Silent Night
Page 19
“The condition of the body makes it hard to identify defensive wounds or other traumas, but autopsy should help with that. Hmm.”
“What?” Tucker asked, not caring if he’d interrupted her recording.
“There’s almost no evidence of insect activity. Even with the cold temperatures I would expect to see more bugs or signs of scavengers. There are too many cracks in these walls for this place to be that secure from nature.”
“Even bugs?”
“If the body was covered in snow before it was placed here and kept off the ground, insects wouldn’t necessarily be an issue.” She shut off the recorder and motioned over the two assistants who’d entered with a gurney.
Tucker walked outside, contemplating Sam’s deduction. There had been heavy snowfall over the last few weeks. If Ricky’s body had originally been staged someplace else, staged to be found as Levi and the Dayton victims had, the snow might have screwed up their killer’s plans, forcing him to dig Ricky out of the snow and put him here, instead. There was every chance that whoever did this didn’t know the shed wasn’t in constant use. The rest of the granary was constantly trafficked.
He leaned against the wall and waved Jim over. “You do a walk of the grounds?”
“Yes, sir.” Jim wiped his hands on his pants. “I didn’t notice any footprints or tire tracks or anything else, for that matter.”
“Not surprising with all the snow we had last night.” At least this time they had footprints in the building. “The back way in, the way you brought in the doc, is that common knowledge?”
Jim nodded. “That’s where delivery trucks come and go. The main gate’s too small for them to pass through. I asked Floyd. Last delivery was two days ago, though.”
Sam stepped out of the building and made her way to Tucker. “Hi, Jim. Can you give us a minute?” When Goiter stepped off to talk to the attendants, she said, “As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, I’d say that’s your missing teen.”
“Cause of death?”
“Technically, undetermined right now. Off the record? The garroting obviously would have done it. But autopsy will let me know whether that was done postmortem or not.” She sagged against the building next to Tucker. “That wound . . . it’s the same as Michael Levi’s, Tucker. You ready to tell me what we’re dealing with here? This a serial?”
Tucker blew on his hands then shoved them in his pockets. He took a couple of beats, then told her everything he knew. He hadn’t wanted to taint her findings with Miranda’s suspicions. But now there was a second body. A fucking kid. He couldn’t pretend they weren’t dealing with a serial killer any longer, even if the textbook three killings hadn’t yet happened. If Tucker didn’t find the son of a bitch, it would only be a matter of time.
Sam’s pale face had little to do with the cold. Like him, she had probably thought taking a position in a town like Christmas would mean she wouldn’t have to deal with shit like this. He was sorry to be the one to lay it on her.
She raked her messy blond hair and sighed. “I’m going to get him back to the morgue and do the prelim before sending him to Knoxville. I’ll let you know what I find. And without saying too much, I’ll let them know it’s even more crucial that they move us up on their priority list.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
She smiled up at him, and he saw her struggle to hold it together. “Things like this aren’t supposed to happen here.”
“No. They’re not.”
She gave his arm a light squeeze, then climbed into the coroner’s van while the assistants rolled Ricky’s bagged body into the back on a gurney. When the van disappeared from sight, Tucker made his way to Jim, who was sneaking a cigarette behind the outbuilding.
“On your way out, make sure you let Floyd know to lock up the back entrance if possible, and absolutely no one enters this area until I give the all-clear.”
“Sure thing, Chief.”
Tucker climbed into his cruiser. He’d be willing to bet this staging was meant to mimic a confirmation, the next in the order of sacraments, but if anyone could tell him for sure whether it was a crazy notion that the Rosary Killer would strike a kid, it was Miranda.
Blasting the heat, he let the engine idle while he flipped through his phone for previous calls and located her number. He waited for her to answer, wondering if she even would. When her throaty voice greeted him two rings later, he was more than a little surprised.
“Where’re you at? Do you have time to meet me?”
He could hear music in the background being turned down.
“Tucker?”
“Yeah, sorry, it’s me.”
“Everything okay? I haven’t heard from you since—”
“Yeah, sorry about that, too. I’d like to swing by your place if you have time.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
Tucker lifted his free hand in front of the vents and let his fingers thaw. He’d have time to shower and get the stench of Ricky’s death off him. “Eight-thirty? I can bring food.”
She laughed, and for a moment, the sound eased the tension in his shoulders and loosened the knots in his gut. “You don’t have to feed me every time you want to see me.”
“I like feeding you.”
“And getting me drunk.”
“I’ll bring burgers. No wine.”
“Like I said, you don’t have to feed me. But hold the mayo on mine.”
She hung up.
As he stuffed the phone into the console, he found himself smiling, but quickly sobered as his gaze connected to the building where Ricky’s young body had just been bagged and tagged. An enormous burden of guilt made him sick to his stomach all over again. But he hadn’t called Miranda so she could share a meal with him. He had a very valid reason for wanting to see her. She had been living and breathing this case for months and now that he had another body on his hands, he had to seriously consider the fact that she might have insight they’d overlooked.
