by Blake Pierce
“This is the ‘grotesque whiteface,’” he said.
That word caught Riley’s attention.
Grotesque.
Yes, that certainly described what had been done to Janet Davis’s body.
Fingering one of the outfits, Casal continued, “This is the most common type of clown, I suppose, at least here in America. It doesn’t reflect any particular type or profession or status. The grotesque whiteface is just generally clownish-looking, ridiculous and silly. Think Bozo the Clown, or Ronald McDonald—or Stephen King’s ‘It,’ to cite a scarier example. The grotesque typically wears a baggy colorful costume, outsized shoes, and white makeup with exaggerated features, including a huge wig and a bright red nose.”
Crivaro seemed to be genuinely interested in what Casal was now saying.
He asked, “Have you sold any of these grotesque-type costumes lately?”
Casal thought for a moment.
“Not that I remember—not at least during the last few months,” he said. “I could look through our receipts, but that might take a while.”
Crivaro handed him his FBI card and said, “I’d appreciate if you’d do that and get back to me.”
“I’ll do that,” Casal said. “But remember, the grotesque costume is extremely common. It might have been bought at any costume shop anywhere in the city.”
McCune smirked a little and said, “Yeah, but this isn’t just any costume store. One of the victims was here pretty recently taking pictures.”
His expression still inscrutable, Casal put his hands in his pockets and said, “Yes, I can understand why that might concern you.”
Casal looked off into space for a moment, as if deep in thought.
Then his whole body seemed to jerk to attention.
“Oh, my,” he said, finally sounding unsettled. “I just thought of something I think you’d better know.”
CHAPTER TEN
Riley felt a surge of excitement as she and the two FBI agents followed Casal away from the costume rack.
Are we about to get a break? she wondered.
Without revealing what he’d just remembered, the store manager had whirled around and headed back to the front of the store.
When he reached the front desk, Casal stopped and began to explain.
“Janet Davis came back here a second day to take more pictures. But she left rather abruptly—and she wasn’t at all happy.”
Riley, Crivaro, and McCune exchanged interested glances.
“Why not?” Crivaro asked.
Casal opened a filing cabinet and thumbed through its contents.
“Well, she complained about a young man who was working here at the time—Gregory Wertz is his name. Apparently he’d said something improper to her. She wasn’t specific, but she was quite upset about it, and it wasn’t the first time a female customer complained about him. I’d also suspected him of stealing for some time, so I fired him on the spot.”
Crivaro asked, “Can you give us his address?”
“Certainly,” Casal said, taking a sheet of paper out of the drawer and handing it to Crivaro. “Here you go—his name, Social Security number, phone number, and address. Also, the last day he worked here—exactly two weeks ago today.”
Crivaro thanked him for his cooperation, and Riley followed the two agents out of the store.
She was startled when, as soon as they were outside, Crivaro grabbed McCune by the shoulder.
“What do you think you were doing back there?” he asked angrily.
McCune looked surprised.
“You mean showing him that photo? I wanted to see his reaction, of course.”
“It was a stunt,” Crivaro said. “I don’t like stunts.”
McCune’s face reddened with anger.
“A stunt, huh?” he said. “Are you telling me you trust that Casal guy? He seemed as suspicious as hell to me. Actually, he gave me the creeps, the way he talked and all. He didn’t even give us a good look at his face.”
That’s true, Riley thought.
But it really hadn’t occurred to her to suspect Casal of anything.
Crivaro paced back and forth, barking at McCune.
“So you just thought you’d put the screws to him, huh? You decided to go for some kind of instant confession. Figured you’d get a lot of glory if you succeeded. Well, let me put your mind at ease about something. Casal’s not our killer.”
“How do you know?” McCune asked.
Crivaro rolled his eyes and said, “Didn’t you get a good look at him? He’s blind as a bat without those glasses, and he’s as skinny as a rail. Our killer abducted two women—at least one of them probably forcibly. Then he managed to subdue them. Can you imagine Casal pulling that off?”
Looking as embarrassed as angry now, McCune began, “Maybe with an accomplice—”
Crivaro interrupted, “There wasn’t any accomplice. My every instinct tells me our killer acts alone. And he’s sure as hell not Danny Casal. Casal’s maybe an important witness, though. We’re all just lucky you didn’t spook him into not cooperating.”
McCune hung his head and shuffled his feet.
Crivaro jabbed his finger at him.
“Now listen to me. No more stunts, not when you’re working with me. If you get any ideas, talk to me about them first. This is not the Boy Scouts. Initiative is not a virtue right now. Either I call all the shots, or you can get off the case.”
In a whisper, McCune said, “I hear you. It won’t happen again.”
“It sure as hell had better not,” Crivaro growled.
A silence fell among the three of them.
Riley felt distinctly uncomfortable—and a little bit sorry for McCune.
She remembered what McCune had told her about Crivaro when they’d first met …
“He’s got a reputation for being kind of brusque.”
Brusque is a good word for it, Riley thought.
