Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  He blinked as tears ran down his cheek and told her about Roberts being hurt and how the unit was down in numbers. Lara listened and watched him struggle with the lens. “How bad is Roberts's knee?”

  “He'll live. But I'll have to bench him for the foreseeable future. Probably until retirement, which isn't too far away.”

  Lara nodded and made her face unreadable. She didn't think Vogel could see anything anyway, with the tears in his eyes, but a single thought ran through her mind. Don't blow this.

  “So Homicide is short a man,” he said. “You think you can do the job?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You know there's a catch, right?”

  Her shoulders sank. Just a little. Isn't there always a catch?

  “You'll have to ride with Gallagher for the probationary period. Still want the job?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I need a leash on that animal,” he said. “He crosses a line, you report back to me. Understood?”

  “You want me to babysit him?”

  “No, just keep him in line. He'll hate you because you're straight but he'll mind his manners around you. Maybe some of your thoroughness will rub off on him.”

  “Okay.” She wondered what “straight” meant to the Lieutenant. Was she a geek or just not gay? Did it matter?

  “He's down in the box. Go say hello.”

  Lara stood. “Should I put on the Kevlar first?”

  THE shitbag looked a lot smaller without the bulky parka. His name was Raymond DeClerk, lately of 1238 Holman Street. His mother's house. Five blocks west of that, Rae Dawn Munroe had been found in the back stairwell of her apartment, hemorrhaging badly. Her sometimes-boyfriend was the first person of interest but DeClerk could not be found. Rae Dawn had died in the hospital so the assault charges were elevated to homicide. More charges were piled on after the incident in the alley and now Gallagher was letting him simmer in the box. Imagining the worst.

  The best way to resolve a homicide is to let the suspect talk himself right into it. No Jedi mind tricks, no complicated piece of evidence. You let the guy talk and his own ignorance or arrogance will hang him. Gallagher had prepped DeClerk properly, letting him sweat it out overnight. But sometimes you get a rock and this son of a bitch would not budge.

  “It's real simple, chief.” Gallagher leaned back in his chair, DeClerk across the small table. “You wanna play retarded, I will clear my schedule to personally screw you at every turn. I know where you live, what corners you work and more importantly, I know the people you answer to.”

  DeClerk looked at his feet and yawned. That's it.

  “Or,” Gallagher sat up, “you can share your feelings with us at this tragic turn of events for poor Rae Dawn.”

  “I dunno nothing about it.” DeClerk shifted in his seat. “I need a Coke or some shit, man. I'm thirsty.”

  Gallagher leered at him. All teeth. “That's the spirit, chief.” He got up, slid his chair to the wall and stood up on it. He took hold of the camera suspended from the ceiling and turned it to the wall. He smiled at DeClerk again.

  DeClerk sat up. Looked scared. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Gallagher dropped off the chair. “I love a man who digs his own grave.”

  THE observation area outside of the interview rooms was actually just the hallway. Two hardbacked chairs and three monitor screens. One screen was live. Lara walked in and found Detective Bingham leaned against a cabinet watching the monitor. He looked up.

  “Wassup, Mendes?” Bingham smiled. Which could be dangerous. Adam Bingham had movie-star good looks and a smile that was lethal. Rumor had it his smile could atomize panties and a few women in Central Precinct could polygraph to that fact. Lara just felt awkward but everyone else seemed to melt around the guy, women and men both. Bingham had a respectable closure rate and Lara wondered how much his looks played into that; he flashed that smile and people just told him what he wanted to hear.

  “Hi.” She kept it short, looked at the monitor. “Is Detective Gallagher in there?”

  “That's his perp.” Bingham nodded at the monitor labeled number three. A pixelated black-and-white feed showed a man at the table and another man just out of camera range.

  “What's the story on this guy?” Lara resumed her game face and took a seat.

  Bingham ran through the notes he had, gave her the short version. He added that both the suspect and the victim had priors; her rap sheet was almost as long as his.

  Lara asked to see the paperwork and scanned through the details. She looked up at the screen again. “Let me guess. The boyfriend doesn't know anything about it.”

  Bingham feigned shock. “How did you know?”

  “What is Gallagher doing?”

