“Where’d they find it?” Simmons asked.
“In her hand. It fell to the floor when they checked for a pulse.”
“Did they touch it?”
“Yes.” Nick said.
“We’ll still swab it for DNA and fume it for prints. Not that I have any expectation of finding anything but the nurses’.”
“Have you ever before?” Nick asked without any trace of hopefulness.
“Not in twenty-nine bodies. So, I’m not holding my breath that your mother’s coin will be the first.”
Nick’s eyes flashed with anger at the cavalier way Simmons referred to his mother, but it quickly subsided as he was aware of the hypersensitivity he was experiencing. She must’ve caught the look because she took a step back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dash any hopes,” Simmons offered.
Nick sighed. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”
“That’s why I offered to let you step away from the case. Get some perspective and come back at this thing fresh.”
“That’s not up for debate. I’ve got to see this thing through. Running away isn’t an option,” Nick said. He exhaled deep and long.
“Okay. I won’t bring it up again.”
“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never got a hit on any of these coins? No leads?” Nick asked.
“Forensically, no. I’ve even tried to contact wholesalers and coin collectors but haven’t generated any leads. Apparently, this coin, albeit old, is quite common. The tools used are also commonly bought. I guess if we found the Ferryman’s tool we could positively identify it doing a comparative analysis of the striations, but that would be more for the case’s prosecution than for locating our killer,” Simmons said, rattling off the information.
“Okay.”
Nick stared at the coin sealed in a small plastic ziplock bag resting on the nightstand.
“Why do you ask?” Simmons asked.
“I’m going to keep it,” Nick said flatly.
“You’re going to keep it? A piece of evidence?” Simmons asked.
“Like you said, it’s not going to tell us anything we don’t already know. So, I’m taking it.” Nick said this with a finality and subtle firmness in his voice that did little to belie his conviction.
“Why?”
“As a reminder,” Nick said.
Simmons did not answer verbally. She nodded, and her eyes cast him a solemn glance. Nick watched as she slid her delicate hand to her throat along the open collar of her cream-colored button-down shirt. Her finger tugged at the thin silver chain of a necklace draped around her neck. A pendant was exposed as she removed her hand, allowing Nick a clear view. The hobo nickel with an etched skull rested outside of her shirt between the slight rise of her breasts.
“My reminder,” Simmons said.
“From your parents?”
“My father.”
Nick reached over to the table without any further hesitation and picked up the bag containing his mother’s death token. He opened the seal and his fingers dug out the coin. Nick slipped the silver coin into his pants pocket. He left his hand in his pocket and thumbed the raised features of the skull before letting it fall into the recesses of the pocket’s cotton lining.
“I’m going to need you two to move unless you want to be in the shot,” Spangler said, holding a large-lensed camera as he stood in the threshold of the door. The massive frame of Cavanaugh eclipsed the hallway’s light as he stood behind, dwarfing the smaller crime scene tech.
“You guys are quick,” Simmons said as she discretely tucked her pendant away.
“I figured we had to get over here before you agent types wrecked the scene,” Spangler said.
Nick heard a hiss in Spangler’s speech that he hadn’t noticed before. It was more of whistle that followed certain syllables. Nick surmised that it probably was a byproduct of a deviated septum based on the crookedness of his bulbous nose. The effect gave his voice a lyrical lilt as he spoke.
Cavanaugh brushed past Spangler and approached Nick, clasping a large hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
“Anything you need on this, just ask,” Cavanaugh said.
Nick nodded.
“We’ll leave you kids to your work,” Simmons said.
Nick saw Simmons bat her eyes at the large Homicide detective, taunting him slightly.
“I finished up the other scene from the dumpster. I emailed you the files including the photographs,” Spangler said.
“Thanks Ed. I’ll take a look when we get back to the office,” Simmons said.
Nick squeezed his mother’s hand one last time. The coldness of it seemed to linger fleetingly after he let go. Nick then turned to follow behind Simmons as she moved toward the white light of the hallway.
“There was a message,” Spangler said.
Nick and Simmons both stopped, turning in unison to face him.
Simmons spoke first, “What message?”
“It was taped to his upper back. We didn’t see it until we rolled him. It said, Remember me? I am the soil that gave you root,” Spangler said. “Creepy shit.”
“Please tell me that it was a hand-written note,” Simmons said wishfully.
“No luck. Letters cut from various publications. We’re having it analyzed. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the asshole forgot to glove up or glued down an eyelash.”
“Let me know what you find,” Simmons said over her shoulder, already moving in full stride again.
Nick paused for a fraction of a second. Remember me? He thought about the man in the alley. There was something familiar about him, but it was just out of his mental reach.
“Hey, did you ever get an identification on the guy?” Nick asked.
“Ran his prints. Chester Mullins,” Cavanaugh answered.
“Shit,” Nick said, and he took up a slight jog in the hallway, playing catchup with Simmons who was moving at a brisk pace toward the wing’s exit.
Simmons turned as he approached.
“I think we’ve got our first break in the case,” Nick said.
