.”

“Cold case?”

“Not much of a case at all, actually. The girl disappeared while on a road trip, impossible to say exactly where. I don’t have to tell you that no one’s going to spend time and resources on a case like that, especially if they don’t know for sure that she went missing in their jurisdiction. Private investigation was the only avenue Claire had available to her.”

Cody nodded.

“Miranda called her mother about two hours south of here. That was the last anyone heard of her. I was actually here a decade ago. I poked around, asked some questions, but no one had heard of her and not a single person recognized the picture. I could only conclude that she’d driven through, probably didn’t even stop for gas. So, I moved on. Never found any sign of her. Eventually I had to change her status to ‘presumed dead.’ As soon as the discovery of the mass grave hit the airwaves, Claire called me, begging me to come down here and find out if Miranda was one of the victims.”

“They haven’t released the names yet, have they?” Cody asked.

“No, not yet. Maybe not for another week. As you can see, I had some time to kill. I thought of something—just a curiosity, really—but working beats waiting around for MEs to release their reports any day. Besides, that way I could tell Claire that I was working on something.”

Cody nodded, understanding. “What did you expect to find in the county records?”

“I wondered if anyone had looked into the history of the land out there. Sickos of this caliber tend to exist in their own warped universes. It was a long shot, but I thought maybe your guy had ties to the land once upon a time.”

“It’s a good idea,” Cody agreed. “And we did some cursory checking on the land, but it hasn’t been privately owned in decades.”

“True.” Steiger reached for his file. “But I still found some interesting things.”

Cody leaned forward.

“The land out there was last sold as a twenty acre parcel in 1946 to a man, name of Alastair Landes. He put down roots and started a ranch.”

“Cattle?”

“Sheep and horses. Two years later he married a local girl, but their first son didn’t come along until nine years later, in 1957. His name was Jonathin.”

Stieger kept talking, but Cody fixated on the name. Something about it was standing out to him. Jonathon. Jonathon. Jo
nath
on.”

“Detective, are you following me?”

“Sorry. That name, Jonathon Landes, is it spelled traditionally?”

“Uh, no actually, the end of ‘Jonathin’ has an
i
instead of an
o
.”

“Do you have a pen and paper I could use for a minute?”

“Sure.” Stieger pulled scratch paper out of his file and a pen from his shirt pocket. “You want me to write the name down for you?”

“Would you?”

Stieger did, and then handed Cody the paper and pen.

Jonathin Landes. Jonathin Landes. Daniel Nath Jones.

Cody started crossing out letters.

J O
N A T H I N
L A N D
E S

D A N I E L N A T H J O N E S

The problem was that there were two
e’s
in Daniel Nath Jones and only one in Jonathin Landes.

“Did this Jonathin Landes have a middle name?”

“Uh,” Stieger rifled through his file. “Edgar.”

Ah. There it was: middle initial
e.

Stieger watched with interest but cocked an eyebrow when Cody was finished. “What is it, Detective?”

Cody glanced up. As Stieger wasn’t a working cop, Cody probably shouldn’t give him information on the case, but this man had given him a viable lead concerning Alex’s involvement in it. Cody made a decision.

“A would-be victim has a certain piece of jewelry that the killer keeps fixating on. The creator of the jewelry line is named Daniel Nath Jones, but we’ve been unable to find any information on this man. His name is an anagram for Jonathin E. Landes.”

Stieger’s eyebrows rose steadily as Cody talked. “Really?”

“Does that mean something to you?”

“Not particularly, but it’s interesting. Let me tell you the rest of what I’ve found.”

“So Jonathin was born and Alastair’s wife died in childbirth, but after that, there are no records for Jonathin. He never bought or held property in the county. No marriage certificate, no birth certificates for further Landes descendants. When Alastair died, his land went unclaimed until the county absorbed it.”