“Down,” Reed said, the familiar feeling of anxiety bubbling up within him. He patted Billie atop the head to calm her nerves and stepped around her, lifting the white plastic receiver from its cradle and holding it to his ear.
“Detective Reed.”
There was no way the call wasn’t work related. There was no point in answering as such.
“Hey, Sugar,” Jackie said, concern plain in her tone. “Everything alright over there?”
“Yeah, why?” Reed asked, deciding not to comment on the question or the hour at which it was being asked.
“Oh,” Jackie replied. “I called your cell a half dozen times but wasn’t getting a response. Not like you.”
Again Reed contemplated reminding Jackie he wasn’t on the night shift for the time being, but decided against it. “Yeah, sorry. It was in the bedroom, Billie and I were working in the kitchen.”
The line fell silent for a moment, a sure signal to Reed there was a reason Jackie was calling that had nothing to do with concern for where his cell phone was currently parked.
“What is it?”
“You’ve got another one,” Jackie said, her voice just north of a whisper. “Midwestern Paper. Call just came in a few minutes ago.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
A halo of light rose above the Midwestern Paper factory as Reed pulled up, a mixture of multiple hues, each refracting off the trees and the front of the building, rising into the night.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered, easing the sedan into the back of the lot and taking up the short lead from the passenger seat.
“You ready to clear a path for me?” he asked over his shoulder, Billie moving back and forth in answer to his question.
Opening the back door just halfway, Reed reached in and attached the clip to Billie’s collar, holding her tight as she jumped to the ground, head already aimed at the commotion by the front gate. Letting his badge swing free against his chest, Reed fell in beside her.
The Midwestern Paper factory was something Reed had driven by a hundred times in his life but had never been inside of. Located on the edge of Franklinton and neighboring Hilltop, it employed a fair number of people from both, making and distributing boxes to various frozen food corporations around the state.
Normally the place looked the part of a factory from the road, an oversized warehouse stretching several blocks long, a parking lot out front to accommodate employees. A chain link fence ran the length of the property separating the two, a single strand of barbed wire visible along the top.
Tonight it was lit up like a Christmas tree, a small handful of cruisers parked out front, their overhead lights flashing red and blue. Beyond them was the source of Reed’s trepidation, presenting a new angle to the case that had not yet been a concern.
Media.
At first glance, Reed felt almost a bit of relief pass through him. Everything about the scene was wrong, from the public site to the presence of so much fanfare. It was a far cry from the previous killings, ones that felt meticulous in their bid for privacy.
There was no way this could be the same perpetrator.
A moment later a second thought came to mind, forcing him to wonder if this was the next step in the escalation. No longer was the killer content to commit such atrocious acts, now feeling he needed an audience.
The front gate stood open as Reed approached, allowing his badge and the oversized black dog by his side to peel the crowd away. At the sight of them the scads of employees and media that were grouped up cleared a path, casting sideways glances as they walked through.
Just once a brave media member tried lobbing a question his way, but he pressed on as if he hadn’t heard it.
On the opposite side of the cage were a half dozen uniforms, among them Gilchrist. He nodded in response to Reed as he came near, moving away from the pack and lowering his voice.
“Fair warning, the captain is looking for you,” Gilchrist opened.
Reed felt his eyebrows rise. “Grimes is here?”
“Just stepped away,” Gilchrist said, “should be back out any second.”
“Hmm,” Reed replied, absorbing the news. There were only a couple of reasons that a captain would be on the scene at such a late hour, all of them bad. “What have we got?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Gilchrist said, again checking the crowd for anybody that might be listening in. “Greene and a couple other senior patrol guys are back there to secure the scene. He sent me a text message a few minutes ago that said it’s ugly, and it’s definitely another one.”
“Great,” Reed said, lifting his chin towards Grimes making his way forward. “Here he comes, you might want to disappear.”
Gilchrist gave a quick glance over his shoulder and seeing Grimes approach nodded his farewell, heading off into the crowd a moment before the captain arrived.
“You just get here?” Grimes said, glancing down at Billie as he came to a stop near Reed, folding his arms over his chest.
“Yeah,” Reed said. “Jackie called twenty minutes ago, we rolled right up.”
Again Grimes glanced between them, bags drooping beneath his eyes, a frown set on the lower half of his face. “I think she called you at the same time the chief called me.”
The questions of how the chief had known and why she called Grimes both popped into Reed’s mind, but he let them pass. He had more pressing matters at hand, things that more directly concerned him.
“How bad is it?”
The frown on Grimes face moved a bit deeper as he took another step or two away from the gate, motioning for Reed to do the same. “Bad,” he confirmed. “I obviously didn’t see the other two scenes, but I’m guessing it has to be on par, if not worse.”
Everything about the area, from the people clumped outside to the state of Grimes, had already told Reed as much. After two consecutive nights of seeing the horrors, he liked to believe he was as steeled as he could be to it.
