by Rick Reed
“Okay what?” she asked, looking at the card.
“Okay. I gave you something,” Jack said. “Now go away.” He caught the eye of one of the uniformed officers and inclined his head toward the journalist. The officer came trotting over and corralled her.
“Is the body by the University of Evansville involved with these multiple deaths?” she called out as she was being led away. “What can you tell my viewers? How did he die?”
Jack said, “Who says it was a male victim?”
“I have sources, Jack. I just need you to confirm....”
“Since when did you confirm anything?” Jack said under his breath as the uniformed officer escorted a disappointed Claudine Setera out of the crime scene.
When she was out of earshot Liddell asked, “How does Claudine know there’s more than one death here, pod’na?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
“Well, there are too many leaks to pick just one. Larry Jansen, Deputy Chief Dick, and three hundred other officers and civilians and their friends and families and...”
“Shut up, Bigfoot,” Jack said. “It has to be Double Dick. I’m surprised she wasn’t carrying him in a papoose baby thingy.”
“It’s called a baby carrier, Jack,” Liddell said. “Marcie got one for Jane. It’s kinda neat.” Liddell was a new father. Marcie had picked out the name Jane. Jane Blanchard. Jack had pouted for a while that they hadn’t named the baby Jackie or Jaclyn.
“Who ever heard of a yeti named Jane?” Jack asked.
“Are you still sore? It’s been a month, pod’na. If the baby had been a boy, I would have insisted on a different name.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was thinking Boris, or...”
“Just shut up,” Jack said.
They ducked under the inner perimeter tape. The factory’s service parking was vacant except for the lone tractor-trailer where crime scene tech Joanie Ryan waited for them. Joanie, for all of her one year of experience, was in charge of this crime scene. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the tops of her cheeks were chafed from the cold, or from rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her coveralls.
“Are you okay, Joanie?” Jack asked.
“I’ve never... I can’t... Jesus, Jack!”
“Does Sergeant Walker have someone coming to help you out?”
“He does,” she said.
“Show me what you have,” Jack said.
She pointed to a brass padlock lying on the ground. “The security guy for the factory called dispatch forty-five minutes ago to report an abandoned truck. He thought it was suspicious because this place used to make some kind of vehicle parts for the military.”
Jack remembered the news. The factory closed due to a drawdown in military troops the last couple of years. More than a hundred people had lost their jobs.
The outside of the truck and trailer were coated with frost. The back doors of the trailer showed smudges in the grime and frost from when the officers opened the doors.
Joanie continued. “The responding officer called Sergeant Mattingly when he saw that.” She indicated an uneven crust of something frozen and brownish that had leaked from the bottom of one of the doors.
“Is that blood?” Liddell asked.
“It wasn’t, but it looked like it. Sergeant Mattingly arrived and cut the lock off the door,” she said.
“Well, let’s have a look,” Jack said.
Joanie pulled the door on the right open wide. The sickening smell of feces and urine washed over them. The sky was overcast but with just enough light for Jack to make out forms of literally dozens of unmoving bodies.
“I got here ten minutes ago. Sergeant Walker called me in on account of the other murder. Sergeant Mattingly had already gone inside to see if anyone was alive. They weren’t. I closed the doors to keep the smell down and to keep out people like that reporter you were talking to. I called the coroner.”
“When will Tony get here?”
She shrugged. “Sergeant Walker said you can take a quick peek but not to let you go inside. I’ve taken some pictures from outside, but no one’s been inside except Sergeant Mattingly.”
Jack could see streaks and smears of blood on the edges of the door where someone had tried to claw it open. The gummy material coated the bottom of the door and the threshold. Three bodies—two men and a woman—lay just inside. Dozens more were scattered across the floor. A pile of bodies filled one corner in the back.
Jack took out a small flashlight and trained the beam on the nearest body. It was a huge man. He lay on his side facing the door, one arm behind his back, the other spread out in front. He wasn’t wearing a coat. His long-sleeve button-up shirt sported two bloody holes in the front of his chest. Blood pooled around him on the floor. He died right there. Was stabbed, fell down, bled out.
