Deeper Than the Dead

by Tami Hoag

  Dixon sighed and rubbed his temples. “I know. It’s lame. There’s no reason he shouldn’t have mentioned it, though. Frank writes half a dozen citations every day. That’s part of his job.”

  “What did he stop her for?”

  “He stopped her for doing twenty-nine in a twenty-five zone.”

  “What an ass,” Mendez said. But that was just like Farman—by the book, no mercy. “What time did he write the ticket?”

  “Fifteen thirty-eight.”

  “Before her dental appointment. That’s good.”

  On their time line, Farman wouldn’t be listed as the last person to have seen the woman. Not that it should have mattered. Farman had a clean record. There was no reason for anyone to look at him as a suspect. The fact that his son had been in possession of Lisa Warwick’s finger was the complicating factor.

  Any defense attorney worth his salt would use that to plant the seeds of reasonable doubt. What if the kid didn’t pick up the finger at the scene? What if he found it at home hidden among his father’s things?

  Defense attorneys loved nothing better than trying to make cops look dirty. They would find someone who had overheard Frank make a derogatory remark about women—not that difficult to do, him being the chauvinist he was. They would look at every traffic citation he had ever written and manufacture a pattern of harassment against women. They would drag in Anne Navarre and get her to say she believed Frank beat his kid, that he had a volatile temper.

  Mendez could see Frank spanking his son for skipping school—and who was to say that was so wrong? Mendez had suffered a couple of good strappings as a boy bent on mischief, and he had straightened up because of it. And Farman could certainly come across as a bully, but brutally murder a woman? Mr. Law Enforcement? No.

  Dixon sighed and shook his head. “Maybe Sells will confess today.”

  And maybe pigs will fly, Mendez thought, as he walked back to his car, passing the hog lot.

  An hour later the team of six detectives and Vince Leone met in the conference room that had now been fully converted into their war room. Photographs had been moved from the smaller bulletin board and tacked up on a freestanding corkboard at one end of the room. A time line had been drawn out on the big white board.

  Mendez took a marker and added to the line for the day Karly Vickers disappeared: 15:38 traffic ticket issued by F. Farman.

  He added to the line for Thursday: L. Warwick index finger in possession of D. Farman.

  Leone came over, tapped a finger on the line about the traffic citation, and raised his eyebrows.

  “Yeah,” Mendez said. He looked his mentor over. “You look good today. You’ve got some color.”

  Vince grinned. “I had a lovely evening, thanks for asking.”

  “I didn’t ask,” Mendez said, cranky. “Spare me the details, please.”

  “The food was excellent. Miss Navarre was a lovely dinner companion. We talked about her students. I walked her to her car, then I took a walk back down the alley behind the dentist’s office.”

  Mendez chose to skip past the date part and jump right back into the case. “Yeah? What did you find?”

  “The vacant building next door has a big roll-up garage door, like you could back a truck through. Could be a good place to stash a victim say from five until dark.”

  “I don’t see the dentist as a suspect,” Mendez said. “The only thing we have on him is that he saw Vickers late in the day. Anybody could have grabbed the girl in the alley. And Sells had the cars.”

  “What does your gut tell you about Gordon Sells?”

  Mendez rolled his shoulders, as if physically uncomfortable defending the Sells theory. “There’s definitely something wrong about the guy. But his record is as a pedophile. These victims are grown women.”

  Leone nodded, satisfied. “And back to your dentist: Yes, anyone could have snatched the young lady in that alley. And anyone could have stashed her in that empty building. There’s a padlock on the door, but it doesn’t work. But if she was a specific target, then her abductor has to be someone who knew she had that appointment.”

  Mendez thought about it. Karly Vickers on her way to the dentist, Farman pulls her over. Why is she going so fast, he asks her. She tells him she’s on her way to a dentist appointment . . . Obviously, Crane knew where she would be, and people from the center, and people from the hair salon . . .

  Dixon came in then and briefed the group regarding Frank Farman’s necessary departure from the case. No one seemed to know what to say.