He definitely needed insight. And probably a fresh set of eyes. He grabbed his phone again, dialing a number he’d had memorized for years.
“What the fuck, Tuck. Been a while.” No matter how long it had been, his old partner, Finn Donovan, always greeted him the same way. “Man, I thought you were dead or something. How the hell have you been?”
Tucker adjusted the volume on the speakerphone and put the cruiser into drive. “Decent. Or at least I was. That’s why I’m calling. You got any vacation days saved up?”
“In fifteen years here, you think they’ve given me even one of my owed days willingly? Of course I have days. What’s up?”
Tucker provided a brief rundown of his two scenes and gave the detective a minute to let it all sink in.
“But you think it’s just a copycat?” Finn asked.
Tucker could picture him rubbing his jaw, sitting on the edge of the desk like he did whenever he was trying to piece facts together.
“I’m not stupid enough to call it anything yet,” Tucker admitted. “Or willing to risk lives because I left some stones unturned.”
“You got an extra bed?”
Tucker smiled. Finn didn’t do hotels. Some people couldn’t piss in public bathrooms, Finn Donovan couldn’t sleep in other people’s cum stains. His words, not Tucker’s.
“I’ll even buy new sheets to go on it.”
“I can be there in a day or two. Will let you know when the lieutenant gives me leave.”
Tucker thanked him and hung up feeling immensely better. He’d worked enough murders with Finn to know his chances of finding his killer had just improved tenfold. Finn and Tucker had held the record for most cases closed successfully in their run as partners in the Chicago PD.
Things were starting to look up.
Chapter 26
TUCKER JUGGLED THE bag of burgers and fries in one hand and hip bumped the car door closed. The tray of sodas slipped from his arm, and he barely caught the drinks before they smashed on the gravel path.
“Hey yourself.”
She tightened the belt on her robe and padded in a pair of socks to the kitchen. “Coffee?”
He held up the tray. “I brought drinks. Maybe after?”
She diverted from the path to the coffeepot and took a seat at the table. “Okay, then. Let’s eat while you tell me why you wanted to see me.”
If he told her now, she’d probably lose her appetite. “Eat first.”
He opened the bags and passed her a burger. They ate in silence, an awkward tension hanging between them. He swallowed, looking for the right thing to say to ease the obvious embarrassment she was feeling about last night.
“Miran—”
“Tuck—” She laughed. “You first.”
He smiled around the straw of his soda. “It’s been a long day, but I should have made sure you were okay about—”
“It was just a kiss. Not a big deal. Let’s drop it, okay? I want to work with you on this and I don’t want things to get awkward between us.”
Just a kiss. Right.
He nodded and returned his attention to his fries. Not awkward, his ass.
“So? What happened today?”
She’d pretty much finished her food. No more reason to delay. “You said confirmation was one of the sacraments.”
“That’s right. It’s usually high-school-age kids. I think it depends on the parish, but typically eighth graders.”
“What would he be dressed in? Anything special?”
“Did something else happen, Tucker?”
“Yeah. I . . . we found that kid we were looking for. I’m pretty sure he was the first victim here in Christmas.”
She sat in silence for a moment, and he thought she might cry. Instead, she surprised him by squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath. “And you think it was confirmation.”
“Possibly.”
“It would make sense. They’re usually around fourteen, fifteen years old when they’re confirmed.”
Which explained why the killer had strayed from his MO with a teen rather than an adult this time. He must like the power that came from killing a grown man, because any of his victims could have been younger, easier prey. And while he could have chosen an adult to use in his confirmation scene, a young boy would make a much louder, sadder statement.
“And you have no idea why the Dayton PD thought these were re-creations of sacraments in the first place? I still don’t see anything that leads me to believe it’s anything more than a religious-set murder.”
She shook her head. “You haven’t found anything in the files, yet?”
“I’ve barely had time to open them. Lisa has been combing through them, but she hasn’t said anything.”
Miranda placed a hand on her belly and sighed. “I’m telling you, it’s the Rosary Killer. It’s confirmation. He’d choose someone he could cleanse, force him into a confirmation of his own making.”
“I didn’t find a rosary, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. It was partially hidden on the other victim.” He scrubbed his eyes. “This is not how I wanted to find Ricky Schneider.”
“I’m so sorry. I just wish . . . Maybe if I hadn’t waited . . . Excuse me.” She clamped her hand over her mouth and ran from the room.
He wanted to go after her, make sure she was all right, but was certain his witnessing her weakness would be worse than any comfort he could offer. Moving to the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee and returned to the table to clean up the remnants of dinner. When the coffee finished brewing and Miranda still hadn’t returned, he ventured down the hall and called out for her. He found her sitting on the bathroom floor, her head cradled against her raised knees. She didn’t even look at him when he knelt beside her.
