The Butcher (12 page)

Step two was moving the body someplace new. PJ couldn't stay inside the dumpster for too long, as garbage pickup was tomorrow morning. And there was no way the boys from Waste Management would not notice a dead body falling into the back of their dump truck. Matt had no choice but to come back for PJ after the restaurant closed. No way around it.

How the hell did you get rid of a dead body?

Fuck fuck fuck.

The back door to Adobo opened then, and one of the prep cooks appeared with a Hefty bag stuffed to the gills. Matt straightened up with
a start, his lower back screaming out in pain. Dammit, he'd strained his SI joint, which was the absolute last thing he needed.

“I got that, Wayne,” he said to the employee, stepping forward. He worked at keeping his posture erect so nothing would seem out of the ordinary. Risking a glance downward at himself, he was relieved to be reminded that he was wearing all black. If there was any blood on him, it didn't show. Another glance toward the spot where PJ had fallen confirmed that the rain had washed away most of the blood from the head wound. “I can toss it in, I'm already wet. If there's any more inside, go and grab it for me.”

More garbage bags would cover up the body until Matt could figure out what to do with it.

Wayne seemed surprised. “Thanks, Matt, appreciate it.” He looked around. “Where's PJ?”

“Sent him home,” Matt said, sounding every bit like the boss, his tone leaving no room for argument. “He wasn't in the mood to work after our conversation.”

The prep cook raised an eyebrow, but he didn't ask questions. Nodding, Wayne left for a moment, then returned with a few more bags of garbage. Then he closed the back door, leaving Matt alone in the alley once again.

Matt heaved the garbage bags into the dumpster one by one, back throbbing, hoping that PJ was totally buried. Then he pulled out his iPhone. Hesitating a moment—did he really want to make this call?—he found the number he was looking for.

His call was answered after two rings.

“Chief?” Matt said, his voice breaking. “I fucked up. I need your help.”

Jason's black Range Rover was sitting in her driveway when Sam pulled up, and she couldn't help but smile. He was waiting for her on the porch, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, dark blond hair comfortably mussed. She got out of her car and gave him a tired hug.

“Tacos?” Jason held up a brown paper bag covered in grease spots. “I also have a burrito and an enchilada if you can't make up your mind.”

Tacos from Taco Time weren't quite in the same league as Matt's empanadas, but Sam had to admit they smelled damn good.

“I also brought wine,” Jason said. “Tempranillo. I'm hoping it will make the food taste more expensive.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Fancy. Hey, I thought you were going to call first.”

“I did. Twice. When you didn't pick up I had visions of you lying beaten and bludgeoned to death on your kitchen floor, so I raced right over.”

“And stopped for fast food and alcohol along the way?”

“Well, yeah. If you weren't dead, I assumed you'd be hungry.”

Sam unlocked the front door. “As a matter of fact, I'm starving.”

*   *   *

They sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the television tuned to the college football game in the corner. The Puget Sound State University Steelheads were playing against the Washington State Cougars, and of course both Sam and Jason were rooting for PSSU since it was their alma mater. They enjoyed the Tempranillo with the Mexican takeout and promised each other they wouldn't say anything to Matt, a food snob who would have been horrified at the beautiful Spanish red wine being paired with cheap fast food.

“How'd it go tonight?” Jason asked, taking a bite of his taco. “Did Bonnie tell you a lot?”

“At first, yeah. But she stopped short of telling me the Butcher's real name.” Sam gave him the rundown of everything she and Bonnie talked about. “I was so close. It's frustrating.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “So she came all the way from Sacramento to Seattle to
not
give you the most important bit of information? How does that make sense?”

“After we talked, she said she changed her mind.” Sam sighed. The wine helped, but it wasn't enough. She was still aggravated. “Wish I knew why.”

“You think she's on the up-and-up?”

Sam gave her friend a look. “Of course I do. She knew my mom, knew all about the night she died. She even remembers Detective Sanchez.”

