by Lori Ryan
They turned and looked at the boarded-up windows. Jarrod would bet transients frequently spent the night in there, seeking shelter, and maybe at least the illusion of safety.
The officer flicked his head toward the building on the other side of the alley. “This place is a bar. Talked to the bartender. The windows on this side are all painted over on the inside.” He shrugged. “They called it art. To me, it looked like a kid had done it. All squiggles and splatters and stuff. Anyway, I asked who uses this dumpster. She said it’s their dumpster.”
“How the hell did they miss the smell if they were using the dumpster?” Cal asked.
Officer Pike shook his head. “You should smell that place. Not all that pleasant. I’m not sure anyone would have noticed the smell in the alley, and I’m sure the bartender is stoned out of her mind. But I did ask her about the smell and she said she just thought an animal had died.”
“Unbelievable,” Cal said, shaking his head. Jarrod knew he didn’t mean it literally. They had no reason to doubt the bartender at this point. It was the level of stupidity Cal was commenting on. Sadly, they were used to it. People didn’t see what they didn’t want to.
Chapter 11
Focusing on Warrick Staunton’s vacation homes had paid off. He owned several, including a cabin a few hours’ drive from New Haven. They called the sheriff in that area to see if there had been any sightings of Alan Sykes or his car. The sheriff had answered immediately. He hadn’t even needed to look anything up. They’d found an SUV with no plates at a convenience store in the same town as the cabin the day before.
Jarrod and Cal got out of their vehicle and walked up to the older man standing before them in the convenience store parking lot.
“You made good time.” The man offered his hand. “Sheriff Bill Morris. Pleasure to meet you.”
Jarrod and Cal introduce themselves and offered their identification for the record.
“The SUV hasn’t been towed yet?” Jarrod was surprised to see the vehicle still sitting in the parking lot.
“No. We just hadn’t gotten around to it. There didn’t seem to be any need to rush. There were no plates to run, but I was going to run the VIN number this afternoon. I figured somebody just abandoned it here, but when you called, I knew right away it must be the right vehicle you were looking for. Does it look like it matches his registration information?”
“Sure does.” Cal walked closer to the vehicle and looked down at his notes. “I’ve got the VIN number,” he said as he peered through the windshield and compared the numbers.
Cal nodded at Jarrod. “This is it. It was a good idea to check for vacation homes.”
“Now we need to figure out where Alan Sykes is. When did you say the car showed up in the lot?” Jarrod asked the sheriff.
“Two days ago is when the owner first noticed it.” The sheriff nodded his head toward the building. It was a small convenience store with a single gas pump out front. “He normally wouldn’t worry too much about a car parked overnight, but this one, he called in immediately. It isn’t uncommon for somebody to leave their car in the lot while they go hike or something. This one was suspicious to him right away because of the lack of plates.”
“I don’t suppose he’s got any —” the sheriff’s laughter cut off the question before Jarrod could finish it.
He finished the thought. “Surveillance video? No. No surveillance video.”
Jarrod grinned. “Yeah, figured.” He looked around. The convenience store was on a long stretch of road before the main town. There were no other businesses or homes in sight. Great place to leave the car if you didn’t want to be seen doing it.
“So, how far away is Warrick Staunton’s cabin?” They had told the Sheriff they thought Alan Sykes might be up here using the Staunton cabin when they’d made their initial call. The town was one of those that had become a haven for people from New York or Massachusetts who wanted to have a vacation home that was moderately easy to get to. There were lakes for swimming and fishing, and more antique shops than a map could hold. Jarrod knew there were probably people who lived here full time, but he had a feeling a lot of the town had been taken over by people who wanted to buy up the land for vacation property. He also had a feeling when they got up to the cabin, it would prove to be much different than what he would think of as a vacation cabin. He had a feeling it was going to turn out to be palatial home.
“It’s not far. I haven’t seen Staunton up here lately, but he loans it out some. I can lead you out there if you want.”
“That would be great. Thank you.” Jarrod nodded to Cal, and they both headed to their vehicle.
They followed the sheriff for five minutes before turning off onto a dirt road. It was a fairly well maintained, full dirt road. Jarrod found himself wondering how much Warrick Staunton paid for that, or if that was something they did around here because of the upscale nature of the community.
They parked beside the sheriff and got out. They were ten feet from the door of the cabin when they all stopped and looked at each other. Jarrod knew they were thinking the same thing.
The smell indicated either a dead body in there or a dead animal. They had their answer before they even got up to the cabin. The door was open and they could see a booted foot. The men had their hands on the weapons at their sides, though from the smell, the body had been there some time. The move was an unnecessary one.
Cal and the sheriff covered him as Jarrod walked up to the door. From the looks of it, the body would prevent them from being able to open the door without disturbing the scene. The men trudged around the cabin to the back. The sheriff looked around for a few minutes before finding a key up on the ledge above the door frame.
He looked back at the two men. “People don’t much bother with security around here. I mean, sure, they lock the door, but there’s often a key hidden somewhere.”
The men let themselves in the back and spent a few minutes quickly clearing the single-story home. It was as Jarrod had thought. It was much more than a simple fishing cabin in the woods. There were only four bedrooms, though, so it wasn’t nearly as palatial as it could’ve been.
