“Ossie was here. I can feel it. It can’t just be a coincidence. But something here...damaged him.”
“Everything about this place is damage.” Kakazu walked toward him. “But you have no proof Ossie was here. And even if he was, it doesn’t prove he’s the heir to a fortune or that he didn’t kill Harrison Coleman. To the contrary, child abuse on this level could easily turn someone dangerous. This discovery doesn’t help you and it doesn’t explain anything.”
“Strong disagree. This could explain everything, if we knew more about it. This dead bastard on the floor was a twisted killer. Probably some kind of sex pervert. Judging by the number of corpses, he’s been making runs into town for years, finding vulnerable boys, abducting them, probably drugging them, then hauling them back here. What happened to Ossie Coleman fourteen years ago? This monster got him.”
“You’re making a huge assumption.”
“It explains why the cops never found the kid. When there’s a billion dollars floating around, it’s only natural to assume that’s the motive behind a disappearance. But what if it had nothing to do with that? What if was just damned bad luck? We know Ossie’s mother killed herself—”
“Probably.”
“So afterward the boy was wandering around alone. Easy prey for a sick sadist.”
“I know you’re just making this up as you go along,” Kakazu said. “But you haven’t addressed the elephant in the room.”
“Which is?”
“If this serial killer kidnapped your client and brought him back here—why isn’t he dead?”
He fell silent. “I just got here. It usually takes me at least forty-five minutes to come up with the complete answer to everything.”
Kakazu smirked. “Before you become unbearably smug, let me show you one more unexpected discovery.”
Kakazu walked to the north wall, just to the side of the sink that appeared to be all the cabin had in the way of a kitchen. He ran his palm along the wall—then found a slight indentation. He pushed on it.
A disguised door popped open.
“This place is not quite so simple as it seems.”
“Far from it. All kinds of hidden cubbyholes and storage places, including a well-stocked drug cabinet. We probably haven’t found them all yet. But you need to see this little hideaway.”
“What is it?”
“The trophy room.”
He felt his heart sink. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?”
“Depends. You hear all these rumors about defense attorneys. Do you actually have a heart?”
“Strong and functioning.”
“Then you’re going to hate this.”
“It can’t be worse than mummified corpses.”
Kakazu gave him a look that spoke volumes.
“Oh, damn it to hell.” He didn’t want to follow—but he had to. Not just because he couldn’t bear to show any weakness. This was crucial to unraveling the increasingly complex mystery surrounding Ossie Coleman.
So he stepped inside. And gasped.
He fell backward a step, staggering. “That can’t be—That can’t—”
“It is,” Kakazu said softly.
“T—Trophies?” He felt cold and weak, almost as if he had been transported out of normal time and space.
“That’s our preliminary theory. You got a better one?”
“And they were all—alive?”
“Once. He posed the mummies—but left these so he could remember their faces, I guess.”
The wall was lined with a series of ashen white face masks. Life masks. Or perhaps death masks. All different. All appeared to be recordings of the face of a different young boy. Made of papier-mâché, or something like it. Hung on the wall. His personal scrapbook.
“There must be—” He stopped and counted. “Twenty-three masks up there. More masks than mummies.”
“Yes. We may just be bumbling policemen, but most of us can count to twenty-three.”
“You think there are more dead bodies somewhere? A—A body farm or something like that?”
“Distinct possibility.”
All at once, he felt a powerful wave of nausea wash over him. Something inside started to give. Probably a combination of the physical strain of getting here combined with the shocks that awaited inside. Plus the realization that this Ossie Coleman case was a thousand times more complicated than he had ever imagined.
“I...think I need to sit down.” There were no chairs in the tiny trophy room, so he lowered himself to the floor...
And that’s when he spotted it. One of the masks, on the bottom row. Staring at him.
“Is that...Ossie?”
He pointed at the face mask, then took a snap with his phone. Given the primitive nature of the collection, it was hard to say anything with certainty. The hollow openings where eyes should be sucked the soul from the portrait.
But it looked like Ossie. More accurately, it looked like Ossie—but younger.
In that instant, he realized that he understood absolutely nothing about this case, this case with a billion dollars and a young man’s life hanging in the balance.
And the trial was just a few days away.
Chapter 25
Dan checked his watch before he left the office. He really didn’t want to do this. But hadn’t that been true about virtually everything he’d done since this case began?
Apparently Garrett picked up on his anxiety. “I could handle this interview for you.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“It...might be best. I know that trip out to the cabin was grueling.”
Is that all he was implying? He hoped Garrett wasn’t going to reopen that can of worms about his supposed lack of objectivity. He didn’t need another fight. “No. I’m doing this. And—by the way. I apologize for what I said before. I lost my head. I didn’t mean it.”
“I know. No worries.”
“I am doing this interview. But I’m glad to have your company.”
Maria buzzed past them, phone in one hand, Hermes purse in the other. “I’m going to stop by the jailhouse, time permitting. I haven’t seen Ossie recently. Want to see how he’s handling the latest breakthroughs. Talk about the trial. How to dress, how to act.”
