by Alex Kava
Next to these containers were the cleaning supplies she remembered seeing the first day. And the stack of paper towels. Although they were packaged separately, it looked like they all had the same pink and yellow pattern.
Again, she took photos. Then she grabbed one of the rolls and tucked it under her arm.
She took more photos as she crisscrossed through the maze. Almost back to the door she stopped in front of a five-gallon bucket. It was one of at least a dozen scattered among the rubble. But this one was labeled: TISSUE SAMPLES.
Maggie put down the roll of paper towels and pocketed her phone. She dug out gloves from her pocket and grabbed the lid. It was on tight. She glanced around and found a metal bar that may have belonged to a shelf at one time. The screws were still attached. It fit perfectly between the lid and bucket. She pried one side then the other. A third time and the lid popped.
The smell of formaldehyde hit her like a fist. She jerked back almost losing her balance and catching herself before she tumbled into a couple of garbage bags.
Unlike some of the other containers, this bucket had no punctures that Maggie could see. So whatever was inside, had most likely been preserved.
She joggled the lid until it came completely free. Then she held her breath and lifted it up.
Maggie was prepared to see tissue samples. Or maybe another body organ. She was not prepared to see the woman’s head facing directly up at her.
Chapter 53
Maggie waited in her rental vehicle for Vickie and Escambia County Sheriff Clayton. Storage Unit B12 was now a possible crime scene.
She had placed the lid back on the bucket, tucked the roll of paper towels under her arm and carefully made her way out, closing the garage door behind her. Now she sat with the air conditioning blasting on her, hoping the smell of formaldehyde would leave her nostrils. She wanted to think of anything other than the woman’s last look of horror; eyes wide open.
She pulled out her cell phone and called Agent Alonzo. The package of paper towels sat on the passenger seat.
“Hey Maggie,” he answered in a singsong greeting. “Good timing.”
“I hope that means you have something for me.”
“Hold on. I’m texting you the driver’s license photo of Hank’s owner.”
Her phone pinged and she brought up the image. Sometimes driver’s license photos were old or quirky and difficult to use for any identification purposes. She enlarged the image, and though it was grainy, there was no doubt in her mind that this was John Doe #1. This was Hank’s owner, John Lockett from Richmond, Virginia.
“That’s our victim,” she told Alonzo.
“I’m getting his vehicle information, and I’ll put out a BOLO for it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the killer is cocky enough to be driving it. By this afternoon I should be able to tell you any credit card activity. It might tell us what hotel he stayed at or any restaurants he visited. You didn’t find a cell phone?”
“No. It’s possible it’s still lost in the forest somewhere or maybe where he was shot.”
“His phone number was with his contact information,” Alonzo said. “That’s all I need. I’ll see if it’s still on. Could be still in his car.”
“Can you tell me anything about him? Why he was here? Does he have family or friends in the area?”
“Seems like a pretty ordinary guy. I haven’t found much. No arrests. No warrants. Not even a parking ticket. He was a bartender for a classy place that makes them wear shirts and ties. I got that from his Facebook page. He doesn’t have much on there, but I’ve downloaded a few recent photos. He has two of him with his dog and a blond woman. Someone named Taylor. I’ll text those to you in a little bit.”
“A bartender from Richmond, Virginia,” Maggie said. “How did he end up getting murdered almost a thousand miles away by a serial killer?”
“You said the dog survived?”
“So far, yes.”
“If only he could tell you what happened. It would make it so much easier.”
Maggie thought about that. Ryder certainly believed in his dogs more than he did investigators. Was there a way that Hank could tell them who killed his owner?
“So did you find anything at all in that storage unit?” Alonzo asked. “You know the actual reason you went down to Pensacola? Has Joe Black struck again?”
“Someone definitely started a strange collection. See if you can find out anything about a company called UnitedBio. One word with a capital B on bio. I’m guessing it provides tissue samples and assorted organs for research. I’ll send you over a photo of a label I found on one of the containers. Have you been able to find out anything more about the original lessee of this unit?”
“You’d think it would be simple, but this storage company’s been sold and bought in the last several years. The previous owners weren’t exactly organized. Current owner told me they found rental agreements stacked in bank boxes. Some of them had water damage from a leaky roof. Nothing was stored on computer. The new owner basically started digital files and contacts from scratch.
“Unit B12 began as a month-to-month rental paid in cash. It doesn’t look like there was any written contract. Just a phone number to contact. At some point the person paid cash in advance for two years. The phone number has been out of service for almost that long.”
“You can’t track it?”
“Oh, I did. It used to be a housekeeping number connected to a place called Recovery Gardens. Looks like it’s a drug addiction rehab facility located between Pensacola and Panama City.”
“Drug rehab?”
“Place looks upscale. The rooms look like hotel suites. Fancy grounds. Lots of gardens. Imagine that.”
“For the rich and famous?” she asked.
“No, they have some programs available for the less famous. Especially for veterans.”
“This doesn’t make sense. I haven’t seen anything in this storage unit that looks like it came from a drug rehab facility. Or any drug related items.”