A wave of raised voices drew both their attentions out towards the parking lot, Billie giving a single tug on the leash, leaning that direction as well. It took a moment to locate the source of them, another rash of media having arrived, boom mics and lights visible overhead.
“I’m guessing they’re the reason you’re here?” Reed asked without looking away from the spectacle.
“They are,” Grimes said, a mix of exhaustion and disdain in his voice. “This many employees on site, no way to issue a gag order to everyone. Somebody over at KCBS gave the chief a call, she in turn called me.”
“Hmm,” Reed said, nodding, not the least bit surprised. “She tell you how to handle the media?”
“Not exactly,” Grimes replied, “but she let it be known that diplomacy would benefit everyone involved.”
The corner of Reed’s mouth drew back a fraction of an inch before returning to place, a natural reaction to the captain’s insinuation that anything coming from the chief had been handled in such a hands-off manner.
“So she told you how to handle the case.”
“Not exactly,” Grimes repeated, giving one long look before taking a step forward towards the crowd ahead, “but she let it be known that this better get solved fast.”
“I guess that means our seventy-two hour window of solace is gone?”
Grimes left Reed standing with Billie, moving on to make a statement without answering the question.
He didn’t have to.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The smell of wood pulp and dye filled Reed’s nostrils as he walked through the hub of the factory. Beside him, the oversized lines used for producing boxes stood silent, resembling extras from a Transformers movie set, all steel and rollers assembled in odd patterns. The place had an almost eerie vibe to it as he stepped forward, following the directions the officer at the front door had given him.
Reed imagined it was the first time in ages that the place had been so quiet, the buzz of overhead lights replacing the usual pandemonium of machinery.
&nb
sp; Flood lights poured from the enormous opening separating the main floor from the storage warehouse in the back, beckoning him forward. In the distance he could see a few silhouettes moving back and forth, a larger crowd having already gathered than the previous two scenes combined.
Pushing a heavy breath out through his nose, Reed stepped through the gateway demarcating the two halves of the building, the bright light and silent mechanical structures replaced with dim hues and floor-to-ceiling stacks of brown rough stock.
The new scent of paper came to him, intertwined with the familiar coppery odor of blood.
The room stretched almost eighty yards in length and half that in width, though all of the activity within was concentrated into a twenty foot square in the middle of the space. Around it were a handful of uniforms, a perimeter already established. Within the yellow police tape were three crime scene techs, each clothed in white paper suits.
Somebody had been quick to bring in the criminologists, no doubt the same person that had called on Grimes. Any hope Reed had had of trying to figure this out before it went out over the airwaves was gone, a classic case of trickle down law enforcement.
The media had leaned on the brass, who would now be leaning on him.
Opting against joining the circus going on nearby just yet Reed switched out the leads on Billie’s collar, attaching the end of the longer one to his waist. He left one hand gripped tight on the nylon cord for extra support and said, “Search.”
The order seemed to come as a welcome surprise to the Belgian, her body jumping from a low-energy state into a poised crouch, her nose dropping towards the floor. Starting just inside the corner of the room, she swung her nose over the polished concrete floor, great deep breaths that echoed inside the warehouse.
Given the surface she was working with, Reed hadn’t expected it to take long for a confirmation. Even without having seen the victim yet, he knew from the presence of Grimes and the extreme exposure already being granted that his killer had been there.
Just the same, he wanted Billie to verify his supposition.
His canine unit trainer had said that while she would never lose a scent once she had encountered it, the more it could be reinforced the better. It took just over three minutes for Billie to hit something familiar, her entire posture changing the moment it met her muzzle. Her pose switched from searching to tracking, leaning forward, tugging Reed onward.
Toenails scraped against the floor as she moved in a serpentine pattern up the back of the room, winding her way through stacks of paper. Several of the officers standing by turned and openly stared as she moved past the scene without ever glancing over, her entire purpose focused on the trail laid out on the ground.
At the far end of the room, she led Reed in a sweeping loop that brought them back towards the center of the warehouse. The trail popped in and out of every tight nook in the room before moving on, Billie never slowing her pace as she followed it.
“He was casing the place,” Reed said, staring up at the towers of paper waiting to be processed. From each corner he looked out over the room, checking the view it afforded, the angle of approaching foot traffic.
The trail took ten minutes to follow, the killer having made a loop and a half over the space before settling down to wait. A significant amount of time must have passed as the scent appeared strong there, Billie taking a long time to decipher the pattern.
Once she did, she angled her body towards the crime scene, again pulling forward with urgency.
“Heel,” Reed snapped, cutting her off halfway there, extra bass in his voice for emphasis. The sound of it drew over the stares of all seven people, Billie drawing to a halt and lowering her backside by his feet.
“Good girl,” Reed said, reaching down and rubbing her ears, ignoring most of the stares.
He walked forward to the closest officer and nodded, Billie remaining on her haunches behind him, the long lead pulling taught. “Officer Greene.”