Next to him a woman was spread-eagle on her stomach, arms up over her head as if she was swimming. Her coat was also missing. Her head was twisted at an unnatural angle. She had on a man’s black-and-red plaid shirt with the cuffs and neck buttoned up. She wore skintight jeans and cheap half boots. There were no visible injuries other than the broken neck.
Another man’s body completed this grouping of the dead. He was curled into a fetal position near the dead woman, arms around his knees, knees tucked under his chin. He wore military-type pants, combat boots, wool shirt, but no coat. He may have died from exposure.
Jack put the light on the woman’s face. She was dark-skinned with thick, dark hair and dark wide-open eyes. He moved the light down her arms. Her hands were clinched and bloody. The skin on the tips of her fingers was shredded to the bone. Jack trained the light on the threshold. In the goop, he saw a fingernail.
“Joanie, can we open the other door?” Jack asked.
“You don’t want to do that,” she said firmly and showed him some digital photos she had shot behind the door. “That was their toilet.”
“Okay, thanks,” Jack said and turned his attention to the guy in semi-military clothing and no coat. Something glinted in the man’s hand. “Joanie, can you tell what that is?”
She moved up behind Jack’s shoulder while Jack directed the beam onto the dead man’s hand.
“Looks like a knife,” she said.
“A military knife, pod’na,” Liddell added.
“Let me get a picture,” Joanie said.
Jack shined the light around the three bodies and could see the footprints and smears in the toilet goo and blood on the floor. Down inside the trailer, several single bodies slumped against the walls. Larger groupings huddled together. He didn’t see any other signs of violence.
“These three must have been trying to get out and got into a fight,” Joanie said.
“Possibly,” Jack said. “If the guy with the knife killed these two, he did it quick and clean. She was clawing at the door.” Jack pointed at the fingernail stuck on the threshold.
Liddell said, “The woman’s neck looks broken.”
Jack said, “I think we know who was driving this truck. Corporal Morris found a key on the body in the alleyway over by the university. The key was stamped ABUS just like this padlock, and we have a car that was stolen about six blocks from here.”
“The dead guy parked the truck here, stole a car, drove clear across town, and was killed in an alley. Why?” Joanie asked. She pulled heavy mittens over her latex gloves and tucked her hands under her arms.
“Very astute question, my dear Watson,” Liddell said.
Joanie said through chattering teeth, “Why would he leave them here?”
“We answer that question and we’ll find the killer,” Jack said. “The body was found in the alley beside the Coffee Shop. Walker thinks the guy was killed late last night, and the owner of the shop said she had a customer that left when she closed up. She thought the customer was waitin
g for someone. He was in the shop an hour and didn’t eat or drink anything.”
“You think he’s connected. The customer, I mean?” Joanie asked, and Jack shrugged.
Jack played the light around inside the trailer. “I don’t see any source of heat. Have you checked the truck’s cab yet?”
Joanie said, “It’s locked. Sergeant Mattingly saw food wrappers and to-go cups on the floorboard.”
“I don’t see any water bottles or food wrappers back here,” Jack said. “I count at least twenty-five bodies. This guy didn’t give a shit what kind of shape these people were in when they got to wherever it was they were headed.” He wondered how it would have felt to be closed in this dark moving coffin with the smell that was already making his eyes water.
“Who’s keeping the crime scene log?” Jack asked.
“Officer Fellwock should be here,” she said.
“I had to put him on the perimeter,” Sergeant Mattingly said from behind them. “Officers Maxwell and Johnson got here first and talked to the security guy that called it in. They said the hood of the truck was cold and no one was around. They ran the plates, and it came back to a rental company in New Jersey. We tried to call them, but it’s a weekend. I used bolt cutters and found what you see there.”
