by D P Lyle
I refrained from launching into my favorite tirade on why the usual suspects weren’t behind bars, why defense attorneys were allowed to live, why the system was fucked up and on its way to extinction. Instead I said, “That’s what whoever dumped these bags is hoping you’ll do. Spin your wheels in the wrong direction.” I turned to T-Tommy. “The real question is why Eddie buried two bodies in the woods. Two bodies that had undergone an entire textbook’s worth of surgical procedures. Eddie doesn’t look like he had a medical degree, which means he isn’t the cutter. He’s simply the garbageman.”
“And now somebody took out the garbageman.”
“Exactly.”
CHAPTER 33
SATURDAY 6:29 P.M.
WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?
Alejandro paced the room, stopping near the door occasionally to see if he could hear anything. Something was wrong. They should have been here by now.
“Sit,” Carmelita said. “Save your energy.”
“Got to keep moving.”
“Come here.” She motioned him toward her.
He knelt in front of her. “What?”
“You think they know?” Carmelita whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Should we call it off?”
Alejandro sensed doubt creeping into her voice. He had beaten back those fears, instilled a degree of confidence in her, showing her several ways to go for the face and eyes. She bought into it, steeled her nerves, ready to go. But now? The wait had sapped that confidence. “No. Last night didn’t work but tonight will. I feel it.”
“Adivino.” She laughed. “You a fortune-teller now?”
“All I know is the longer we’re here, the weaker we get. We do it tonight.”
She sighed. “I just wish they would hurry up. Something must be—”
“Shhh.” He heard voices and footsteps. “Here they come.” He looked her in the eye. “You ready?”
Carmelita stood. “Let’s do it.” She moved to the left of the door, out of the line of sight, and crouched.
Alejandro took his position facing the door.
The lock clicked, the door swung open, and Austin walked through. His arms hung loosely at his sides, gun stuffed beneath his belt, not in his hand as usual. Good.
Alejandro stepped toward him, fists tightly balled, preparing his attack. Austin’s right hand snapped up. A whispering puff. A sharp pain in his gut. He looked down. A metal barb penetrated his shirt. A small halo of blood. His arms felt heavy and weak. His vision dimmed as he saw Lefty enter the room. Carmelita launched herself at him. Alejandro’s world faded, his legs folded, and he seemed to float to the floor.
CHAPTER 34
SATURDAY 6:38 P.M.
“SO HOW DO YOU READ THIS?” T-TOMMY ASKED.
We stood outside Eddie’s trailer. The sun had made its retreat, leaving behind a Dreamsicle western sky. A wad of blue-black thunder-heads crouched near the horizon and pushed a cool breeze, heavy with the smell of rain, in our direction.
“I’d like to think Eddie was popped for doing sloppy work. Screwed up the burial, bodies were found, and someone took him out. But the timing’s out of whack. Eddie was done two or three days ago. The corpses weren’t found until yesterday.”
“He was somebody’s liability,” T-Tommy said. “This ain’t no robbery, and it ain’t no drug hit.”
“Which means he became a problem before the bodies were found.”
“Maybe with other corpses,” T-Tommy said. “Maybe this guy’s a serial killer.”
I saw lightning pulse against the distant clouds, gilding their edges and lighting a fire in their bellies. Too far for the thunder to reach us. “If so, he’s not the run-of-the-mill type.”
T-Tommy stared at me.
“A serial could do all this stuff. The surgeries. If he had the skills. They can do some sick shit. But I’ve never heard of one getting someone else to dump the bodies. Then executing that someone. Doesn’t fit.”
“Even for an organized type?”
“Not saying it isn’t possible, only that it isn’t likely.” I glanced at the door to Eddie’s trailer. Stone stood inside talking with a uniform. “I don’t see the fantasy here. Most serials, at least the sexually sadistic subtypes, are driven by sexual fantasies. They don’t usually share their fantasies with anyone. Like a garbageman.”
“Just the victims,” T-Tommy said.
How true. “There were none of the sexual assaults or genital mutilations typical of the sexually sadistic types.”