She’d gotten a good taste of his brusqueness yesterday when she’d screwed up at the drug house. When they’d met in Lanton, she hadn’t found him to be quite that prickly. Of course, she’d also come to realize that now Crivaro had some reason to be like that with her …
“I pulled a lot of strings to get you into this program,” he’d said.
But she really hadn’t expected him to lash out at a full-fledged FBI agent like McCune.
She wondered again what it was going to be like shadowing Crivaro. Was she going to feel like she was walking on eggshells the whole time?
Meanwhile, Crivaro had fallen silent and was looking over the sheet of paper that Casal had handed him.
Finally he said …
“This Gregory Wertz sounds interesting—especially the fact that something disagreeable happened between him and Janet Davis, not long before both of the murders. We don’t have enough on him to get a warrant for his arrest. But I think we’d better pay him a visit.”
Then he looked at both McCune and Riley and added …
“But I don’t want any shenanigans from either one of you. Follow my orders—nothing more, nothing less. Do both of you hear me?”
Riley nodded, and so did McCune.
Crivaro then shared Gregory Wertz’s address with McCune. McCune got into his own vehicle, and Riley and Crivaro returned to their car.
Crivaro drove them to another neighborhood much like the one they’d been in yesterday, rundown and with graffiti everywhere. But there were more people outdoors, including kids on skateboards. Gangs and drugs were likely a problem here too, but they hadn’t completely terrorized everyone off the streets—at least not yet.
Riley wondered if maybe the kind of “mini station” that McCune had said was coming to the other neighborhood might be a good idea here also. It seemed a shame that nobody was likely to consider the possibility until things got much worse.
Crivaro parked the car, and McCune pulled into a space right behind them.
Crivaro turned to Riley. “You wait right here.”
&
nbsp; When the agents got out of their cars, the two of them stood talking about what to do next.
Riley could hardly believe what Crivaro had just said and done …
He’s leaving me out completely.
How was she supposed to learn from the sidelines like this?
And why had Crivaro made this decision?
Just this morning things had seemed fine between them. Crivaro had even assured her that what she’d done yesterday hadn’t been a total disaster. In fact, he told her she’d made it possible to round up more gang members.
So what had changed?
Maybe nothing, she thought.
Maybe he was simply concerned about her safety. If so, maybe she should feel grateful to him for keeping her out of danger.
At the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder …
Is he still mad at me about yesterday?
*
As he walked with Crivaro toward the apartment building, Special Agent Mark McCune was still stinging from the scolding he’d gotten a little while ago. He still didn’t get why Crivaro had reacted that way. And he still didn’t think he’d been out of line putting some pressure on that Danny Casal character.
What harm did it do? he wondered. Casal had still come through with some information—if he wasn’t flat-out lying. McCune still didn’t trust the guy.
And he really didn’t like being humiliated like that—especially in front of an intern like Riley Sweeney.
Like many others in the agency, McCune wondered …
What’s Crivaro’s thing with her, anyway?
He’d heard all the stories about how she’d helped stop that serial killer in Lanton. Word had it that Crivaro thought she was some sort of prodigy. He had certainly thrown his weight around to get her into the program, and he’d pissed some people off in the process.
There were also some rumors that maybe Crivaro had the hots for her.
McCune smirked at the idea. He didn’t sense anything like that between Riley and Crivaro. For one thing, Crivaro had shown the good sense to leave her in the car while they checked out a possible suspect. Besides, Crivaro had a reputation for utmost integrity, and he didn’t seem to McCune as the type to let himself get professionally distracted by an attractive young woman.
Not that I’d blame him.
McCune had noticed the first time he’d seen her that she was decidedly good-looking. He’d have been interested in her himself if he hadn’t noticed she was wearing an engagement ring.
Of course, it could be that she was wearing it just to keep guys away.
In any case, he reminded himself …
Riley Sweeney is definitely off limits.
As they walked up the steps to the glass door of the apartment building, McCune reminded himself to get his head in the game. The suspect they hoped to interview might or might not be dangerous.
Crivaro looked over the list of buzzers until he found the right name and apartment, then pushed the button.
When someone answered over the intercom, Crivaro asked, “Is this Gregory Wertz?”
“Who’s asking?” the man asked.
Crivaro exchanged a meaningful glance with McCune.
Then he said into the intercom, “We’re Special Agents McCune and Crivaro, FBI. We’d just like to ask you a few questions.”
A silence fell.
“What’s this about?” the voice asked.
Crivaro said, “We’d like to discuss it face to face.”
McCune heard a low growl over the intercom, and then …
“OK, come on up.”
The door buzzed, and McCune and Crivaro entered the building. The front hallway was seedy, and a sour odor of mildew and mold hung in the air. They made their way up the stairs to the first floor, where they found Wertz’s apartment.
Crivaro rapped sharply on the door.
A voice called out, “Come on in.”
McCune looked at Crivaro and nodded down inquisitively to his holstered weapon.
Crivaro shook his head and whispered, “Just be ready.”