“Maybe you should call him, have her checked out, just in case.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“I think it's important that you find out what's in it for her.” Jason finished his taco. “Something about it seems fishy.”

Sam paused. “I wouldn't say fishy. It's more like she panicked. I get the feeling the Butcher is someone with some notoriety, someone who might be recognized. She mentioned seeing him on TV. She's scared, Jase.”

“Of what? Did you ask her?”

“Of course I asked her,” she snapped. “She wouldn't say. She's being incredibly selfish.” Her voice was getting loud, and she slapped the coffee table with her palm. It stung.

“Okay, okay.” Jason softened his tone. “I'm not trying to upset you. I just want you to be careful. You met her online, remember. She has a picture of herself with your mom. She believes your mom was murdered by a serial killer that everyone else thinks is dead. It's just . . . weird, you know?”

Sam rubbed her eyes. “I can't disagree with you there. It's fucked-up. I fully accept that.”

“Just remember that everyone—and I mean everyone—has an agenda. Including you. You want information about your mom, and you want to know who really killed her. What's Bonnie's agenda?”

“Justice? For Sarah? And herself?”

Jason smiled. “If it's that simple, and noble, then great. All I'm saying is, keep your eyes open. Be careful. Everybody wants something.”

“I will.” Sam sighed. She knew Jason was right. She couldn't deny that she'd been a bit blinded by her own awe in meeting someone who'd known her mother, but if she tried to look at the whole thing objectively, it
was
weird. Seriously, what were the chances of Bonnie finding her?

Or of her finding Bonnie?

Suddenly it didn't feel right at all. She made up her mind to call the Sixth Avenue Inn first thing in the morning. Sam needed answers, goddammit, and the woman was going to give them to her, whether she liked it or not.

“So how's
Butcherville
coming along?” Jason said, referring to her current work in progress.

“Right now, I'm stuck. I'm trying to illustrate the intense pressure Seattle PD was under to catch the Butcher, and how they might have wanted Rufus Wedge to be the killer a little
too
much. The evidence they had against him was purely circumstantial, and had Wedge not been killed, and had the case gone to trial, I can't imagine how they would have convicted him.” Sam sighed again. “But how I do present that as a theory without making the entire police department, including the Chief, look bad?”

“It's just your opinion, right? It's not like they're going to sue you for publishing it?”

“No. At least I don't think so. I'm not accusing them of corruption. It's more like . . . incompetence.” Sam grimaced. “God, even that sounds ugly.”

“Pretty sure Edward Shank would agree with you. Never known a man who hates to be wrong more than he does.”

“Except Matt.”

They shared a laugh.

“Maybe you should talk to the Chief about it,” Jason said, sipping his wine. “Tell him what Bonnie told you. See what he thinks.”

“Can't. I promised her I wouldn't say anything. She knows who the Chief is, knows I'm dating his grandson. She doesn't want me to reveal anything about the Butcher until she's ready to talk. I'm hoping she'll call Sanchez soon.”

“Let me ask you this.” Jason paused, and it was clear he was choosing his words carefully. “Say the two of you are right and it turns out that Seattle PD got the wrong guy, and that some other dude is the real Butcher. Have you thought about what would happen?”

“They'd put the real Butcher away. Assuming he's still alive. Bonnie seemed sure he was.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?” Sam said, confused.

Jason sat up straighter. “Think about it, Sam. If some other guy turns out to be the real Butcher, then that task force from Seattle PD shot and killed the wrong man. An
innocent
man. The task force that Edward Shank headed up.”

“Right,” Sam said with a shrug. “Of course it's going to be a shitstorm. It will be all over the news. But if that's the truth, then that's the truth, and the truth is all that matters. At least justice will be done.”

“Justice for who?” Jason asked. “For you and your mom, yes. For Bonnie. For all the other Butcher victims. But what about the Chief? He's a hero in this city. What would it do to him if it turned out he got the wrong guy?”

Sam shook her head. “I've already talked about this with Edward. It was a good shooting that night. Wedge was reaching for his pocket and they had no choice but to shoot him. The Chief doesn't seem worried.”

