“Double homicide.”
“Really?” Gunther headed to the bedroom.
“You don’t need to see that,” Brad said.
“Bad?” Gunther halted.
“Not good.”
Gunther shrugged and kept walking.
Brad shook his head.
Gunther exited the bedroom, pale and a little green.
“Was it worth it?” Brad asked.
Gunther didn’t answer. His pace increased as he neared the front door. Outside, he leaned over the porch railing and puked. Brad shook his head. He didn’t have time for this.
“Rookie?” Steele asked.
“Pussy. He’s been my partner two years,” Davidson said. “He still pukes every couple of months. You get used to it. I ignore him.”
Brad glanced toward Gunther and frowned. “Davidson, stay here. Babysit your partner and keep a log of everyone who enters and exits. I’m going to talk to the neighbor. Steele, when the homicide geniuses get here take them inside.”
Brad stopped on the first step and scanned the neighborhood. Nice area. House maintained. The grass mowed. Kids’ bikes and toys littered several lawns. The peaceful neighborhood everyone dreams about. The horror inside was out of sync with the tranquility outside.
Two cruisers raced up the street. Cops jumped out.
At least they didn’t use their sirens.
Brad gathered the cops. “Let’s not contaminate the crime scene. It’s a double homicide. Nobody goes in unless I say so. Split up and canvass both sides of the street. We need to know everything that happened in this neighborhood since late afternoon yesterday. The 911 call came from 2416. I’ll go there.”
Chapter Three
A faded blue Dodge Duster entered the cul-de-sac and parked behind a cruiser. The driver got out of the car and scanned the scene.
Detective Tommy Devlin had a scraggly beard and his long hair was tied back in a ponytail. He wore ripped jeans, a faded gray T-shirt, a jean vest, mirror sunglasses, and black boots. Devlin and Brad had been teammates in TSU until early this year when Devlin went back to narcotics.
Devlin ambled toward Brad, taking the last pull on a cigarette.
“Hey, dirtball. Get back in your piece of crap car and take off.” Brad stood, arms crossed and legs spread.
“Why don’t you kiss my hairy butt, you Nazi Stormtrooper.” Devlin glared at Brad.
Neither spoke. Neither blinked.
Then Brad broke the silence. “What brings you out before dark?”
“Your vics. I know them.”
“You mean knew them. Why do you care?”
Devlin pointed to the house. “Narcotics is interested.”
“Do tell.”
Devlin slid his sunglasses up onto this head. “Who arrived first?”
“Steele and me.”
“How?”
“We were the closest.”
“You have backup?” Devlin asked.
“I don’t need frickin’ backup.”
Devlin laughed. “Yeah, I bet you don’t. You like to live on the edge.” He pointed to the house. “Bet it’s Russ and Denise Sutton.”
Brad shook his head. “No bet. That’s the names the neighbor gave dispatch.”
“Russ and his brother Nelson were bikers and drug dealers.”
“Bikers? In this neighborhood?”
“That was Denise’s idea. Better for kids—better schools, I guess.”
Brad cocked his head. “What club?”
“Gypsy Jokers. Full-patch members.”
“Badasses, like a Mafia family.”
“Yeah, that’s the short version.”
“Where’s his brother Nelson?” Brad asked.
“Missing.”
“What?”
“About six months ago, the brothers decided to freelance in the southwest,” Devlin said. “Not much drug activity here. Within three months, they had high school kids distributing drugs. Then Nelson goes missing two months ago. Gone. No note. No nothing. No Nelson. Russ doesn’t get the message and increases drug sales competing with the Jokers. Two weeks ago, he spread the word he’ll pay two thousand dollars for information on his brother. Jokers spread the word anyone tries for the two thousand, they’ll disappear like Nelson. Then a week ago, Russ ups it to four thousand.” Devlin glanced at the house. “What’s it like inside?”
