McAllister Justice Series Box Set Volume Two

by Reily Garrett

  Tonight’s activities should’ve been a simple matter to accomplish. The plan was ingenious and the timing fortuitous. Cooperation was too much to expect. Games and more games.

  Instead, he’d woken up in a muddy bed looking at the play of shadows through shifting branches overhead. The bitch knocked me unconscious. How the hell she managed that paralleled a great mystery.

  She’s a forensic doctor, for Chrissake. In his muddled mind, that equated to an overweight, self-entitled priss who expected underlings to fetch her coffee and blandly smile in the face of her disorganization.

  At the end of the day, it was worth the headache and a mouthful of blood. No doubt, he’d left evidence which would take time to erase. The drug he’d injected would keep her down until well after dawn. The other girl probably wouldn’t reach civilization until midday unless she stumbled upon a remote farmhouse.

  On his return, the drainage gulley had swollen to encompass the narrow shoulder, making his footing treacherous and slow. Every squishy step in the filthy runoff amplified his frustration.

  From the medical case in his trunk, he pulled the spinal tap tray, its contents containing everything necessary in a nice twenty- by four-inch kit. Now that he’d gone through hell to acquire his target, he didn’t feel guilty about using the beveled needle verses the pencil-point atraumatic style. She deserves a headache.

  The moon hung low on the horizon by the time he recovered the two cell phones from the Honda. Contacts of guys, movie theatres, and pizza joints detailed the girls’ activities. No doubt, he’d locate Remie’s cell in her vehicle or stuffed in a pocket once he located the bitch. Since their rendezvous point negated reception, he’d had no fear of either calling for help.

  No doubt, Remie had carved herself a small burrow or den in the side of a ravine or under a fallen tree, thinking herself safe. She may be good, but he was better. Fate had seen fit to bestow the honor of exceptional timing in his quest for medical advancement. He wouldn’t turn it down. In fact, he would utilize any advantage offered.

  The pathologist had an eventful if horrid fortnight in her future, followed by more despair and depression before attaining acceptance of her fate. Her choice of companions made her a target he intended to manipulate to his satisfaction. Her degree wouldn’t protect her, and neither would the police. He’d see to that eventuality too.

  The sandman label inherited early in his training induced a smile. He would catch the world asleep, then awaken the denizens with a new reality, one where his breakthrough eradicated the use of chemotherapy, insulin, and many other medications, along with organ transplants, segmental resections and manipulations. I’ll play God to all, benevolent philanthropist to the new world.

  The immediate area would become a crime scene, the outcome of which he’d planned to lead in a specific direction, a fitting result since the doctor probably gave him a concussion. His head throbbed with each step.

  Tromping through the wet forest again yielded the expected results, his target asleep and huddled under the sweeping branches of a pine tree. She hadn’t strayed far.

  When he finished his procedure and had given her another sedative for good measure, he hoisted her body over his shoulder. Relocating her would ensure confusion and misdirection. A calculated positioning with her lower extremities in water ensured minor hypothermia, a diversion from the unauthorized procedure just performed. The ER staff would admit her overnight for observation, also to his advantage in that he could identify her visitors and their significance.

  “You haven’t been in town long enough to have a boyfriend.” And that means fewer bodies to eliminate. There was only one person approved to give emotional support, the penultimate triumph. Anyone else would suffer an unfortunate accident. After months of scheming and preparation, all the pieces were falling into place. His destiny would arrive on the wings of scientific achievement and world renown.

  “Huh, you’re not as heavy as I expected.” They had met at a seminar years ago, where he’d tried to convince her to work with him. Her path, she’d said, was set and unmovable. “Now, I’ll control your destiny. How ironic you’re specialty is forensic pathology. When I lead you to figure out what I’ve done, I’ll also navigate your narrow path to hell.” The amount of pain, frustration, and horror lying in her future depended on the extent of her willingness to bend.

  Rejection had never set well in his gut.