Simmons’s eyes widened. “How so?”
“We need to get back to the office. If I’m right on this we may be able to predict the next victim,” Nick said, barely able to contain his newfound enthusiasm.
His hand slid into his pocket and he rubbed the coin between his thumb and forefinger. A reminder of his failure. He wouldn’t fail again.
Chapter 19
“It’s late Nick. Let’s hit the reset button and start again first thing tomorrow,” Simmons said.
Nick looked at his watch. It was already past midnight. “I’m not much for sleep, and I don’t think that’s going to change tonight.”
“I’m a bit of an insomniac too.” Simmons gave him a gentle smile. Nick noticed she had a seductive quality when she softened her rigid exterior.
“Coffee?” Simmons asked.
“Might as well.”
Nick stood up and stretched. His back cracked, and he exhaled with the release of its tension. He looked down on the conference table that was covered in a blanket of tattered manila case jackets.
“Somewhere in this mess is the answer. I know it,” Nick said more to himself.
“I hope so,” Simmons said striding out in the direction of the break room.
She returned a few minutes later with two porcelain mugs in hand. The steam rose, and Simmons placed a cup in front of Nick. World’s Best Dad was stenciled on it. Somehow this mug had made its way into the community cabinet of shared items.
Simmons gave Nick a knowing smile. “Not yet, but soon.”
Nick hooked his fingers in the handle and raised it to his lips, giving Simmons a half smile and wink acknowledging her comment.
“So let’s walk this thing back and see if we can figure out his next move. Pentlow was part of your investigation. I get that piece. The Ferryman’s way of reaching you. A loud statement to ge
t your attention,” Simmons said.
“Well he’s got it. Undivided.” Nick didn’t look up from the open folder in front of him.
“Mullins. Well that is more concerning,” Simmons said.
“I know. That case was six plus years ago. Actually, it was my first big one. I can’t believe that I didn’t recognize him in the alley.”
“In your defense he looked like a wet bag of crap,” Simmons said.
“True. Although, he didn’t look much better six years ago.”
“I guess life after Nick Lawrence hadn’t been so good for Mr. Mullins,” Simmons said.
“Good ol’ Chester the Molester.”
“Catching a child abduction conviction doesn’t leave you with a lot of job opportunities on the outside. Especially when you’re on the run,” Simmons said.
“I still can’t believe that he escaped from prison.”
“Well, technically he wasn’t at the prison when he absconded,” Simmons added.
“True, but he was under watch at a counseling session.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Simmons said.
“In my humble opinion, the world’s a better place without him. To be honest if this asshole just stuck to killing pedophiles, then I don’t think we’d be putting in this much effort,” Nick said.
“That’s the piece I don’t get.” Simmons ran both hands through her red hair and closed her eyes. “He’s been near impossible to track. The homeless population is not too police-friendly and aren’t likely to report anything. And most of them have been off the grid for some time with their legal names long since forgotten. People don’t notice when they go missing. The Ferryman had always maintained a level of unpredictability in selecting his victims, and therefore he was like a ghost.”
“And even more elusive if you add in the theory that he may be one of us?” Nick half asked, and half stated.
“He’s got to be. He’s able to avoid leaving any traceable evidentiary path. His pattern changes any time I’ve closed in on him. He also knew Pentlow’s release date and was able to track down Mullins’ whereabouts,” Simmons said.
“I’m definitely starting to lean in that direction as well,” Nick said.
The thought that his mother had just been killed was hard enough to swallow, but to think that it may have been done by someone in the law enforcement brotherhood sickened him. He clenched his fists and his body tensed, allowing himself to be momentarily lost in a self-absorbed rage.
“So, both Pentlow and Mullins had a proclivity for young children. Both were your cases, and both slipped through the cracks in the legal system,” Simmons said.
“I’d say that summarizes it. Pentlow hadn’t technically slipped through the cracks. His case was pending trial. He was able to bond out, which did surprise me because of how high the judge had set it. I personally didn’t think he’d ever see the light of day.”
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” Nick asked.
“That he turned State’s witness on a murder case.”
“What do you mean? What murder?”
“His cellmate happened to make a jailhouse confession giving Pentlow intimate details on a cold case homicide of a prominent business man’s daughter. He was going to walk on the rape case. Maybe not scot-free, but he’d be looking at a reduced sentence or time served with lifetime on the sex offender registry. That’s what I’d call slipping through a pretty big crack in the justice system,” Simmons said.
“I didn’t know. Shit. That asshole had an eleven-year-old girl tied to a bed. And they were going to release him back into the wild?” Nick asked rhetorically.
“It’s bullshit all right. Enough to make somebody take the law into their own hands.”
Nick stopped sifting through the files. Simmons’s comment derailed his train of thought. He felt her eyes burning a hole in him. Nick knew that there was no way that she knew about his vigilante spree against Simon Montrose, the ring leader of a sex ring. But he felt like she knew, and therefore he’d fallen victim to the subconscious reaction referred to as the spotlight effect by interrogators. His cheeks flushed, and he refused to make eye contact for fear that she’d see right into the darkest depths of his soul.