“Not good. Follow me.” Brad headed to the house. Devlin’s boots crunched on the gravel a step behind. Brad led him past Davidson to the baby’s room, then stepped aside. Devlin stepped into the doorway.
“I assume you tried mouth to mouth.”
“Of course. Society can’t afford to lose citizens of this caliber.”
“You’re a better man than me,” Devlin said.
Brad waited in the hallway—the images already seared into his memory.
“Headshots,” Devlin said. “Execution style. They made a show of it. Wanted Russ and Denise to think they were gonna kill the baby too. They killed Denise first. Her arm is under Russ.”
“Yeah, I saw that too.” Brad leaned against the hallway wall. “They wanted Russ to know he’d screwed up big time.”
“A message to other bikers—cross us and this is what you can expect.”
Brad and Devlin climbed the front steps of the neighbor’s house. A face peeked from behind the living room curtains. Brad knocked on the door.
A short, thin man in his mid-sixties pulled the door open and stood aside. He blinked and pointed to the living room. “Mornin’, officer.”
They stepped in. A heavy-set lady about the same age stood by the window, holding a sleeping baby in her arms.
“Good morning. I’m Sergeant Coulter.” He pointed to Devlin. “This is Detective Devlin.”
“I’m Eloise Gable.” She gave Devlin a once-over. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin rose. “You’re a detective? Dressed like that. You look homeless.”
“I work undercover.”
“We’d like to talk to you and —” Brad peered at the man.
“Elmer.” Eloise rocked the baby in her arms. “This is Bobby.” She pointed to the couch. Brad sank into the soft cushions. Devlin sat down with more caution.
Elmer flopped into an overstuffed chair. Eloise stood, rocking Bobby.
“What made you think something was wrong?” Brad asked.
“I’d finished my coffee and glanced out the front window. I’m not normally at the window—”
Elmer coughed.
“Their car was still parked in front of the house. Russ always leaves early. I thought maybe Bobby was sick. He’s a good baby, but sometimes he’s cranky at night, so I take him during the day so Denise can sleep. I told Elmer I was going to the house.”
“What time was this?”
“About 7:30, I guess.”
Brad made a note. “Go on.”
“The front door was open. I called in—no one answered. I walked to the baby’s room, Bobby was screaming. I saw them, Russ and Denise, on the floor. Blood everywhere. I grabbed Bobby and ran. Then called 911.”
“We didn’t see any footprints in the blood,” Devlin said.
Eloise glared at Devlin. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I spent my life as a nurse. Seen lots of trauma, I have. More than you, I expect. I stayed against the bedroom wall. Got Bobby and left. Didn’t touch anything. Did you … did you find Annie?”
“Who’s Annie?” Brad asked.
“Denise’s daughter. She hasn’t been there long, maybe a month. She’s sixteen, seventeen. From another marriage or another guy or something. Is she —? Oh my God, no.”
Brad held out his hands. “Take it easy. She’s not in the house. Do you know where she’d be?”
“Maybe wherever she came from last month. A foster home of some kind.”
“Do you have a phone number or address?” Brad asked.
“No. Denise didn’t talk much about it. She was happy having her daughter living with her. Probably for the live-in babysitter.”<
br />
“Did Denise have problems with Annie?”
“She used to. When Denise was using drugs, Annie would run away. That’s what landed her in foster care. I don’t think there were any problems lately.”
“Did they get along?” Brad asked.
“I think so. But I never liked Russ and told Denise that.”
“What didn’t you like about Russ?”
“He was shady. One of those bikers, you know. Denise deserved better.”
“What about last night?” Devlin asked. “Anything suspicious?”
Eloise turned toward the window, pointing to the street. “A van parked there late last night.”
Brad glanced out the window. In daylight, she had a good view of the street. At night, not so much. “What time?”
She turned back. “They drove up about 10:30.”
“What type of van?”
“I didn’t see much. I mind my own business.”
Elmer coughed again.
“Anything you saw might help us,” Brad said. “This is important.”