“Come on, be realistic. You and I both know it would tarnish his reputation. No hero kills an innocent man. He'd go down in flames like Lance Armstrong. Didn't you once tell me that there were citizens groups that were outraged that Wedge was killed before he had a chance to go to trial? They'd be screaming murder, and they'd be right.”

“The Chief will have to deal with it, Jase. That can't be my problem. And besides, Rufus Wedge wasn't exactly a fine, upstanding citizen.
He was a recluse with a long criminal history, even without being the Butcher.”

“Still, Wedge's family could sue for wrongful death or something.”

“Wedge had no family. He had no friends. Wedge had nobody.”

“Okay,” Jason said, changing gears. “What about how this affects Matt?”

“Why would it affect Matt?” Sam was losing her patience. “Matt has zero to do with any of this.”

“Think about it for a minute.” Jason's tone was earnest. “He's a local celebrity of sorts. Mostly that's because he runs a damn good restaurant and is a damn good chef, but let's be honest here. In almost every interview he's given, it's mentioned that he's the former chief of police of Seattle's grandson. He's never made that a secret, and you and I both know Matt plays up on that all the time because it's good publicity. He gets asked all the time why he didn't follow in his legendary grandfather's footsteps and go into law enforcement. And you know how he always responds to that question.”

Sam thought for a moment. “He says that he followed in his grandmother's footsteps instead. Because she was an amazing cook, and so his cooking is a tribute to her.”

“Right. But who Edward Shank is has only helped Matt's celebrity, Sam. And if it turns out that the Chief fucked up, and the whole thing turns into—like you just said—a shitstorm, how would that impact Matt? It would be awful publicity that his grandfather killed an innocent man. Our boy is about to become the biggest thing since Emeril.”

“So you're saying I shouldn't tell the truth so I can protect Matt?” Sam looked at her friend, aghast. “What about
my
truth?”

“I just want to make sure you know exactly what will happen here. It's one thing to discover that Edward Shank killed an innocent man. You're right, the Chief can handle it, and besides that, he's long retired
anyway. But it's a whole other thing how that information—which will be made very public—will affect Matt.”

“So what are you telling me to do?”

“I'm not telling you to do or not do anything,” Jason said. “I'm just trying to give you a dose of reality. I've known Matt for a long time. If you do anything—anything at all—that ends up affecting the success of his business, he'll never forgive you.”

“I thought you were on my side.” Sam's voice was tense.

Jason moved forward, close enough to reach out and touch Sam's leg. “I am always on your side, okay? And I always will be. That's why I want you to look at the whole picture. I know how much you love Matt. I know you want a life with him. But if you do anything that hurts him, I really don't see how you'd have a future together.”

That stung. Because Sam couldn't disagree. She'd known since the day she'd met Matt three years ago that his career meant more to him than anything, and deep down, she'd hoped that would change someday.

Well, someday was here, and nothing had changed. If anything, the more successful her boyfriend became, the more they grew apart.

“He's never going to give me what I want, is he?” Sam said, her voice heavy. “I'm an idiot, right?”

“Not if you're okay with how things are,” Jason said. “If you're okay with it, then okay. Keep doing what you're doing.”

“And if I'm not okay with it?”

Jason touched her cheek, his eyes kind. “Then you do what you have to do. But put yourself first. Because you know damn well that he does.”

There was nothing Sam could say to that, because she knew her friend was absolutely right.

The Chief seemed a little put out, though for the life of him Matt couldn't imagine how he could have disrupted his grandfather's evening. The man was eighty years old and living in an old folks' home, for Christ's sake. What else would he have to do at one in the morning? Yet the Chief had seemed distracted when Matt called him a few hours earlier, and it still seemed like something was on the old man's mind.

Adobo was closed and the staff had finally left for the night. Matt had managed to restrain himself from letting everyone go home early, because everybody knew that the boss would never do the cleanup himself. Best not to do anything that would arouse suspicion, and being too nice would certainly do that.