Inmate 1577

31

Vail and Dixon arrived at the crime scene. The sun was bidding a quick farewell, dipping below the high-rises and bouncing a blood-orange reflection off the windows of the nearby buildings.

Dixon double-parked her Ford and they were met at the curb by the first-on-scene officer. Vail immediately shivered from the chilled air that blew against her the moment she stepped from the vehicle. She held up her creds and Dixon her badge.

“It’s still too shiny,” Vail quipped.

“Doesn’t bother me. What matters is what’s in here,” Dixon said, pointing to her head. “Deal with it.”

“Burden or Friedberg get here yet?” Vail asked, wrapping her hands around her torso.

“Inspector Burden’s en route,” the officer said.

“What’ve we got?”

“Some old woman. Pretty badly beat up.”

“How bad?” Dixon asked.

“Bad enough. She’s dead.”

“Hey. Vail!”

Vail turned and saw Clay Allman jogging toward them. His bushy hair was in flyaway mode, the wind whipping it in all directions as he ran.

“Congratulations. You almost made it here before we did.”

“I was on my way to Bryant when I heard the call over the scanner. I wanted to find out why you guys kept things from me.”

“It’s not our job to feed you information,” Vail said. “You know that.”

“Except when it fits your needs. A favor here, a favor there.”

Dixon wrapped her sweater tighter around her body. “There are times when we need your cooperation. For the greater good. It’s all about catching these assholes, Clay. It’s not doing us any favors. We get paid whether we catch the bad guys or not.”

Allman poked at his wire-framed glasses and slid them up his nose. “So what was up with that piece in the Register?”

“Yeah,” Vail said, “that’s what we’d like to know.”

“You helped out Scheer, but you won’t help me? How’s that helping the greater good?”

“We don’t owe you any explanations,” Dixon said.

Allman looked off, shaking his head. “I expected more of Burden. He’s a stand-up guy. For him to screw me like that-”

“He didn’t,” Vail said. “Scheer didn’t get his info from us.”

“Bullshit,” Allman said, his gaze boring into Vail’s. “Where else was a guy like Stephen Scheer gonna get stuff like that? He’s a hack.”

A car pulling up behind Allman caught Vail’s eye. “You don’t believe me, ask Burden.” She nodded at the Taurus.

Allman swiveled his body and moved toward Burden as he got out of the car. “I saw Scheer’s article.”

Burden sidestepped his open car door, then slammed it shut behind him. “What’s the deal? Is this one of our vics?”

“Just got here,” Vail said. “Where’s Robert?”

“Following up with those ice cream vendors. He said it looks like a dead end, but he’s crossing his t’s. If he wraps it up soon, he’ll stop by. But I don’t think he’s too eager to see another brutalized elderly woman.”

Who is?

“You gonna help me out here, or is Stephen Scheer your new best bud?” Allman stood at the edge of the sidewalk, hands on hips.

Burden stepped onto the curb, placed a palm on Allman’s shoulder, and said, “Clay. C’mon, man. Are we really doing this? We had nothing to do with Scheer’s story.”

Allman chewed on his cheek, then nodded. “So who’s his source?”

“I was hoping you could tell us. So far we’ve hit a wall. What he got, he never should’ve gotten.”

Vail harrumphed. That’s an understatement. “It could end up costing lives. So if you’ve got any idea who he might be speaking to-”

“If I had any idea who he’s talking to, believe me, Agent Vail, I’d be talking to them, too. But I’ve got no goddamn clue. I assumed it was you people.”

“Enough of this,” Dixon said. “We’ve got a victim in there waiting for us.”

“Hang out here,” Burden said to Allman, pointing at the spot as he backed away. “I’ll give you a buzz when you can come in.”

“I left you something at your office,” Allman said. “More articles and information about cases that I think could be related.”

“Thanks,” Burden said.

“Just remember,” Allman said, “I’ll be standing out here in the cold. Waiting.”

Vail glanced back at Allman. I’ll break out the freaking violins.

AFTER SLIPPING BOOTIES ONTO THEIR shoes, they ascended the steps to the second-floor bedroom. A sitting room at the top of the stairs contained a stout oak rolltop desk, bearing a PC and an oversize 25-inch LCD monitor that was asleep.

They walked into the bedroom and stood there, staring at the bed.

This is not good.

“What the hell is this,” Burden said.

Vail stepped closer to the body. It was an elderly woman, with scraggly steel-wool hair that was matted with blood. Her face had been beaten, almost crushed from the force of the blows. And the behaviors they had seen all too many times were present: The woman had been sodomized with an umbrella. And her blouse had been pulled up to the level of her chin.

“It looks like an angrier attack,” Dixon said. “Karen?”

“It does look that way. Some psychopaths enjoy imparting pain and damage to the victim. But he hadn’t previously beaten their faces like this. Not nearly this bad. At first blush, it seems like he’s pissed off.”

“Because of Scheer’s article?” Burden asked.

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Vail said. “And that’s why we need to control what we release to the media. When something like this happens, we have no idea what’s driving what. Is the offender steering the ship, or are we?” She tilted her head, sizing up the trauma, then said. “Yes, if I had to guess, and that’s what I have to do here, I’d say it’s because of the article. That was a pretty bad insult to his ego. And the timing is too coincidental. This looks like a fresh vic, and Scheer’s article came out hours ago. Yeah. Related.”

Burden pulled three surgical gloves from his pocket and handed two to Vail and Dixon.