“Well, I only caught a glance, but it was white, like the Ford van Elmer drove as a plumber.”
“Anything else about the van?”
“As I said, I only peeked out the window for a second.”
Brad waited for Elmer’s cough, but it never came. Guess he figured two coughs were enough.
“Nothing else?” Brad asked.
“Well, when they left, the van passed under the streetlight across the street. I saw something on the side—a picture.”
“A picture of what?” Brad asked.
“A lightning bolt.”
“Anything else?”
“Eastmont Electric.”
She could have mentioned that sooner.
“Who was in the van?” Devlin asked.
“Too dark to tell.”
“How long did they stay?” Devlin asked.
“Fifteen minutes. About that long, eh, Elmer?”
“How would I know? You were the one glued to the window.”
Eloise turned her back to Devlin. “Yes, I’d say about fifteen minutes. I almost didn’t see them leave.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t turn on the headlights when they drove away.”
“One more question,” Brad said. “Does Bobby have any relatives we can contact?”
“Not that I know of.”
Brad stood. “Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate your help. I’ll call Child Services to get the baby.”
Devlin followed Brad out of the house. They stopped on the front lawn.
“The bikers have the girl, don’t they?” Brad asked.
“Yeah. If they have her, she might wish she was dead.”
“We need to find her, fast. I’ll send Davidson and Gunther. They can track the social services angle, but that’s probably a dead end.”
Steele approached. “Homicide is on the scene now. K-9 came up empty. No bodies in the alley or any of the yards. They got a track from the front door to the curb. Could be the killers, or us.”
“I’ll check into Eastmont Electric,” Devlin said.
Tuesday Evening
The TSU building, a former warehouse by the airport, provided an apparatus bay for their vehicles, storage for their guns, ammunition, equipment, and office space. The large overhead door opened to a secure parking area for their cars. Devlin paused and flicked a cigarette butt towards the parking lot and entered by the back door.
Brad was doing bench presses in the corner at the makeshift weight room.
Devlin sauntered across the bay area past the Suburbans and stopped beside an armored personnel carrier gathering dust. Two years earlier, when the Canadian Armed Forces downsized, Deputy Chief George Collins convinced them to donate the APC. TSU had used it once. It had stalled, belched black diesel smoke, and gassed everyone inside. It hadn’t moved since.
Devlin rubbed a hand on the Calgary Police Service decal on the side.
Brad wandered over. “A dinosaur from another time.”
“Just like the deputy. I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“Busy all day helping you. My workout had to wait.”
“You could skip a workout now and then,” Devlin said.
“I gotta keep up with the young guys.”
“Sure, cuz you’re so fuckin’ old,” Devlin said. “What? Twenty-eight?”
“Thirty-one last week.”
Devlin lit a cigarette. “When you reach your mid-thirties, it’s harder to keep the weight off.”
Brad glared. “Really? You’re gonna smoke that here? Right after I work out? When did you start smoking?”
“It’s part of the undercover image. I kicked it for TSU. Now I’m hooked again.”
“You know we like it clean and smoke-free.”
“All right.” Devlin pinched the end and put the cigarette back in the package. “Any word on Annie?”
“Davidson and Gunther didn’t get anywhere locating her,” Brad said. “She left the foster home one month ago to live with her mom. I guess social services thought a clean house and a nice neighborhood meant everything would be okay. I’ll bet they didn’t check too hard on Russ. Annie didn’t go back to the foster home today, and social services haven’t heard from her. Dead ends. Not at school either.”
“Shit,” Devlin said. “I need a favor.”
“Of course, you do. I was doing your work all day, you might as well take my night too.”
“I got lucky on that Eastmont Electric Van,” Devlin said. “It was stolen three nights ago. This afternoon I put the plate number out. Just got a hit. About that favor —”
Chapter Four
A half dozen Suburbans, lights out, drove down the gravel road toward the outskirts of the city. There were no streetlights in this rural area. They passed farmhouses and other buildings from the early 1900s, now designated for demolition for a new subdivision. The road wound along the Bow River, through opens fields, and then dense brush. The red maplight cast an eerie glow. Brad traced their route. “Pull over here.” Steele pulled to the side of the road, the other trucks falling in behind. They were about a half mile from their target.