“Then what type is this guy?”
“Don’t know, but he sure has an elaborate method of torture.”
“You think maybe he hired Eddie to grab victims for him,” T-Tommy said. “Not share what he’s doing or why. Just paid him to pick up hookers.”
I thought about that for a beat. “That would expose him, but it could work.” Another pulse of lightning caught my eye. Closer. I mentally counted to eight before I heard the faint rumble of thunder. “This is more than just skill and fancy equipment. Couldn’t be done by a single person and probably not by two people . . . Eddie and the killer. I’d guess at least three or four. Someone has to capture the victims, someone has to operate on them, someone has to guard them, someone has to care for them after the surgeries, and someone has to dump the bodies. Even if Eddie was hired to do the capturing and dumping, the logistics of doing the surgeries, the aftercare, and the guarding would be a team effort. Serials aren’t pack animals.”
“Now, there’s a visual,” T-Tommy said. “A pack of serial killers. What would you call that? A pod? A gaggle?”
“A murder,” I said. “Like crows.”
“Maybe it’s some kind of satanic cult,” T-Tommy said.
“Speaking of visuals,” I said. “A cult of satanic surgeons. This is just too weird.”
“Let’s talk to the sister.”
CHAPTER 35
SATURDAY 6:47 P.M.
WE FOUND ELLIE ELLIOTT SITTING IN THE BACKSEAT OF A PATROL car, door open, feet on the ground, head bowed. She had twisted a tissue into a frayed knot. Red, puffy eyes looked up. Even through her grief I could see she was an attractive woman. Maybe thirty, blonde hair, blue eyes, white blouse, blue jeans, Rolex knockoff on her left wrist.
T-Tommy rested a hand on top of the cruiser. “Ms. Elliott, I’m Investigator Tortelli. Huntsville PD. This is Dub Walker.”
She looked at me.
“Investigating the murder of a friend,” I said.
“You were a friend of Eddie’s?”
“No. Someone else.”
Her gaze moved to T-Tommy and back to me. “What does that have to do with Eddie?”
“Maybe nothing,” I said.
“Or maybe something?” Ellie swallowed hard, sniffed, and brought the tissue up to dab one eye.
T-Tommy squatted. “I need to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” Her hands dropped to her lap. Trembling fingers wadded the tissue into a ball.
“I know your brother has an armed robbery trial coming up over in Georgia. And I know you bailed him out.”
“I didn’t know about the trial.” She sat up straighter and let out a long, uneven breath. “Eddie told me he’d taken care of it. Had some attorney who was going to get the charges dropped. That it was best if he stayed over here until it was done.”
“You believed him?”
“Yes,” Ellie said, then shook her head. “Not really. I wanted to.”
“Any idea who might have done this?”
“No.”
T-Tommy shifted his weight. “No threats or problems with anyone?”
“Not that I know.”
“What about someone from Atlanta? Maybe came over to settle an old drug dispute?”
“I don’t know much about what went on in Atlanta. Eddie rarely talked about it.”
“The drugs we found. He selling again?”
“No. He told me he wasn’t, anyway.”
“What did he do for money?” I asked. “Any kind of job?”
“Nothing steady. I give him a little once in a while.”
“Who pays the rent here?” I nodded toward the trailer.
“He does. It’s only about a hundred and fifty a month.”
“The odd jobs,” T-Tommy said. “What are we talking about? Construction? Yard work?”
“I don’t know. He never said.”
“Who’d he work for?”
“A guy named Alejandro. Alejandro Diaz. He’s an old boyfriend of mine. Gives Eddie work sometimes.” A wavering roll of thunder caught her attention, and she looked in that direction. “I heard on the news when I was driving over that a storm was coming in. Had some flooding over in Florence.”
“Can you give us a description of Mr. Diaz?” T-Tommy asked.
“Mr. Diaz?” Ellie rolled her eyes. “You make him sound like a bank president or something.” When neither T-Tommy nor I responded, she went on. “He’s tall, Hispanic, maybe thirty-five now. Very hot looking.”