“So what is in there?” Alonzo asked.
“Specimen jars, containers of all shapes and sizes. A few are laboratory grade. Most of them are plastic household stuff that you’d use to store leftovers. And there’s a bunch of takeout containers. Even a couple of disposable drink cups. The supersize.”
“The cups have stuff in them?”
“Yes, globs that I’m happy to let the medical examiner identify. Of course, the formaldehyde ate through the bottoms and leaked out.”
“Are you sure all the tissue samples and globs are human?”
“Good question. The heart in the Tupperware container was human. But at one time it was in formaldehyde, too. That’s why I’m starting to think this mess could be leftovers from a research lab.”
“If someone hoped to start his own collection, he certainly wasn’t taking care of it,” Alonzo said. “Hey, I remember reading about a guy up in Connecticut who kept his collection in Mason jars.”
“I worked that case,” Maggie said, and she did not want to remember it.
“Oh, sorry. I sometimes forget that you’re like...old...er.”
Maggie smiled. “Speaking of old. I do have one other thing,” she said, glancing at the paper towels. “Can you track down whether a product is still being sold or if it’s been discontinued?”
“Fun trivia,” he said. “That is definitely in my wheelhouse.”
“I’ll send you a couple of photos.” Maggie watched in the rearview mirror as Vickie pulled up behind her. “Antonio, I’ve got to go. The medical examiner just arrived. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I did find something interesting that wasn’t just a glob of dried up tissue or a pickled organ.”
“Good for you. What was it?”
“I found a woman’s head in a five-gallon bucket.”
“Of course, you did,” Alonzo told her, and she could almost hear his big, wide grin. “I’ll catch you later.”
Chapter 54
K9 CrimeScents
Brodie was happy to help Jason with the kennel chores. Sometimes it still surprised her that just months ago she had been afraid to set foot inside a building with so many dogs.
The place was light and airy. Sunlight flooded in through the windows set high above the dogs’ sightline and stretched to the ceiling of the warehouse-sized facility. On one end was an open concept kitchen with cabinets, counters and appliances, that made it look like it belonged in a custom designed house. Hannah told Brodie that Ryder wanted to create a building that not only kept the dogs safe, but comfortable and well fed.
There were crates of various sizes along one wall for dogs that wanted the safety of their own dens. Sprawled out on the other side were dog beds of different shapes and sizes. Recently, Ryder had added a couple of sofas and some soft chairs. Brodie wondered if the additions were more for Jason and Ryder. She had found one or the other on different occasions sleeping with the dogs.
It made her smile. The two men looked so different, but they were very much alike when it came to taking care of their dogs.
Jason continued to bring in supplies while Brodie loaded the dishwasher. A row of monitors lined the wall, and she glanced at each of them. They showed black-and-white views from the security cameras mounted around the kennel and the exercise yards.
She started to look away when one of the last screens caught her attention. Two of the larger dogs had something cornered against the fence. Something black. Something that didn’t belong in the yard.
“Jason,” she yelled. “Jason, hurry!”
He dropped the bag he was carrying through the back door.
“What’s wrong?”
She pointed to the screen.
He took one look and raced out the door to the yard. Brodie ran close behind.
“Chance! Winnie! Stop!” He shouted at the top of his lungs without slowing down. The dogs immediately obeyed.
The huge German shepherd named Chance had a piece of the black plastic in his mouth. Jason pulled it out and grabbed the dog’s jaw, opening it to look then sticking the fingers of his real hand into the dog’s mouth. Chance allowed it, but his eyes were wide.
“Check Winnie’s mouth,” Jason told Brodie.
Winnie was a gentle, yellow Lab, but she was a food thief. Brodie knew most of these dogs had at one time lived on their own, abandoned, fending for themselves. It was one of the first things she felt she had in common with them.
“She doesn’t have anything,” she said.
“Are you sure, Brodie? You’ve got to be sure.”
She pried the dog’s mouth open again, and Jason did the same with Chance.
“Nothing,” she told him.
The black, plastic bag looked like an ordinary garbage bag that someone had thrown over the fence. Other than the piece Chance had bit off, it looked intact.
Jason poked the bag with his prosthetic hand. He looked back at both dogs.
“Take them to the front yard,” he instructed her, “and shut the gate so the others don’t come over.”
“What do you think it is?” Brodie asked as she gathered her fingers under each dog’s collar.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and she heard a hint of panic in his voice. “Take them back.”
“You think it might explode?”
“Brodie, please! Just take them back. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She’d never heard Jason yell before. Even the dogs were anxious now. But they didn’t put up a fuss when she guided them. Some of the other dogs had noticed the commotion and started to go through the gate.
“Stay,” she told them.
Chance and Winnie pushed through the entrance, and Brodie shut and fastened the gate. But she stayed in the outer yard. She turned around and leaned her back against the fence to watch Jason.