When they were sure nobody was in the house they met at the front door. There wouldn’t be any attempting to revive Sykes. It was evident from the smell, the flies, everything, that he’d been dead at least a couple of days.
“Got a forensic team around here?” Cal asked, looking at the sheriff.
The sheriff shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “We’ll call in the state guys. Haven’t had to call them in a long time.”
Jarrod walked to where the body lay and knelt. “Fingers are stained.” He pointed to the index and middle fingers on Sykes’ body, then to the package of Camel unfiltered cigarettes in the chest pocket of the flannel shirt. “Smoker.”
“Think he might have been the one to grab Darla from the clinic?” Cal asked.
Jarrod didn’t know, so he didn’t say one way or the other. He filed away the information, and pointed to the way the body had fallen. “He was coming in.”
Cal nodded. “He was ambushed. Someone was waiting for him.”
Jarrod walked across the room and studied the area carpet on the floor. “Cal, take a look at this.” He pointed to the rug where clear marks showed the chair had sat three feet further into the room fairly recently.
“Wow,” Cal said. “Not only waiting, but lined up and ready to fire.”
Jarrod nodded. “And again, none of it makes sense.”
Cal nodded. “Yeah, I get it. Why leave the car for us to find it? Why leave the front door open,” he said waving his arm toward the door.
The sheriff was watching them, but didn’t comment on their theory.
“Yep. It’s like they wanted us to find this.” Jarrod turned to the sheriff. “If they hadn’t left the car downtown, hadn’t left the door open, how long do you think it would be before anybody came up here and found this guy?”
The sheriff looked a
round and shrugged, shaking his head as he did so. “Could’ve taken a long time. Like I said, Warrick Staunton doesn’t come up here often, but he’s got friends and things that come use the place. Not too regularly, though. Could’ve been weeks before this body was found.”
“So someone wanted to make sure we came and checked out the cabin. Even taking the license plate off the car, like you said sheriff, made it more likely that we would check into this. They knew you could run the VIN numbers on the car so you’d know pretty quickly whose it was. Maybe they would’ve also known enough about this area to know that you would’ve known where Alan Sykes would stay if he came up here. That you would’ve known which cabin he was using and come to check on him.”
The sheriff agreed. “A possibility.”
“So why,” Jarrod said looking at Cal, “is somebody working so hard to make sure that all the evidence points at Simms pharmaceutical?”
Chapter 12
“Good job today, Teej.” Jarrod tapped his fist on the top of his nephew’s shoulder and grinned. TJ was usually all thumbs when he was trying to catch a ball or swing a bat, but Jarrod had a feeling Val had been practicing with him at home. He’d really improved in the last week.
Kids and parents buzzed around them, as the rest of the team chatted about runs and where they wanted to eat lunch. Tommy was smaller and a lot quieter than the other kids. He was happy to hang out with his mom and his uncle Jarrod.
“Thanks, Uncle Jarrod.” The kid didn’t waste any time. He went right to work on his mom. “Can we stop for ice cream on the way home? You said if I worked real hard this week at my swing, I’d get ice cream.”
Val reddened and Jarrod laughed. “So I bribed him with ice cream? Sue me.”
Jarrod shook his head, but he was happy to keep her and TJ focused on ice cream. He didn’t think either she or TJ had seen Tommy sitting in his Mustang across the parking lot. Jarrod hoped they wouldn’t spot him. How sad was it that he wanted his own brother to stay away from his son? The truth was, TJ only got hurt when Tommy came around.
He’d get his hopes up that Tommy would go out for ice cream with him and Val, and be disappointed when Tommy made an excuse. Excuses were the only thing in life Tommy truly excelled at.
“Yes, we will get ice cream. But then we have to go home and work on your science homework. You need to finish your poster before Monday.”
“’Kay, mom.” He turned round eyes to Jarrod. “You comin' to get ice cream, Uncle Jarrod?” The kid didn’t look all that hopeful, and now Jarrod had to admit he was almost as bad as Tommy’s dad when it came to being around for the kid. But he had to get back to the precinct. It might be a Saturday, but with the number of murders stacked up on his desk, he’d be working through the weekend. He always made damned sure that he made it to the games, though. He was one of the assistant coaches, which was one of the little tricks he’d used to get his butt here even when he was in the middle of a case.
Jarrod knelt in front of TJ “Sorry, kiddo. I’ve got to work this afternoon, but why don’t we go to a movie when this case is over? We can see that dinosaur one.”
TJ nodded and wrapped his arms around Jarrod’s neck. Best feeling in the world. He soaked in the feel of the small body clutching him, then let go as TJ pulled back. Apparently, ice cream was calling.
He watched as he and his mom walked away, then stuck the extra gloves and bats he’d brought into his duffle.
“Well, that looked fucking cozy.”
Jarrod looked up to see Tommy glowering at him. He looked sober, at least. “Hey, Tommy.”
“Did you move in yet? You fucking her in the bed I paid for, asshole?”