“What does he do?” I asked.
“Nothing regular. When we dated, a year or two ago, he bounced at a place called High Rollers. You know it?”
Well, well. Is this a cozy little planet or what? I made the connections in my head. Crystal worked for Rocco. This Alejandro dude worked for Rocco. Eddie worked for Alejandro. Crystal and Noel ended up dead with Eddie’s fingerprints all over the place. Now someone whacked Eddie. Makes you wonder, don’t it?
“He still work there?” I asked. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Where does Alejandro live?”
“An apartment. Not far from here.”
Ellie picked up her purse from the floor of the cruiser and pulled one of those day planner deals out. After flipping it open, she scribbled the address on a note page and tore it out, handing it to T-Tommy.
“I might have more questions later.” He gave Ellie one of his cards. “If you think of anything, give me call.”
CHAPTER 36
SATURDAY 7:32 P.M.
IT TOOK ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES TO REACH THE PINE VIEW APARTMENTS, a pale yellow, two-story shit box, chewed around the edges by the years and the weather. A fresh coat of paint and a new roof wouldn’t hurt.
T-Tommy and I got out of my Porsche. Four uniformed officers emerged from the two patrol cars that had followed us. One showed us a picture of Alejandro Diaz from his DMV file. He had brought it up on the computer in his cruiser and printed a copy. Dark hair and eyes, Hispanic, handsome, six one, one eighty. Just as Ellie had described.
T-Tommy instructed two of the officers to stay out front, the others to circle each end of the building. “Be ready. This guy could be armed. Watch out for civilians.”
Alejandro lived in J, ground floor, back side of the sixteen-unit building, facing a forested area. No answer to T-Tommy’s knock. I peered through the gap in the front window drapes. Dark inside. We walked back around to unit A, the manager’s apartment, according to the sign on the door.
I knocked on the door. Cracks mapped its chocolate-brown paint, the angled light from the porch lamp causing their curled edges to jump up in stark relief. A pair of moths fluttered around the light and cast giant shadows on the porch. I heard movement inside.
The door eased open until the safety chain pulled taut. An elderly man in a gray terry cloth bathrobe peeked out. “Yes?”
T-Tommy badged him, saying, “Investigator Tortelli. HPD. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
The man released the chain and swung the door open. His white hair was sparse and unruly. Probably caught him napping in front of the TV that I could hear through the open door. Sounded like an old Western, horses’ hooves pounding in pursuit mode. I could envision the black hats fleeing from the white hats. Past the same rock formation over and over. Life was much simpler when viewed in black and white. The bad guys were bad, the good guys good. End of story. Technicolor screwed it all up.
We learned that Walter Moxley had been manager for eight years and that he knew Alejandro Diaz. Good tenant, no problems.
“What’s this about?” Moxley asked.
T-Tommy offered a benevolent smile. “Just a routine follow-up on a case.”
Moxley’s age-creased face now creased further. “Is Alejandro in some kind of trouble?”
“Just need to ask him a few questions about a friend of his.”
“Who?”
“Can’t say. It’s an ongoing investigation. I’m sure you understand.”
Moxley nodded. “Bet it’s that smart-assed kid.”
“Which kid?” I asked.
Moxley shook his head. “Eddie something. Don’t know his last name. A real asshole. Every time he comes here he has his radio blasting that rap shit, parks all sideways, taking up two, three spaces. I warned him, but he don’t care.”
T-Tommy tossed me a glance and then looked at Moxley. “When was the last time he was here?”
“Week. Maybe a little longer.” Moxley cocked his head. “He the one you investigating?”
“Can’t say.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me none. That boy’s trouble with a big T.”
“Any idea where Alejandro might be?” I asked. “When he’ll be back?”
Moxley scratched the gray stubble on his chin. “Heard his truck leave yesterday—no, wait . . . before that.” His gaze turned upward. “That’s right. Wednesday afternoon. I remember that’s the day I had a doctor’s appointment. Saw him getting in his truck as I was leaving. Maybe two thirty or so. Haven’t seen him since.”