Crivaro turned the doorknob, and a filthy and chaotic apartment came into view. Standing facing them just a few feet away was a muscular African-American man with his hair in dreadlocks. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans and sneakers, and he had his hands in his pockets.
Nothing in his body language suggested any danger to McCune. The guy just seemed to be trying to make his visitors feel unwelcome.
He’s succeeding at that, McCune thought.
But McCune sensed that Crivaro had abruptly tensed up, as if on high alert.
McCune wondered …
Does Crivaro know something I don’t?
Gregory Wertz said, “What do you want?”
Crivaro said, “We’d like to know what you were doing on Sunday night and all during Monday.”
A smirk crossed Wertz’s face.
“I don’t exactly recall,” he said.
Crivaro added, “What about Friday and Saturday?”
Wertz let out a low chuckle and glanced around the apartment.
He said in a sarcastic tone, “As you see, I’m kind of a busy guy, so I couldn’t tell you for sure. You’ll have to ask my personal assistant. She’s off today. Maybe you should come back when she’s here. Not sure when that’ll be, though.”
McCune could think of a half-dozen questions he wanted to ask, but he remembered what Crivaro had said.
“Follow my orders—nothing more, nothing less.”
McCune figured he’d better let Crivaro take the lead.
Crivaro said, “We understand you recently worked for Danny Casal at a store called Costume Romp.”
Wertz’s smirk broadened.
“Yeah. It didn’t exactly work out.”
“What happened?” Crivaro asked.
“I quit. Danny was a paranoid asshole. He kept accusing me of a lot of things I didn’t do.”
McCune wondered if maybe the man was telling the simple truth.
If so, had Danny Casal deliberately sent them up a blind alley?
Wertz said, “I take it you talked to Danny about me. What the hell did he say, the lying bastard?”
McCune could see that Crivaro had locked eyes with Wertz.
Instead of answering his question, Crivaro said …
“Does the name Margo Birch mean anything to you?”
Wertz shrugged a little.
“I can’t say it does.”
“What about Janet Davis?” Crivaro asked.
“I don’t believe I’ve made the lady’s acquaintance. Why do you ask?”
McCune noticed that a change was coming over Wertz. He seemed to be growing more anxious and nervous under Crivaro’s steady gaze.
Crivaro took a small step toward him.
“Nice little place you’ve got here. Maybe you’d like us to sit down, make ourselves at home.”
“I don’t think so,” Wertz said, frowning.
“Why not?”
“Do you have a warrant?” Wertz asked.
Crivaro let out a little grunt of mock incomprehension.
“Why would we? This is just a friendly visit.”
Wertz stood and stared at him, his teeth clenched. His hands were still in his pockets.
Crivaro said, “Why are you asking about a warrant? I don’t remember saying we were here to search for anything. Do you remember saying anything like that, McCune?”
McCune silently shook his head, wondering where this was going.
Crivaro took another small step toward him.
“Are you hiding something, Mr. Wertz?” he asked. “Should we get a warrant?”
Wertz took a step back.
“Don’t come any closer,” he said.
“Why not?” Crivaro said, taking another step. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
Wertz took his hands out of his pockets and held them at his sides. Then he made a gesture with his right hand.
In what seemed like a split-second, Crivaro ha
d drawn his pistol and was pointing it straight at Wertz.
Without any change in his tone of voice, Crivaro said …
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Wertz.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
McCune stared with his mouth hanging open, unsure what to do.
What the hell does Crivaro think he’s doing? he wondered.
Crivaro was holding his pistol perfectly steady. It was pointed at Wertz, who seemed to waver indecisively for a moment.
The man hadn’t posed any threat that McCune could see. He sure hoped Crivaro wasn’t going to open fire for no reason at all.
Then Wertz raised his hands slowly.
Crivaro grunted. “You heard what I said. Easy or hard. Just turn around. That’s all I want.”
With a growl of dismay, Wertz turned slowly around.
Now McCune could see the revolver tucked under the man’s belt in back. Just a few moments ago, Wertz had taken his hands out of his pockets, then gestured with his right hand.
Now McCune understood …
He was going to draw his weapon.
Crivaro had sensed this and reacted with lightning speed, drawing his own gun first.
And it was a good thing, too. If Crivaro’s reflexes hadn’t been so sharp, one or both of them might be dead now.
Crivaro nodded toward McCune and said, “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to relieve him of that gun.”
McCune walked toward Wertz and took the gun out of the belt. He set it down on the floor.
“On your knees, hands behind you,” Crivaro said to Wertz.
As Wertz obeyed, Crivaro asked him …
“Is there anybody else in the apartment?”
Wertz shook his head silently.
“I didn’t hear you,” Crivaro barked.
“No,” Wertz said.
Crivaro got out his handcuffs and said to McCune …
“He’s probably telling the truth. But you’d better have a look around.”
McCune heard Crivaro reading Wertz his rights as he walked on into the small apartment. He looked into a messy bedroom with a closet door standing wide open, and saw no one. He found no one in the bathroom either, nor in a hallway closet.