  Harvesting the fat tissue to obtain her stem cells marred her skin more than he preferred, but their fight plus a few additional scars hid his unlawful extraction. The stem cells, the basic building blocks of his project, would prove insightful in the coming months. The side benefit of watching her futile attempts to ferret out his puzzle would provide years of entertainment.

  To keep internal bleeding and bruising to a minimum, he positioned her on her right side so the weight of her body applied pressure to the sight of the minor surgery. Hospital staff would probably overlook the other injection marks in lieu of her overall condition.

  Chapter Four

  “Jesus. What a mess.” The angle of the sun’s early rays reflecting off the vehicles ahead stabbed Billy’s eyes. Two vehicles sat side by side from a late-night rendezvous.

  “Welcome back to work, partner.” Royden studied the curls of low fog which gamboled in the surrounding woods, soon to be burned off by morning sunshine.

  After two weeks of paid leave, Billy deemed himself ready for anything—except the energetic urbanite forcing him to grind his molars on a regular basis. A grunt was the only recognition he could muster. The first day of enduring the partner from hell had made him long for a cabin with no humans within fifty miles. His imagination now took a more aggressive approach.

  “Hey, if you want to hang back, I can field this one.” Royden hesitated in stepping around a large puddle in the dirt road.

  “Nah, I got it. Nothing like jumping in with both feet.” An early morning storm had washed away tracks in the potholed path leading to the Honda and SUV. The smaller vehicle had three of its four doors standing open. Parking near the sharp curve and hoofing it to the scene allowed them time to assess the situation.

  “You were the one who told the captain you wanted to come back. I thought you’d be raring to go after your mysterious vacation.” Royden snapped on a nitrile glove. Small wonder that his rubber boots contained steel toes and steel plates in the arches. He nodded to a uniformed tech photographing the shoes of first responders, officers, and technicians. “Looks like somebody replaced your petroleum jelly with a mentholated topical ointment.”

  “Prick. I was hoping for a few days of normal, not to come back and be reassigned to homicide, albeit temporarily. And I have no idea why the captain thought a stint in this unit would be of benefit.”

  “Sometimes you catch the short straw. We’re a little short-handed with Nichols and Jackson out of action. I’d still like to know how you managed time off without using vacation or sick time. I’ve never seen the captain bow to the feds’ request. And how did you develop a federal fan base?” Five years younger, what Royden lacked in experience and sedate nature, he compensated with curiosity and persistence.

  “How the fuck did you find out those details? Why would you even care?”

  “Networking, my friend. It always pays. ‘Sides, I should know about my partner since my life might be in your hands one day.”

  “Then it sucks to be you. Have you noticed the way my eyes glaze over when you nag, city boy? That should be a lesson learned.” Billy smirked in the face of his colleague’s scow. Initial subtle questions about his recent ordeal had given way to direct inquiries. Futile wasted efforts.

  “For the record, I’m from Geramine, Texas, and it’s bad manners not to fill your partner in on significant events that could impact job performance. Not to mention the fact—though I may have recently moved to the city, I know plenty about women and wild animals.”

  “And you’d put them in the same category… why?” Hanging around
Royden proved an eye-opening experience.

  “Because of all the wildlife you find in the right woman.”

  “Oh, God. Do I even want to know?”

  “Sure. I could tell you all about the goodies stuffed in a tight pair of jeans; two calves, a beaver, an ass, lots of hares, and don’t forget the hidden fish.”

  “Jesus. Where do you come up with this shit?”

  “The best place—straight from the source.”

  “Well, Mr. PhD. Things happened before we were partners, so leave it alone, ‘kay? Why the fuck are you so chipper, anyway. You get up at five and run a half marathon?”

  “Fine. Discussion tabled for a later date. Just so you know, my degree doesn’t make us different. And before you crack another joke, PhD doesn’t stand for piled higher and deeper.”

  “No… it denotes one who is psychologically deficient.”

  Royden snorted. “As for exercise, well, let’s just say my girlfriend woke up yawning while I woke up with some major wood. Match made in heaven.”