“Where’s the key?” Dixon asked as she inserted her hand into the baby blue rubberized material.

They twisted and bent, peered and knelt, taking care not to disturb it before the criminalist had a chance to document the scene.

“Found it,” Burden said, pointing to a spot beneath the victim’s torso.

Dixon held her iPhone in front of it and snapped off a couple of photos from different angles.

Burden extracted the key and held it up. “Not the same.”

Vail tilted her head, appraising it. “Just a plain brass key. Kwikset. One in…what, millions? Not the specialized shape like the other ones.”

“So…what?” Burden asked. “He ran out of the other kind?”

Or it’s a different killer. The violence to the face. A different key. Is this a copycat who went by what’s in that Register article? Or is it the same asshole, just fucking with us, trying to make me do what I’m doing now. Running in circles and getting nowhere…

“Karen.” Dixon waved a hand in front of Vail’s face. “Hello, Dixon to Vail. Over.”

Vail refocused her eyes. “Sorry. Running it through my brain.”

“Care to share?” Burden asked. “Usually works better that way.”

“Telling people what pops into my head sometimes gets me into trouble.”

Dixon chuckled. “No argument there.”

Vail took the key in her gloved palm and looked at it. “It’s possible this is a copycat. I wanna go back through Scheer’s article and see exactly what details he disclosed. If this offender painted by numbers based on what Scheer described, the chances of this being a different scumbag go up. Could be he’s the same guy, trying to throw us off. Playing with us.”

Burden craned his neck and studied a letter laying on the dresser. “Just a guess, but I think our vic is Roberta Strayhan.”

“Hey, you guys up here?” A voice from the hallway.

“In the bedroom,” Burden said.

Rex Jackson walked in with his kit. He noticed the key in Vail’s hand. “Couldn’t you have waited? You’re making my job harder.”

Vail handed Jackson the evidence. “I’d apologize, but I don’t want to be disingenuous.”

Jackson chuckled a humorless laugh. “You’re a piece of work.”

“Hey,” Dixon said. “You’re getting a more civil, diplomatic Karen Vail. A few months ago, her response wouldn’t have been so nice.”

“Thanks,” Vail said. I think.

Jackson pulled his camera from its bag. “I guess I should feel fortunate. But I don’t.”

Burden took a long look around the room, and then said, “Clay Allman’s downstairs waiting to come up. How long?”

Jackson thumbed a dial on his Nikon. “Give me thirty. And make sure he’s escorted, I don’t wanna be responsible testifying about what he did or didn’t see.”

As Jackson began snapping photos, Burden, Dixon, and Vail left the room and let him work his magic. They exited the building and joined Clay Allman by the curb, right where they had left him, hands in his jeans pockets and flexing his legs in place. The temperature had dropped a few degrees and dusk had crept in.

“You didn’t have to stay in the exact spot,” Burden said. “I was only kidding.”

Allman spread his arms. “I aim to please.”

“My mother had a sign like that in the bathroom,” Vail said. “Over the toilet. I aim to please, so please aim.”

“Sounds like you had a strange childhood,” Dixon said.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Give it another thirty,” Burden said to Allman, “then head on up with Sanchez. Sanchez,” he called to the cop standing at the building entrance. “Thirty minutes, take Clay Allman up to the crime scene. And don’t leave his side.”

Sanchez raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“How about you come by after, walk us through those cases you dropped off.”

Allman consulted his watch. “I’ve gotta file a story, but I can come by tomorrow morning, spend a little time.” He backed away, then said, “Good?”

“That’ll work,” Burden said.

“If it isn’t my new favorite asshole,” Vail said.

Pulling up to the curb was Stephen Scheer. He shoved the gearshift to its endpoint, and then got out of his Honda.

Burden extended an arm to block Vail’s path. “I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, Karen. Leave him alone. Let me handle this.”

Vail kept her mouth closed, but the firm set of her jaw and narrowed eyes spoke volumes.

Dixon came up beside Vail. “Think he’s gonna look at us?”

“I wouldn’t invite eye contact if I was him.”

“Inspector,” Scheer said, doing as Dixon had predicted and behaving as if the two women were not present. “I’m told you’ve got a new body.”

“I can’t confirm or deny,” Burden said.

Scheer’s gaze flicked over to Allman, who was standing thirty feet away, beside Officer Sanchez.

“So is that how this is going to be? Silent treatment and a barrage of ‘no comments’?”

Burden cocked his head. “What do you want me to do? You’ve put us in a very, very tough spot. But yeah, there’s a new body. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“And get this, dickhead,” Vail said. “Your bullshit article might be responsible for her death. Print that.”

“Don’t give me that,” Scheer said.

“We warned you,” Dixon said. “Did you think we were bullshitting you?”

Allman was standing by the doorway, his chin tipped back, watching the scene play out. Vail figured he must be enjoying it, though he displayed no overt signs that it brought him any pleasure.

“You still have a chance to make this right,” Dixon said.

“It’s beyond fixing,” Vail said. “But you can prevent the guilt from keeping you up at night. Tell us where you got that info. Who’s your source?”

Scheer poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He looked at Allman and held his gaze, then turned and stormed back to his car. A moment later, he burned rubber away from the scene.

Vail watched him peel away and began to wonder if they would ever learn who was sabotaging their case. If he didn’t reveal himself soon, she was going to have to quit being so nice and do more than merely ruffle a few feathers.