“It’s so wrong. That boy never should have died. If I could’ve made the Dayton police listen to me—”
He dropped to the floor beside her and pulled her against his chest. “You can’t think like that. There was no way for you to know what he was going to do. You’re not a cop, Miranda. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
He held her, rocking her softly until her tears stopped and her breath normalized. Pushing himself up the wall, he carried her into the bedroom, jerked the covers back, and settled her in the middle of the bed. This was the second night in a row he found himself tucking her in.
“Tucker . . .”
There was no way he was leaving her. Not like this. It was his fault for telling her about Ricky’s murder. He didn’t know if his being here would keep the nightmares at bay. If not, at least she wouldn’t have to wake up and deal with them alone.
“Go to sleep.” He clicked the lamp off, then collapsed in the chair in the corner. He could sense her desperation to protest as she realized his intention to hunker down and babysit her. She tried to muffle her sobs against the pillow but they echoed through the room, murdering his conscience.
He didn’t fall asleep until the soft sounds of Miranda’s snoring became his lullaby. When the sun was safely up again, he made sure she was still tucked in, and headed home for a shower.
Chapter 27
Saturday
MIRANDA WOKE SLOWLY to find Tucker’s chair empty. She lay in bed, wondering what time he’d left. How long had she cried before finally falling asleep?
That poor kid. Was there anything she could have done differently to prevent his death?
Nauseous, she stumbled to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, the long shower had refreshed her, but by no means had it erased the guilt from her heart or the queasiness of her stomach.
Chucking her soiled clothes into a plastic laundry bag, she pulled on fresh jeans and a turtleneck, then grabbed her dirty parka and purse. She had to talk to Tucker, make sure he knew she was strong enough to help. If he considered last night’s reaction a testament to her grit, he might not tell her anything else.
She crammed her wallet and a pair of spare gloves back into her purse, then tossed her car keys and phone inside, too, and seeing the cruiser gone, headed off Tucker’s property toward town. It took two trips around the Town Square to find the little bakery tucked along a side street, where she purchased two coffees and cheese Danishes before continuing on to the police station.
Lisa greeted her from the front desk.
“Is Tucker around?”
“He’s on a call. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Miranda set the Danishes and coffees on the counter. “I have food . . . if you’re hungry?”
Lisa helped herself to a Danish. “I know who you are, you know. I should be mad as hell at you. I don’t like being made a fool of.”
Miranda frowned. “It was never my intention—”
“Whatever. What’s done is done. Just know that secrets don’t make you look so good, all right?”
Miranda opened her mouth to respond, but the bell over the door chimed, silencing her attempt at an explanation. A woman with pale yellow hair and a scowl marched to the counter.
“Helen,” Lisa said, folding her arms over her breasts.
“Where’s the chief?”
“Busy. Want me to tell him you stopped by?”
“I heard there’s a second body. I can’t keep holding on to this information. It’s jeopardizing my ethics as a reporter.”
“Ethics? Since when do you have those?” Lisa shuffled some papers and leaned back in her chair. “I’ll let Chief Ambrose know you want a statement as soon as he’s ready to release the news. Not before then. We know you’ve been paid to keep your mouth shut, and judging by that handbag you’re carrying, I doubt you have any of that money left to pay back, so keep your pen still, got it?”
“The people of Christmas deserve to know—”
“The people of Christmas deserve a holiday that’s not filled with panic that’s going to drive out the tourist
s. When we know something for sure, trust me, you’ll be free to write about it.”
“Are tourists more important than people’s safety? Breaking the story could save lives.”
“More like give you more bylines when you freelance it out to the surrounding counties.” Lisa crossed her arms, her glare not wavering under the other woman’s intense anger. “When we feel that keeping quiet is jeopardizing our citizens, you’ll get the green light. Not before.”
“Just because Ethel Levi has the power to keep her son’s death quiet doesn’t mean this other family would. It was a kid, for God’s sake, Lisa. You think you’re going to keep those parents as quiet as our mayor has been? Whether it comes from me or not, news is going to leak. You’d better start preparing this office for a panic because that’s what you’re about to get.”
“Go home, Helen.” Tucker’s voice was audible before he appeared from the hallway. He cast Miranda an acknowledging glance, then returned his stare to the woman. “Nothing goes in the Chronicle yet. I need a few more facts and then I’ll give you a release. That kid’s parents haven’t even been notified yet, so zip it. Got it? We get a legit ID on him before anything’s released.”
He motioned Miranda back. She gathered her belongings and followed him into his office.
“Didn’t think I’d see you this early,” he said, shutting the door. “How’re you feeling?”
“Peachy.” She handed him his cup of coffee but kept the remaining Danish for herself. She popped the top off her cup, happy to see it had retained a bit of its warmth.
She clenched her fist in her lap.
“I’m sorry I upset you last night,” he said.
“I’m a big girl, Tuck.” She glanced at the box in the corner. “How long till you’re done going through the Dayton files?”
“I haven’t even had a chance to really start yet. I have a friend coming in this afternoon to help. Things will speed up with us both looking things over. Don’t worry. I still plan on letting you help.”
She frowned. “That’s not what I was concerned about.”
“What then?”