“Thank you,” he said, but she was already gone.
“Keep the door open,” Jimmy said, chugging right behind her.
“You’re going by the medical examiner’s office?”
“Yes. Chatting with the CSIs too. When they submit a flurry of reports right before trial, I sniff trouble.” Jimmy paused a moment. “And what are you doing this morning, Cragheart?”
A reference to Gloomhaven, the official Last-Chance-Lawyers team sport. “Stirring up trouble, mostly.”
He pointed a finger. “Don’t stay dry too long. Aquaman needs frequent immersion to maintain his strength.”
“I will bear that in mind.” He turned his attention back to Garrett. “Ready to do this thing?”
Garrett grabbed the Jag keys from a dish on the table. “One last time. I can do this alone.”
“No.” He grabbed his backpack and led the way. “This is the bastard whose lies put my father behind bars. We should’ve talked a long time ago.”
* * *
According to Garrett’s report, Bradley Ellison had been a member of the St. Pete police force for twenty-two years. He retired a detective captain, one of only six in the department. His reputation was strong and unsullied—not a single complaint or Internal Affairs investigation in all those years. Since he retired, Ellison spent his days investigating cold cases, sometimes for clients, or when he had no clients, on his own initiative.
“He seems to have a strong desire to see justice done,” Garrett explained, as they stood on the front porch of Ellison’s home waiting. “He doesn’t get any compensation for some of his work.”
“I guess a man has to do something in retirement. Better than working crosswords all day.”
“I don’t think you’
re hearing what I’m saying. He cares about right and wrong. He is not the kind of person who would accept bribes. Or offer false testimony.”
He turned slightly. “What are you saying, Garrett?”
“You know exactly what I’m saying.”
“You’re wrong.”
The door opened. Ellison was probably around sixty-five. He’d gained some weight since retirement, but not all that much. Rolled-up sleeves. Faded blue jeans. Muscular biceps.
Ellison dispensed with the usual pleasantries. “You’re Sam Pike’s boy.”
He felt his lower lip tremble. He tried to stop it but couldn’t. “I am.”
“Thought so.” Ellison opened the door wider. “Come in.”
They stepped into his living room. Ellison gestured toward a musty and worn sofa. They both seated themselves.
“Just to be clear, I’m not here to talk about my father.”
“Glad to hear it,” Ellison said. “It was an unpleasant business. Long time ago. Best to leave it alone.”
He bit down on his lip. “I will never leave it alone.”
“I’m sure any son would feel the same way.”
Dan felt as if everything inside him was going to erupt to the surface. “My father was not a murderer.”
Ellison pressed his lips together. “I liked your father. Testifying against him was the hardest thing I ever did. But it had to be done.”
“Why?”
Ellison raised his head slightly. “Justice.”
“My father—”
Garrett cut in. “It would probably be best if we stuck to the Ossie Coleman case.”
“Agreed.” Ellison walked to his desk and lifted a tall stack of files. “I guess you boys already know that I like to dabble a bit in unsolved mysteries.”
“And you’ve had an astounding rate of success, from what I’ve read,” Garrett said.
Ellison shrugged. “I have a lot of time on my hands, since I left the force. Wife died. Daughter is in California, just as far away from me as she could possibly get. Might as well try to do some good for the community. The Ossie Coleman case always bothered me. So I got obsessive. Turned out all that knowledge was useful. Once someone claiming to be Ossie showed up. You’re representing the kid, right?”
“Yes.” He was glad Garrett could be congenial. Because he was afraid he couldn’t open his mouth without something terrible coming out.
Ellison sat in a recliner, on the opposite side of a battered coffee table. “This case is probably the most famous unsolved mystery in the city. In the history of the city. There have been other claimants, you know.”
“But they were all easily disproved. Until now.”
Ellison continued. “Most people didn’t believe the crime would ever be solved. I mean, realistically, after fourteen years, the chances that a missing child will be found are all but nil. But I held out hope.”
“Did you find any of Ossie’s missing records?”
“I wish. That would simplify matters considerably.”
“Any idea what happened to them?”
“None.”
“Care to speculate?”
“No. We do have some old photographs of the real Ossie, before he disappeared. I’ve worked with them quite a bit. Doesn’t look like your client to me.”
“Did you know you’re on the prosecution witness list?”
“They’re hoping to call me as some sort of an expert witness. Thought it might have more credence to have an independent investigator rather than another member of the police department.”
Probably true. “What are you going to say?”
“That depends on the questions put to me.”
Wiseass. “Are you going to dispute my client’s claims?”
“I don't think he’s the missing heir, if that’s what you mean. I don’t know that much about the murder.”
“You think Ossie’s a con artist.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m told he claims to have some memory loss, and there is evidence of brain trauma. He may genuinely believe he’s Ossie Coleman.” Ellison took a deep breath. “But he isn’t.”
“Have you heard about the cabin in the woods?”