  “Ugh. Thanks for the mental snapshot. Now I need a lobotomy.” Billy slipped on the muddy road. If the killer had approached the vehicles on foot, they would’ve had a decent hike. No visible prints meant they either hiked a way through the woods or walked the dirt road’s grassy center stripe. The storm would’ve provided cover.

  “Oh, you’ll appreciate this conversation at a later date. I assure you. Matter of fact, you’ll probably look back at it and howl.” His shit-eating grin held part sympathy and part practical joke.

  “I guess you’re gonna want me to meet her and your family over a bonding meal.” Not fucking likely. Billy had no interest in his partner’s personal life, but if he could find the source feeding pertinent personal information, he could squelch it. His partner’s sincerity was real, but recent trauma, both physical and psychological, kept anyone not related at arm’s length for the safety and wellbeing of all.

  “Ah, no. I don’t think we’re quite ready for that, yet. But I’ll keep that in mind and remind you of it later. Damn, I wish I could record this conversation. It’ll be hilarious.”

  “That was sarcasm, not a summons.” The closer they got to the crime scene, the more he prayed death came from anything other than injury to the head. Maybe he wasn’t ready to return to work after all. “You never explained why a PhD is working as a cop.”

  “I’ll answer your sideways question. When I was a kid, my older brother blundered between rival gangs. He wasn’t involved with either, but the crossfire killed him just the same.” Royden heaved a heavy sigh. “From then on, I wanted to be a cop but figured I’d need the education to do the job right. Maybe that thought’s a little presumptuous, but I didn’t figure that out until it was too late.”

  “No shit. We catch bad guys every day. You don’t need a degree to do it. Just common sense.”

  “The degree satisfied my parents in that I’d have something to fall back on in my later years.”

  Billy often thought about going back to school. The department would pay part of the tuition. Maybe that’s one reason he rubs me the wrong way.

  “I heard you always wore a suit. Looks like you’ve relaxed a bit. You don’t seem like the jeans type—so—I’m guessing your time off has something to do with the change along with all the nose jokes from your brothers?”

  “Fuck you.” Why’s he trying to distract me?

  “No thanks, but there’s a Twinkie in the car if you’re interested in tongue sex.”

  Billy arched a brow. “Mind on your work.” Billy nodded to the photographer. “Hey, Mason. You about finished?”

  “Just about. Help yourself.”

  Remnants of the prior night’s storm carried the tang of death on its breeze, an all too familiar scent. Billy’s cautious tracing over the bridge of his nose drew his partner’s attention.

  “You in pain?”

  “No.” A long sigh feathered his hair from his forehead. He wasn’t about to explain his need for normal. “Time to go to work.” To delay would draw his partner’s curiosity and more questions he refused to answer.

  Billy approached the driver’s door and peered at the victim slumped to the side. “Care to SWAG what happened here? Bleed out from the neck wound was quick if not painless.” A small respite. Suspended in the remote recess of his imagination, Billy saw himself dead at the hands of a lunatic, different MO but the same end result.

  “The wild-ass guess, I can give. Scientific? Not so sure. I’m thinking the killer was seriously pissed. He nearly decapitated her, which takes someone very strong or juiced.” The younger detective poked his head through the passenger-side door.

  Long hanks of caramel curls screened details of the victim’s face until a gust of wind bared sightless green eyes and a slack jaw. Even in death, the dimpled cheeks and heart-shaped face retained a wholesome quality in contrast with the method of her demise.

  “Could’ve been a romantic rendezvous gone wrong. Then the killer opens the other doors to add a bit of confusion.” Billy frowned. “But I don’t think so. There’s dirt on the back floorboard, maybe from the drive of the SUV?”

  “There’s none on the front passenger floor. That plus the front and back passenger doors left open means there might be more witnesses somewhere. But why didn’t they come back and take the SUV?” Pointing to the dried crimson rivulet on the rubber mat on his side, Royden added, “I’m thinking there were two people in the front. Maybe the back passenger does the driver, then sets out after the third.”