  “He happened to make a traffic stop the day Karly Vickers disappeared,” Dixon said. “He filed the citation, in no way tried to conceal that, and the time noted was fifteen thirty-eight. More than an hour before Ms. Vickers went missing.”

  “His kid was running around with a dead woman’s finger in his pocket,” Detective Hamilton said. “That’s fucking screwed up.”

  “The boy has some behavioral issues,” Dixon conceded.

  “Deputy Farman has been put on administrative duty until further notice. Meanwhile, we have a legitimate suspect. Let’s concentrate on Gordon Sells.”

  “Has the search of his property turned up anything yet?” Mendez asked.

  “So far, nothing to connect him directly to any of the victims.” Dixon said. “The trailer is a hazardous waste dump of biological material. It’ll take months to process the samples.”

  “He hasn’t said anything to incriminate himself,” Mendez said. “He’s uncooperative, to say the least.”

  “How long did you interview him last night?” Vince asked.

  “Six hours. Hicks and I took turns.”

  “And he hasn’t asked for an attorney?”

  “No,” Hicks said. “He doesn’t trust public defenders. He claims the last one he had sold him down the river.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” Vince said. “He’s a pedophile. How any decent person can defend a turd like that is beyond me.”

  “What decent person?” Detective Trammell asked. “I thought we were talking about lawyers.”

  They all got a laugh out of that. Nothing like slamming lawyers to lighten the mood for a bunch of cops.

  “He did time,” Vince said. “What was the charge?”

  “He was accused of abusing three different twelve-year-old girls, but only one case went to trial. Sells pled out on lewd acts on a minor and possession of child pornography,” Mendez said. “The deal was for eight-to-twelve. He did every day of it. The mother of the victim came to every parole hearing.”

  “Was he violent?” Leone asked. “Did he use a weapon?”

  “Each time he threatened his victim with a knife.”

  “No actual rape?”

  “Oral sex was his thing, but he’s had twelve years to sit and think about it.”

  “Twelve years of taking it up the ass from every bubba in the joint probably,” Trammell said. “That’s a lot of motivation for revenge against women.”

  “That’s true,” Vince said. “But guys like Sells don’t usually change targets. He was locked in on twelve-year-old girls long before he got put away—probably since his teens. His sexual attraction is to pubescent girls he can easily manipulate and intimidate. Molesting children is generally an unsophisticated crime.”

  “You don’t think he’s our guy?” Dixon said, annoyed.

  “From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t fit the profile. I think you’re looking for a white male in his midthirties, educated, intelligent, methodical. I think he holds a position of respect or authority, or these women knew him personally. So far it looks like the victims just vanished, no commotion, no witnesses. That suggests they went with him willingly. They didn’t think he posed a threat.”

  “Or he incapacitated them quickly and efficiently,” Dixon countered. “He stalked them to a secluded location and grabbed them. No witnesses.”

  “That’s possible,” Vince conceded. “But with the way he staged Lisa Warwick’s body in the woods, this killer
is looking for attention. He wants an audience. He wants credit for his work. He’s got an ego. He’s liable to try to insinuate himself into the search for Karly Vickers, attend the funeral of Lisa Warwick. That kind of involvement will be part of the power trip for him.

  “With the exception of the missing finger, everything about the Warwick dump site was neat and tidy. The cutting wounds on the body were laid out in a specific pattern. Your victim number one—Paulson—had similar deliberate marks on the body. But you’re telling me Gordon Sells isn’t organized in any way. He lives in a hovel, out in the country, away from people, not attracting attention.”

  “He had both women’s cars in his possession,” Dixon said.

  He looked like he was feeling persecuted, Mendez thought. No doubt he was as exhausted as everyone else, maybe more so considering his personal connection to Jane Thomas. She had to be hammering on him to solve the case. Mendez could see Leone taking the same reading on his boss.