I glanced at the parking lot, an asphalt rectangle at the end of the complex right next to Moxley’s apartment. Hard for the old man not to know his tenants’ comings and goings. “Is that unusual? For him not to come back for a day or two?”
“Not really.”
“What kind of vehicle does he drive?”
“Pickup. Red. Don’t know the make.”
“Besides this Eddie guy, anybody else drop by to see Alejandro?” T-Tommy asked.
“Occasionally a woman, but mostly he’s quiet.”
“Pay his rent?”
“Always on time.” He waved a hand toward the building. “Wish I could get the others to do that.”
“Don’t mention to Alejandro that we were here,” T-Tommy said. “Okay?”
Moxley shrugged.
“Wouldn’t want to upset him.” T-Tommy handed Moxley a card. “Call me if Alejandro returns.”
“Want me to call if Eddie comes by, too?”
“Sure,” T-Tommy said. “That’d be helpful.”
Eddie won’t be coming by, I thought. Eddie was bagged and tagged and on his way to see Drummond and Cooksey.
CHAPTER 37
SATURDAY 9:06 P.M.
ALEJANDRO EASED INTO CONSCIOUSNESS, AWARE THAT A BRIGHT light pushed against his closed eyelids. Momentarily confused, he remained still and silent, absorbing sensations. He lay on a firm surface. Cool air with an astringent odor. Faint voices nearby to his left. He cracked open his eyes. A blast of light hit him. Where was he?
He searched his memory and quickly came up with the last scene he remembered. The room, Austin, the dart.
How long had he been out?
Alejandro attempted to raise one arm to block the light but was unable to move. At first he thought he was just too weak, too groggy, but then he realized that something bound his wrists to the table. Ankles, too. He blinked his vision clear. The glare above him became a circular bank of lights. He lifted his head and saw that he wore a pair of blue drawstring pants, no shirt, his feet bare.
The voices captured his attention again, and he turned his head toward them. Three men, one of them Austin, and a woman stood near a computer console.
One of the men looked in his direction and moved to his side. Light brown hair, with a hint of gray, hung beneath a surgical cap, and intense blue eyes peered down at him. “Welcome back.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Alejandro asked.
“What?”
Austin stepped forward. “What? Is that all you can come up with? Not such hot shit now, are you?”
“Mr. Austin tells me you were a bit of a problem,” the so-called doctor said.
“That’s why I’m going to enjoy this.” Austin laughed. “Almost as much as I’m going to enjoy the four grand me and Lefty got for your sorry ass.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You’re such a moron. You think the peanuts me and Lefty tossed your way was a big deal? We were making a fortune selling all those bodies to my friend here.” Austin clapped a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “We just didn’t want to do the digging. The grunt work. That’s why God created Mexicans like you and brainless pricks like Eddie.”
Alejandro jerked against the restraints. “Remove the straps, hijo de puta. Then we’ll see how tough you are.”
Austin leaned forward and pressed a thumb into Alejandro’s cheekbone. Pain shot through the entire side of his face. “Be careful, or I’ll gouge an eye right out of your face.”
The doctor laid a hand on Austin’s arm. “That’s enough.”
“Who are you?” Alejandro asked.
“I told you. I’m your doctor.”
Another man appeared and stood next to the doctor. He also wore a cap and had a surgical mask dangling from his neck. He was younger, his skin pale, and his eyes icy blue.
“This is my assistant,” the doctor said.
Alejandro felt a chill slide along his back. “What’s this about?”
“The future, Mr. Diaz. Medical progress. Your contributions will be well appreciated.”
Contribuciones? “What the hell are you talking about?”
“All in good time.”
“Carmelita?” Alejandro asked. “Where is she?”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s nearby.”
Austin laughed. “Four grand for her, too. You guys just paid for my trip to Hawaii next month.”
Alejandro twisted and pulled against the restraints. “Fuck you.”
Austin slammed a fist into his ribs. “No. Fuck you, you Mexican piece of shit.”