Frost still covered the ground, and a number of boot prints with the lug sole pattern of Rocky brand boots were everywhere. He suspected every officer that arrived at the scene had come by to see.
Mattingly saw where Jack’s attention was focused. “Those prints will be mine, Fellwock’s, Johnson’s, and Ryan’s. I had to send Fellwock to run off gawkers with camera phones. He’ll be back in a minute. Joanie was temporary crime scene log officer. I’ll have everyone here do a report.”
“I’m not accusing you of doing anything wrong, Sergeant,” Jack said.
“I understand,” Mattingly said. “Chain of custody can be a bitch.”
Joanie slowly played her light over the frozen bodies. “A couple of them back there are naked,” she remarked. “I studied this in class. In severe hypothermia cases, some victims feel like they’re burning up and take off their clothes. I think they were in here a couple of days, Jack.”
“We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to be sure,” Jack said.
Sergeant Mattingly said, “We don’t know how long the truck was parked here either. According to the private security guard, there hasn’t been any activity here for a month or longer. He said the security company was hired to check the building’s doors a couple of times a day, but he admitted that was hit or miss. He said some of the guys, including himself, would just drive by the front of the building and visually check. He said it was ‘possible’ that no one had come back here for a week or more. Here’s the guy’s information.” Mattingly handed Liddell a sheet from his notebook.
Trees and thickets of shrubs lined the banks of Pigeon Creek across from where they were. A baseball field and a skateboarding area were over there as well. Behind that were picnic areas with access to Evansville Greenway and paths that ran the length of the creek. It was too cold for anyone to be using the Greenway, but it would be tempting for reporters to set up cameras.
“Can we block the Greenway to foot traffic?” Jack asked.
Mattingly said, “I sent an officer over there.”
“Tell the reporters there are snakes in the woods,” Jack suggested.
“That’ll only scare the snakes.” Mattingly’s portable crackled, and someone told him a news van was driving across the baseball diamond on the other side of the creek.
“Now there really are snakes in the woods,” Mattingly said and moved away.
Jack called after him, “Hey Sarge, I told Officer Hurt he could take off and go home to his sick wife.”
Mattingly said, “Hurt isn’t married.”
“That lying little shit,” Liddell said.
Jack said, “Shhh. Listen.”
They all went quiet, and Jack directed the flashlight at the pile of bodies in the back of the trailer. The fingers of a small hand poked out, and a weak voice said what sounded like, “Poppy.”
“Someone’s alive!” Jack shouted and hoisted himself into the opening.
Chapter 5
Jack hadn’t waited for an ambulance. He and Liddell had loaded the survivor in their car, and Sgt. Mattingly escorted them, Code 3, to Deaconess Hospital Emergency. Sgt. Mattingly was needed back at the scene and left. A few minutes later Captain Franklin showed up at the ER.
“I’ve called in more detectives. Detective Chapman will be your liaison. He will keep you updated on anything they find and pass on your requests.”
“Who is taking the murder by the university?” Jack asked.
“Detectives Melton and Jordan will take the truck scene. Chapman will stay at headquarters as the hub. He’ll be available if we need to pull him. You two will be lead on all of this. Do you need a detective to take the coffee shop murder?”
It was an early Saturday morning, but Captain Franklin was dressed in his usual black suit without a speck of lint or a wrinkle, starched white shirt, and red tie as if he were going to a business meeting. Commendable. Anal.
“We need some guys to start doing neighborhood checks,” Jack said. “We’re already working that scene, so we might as well stay with it. Is Deputy Chief Dick coming in, Captain?”
Jack had no more than said this when he heard Deputy Chief Richard Dick’s voice coming from the ER registration desk, telling the nurse who he was in the condescending tone he reserved for those beneath him. Seconds later the Dickster strode into the ER treatment area.