Kids and parents were moving into the dugout and risers for the next game. Jarrod chose not to address the fact that Tommy hadn’t paid for jack in the apartment Val and TJ lived in. “We’re not doing this here, Tommy.” He slung his duffle over his shoulder and walked toward Tommy’s beat up car. It was parked clear across the lot and hidden partially by one of the equipment sheds. That would at least keep everyone from seeing what would most likely be an ugly scene.
“Hey!” Tommy grabbed his shoulder, but Jarrod turned and locked onto his wrist and elbow in a fluid move. A little pressure in the right location and his brother’s knees would buckle.
“Not here.” There were already too many eyes on them. He dropped his brother’s arm and walked away.
Tommy followed.
Jarrod tossed his bag on the hood of the car and ignored the glare Tommy shot him at the move. His brother still saw the old muscle car as some kind of trophy. That, or an extension of his dick. “What’s your problem, Tommy?”
“My problem? I go to see mom and she mentions you’re coaching my kid’s baseball team. What the fuck is that about?”
Jarrod crossed his arms. Tommy hadn’t come to see Val or TJ. He’d come to pick a fight. “It’s about spending a little time with my nephew, that’s all. Nothing more.”
Tommy shoved Jarrod on the chest. “You want a family so bad, get one of your own. This one’s mine.”
Jarrod ignored the shove and the way Tommy’s words cut at him. “Then start acting like it. When was the last time you made it to a game of TJ’s? Or kept a promise to pick him up for a day out? Or sent Val money to help with the bills?”
“I’m supposed to help her with bills when she won’t even let me see my own kid without supervision? Fuck that.”
“She lets you see him unsupervised. She just doesn’t let you drive him. And can you seriously argue with that? You’re doing community service for a DUI, Tommy. What the fuck? Straighten your shit out, but don’t come down here and pick a fight with me for being there for your kid when you’re not.”
Jarrod saw Tommy’s arm move long before Tommy managed to throw the punch. The idiot telegraphed like crazy. Jarrod stepped to the side and let Tommy take out his anger on the side of the Mustang instead. He howled in pain when his fist glanced off the top edge of the car and he went stumbling into the door.
Jarrod walked away. “Get your shit together, Tommy,” he tossed back over his shoulder. He knew the words were useless. Tommy would never get things together enough to be a real husband and father.
Weren’t they a pair? Tommy didn’t have it in him to be a family man, and Jarrod wanted a woman he couldn’t have.
Jarrod sat in his car and waited for Carrie to leave the shelter. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. He knew one thing, though. People associated with this case were dying faster than he and Cal could keep up with. And she was much too connected to all their potential suspects for him not to worry about her.
She exited the building and started to turn toward the parking lot before glancing his way.
Busted.
She looked both ways before crossing the street, and he got out of his car to meet her, leaning against the now closed driver-side door.
“So, I’m really on your suspect list now?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm and he could tell she didn’t appreciate finding him out here.
He crossed his arms, mostly to keep from reaching out to her. “You’re on my list of people I don’t want caught up in this.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“It means whoever is doing this is cleaning up. We found another body,” he said vaguely, not wanting to give her any more information than he needed to. “It means I’m anxious and I’m about to cross a line I can’t cross with you.”
“What are we going to do about that?”
He shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
She leaned into him, one hand on his chest, her body pressing against his in a way that tore at the control he was barely clinging to. Up on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth against his and he went perfectly still. It took every damn bit of reserve he had left not to reach out and grab her, pull her in and press her to him and take over that kiss. To turn it into something more. A lot more.
She was playing with him. Maybe she figured if sh
e toyed with him he’d walk away. Hell, who knew what her reasoning was. He didn’t understand women well enough to figure that one out.
She pulled back, studying him. “What are you not telling me?”
“I have to bring Warrick Staunton in. Warrick Staunton and Jonathan Simms. Too much is pointing at them right now.”
The hurt in her face was plain as she turned to walk away.
She turned back before she’d made it a few steps and seemed to debate something for a minute before speaking. “I think there’s someone you should talk to.” Her arms wrapped around her middle defensively, and she glanced off in the direction of the underpass.
“Who’s that?”
She stepped closer and looked around again. “There’s a young guy who comes into the soup kitchen from time-to-time. He came by today. I was going to call you about it later.”
He waited. When she didn’t say anything, he pressed. “Why were you going to call me?”
“It’s probably nothing. It’s just that…” she chewed on her lip and he remembered how much she hated passing on information she saw as gossip. He would bet passing information onto the police about someone who came to her shelter for food was killing her.
“Carrie, I need to know if you’ve seen something.”
She looked up at him. “He had blood on his shoes. A lot of it.”
“Are you sure it was blood?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Do you have a name for me? Know where I can find him?”
“His name is Chris. I don’t have a last name. There’s always been something about him. He seems…I don’t know, eerily unaffected by things.”
“Do you know where I can find him?” He was doing his best to ignore the intense need to pull her into his arms and hold her. Maybe if he ignored it long enough, it would go away. Eventually.
“Yes. He doesn’t live on the streets. He’s over in one of the places on Oak that rents single rooms. The one with the big orange sign out front. We set a few people up there recently, helping them with the application process and things. He was one of them.”