  Vince held his hands up. “Hey, Sheriff, I appreciate your position here. You’re under a lot of pressure, and you’ve got a bird in the hand with Sells. But it’s not my job to agree with you. I’m no help as a yes man.

  “I’m telling you what I know based on my experiences,” he said. “That doesn’t mean this guy couldn’t be the exception to the rule. I’m just telling you what I know. You’ve got him with the cars. Hold him. But I would strongly advise you to continue to develop other possible suspects.”

  Dixon sighed and nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. “Does anybody else have anything?”

  “Lisa Warwick’s vacation plans didn’t turn up anything,” Hamilton said. “But her phone records show a lot of calls to the law offices of Quinn, Morgan and Associates. Two calls the day she disappeared.”

  “She volunteered as a court advocate to women from the center,” Mendez said. “Morgan handles most of the family court cases. I think she might have had a thing for him. He’s tougher to read. I haven’t spoken to his wife yet.”

  “Steve Morgan is as straight an arrow as they come,” Dixon said.

  “He’s the guy in the photograph?” Trammell asked.

  “Yeah,” Mendez said.

  “I finally talked to the next-door neighbor last night,” Trammell went on. “Nosey old bat. She said she saw a man coming and going from Lisa Warwick’s house from time to time at odd hours, late at night. She—the neighbor—is up at odd hours on account of her sciatica, she told me. I showed her the photo. She couldn’t swear he was the guy, because it was always dark, but she thought it could be. Right height, right build.”

  “When was the last time she saw him?” Mendez asked.

  “She wasn’t sure—I think she drinks for that sciatica—but she thought it was maybe the night before Warwick went missing.”

  Dixon swore under his breath. “Tony, talk to Morgan again.”

  “We’ve got the maintenance man from the Thomas Center in,” Hicks said. “He denies any connection to the stolen cars or to the women, but Miss Vickers’s friend told us he had his eye on Karly and she didn’t like it.”

  “He did five in Wasco for stealing cars—”

  “That’s where Gordon Sells was,” Mendez said.

  “Lyle claims he didn’t know Sells there, but he has been to Sells’s junkyard.”

  “And Lyle had charges on him for abusing a girlfriend?” Dixon asked.

  “Six months’ worth.”

  “He’s still here?” Dixon asked.

  “Holding him on a bench warrant for outstanding traffic violations. But unless we come up with his prints in one of those cars, we’ve got nothing to charge him with. He can pay his fines and go.”

  “Talk to him again,” Dixon said. “If nothing turns up, kick him loose. Hamilton and Stuart, I want you to canvass the businesses around Peter Crane’s dental office. So far, that’s still the last place anybody saw Karly Vickers. Trammell and Eaton, knock on every door within half a mile of Gordon Sells’s place.”

  Mendez turned to Leone. “You coming with me? I’m stopping at the elementary school to talk to the Crane boy and Wendy Morgan to see if they know how the Farman kid got that finger.”

  “No,” Vince said. “I have to make a call to Quantico. But do give my regards to Miss Navarre,” he added with a smug smile.

  “Yeah,” Mendez said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get right on that.”

  37

  Tommy hurt all over. He had a whopper of a black eye. The back of his head hurt from where it had bounced off the ground when Dennis knocked him down. The doctor at the emergency room had taken X-rays and said that his ribs weren’t broken, but they sure were bruised. His whole stomach was black and blue from where Dennis had kicked him, and it hurt like crazy when he tried to breathe.

  Still, he felt pretty proud of himself for going after Dennis. There was no way Dennis was going to do anything but kick his butt, and still Tommy had taken him on. His dad had told him he had done the right thing defending Wendy. A man should always defend women.

  His mother, of course, had flipped out about the whole thing. She had spent much of the evening screaming about Dennis Farman and Dennis Farman’s parents, and how she was going to press charges AND sue—sue the Farmans, sue the school, sue Mr. Alvarez.

  His father had been calmer, but still upset. He had gotten on the phone with Principal Garnett after Tommy’s mother had finished screaming at him, and asked a lot of questions about what would be done about Dennis.