Brad glanced at the sky. The full moon played tricks on his eyes, making it hard to sort reality from imaginary. He closed his eyes to refocus. He opened them, then checked his watch. 0100 hours. Nothing good ever happened after midnight. He pulled his gear from the back of his truck and loaded his rifle. The team did the same and met at Brad’s truck. Sergeant Luke Garelli and his German shepherd, Neiko, caught up to them.
“You ready?” Brad asked.
“You bet,” Garelli said. “We’ll start at the van.”
“Great.” Brad handed Garelli a bag. “This is Annie’s T-shirt. Hopefully, you get a good track.”
“Let’s get these SOBs,” Devlin said.
Brad led the team single-file through the trees along the river’s edge toward the dark building. They passed the abandoned Eastmont Electric van nestled in a stand of trees and continued down the lane. The barn was typical of turn-of-the-century farm building, neglected for decades. The roof had collapsed in several places, the frame tilted to the right, looking like a slight breeze would blow it over. The window glass shattered, and the shutters hung by one last screw.
Brad and Devlin stood to one side of the door. Steele waited with a pry bar on the other side. Less than a minute later, Brad’s earpiece crackled, and Zerr said, “We’re ready.”
Brad keyed his mic and said, “Execute.” Steele jammed the pry bar into the door frame by the lock, and pried. The door popped open. Brad and Devlin burst into the house. Steele followed behind.
“Police!” they shouted.
Brad stepped inside. His flashlight lit four bodies side by side on the floor, arms behind their backs. Grey matter and bits of bone mingled with dark blood pooled around their heads. Their faces were an unrecognizable pulp. He stepped closer. On each victim’s chest lay a carefully folded
vest displaying the colors of the Head Hunters Motorcycle Club.
“We cleared the barn from the back,” Zerr said. “No one here.”
“We’re too late,” Nichols said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Devlin replied. “They’ve been dead for hours.”
“This doesn’t make any sense.” Brad turned to Devlin. “We were looking for the girl, and we find this.”
Devlin rubbed his chin. “Whoever did this didn’t think we’d find the van this fast.” He shrugged. “The girl was never here. It’s a dead end.”
A cop peeked in from the door. “The paramedics are here. Do I let them in?”
Brad turned to the door. “Nothing for them to do here.”
A paramedic stepped inside the barn, taking in the scene, face expressionless.
Brad held up his hand. “Hey, Dixon. Nothing you can do. They’re dead—no more than a few hours. It’s a crime scene now.”
Dixon’s partner, Pete Thompson, slipped in, carrying the EMS kits. “I thought you’d given up playing paramedic. How about you let the real paramedics assess your victims?”
“That would be great,” Brad said. “When do they get here?”
Dixon grinned.
Thompson made a beeline to the four victims. Brad intercepted him. “They’re dead.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Dixon said. “I need a smoke.”
Thompson leaned close to Brad. “Maggie’s back. Thought you might be interested.” He winked and headed to the door.
“Wait.” Brad grabbed Thompson’s arm. “She’s here? Calgary?”
“Yup. She quit Banff EMS a few months ago and has been here since. Last week she passed the paramedic test and interviews. She starts working next Monday.”
“What station?” Brad asked.
“Not sure,” Thompson said. “I don’t think that’s decided. See you around.”
Brad watched the paramedics leave. Maggie’s back. Two years ago, when she went to Banff EMS it hit him hard, so he immersed himself in his work. Thompson said she’d been back for a while. She didn’t call.
“Hey, Coulter,” Garelli said. “Neiko went crazy inside the van, so she was there. But we didn’t get any track for the girl outside the van. Nada.”
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