  She pointed at the monitor, watching Detective Gallagher thrust his mug into the lens and then turn the camera to the wall.

  “Shit.” Bingham reached for the door.

  Lara stopped him. “I got it,” she said.

  A CHAIR sailed across the box and punched a hole in the crappy drywall. DeClerk lost his cool for a moment, remembering the beating he took from Gallagher in the alley. But he still denied everything and Gallagher was running out of luck. DeClerk had an alibi for his time when the beating of Rae Dawn occurred and he had a story for the bruise on his right hand. All of which Gallagher knew in his gut to be utter bullshit but gut was all he had at the moment.

  A knock at the door. A woman with dark hair entered, holding a can of Orange Crush in her hand. Gallagher recognized her from the hallways but couldn't put a name to the face.

  “You have a call.” Lara left the door open. Nodded to the overturned chair. “Can you fix that?”

  Gallagher tilted his head like she was from another planet. Whatever. He fixed the chair, then loosened his tie and slipped it from his neck. He turned to DeClerk and leered like a devil. “The nice lady here is gonna ask some more questions. When she's gone, do us all a favor. Use this.” He dropped the loose tie in DeClerk's lap and left the room.

  Lara sat down and slid the can across the table. DeClerk didn't touch it.

  “You the good cop?” His eyes hardened with contempt. “Please.”

  Lara folded her hands together. “I knew your woman. Rae Dawn. I processed her for solicitation last May.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “The woman had a temper,” she said. “She screamed and hollered the whole time. Demanding this and that, said she couldn't be treated like this. I'm guessing she did most of her screaming at you, didn't she? All that rage inside her? She took that out on you. Cutting you down every chance she got, blaming you for all her problems when what she needed to do was take a hard look in the mirror.”

  DeClerk said nothing but his eyes betrayed him, casting about the room for something to fix upon. Anything at all.

  Lara noted all of this and went on. “I don't know how you put up with her. You took care of her, provided for her. Did she appreciate everything you did for her?”

  DeClerk melted into his seat. He grasped the can of soda and took a long slug.

  OUTSIDE the box Gallagher watched as DeClerk leaned in and started waving his hands about. Telling the woman everything. He looked over at Bingham. “Do you believe this?”

  “Check it out.” Bingham pointed at the screen. “The dude's crying.”

  Gallagher groaned. “I'm gonna be sick.”

  Twenty minutes later Lara escorted the suspect out and handed him off to a waiting uniform. Gallagher watched DeClerk being led away and then turned to Mendes.

  “Nice job,” he said. “Rachel?”

  “Lara.” She extended a hand. “Lara Mendes.”

  He shook her hand, holding it fast. “Why is Sex Crimes barging into my interview?”

  “I'm Homicide now.” She felt her hand being crushed. She squeezed back. “Didn't the Lieutenant talk to you? We're working together.”

  His eyes narrowed. “The Lieutenant must be mixing his meds again.”

 
Gallagher grabbed the nearest phone and punched an extension. Lara listened as he asked if the Lieutenant was flipping crazy. Gallagher held the phone away from his ear. She couldn't make out what was being said, it was all squawking, but clearly her new partner was being ripped a new one. An icy snowball rolled around her stomach.

  Gallagher hung up and looked at her. All he did was shrug. “I'm getting some coffee.”

  THE third floor kitchen looked like any other office kitchen. Dirty cups piled in the sink and coffee dripped all over the counter. A note on the fridge warned all comers that anyone who touched the roti inside would have their frigging hands chopped off. A box of donuts sat on the table.

  Gallagher went right for the donuts. “When did you bust the victim?”

  “I didn't.” Lara checked the cupboard for a clean glass. There wasn't one.

  “Then how'd you know all that stuff about her?”

  “I saw her priors, took a guess. Men who assault their partners, the reason is almost always the same.”

  Gallagher flipped open the box but all that was left was a crummy plain donut. He crossed to the doorway and hollered out at the entire bullpen. “You assholes couldn't leave me one with sprinkles!”

  No one looked up. Someone in the back yelled, “Shove it, Gallagher!”

  He wet a finger to retrieve the loose sprinkles rolling around the bottom of the box. Looked at Mendes. “What reason are we talking about?”