  His mother was voting for prison, but Tommy knew they didn’t send kids to prison for fighting during gym class. Tommy figured Dennis would get expelled, which was good, except that that left Dennis free to harass and attack people when school was out. And he had no doubt that Dennis would come after him.

  Dennis would blame him for everything. Never mind that Dennis had tried to shove a rotten finger from a dead person down Wendy’s throat. That right there was enough to get him expelled. But Dennis wouldn’t see it that way.

  Tommy and Wendy sat in the outer office while their mothers were in with Principal Garnett. Tommy could hear his mother’s voice as she ranted and raved. She was down a hall and behind a closed door, and he could still hear her. He felt bad for Principal Garnett.

  He felt bad for himself too. He was afraid his mother would come storming out of the principal’s office and drag him home with her just because she was mad. She had already made threats about moving him to another school, which he didn’t want at all.

  He looked at Wendy sitting next to him and made an impatient face, rolling his eyes. She just looked at him.

  “Are you all right?” Tommy asked.

  “No!” she said, her voice lowered so as not to attract the attention of the secretaries. “I’m mad! Dennis tried to stick the finger of a dead person in my mouth! He touched my face with the finger of a dead person! I’m still totally grossed out!”

  “Oh.” He knew better than to say too much when a girl was really mad.

  Wendy’s expression softened. “Are you all right? You look like you hurt all over.”

  “Yeah, but I’m pretending I don’t or my mom will make me stay home. I don’t want to stay home with her. She’s crazy mad.”

  A door opened back in the depths of the office. Tommy snapped his head around, wincing at the pain. His mother came storming out of the hall, her face as red as the suit she wore, her eyes bugging out of her head.

  Tommy cringed, waiting for her to grab his arm and haul him off. Why hadn’t he had sense enough to hide in the lavatory?

  But she went right past him, her high heels clicking against the floor. She didn’t even look at him.

  Open-mouthed, Tommy watched her go. He and Wendy exchanged a look.

  “You lucked out,” she said.

  He had, but they hadn’t, he thought as Detective Mendez came out of the hall and crooked a finger at them. He got up gingerly, trying not to suck in too big a breath.

  “Hey, Tommy,” the detective said as they
followed him down the hall. “I hear you can take a punch if you have to.”

  What was he supposed to say to that? “I guess so.”

  They went into the conference room. Principal Garnett was standing by the door, red-faced and breathing too hard.

  “I’m going to leave this to you, Detective,” he said. “I have to call our attorneys.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Wendy whispered.

  Wendy’s mom came over to her. She looked upset too.

  “Have the office call me if you decide you want to come home,” she said.

  Wendy nodded. Her mother kissed her cheek and started to leave the room.

  “Mrs. Morgan?” Detective Mendez said. “Can I have a word with you in private before you go? We’ll be finished here in a few minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.”

  Wendy’s mom looked unhappy, but she said, “I guess so. I’ll be out here.”

  Miss Navarre came over then, turning as white as a sheet as she looked at Tommy.

  “Tommy! Oh my God,” she said. “Should you be here?”

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I went to the doctor.”

  “You don’t look okay. You look like you should be home in bed.”

  “Tommy’s tough,” Detective Mendez said. “He did what he had to do, and he took it like a man.”

  Miss Navarre looked at him with narrowed eyes and said half under her breath, “Men are stupid.”

  They all sat down at the table.

  “Detective Mendez has a few questions for you both about what happened yesterday,” Miss Navarre said.

  “Yeah,” Detective Mendez said. “Did you guys know Dennis had that finger?”

  “No!” they said in unison.

  “Wendy, you told me before that you saw Dennis touch the body in the park. Did you see him take that finger?”

  “Gross!” Wendy exclaimed. “No! I would have told you that for sure!”

  “How about you, Tommy?”

  Tommy shook his aching head so hard he saw stars.

  “Dennis didn’t say anything about it? Not at the park, not since?”

  “We try not to talk to Dennis,” Wendy said primly.