“More than heard. I’ve seen it.”
“You went out there?”
Ellison shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard a journey. I used to go out that way quite a bit, once upon a time. Great fishing.”
The police gave him a view of the crime scene? “Doesn’t that create a plausible explanation of where Ossie has been all these years?”
“Not to me.” Ellison put his feet up on the recliner. “To me, it creates far more questions than it answers. Who was behind the abduction? A cipher who spent the occasional weekend torturing, molesting, and killing kids? Why wasn’t your client killed? How did he escape? How did he find his way back to civilization?”
“The medical examiner said the corpse on the premises had been dead a long time. Perhaps after he stroked out, Ossie left—”
“I can’t rule any theory out or say anything is too outlandish. No explanation is going to be commonplace. This is an extraordinary case. Has been from the start.”
“And what do you think is the correct explanation?”
“I don’t know. Insufficient data.”
“The sparsity of evidence doesn’t prove my client isn’t Ossie. Just like it doesn’t prove he’s a murderer.”
“But he does have the strongest motive to eliminate Harrison Coleman. Harrison was the oldest surviving son and the one the old man was closest to. They were tight. If the old man were going to leave his fortune, or an extra-generous share of it, to anyone—”
“Or put someone in charge of his business—”
“Exactly. It was going to be Harrison. Would you like to see my files? I’m more than happy to share my research.”
“That’s a ton of work to do without getting paid.”
“It fills the time.”
“You sure you’re not on anyone’s payroll?”
Ellison turned slowly. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I’ve already talked to one witness I’m certain the police are paying to cooperate. And you have a history of saying...exactly what the police need someone to say.”
Garrett winced and tried to speak, but Ellison cut him off. “What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Pike?”
“Your history of lying goes way back.”
Ellison rose. “I have never given false testimony in my entire life, Mr. Pike. And that includes when I testified against your papa.”
He could feel his fists clench. He told himself to stay cool, but it wasn’t working. “I will not rest until I see you and whoever put you up to your lies behind bars.”
“You’d rather believe some big conspiracy theory than accept the simple truth.”
“You don’t get it.”
“I do. I loved my pa too. Broke my heart when I lost him. But at some point, a man has to grow up and realize no one is perfect.”
“My father was not a murderer! And I won’t let you—”
Garrett stepped between them. “Okay, we’re getting off topic.”
He shoved Garrett away. “I’m watching you, Ellison. Now and always.”
“I’m not hiding,” Ellison shot back. “You want to take a shot at me? Go for it.”
“We don’t need any of that.” Garrett grabbed Dan’s arm and pulled him toward the front door. “I get the distinct impression this conversation is concluded. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ellison. We truly appreciate it.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Ellison said, as Garrett dragged Dan away. “There are people in this town who don’t want Ossie Coleman to reappear. And if you have any sense, you’ll stop obsessing on me and start worrying about them.”
“Who? Conrad Sweeney? Is that who you’re talking about?”
“This broken-down old ex-cop is never going to do you any harm. But Sweeney could shoot you in front of a dozen witnesses and there’d be
no arrest, no repercussions.”
“I think you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. He’ll kill you dead. Or hurt you so bad you’ll wish you were dead. Whichever he thinks will be most effective.”
Chapter 26
“I want to see Sweeney. I want to see him right now.”
Garrett continued driving back to the office. “That would be incredibly stupid.”
“Would it? How many people have mentioned this man? He’s got his fingers in every pie. He’s got everyone in town either loving him—if they don’t know the truth—or scared to death of him—if they do.”
“No good can possibly come from a face-to-face.”
“I should’ve confronted the big bastard a long time ago.” He pulled out his phone and punched a few buttons. “I’m going to rectify that mistake right now.”
“Dan, for once, think before you act.” Garrett made a hard right and drove up a ramp onto the highway. “All you would do is give away what little you know. Sweeney isn’t going to tell you anything.”
“Not intentionally.” He stared out the window. “But I’m a careful observer. Sometimes I get information people don’t know they’ve given.”
“Sweeney is way too smart to give anything away.”
“Let’s just find out.”
“Plus, you have no time. This trial is breathing down your neck.”
He heard a ping and glanced at his phone. “Jimmy set it up.” He paused, reading more. “Seems it was no trouble at all. Conrad Sweeney is just as anxious to speak to me as I am to speak to him.”
“Which means there’s something he wants. It’s a trap.”
“Doesn’t matter.” His teeth clenched. “I’m tired of being on the outside, reacting instead of acting. Piddling around on the outskirts while the real action is happening somewhere else.” He gave Garrett a hard look. “Turn this car around. I’m going straight to the belly of the beast.”
* * *
Prudence met them both outside Sweeney’s downtown skyscraper. He wasn’t surprised.
“So glad to see you again, Mr. Pike.” Her swagger only reinforced the dominatrix vibe he’d had before—and he didn’t think that was an accident. “I hope this means you’ve reconsidered Dr. Sweeney’s offer.”
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