If Captain Franklin was a bit obsessive with his clothing, Double Dick was a clothing Nazi. Full dress uniform, chest full of ribbons, go-to-prom shiny shoes, and the ever-present eight-point cap with gold braids adorning the bill. He was, of course, in full dress uniform now in anticipation of a Kodak moment. Double Dick was also what the troops called a media whore. If a reporter was nearby, Dick was always ready to be interviewed.
“Where are we?” Dick asked no one in particular.
Liddell said, deadpan, “We’re in the emergency room at Deaconess Hospital, sir.”
Dick didn’t smile. He crossed his arms and waited.
Franklin nodded toward a treatment room with the door closed. “We’re still waiting for the ER doctor to come out, Deputy Chief.”
“Only one survivor?” Double Dick asked, but it was obvious by the excited dance in his eyes and the twitch of his upper lip that he already knew the answer.
The word “survivor” set Jack’s teeth on edge. He’d seen a lot of violent murders, but he’d never experienced anything as callous on a large scale such as this. The victims were abandoned, locked up in a remote area where even if they screamed and kicked the walls of the trailer, there was no chance they would be heard and rescued. They had been left, murdered by the negligence of the truck’s driver. That the driver himself was killed was little compensation.
“How many deaths?” the Dick asked.
“Thirty-one at last count, Deputy Chief,” Captain Franklin answered. “Crime Scene is working with the coroner’s office to document, tag, and bag the bodies.”
Dick seemed to swell up. “Don’t you think I know how this works, Captain?”
“Yes sir,” Captain Franklin said.
“I mean, I am the Commander of the Investigations Unit,” Dick said loudly, but no one seemed to notice.
“The call I received indicated higher casualties,” Dick said to Jack. He sounded disappointed.
“What number did Claudine give you?” Jack asked.
Before Dick could stop the words, he said, “Miss Setera told me a trailer full of bod...” He cut the statement short and gave Jack a sharp look. “Detective Murphy, your job is to catch this maniac, not to question me. My job is to liaise with the news media and keep th
em friendly. Claudine Setera is an important part of the news community and a friend of this department.”
Deputy Chief Richard Dick had earned the nickname Double Dick not just because of his two first names—Richard Dick—but because he was known to repeatedly punish someone for a perceived transgression against the department or any personal slight to himself. Hence the name Double Dick.
The door to the treatment room opened, and a doctor emerged from the patient’s room, calling for a nurse.
“Talk to me, Doctor,” Double Dick said.
The doctor stepped around Double Dick and went directly to Jack. “Hi’ya, Jack. Short time no see.” He patted Jack’s arm. “You’re a shit-magnet, buddy. It just follows you around. You’re like a can of ‘whoop-ass’ dragging the can around. You’re like...”
Jack stopped the doctor from going on. “How is he, Doc?”
“It’s a miracle the boy’s alive,” the doctor said. “He’s suffering from hypothermia, frostbite, dehydration, malnutrition. We’re bringing his temperature up slowly, and we’ve got him on an IV to get his fluids up. He’ll be with us...”
Jack held three fingers up where Double Dick couldn’t see.
“For at least...well, I estimate three days. Maybe as much as a week,” the doctor said, and Jack nodded. “I’ll be able to give you a more accurate assessment tomorrow morning. He’s going to ICU tonight.”
Jack raised his eyebrows at the doctor and mouthed “No visitors.”
The doctor continued. “Of course, I will have to insist on no visitors except with my express approval. No phone calls and absolutely no news media.”
The disappointment on Double Dick’s face was obvious. There would be no pictures of Dick taken with the survivor.
Dick said, “Doctor, I’m the deputy chief in charge of this investigation. Are you telling me I can’t see a witness to a mass murder?”
“Jack is the lead investigator, am I right, Deputy?” the doctor said.
“It’s Deputy Chief. Jack may be the lead but...” Dick said, and the doctor interrupted him.
“This kid doesn’t need a bunch of people talking to him right now. Jack’s the one that brought him in. Maybe Jack can see him in a bit—for a few minutes. The kid doesn’t need any unnecessary stimulation.”