  “Check the registration of the Explorer. Sounds plausible, but the person sitting in back wasn’t the killer. The angle’s all wrong.” Billy’s visual search of the back seat provided no clue as to the occupant’s identity or gender.

  Royden circled to the passenger’s side of the SUV and retrieved the registration card. “The Explorer’s registered to… R something Tallin from Baltimore, Maryland, age twenty-nine. Hell, I can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “You’re the one with the degree. Who in the fuck sits around and thinks of weird names?” Billy shook his head.

  “No tracks, so we don’t know if the killer worked in tandem or alone. Maybe there were two dirtbags. The driver of the SUV planned a surprise with his partner parked farther away but something went wrong.”

  “The area is too remote for the killer to happen upon them by accident. He knew exactly where they were, which means he’s organized and prepared. Unless he followed them. You see a phone over there?” Billy stepped back and surveyed the surroundings as Royden approached the Honda.

  “No, none.” Royden pointed to the dried blood on the dash. “Something else doesn’t fit. Look at the spray pattern. It’s interrupted in two spots.”

  “Yeah, something was there, got splattered then removed. He didn’t rape her, or the spray would’ve been smeared. So why is her shirt rucked up?” Billy crouched to inspect what he could see of the victim’s flank and back. “And who picked up the items—the witness or the killer?”

  “Considering the blood here,” Royden pointed to the passenger’s floor mat. “If we assume the front passenger was cut also, I doubt he or she would try for whatever was there, not after seeing the girl sliced.”

  “Looks like the vic’s got…pinpoint marks on her flank. It’s weird.”

  “Weird, how?” Royden stopped to give his full attention.

  “Because they’re on her side.” Billy gestured toward the glove box. “Check for registration. I don’t see a purse. Hell, kids this age carry a wallet instead, don’t they?”

  Royden used a sheathed hand to pop the glove compartment. “Registration’s under the driver’s manual. It’s registered to—Carl and Florence Bowdin, Portland. Probably her parents.”

  “What’s that under her hand?” Unwilling to disturb the scene, Billy pointed to the small bag lodged in the victim’s curled fingers. The black cloth seemed more appropriate for a jeweler’s case than evidence at a murder scene. Knotted, braided, g
old cord kept the contents secure. “Looks like a designer bag for something special, but not kept in a box.”

  “You think this was drug related?” Royden paused as two vehicles pulled to a stop a short distance away. “Medical examiner’s here.”

  “I’m thinking the witness on the passenger side got away and made the anonymous call. Maybe she knew the victim was into something shady and wanted to avoid becoming part of the investigation. I’ll call Matt and tell him to get his dog out here. We need to find any witnesses before the killer tracks them down, if he hasn’t already.”

  Chapter Five

  “I thought you were taking another few days off.” Matt McAllister opened the back door of his canine unit to let Damien hop down.

  “Got tired of listening to the neighbors bumping uglies.” Billy’s mood equaled one caffeine jolt short of a good morning.

  “So—move out of the duplex and go back to country living. You know it’s the only place you’ll find peace.” With a pointed nod to Billy’s waistline, he added, “Looks like the dryer made your clothes shrink during vacation.” The leash closed with a snick on the dog’s collar. “Let’s go, boy.” Damien stood, alert and ready with ears swiveling back and forth.

  “No, that was the refrigerator.” Royden held his hand down for the dog to sniff.

  Billy flipped his partner the bird. “You know Royden? Captain, in his infinite wisdom, decided I needed a babysitter, one without jaws, claws, or endoscopes.” The reference induced a grimace from his older brother.

  “Hi, Royden. Sorry the captain saddled you with the grouch. He’s not always like this.”

  “Call me Roy.” The younger detective exchanged a frown for a handshake. “Endoscope. That’s the device used to look down someone’s throat… or up their nose.” Turning to Billy, he continued the line of questioning. “Care to explain?”

  “Done your homework, have you?” Billy contemplated how Royden’s face would look with a dark purple shiner.