He had waited until he knew that she and the dogs were safe. She watched him pick up a long branch from under one of the trees. Using its full length, he snagged the bag through the opening Chance had made. Carefully, he lifted it. Then as if he were casting a fishing line, he raised his arm and flung the bag as far outside the yard as he could. At the same time, he turned his back and crouched down. Brodie did the same.
Nothing happened.
There was no explosion.
She looked up, and Jason was already heading for the back gate to check out the bag again. Brodie followed. This time he didn’t send her away. The two of them stood over the garbage bag staring at the contents that had come out when it hit the ground.
“What is that?” Brodie asked. It looked like slabs of meat but with blue-green powder all over it.
Jason had pulled out his phone and was tapping out a message. He took a photo and sent it, too.
“Jason, what’s going on?”
“I think someone tried to poison our dogs with a couple of raw steaks.”
Chapter 55
K9 CrimeScents
Florida Panhandle
It was easier for Udie to maneuver around the property during the day without all those motion-sensor lights flipping on. You’d think they were protecting a bank full of gold bars instead of a kennel filled with mutts. They didn’t even look like high-priced pedigree dogs. Just a bunch of mutts.
He didn’t waste his time waiting to see the results. Maybe they’d take his warning and stay the hell out of the forest, or he’d need to do something more drastic.
Now, he needed to concentrate on those deputies.
He hiked back to his boat. He popped a couple pills and washed them down with warm cola. The new drugs were making him feel in command.
Back on the water, he felt invincible. He knew it would calm him, if he gave it a chance. The gentle slosh against the boat was soothing. Sweat trickled down inside his shirt and dripped from his face. He pulled off a couple of paper towels from the roll at his feet and wiped the back of his neck. He stopped short of where the rash began.
Last night he had rummaged through his mother’s medicine cabinet and found a bunch of tins and tubes and bottles. Despite all her homemade cures and potions, he was pleased to find she kept some basic drugstore medicines.
Udie had found one for rashes and smeared the pink stuff on until it dried and caked up. It helped with the itch, but it didn’t seem to reduce the bumps and blisters. Some of those were starting to ooze. And his sweat kept washing away the lotion.
He squirted it on his hands now and applied more to his neck. The boat was drifting downstream. He guided it through the narrow tributary until it spilled out into the wider creek. He was so obsessed with his rash that he didn’t anticipate running into the boat coming up the creek.
He didn’t even see that damned thing!
He maneuvered around the overgrown bend, and suddenly, there it was.
A sheriff’s boat.
One man. Not in uniform, but he wore a black ball cap with the sheriff department logo on it. Udie recognized him. He’d seen him with the women collecting pieces of stuff and putting them in evidence bags.
“Hey there.” The man waved to him.
“Hey.” Udie lifted his chin and kept the hand stained with pink lotion out of sight.
“Catch anything?” the man asked as their boats came closer to pass by.
Of course, why else would he be out here?
“Large mouth bass,” Udie lied.
“Yeah? What are you using for bait?”
Now Udie remembered. He’d heard them calling this man, Hadley. He was some kind of crime scene tech.
“Live crawfish, beetle spinners.” Man, he was so good at this. Of course, the pills helped.
“Nice. Well, good luck,” he said and motored on his way.
They had come within ten feet of each other. Not close enough, Udie decided for the man to see that he didn’t have a single piece of fishing gear in his boat. He’d need to remedy that, and that’s when it occurred to him that fishing line could come in handy for a few other things.
He was feeling pretty good about things until his phone rang. While he was in the woods, he was basically unreachable. But the guy must be desperate, Udie noticed. He was calling the dead guy’s phone number.
“I’m a little busy,” Udie answered as the boat glided by one of his favorite spots.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Mr. Charisma had morphed into Mr. Angry. He’d let him rant and rave. By now, Udie was feeling too good to be rattled.
“I just heard on the radio that they found bodies in the forest. Those better not be our bodies, Udie.”
He wanted to say: Don’t you mean your bodies, asshole? But he wasn’t stupid.
“I have everything under control,” Udie told him. In his head he was already making a list of everything he’d need. The drug didn’t just relax him, it made him brave and brilliant.
“Sounds to me that you don’t have anything under control. Listen to me, Udie. We have a good thing going. If you want to be a partner like your mother was before she ran off, we need to handle this.”
“What’s that?” Udie said, pretending he couldn’t hear him. “You’re breaking up. I must be losing you.” Udie pulled the phone away from his ear. He ended the call then turned the phone off.
That’ll teach the bastard not to mention his mother
Chapter 56
Medical Examiner’s Office
Pensacola, Florida
Creed waited for Vickie in the small lounge down the hallway from the autopsy suites. Her assistant had led him to the windowless room and offered coffee or tea, assuring him that the medical examiner would be back shortly. She told him she was called away to pick up something but wouldn’t be long.
All he wanted to do was grab the ball cap and head back home. If it belonged to the killer, Creed would be able to train Grace to track the man down. He hadn’t figured out the rest. Of course, he realized the cap might belong to one of the dead, and all the time and training might lead to a grave instead.