“Detective,” Greene replied, glancing at him and back to Billie before turning to face forward, his arms folded across his chest.
“What have we got so far?” Reed asked, finally seeing the crime scene for the first time.
Standing silent fifteen feet away was what looked like a forklift, the tongues on the front having been swapping out for a pair of elongated paddles. Reed guessed from the size and shape they were used for clamping and moving the rolls stacked nearby.
On the floor beside it was the victim, first appearances seeming to fit exactly with the established MO.
The man appeared to be in his early thirties, dressed in jeans and what had once been a grey t-shirt, judging by the sleeves. A pair of work boots covered his feet, their toes aimed at the ceiling.
Across his torso was a trio of wicked slashes, almost a complete disembowelment as bits of intestine rose forth, resting atop the t-shirt. In his chest was a single puncture wound, a deep gouge that painted his entire upper quadrant in blood so thick it was almost black.
As with Mentor, his right arm was severed mid-forearm, though the left one appeared to be intact.
“Victim’s name is Mason Durell, friends call him Mace. He operates a roll truck here.”
“Same shift every night?” Reed asked.
“No,” Greene said, adding a shake of his head. “Warehouse foreman said the whole place runs on a swing shift, week on each of the three, rotating through.”
Reed nodded, glancing down at Billie. The information fit with what she had just found, the killer having to do some reconnaissance on the spot, unable to survey the place for days on end.
“Who found him?” Reed asked.
“This time of day, there’s only a single driver on,” Greene said, reciting the information from memory, his attention still aimed forward. “He was found by a janitor pushing an industrial vacuum through the place.”
The information brought a scowl to Reed’s face, the realization that evidence could have been sucked up without even knowing it. “What time was that?”
“Discovery was made less than an hour ago, though it’s unclear exactly how long he’d been here before being found.”
Another look around the place confirmed that. At this time of day, the likelihood of there being anybody passing by would be slim. The perpetrator had likely known that, accommodating for it in planning both the action and the getaway.
“Any cameras?”
“Just out front, on the mechanical stuff,” Greene said. “Used for quality control, that kind of thing.”
It too was in line with what Reed was expecting, though the news did nothing to soften the scowl on his face.
“Let me guess, nobody saw anything unusual?” Reed asked, letting a bit of sarcasm seep into his voice.
If it had been heard there was no acknowledgement from Greene, his face remaining impassive. “Some uniforms from the 16th have everybody that was on shift up front in the cafeteria. They’re sifting through them now, trying to see if anything useful can be gleaned out.”
Instinctively, Reed turned at the waist and glanced over his shoulder, nothing visible but stacks of paper.
Without cameras, he didn’t expect a lot of information to come out one way or another. There was no doubt the killer had been inside, having gained entry without drawing attention at some point before making his way to the warehouse and committing the crime.
Taking a step back, Reed again shifted his focus over the room, his gaze settling on the row of railroad cars along the back wall. He took in the stripes of rubber on the floor and the pattern they seemed to lay out, covering every facet of the room, always ending along the far wall, makeshift ramps leading up into the enclosed spaces.
A thought occurred to him, sparking in the back of his mind, his hand tugging on the lead, drawing Billie to her feet.
“Excuse us, Officer.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Reed could feel the stares on his back as he led Billie towards the towering roll-top in the ba
ck corner standing closed. The combined weight of them seemed to burn between his shoulder blades as he went for the single door beside it and pushed through, the metal release bar on it squealing in protest, echoing through the room.
A moment later the dim light from within was extinguished, cool night air washing over his skin.
A concrete ramp descended away from the roll-top, a loading dock beside it with room for two semi trailers backed in. Behind them the front engine of a rail car sat silent, waiting to pull away the loaded freight behind it.
“Search.”
On cue, Billie once more dropped down into a crouch, canvassing the concrete ramp, using her nose to guide her back and forth over the area.
It wasn’t until he had seen the layout of the crime scene that Reed had thought much about the exit strategy. Up until that point he had been focused on the point of entry and the act itself, hoping that the killer might have made a mistake, left some trail back to himself.
Once it appeared that that was not the case, he shifted to the aftermath, the moments once the deed was committed, trying to determine how the man might have gotten away.
As best he could tell, there existed only two ways in and out of the factory. The first was back out through the front entrance, which would have required him to walk back the length of the building without drawing suspicion.
Given the amount of blood present, the odds of him not having at least some small bit on him weren’t good. Compounding that would have been the weapon he was carrying, much harder to stow after the fact.
That left the other option, which was to disappear out through the loading dock.
Three minutes after being given the order, Billie came across the scent, the same jolt of electricity flashing through her, propelling them both forward. Reed gave her more length on the lead, allow her to increase her pace, the trail strong in her nose.
Deep within Reed felt the same sense of excitement roil, hopeful that they might be on to something.
The Boat Man: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 1) Page 9