“Nick?” Simmons asked.
“Sorry. I was just thinking—about my mom,” Nick said, hating himself for covering his emotional tracks with his mother’s death.
“I know what you’re going through. Trust me,” Simmons said.
Nick looked up. People always say I know what you’re going through, but in this particular case Simmons had survived a similar tragedy, and he knew that she meant it.
“Thanks,” he muttered softly.
“Mullins, too, wasn’t going to be spending the next twenty years in prison. He escaped during an off-site psych session. Now he’s dead,” Simmons said.
“That other part of his note about being the soil. It makes sense now.”
“How do you mean?” Simmons asked.
“I agree that this Ferryman is law enforcement, because he knew that Mullins was my first case. My career and reputation grew from that investigation,” Nick said.
“Well folks, we have a believer,” Simmons said, raising her hands as if she were testifying at Evangelical revival.
Nick smiled and returned to his solemn stoicism.
“And now my mom,” Nick said softly.
“Yes, she’s outside the pattern. We know he wanted to get your attention. And now we know that he wants to hurt you,” Simmons said, pausing to take a sip of her coffee. “What we don’t know is why.”
“Okay. Outside of my mother’s death, the Ferryman seems interested in killing off any of my former arrestees.”
“Correction. Only ones that have beaten the system. Beaten your case,” Simmons said.
“Well, if you’re right, then that will help narrow things down a bit,” Nick said, suddenly focused, rifling through the stack.
“How so?” Simmons asked.
Nick was silent as he focused his undivided attention on the pile before him. He stopped when he found what he was looking for. He pulled a thick folder and slammed it atop all the others. “Here’s the next victim.”
“What do you mean? How would you know that?” Simmons asked with a furrowed brow.
“You said that he’s targeting cases where the suspects have managed to beat my case?”
“That’s the pattern I’m seeing,” Simmons said.
“Well, here it is,” Nick said with an air of confidence.
“Here what is?” Simmons asked.
“The only other case that I know of where the bad guy didn’t get the maximum sentence.”
“So, you’re telling me that in your years in sex crimes you’ve only had three cases fail?” Simmons asked, cocking her head to the side in feigned disbelief.
“I’m good at what I do,” Nick said confidently and without a trace of cockiness. It was plainly a statement of fact.
“That’s impressive. Only three?” Simmons asked again.
“There was a fourth. A human trafficking ring run by a guy named Montrose. He had good lawyers and lots of money. He paid off some lower level guys in his organization to take the fall. It worked. He walked away free and clear.”
“So, there were four?” Simmons asked.
“Were being the operative word. Montrose is dead. He was killed in some gangland-style shootout at his home. As I recall, it was deemed to be an organized hit,” Nick said, ensuring that his words did not betray his secret to the profiler standing before him.
“Organized hit?” Simmons asked.
“They said it was done with military precision. Montrose and four members of his crew were taken out without a single report of shots fired. A rather difficult task to accomplish since his house was located in a rather exclusive neighborhood. I guess someone higher up in the food chain didn’t like the possible fallout of his potential risk of testifying. Or maybe it was some turf war
. Either way it remained unsolved,” Nick said.
“I guess that closes that door and leaves us with who?” Simmons said.
“Antonio Scalise,” Nick said, sliding the folder across to Simmons.
Simmons took up the chair nearest to Nick. Her knees rubbed lightly against his as she leaned in to peruse the documents. He caught a whiff of lavender.
“What’s his story?” Simmons asked.
“Child pornography.”
“What happened to the case?”
“It was pretty tight, but there was a screwup at the evidentiary level. The hard drives seized from his home went missing from evidence during the initial phase of the trial. Prosecution backed down even though we had digital copies of the data retrieved. They wanted the originals. Scalise’s attorney won the suppression hearing, and without our files, the case was lost at trial,” Nick said.
“Evidence went missing? That’s not something that happens too often.”
“They investigated it and found that Scalise had a distant cousin in the bureau. Long story short, the cousin is currently doing time, but the drives were never recovered,” Nick said.
“Did Scalise miraculously die by a random drive-by or act of God?” Simmons jested.
“Not that I know of.”
“Well then, it sounds like we’d better get our asses over to talk with this creep,” Simmons said.
“It’s almost one o’clock in the morning,” Nick said.
“I don’t think he’ll mind the visit once we tell him why we’re there.”
Nick then remembered that he hadn’t called Anaya back after leaving the hospital earlier. Looking at the time, he deemed it far too late to call now. He would wait until morning. The thought of her being far away from Austin gave him some comfort.
Chapter 20
It was quiet except for the crunch of their footsteps as they approached the double-wide trailer that was home to child porn connoisseur, Antonio Scalise. Simmons banged loudly on the door with a total disregard for the time of night. The sound resonated in the stillness. Nick cringed at the sound’s dissonance to the quiet of the impoverished housing area. A neighboring home’s light kicked on and a silhouette peered out through the blinds.
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