  “Humiliation,” she said. “Or their perceived sense of being humiliated.”

  “So you just pulled some voodoo on him?”

  “No. I'm just trying to understand the person. It's about getting them to open up.”

  “Why?” He chased the last sprinkles around the box. “All they do is cry like they're the victim. Who wants to hear that?”

  “Don't you want to know why someone does the things they do?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Then what's the point of doing the job?”

  He leaned back, taking a second assessment of her. “You're not one of them kids trying to make a difference, are you?”

  Lara bit her tongue, watching this guy hunting sprinkles. She'd heard about Gallagher before, what an asshole he was, but she wasn't going to let him get to her. There was a bigger picture here. She held out her hand. “How about we start over here? I'm Lara.”

  He shook. “Lara, I want you to do me a favor.”

  Some nerve, she thought.

  He went on. “Request another partner. Talk to the Lieutenant, tell him you can't work with an asshole like me. He'll understand.”

  She ended the handshake. “Done.”

  A uniformed officer leaned into the doorway. The name on his tag read Frid. “Gallagher? Call came in, ten fifty-four down on the riverbank. Bingham said you're up.”

  “Bullshit. Bingham dodged the last one, he's up.”

  Frid shrugged, not wanting to get caught up in this. “I'm just telling you what he said.”

  “We'll take it,” Lara said.

  Gallagher scowled at her then he turned on Frid, snatching up the officer's tie. The uniform protested but Gallagher held him tight, scrutinizing the tie. “Are those sprinkles?”

  5

  THE BODY LAY in the weeds, a stone's throw from the river. A uniformed officer stood near it but kept her back to the remains. A second officer stood farther up the bank, waving down the approaching car. The unmarked Crown Vic wheeled up and parked on the gravel spit. A second police cruiser sat idle nearby, two silhouettes in the backseat.

  Gallagher and Mendes climbed out. Gallagher waved to the uniformed officer. “Who's in the car?” He nodded to the two occupants in the back of the blue-and-white.

  “Two boys.” The officer cocked his thumb downriver. “They found the body.”

  “Are they okay?” Lara asked.

  “They're scared. Who likes sitting in a police car?”

  “Sit on them until we're ready to talk.” Gallagher scanned the surroundings-- the river, the trees and the bridge overhead. “Where is it?”

  The uniform motioned toward the water. “Down there.”

  Gallagher was already trampling through the wet grass. Lara followed his trail, knowing she'd be taking his cues for a while.

  “Check your guts,” the uniform called after them. “That's a nasty sight down there.”

  The body. White, female. That was about all that was discernible from the mutilation sprawled in the weeds of the riverbank. The belly had been torn open and ripped apart, the viscera pulled and scattered in the grass. The face was a mass of wet gristle and bone, turning purple in the sun. The left hand ruined and the right one simply missing, sheared off above the wrist. Parts of the thighs were gone.

  Gallagher stopped eight feet shy of the body and simply stared at it, taking in the wreckage. Blowflies roiled up then settled back onto the remains. The victim was naked and from where he stood, he saw no rings or jewelry. No markers of any kind. He scanned the ground around him but saw no clothing, no purse, nothing. The weeds were trampled here and there but there was little blood. It had rained in the night and everything was wet. Gallagher shook his head at the mess before him. This was going to be bad.

  Lara came up behind him, stepping where he stepped. She stopped cold when she saw the body. “Oh my God.”

  “For your first stiff,” Gallagher said, “you picked a doozy.” He walked around the body, circling it slowly. “Work the edges carefully then circle your way in. Take it slow.”

  She didn't say anything. He looked up. “You all right?”

  “I can't even tell if that's a man or a woman.”

  “You need a minute?”

  “I'm good.” The way he looked at her, zero sympathy in his eyes. Testing her. “I'm just not sure what I'm looking at.”

  “Looks like she was run over by a lawn mower.”

  “It was dogs.” The uniform standing nearby spoke up. Still with her back to the corpse on the ground. “That's what the kid said.” She chinned the cruiser up on the gravel. The two lumps in the back seat.

  “No shit.” Gallagher kept circling, kicking the weeds down, searching.

  “Dogs did that?” Lara felt her stomach drop. Told herself to keep cool, but she blurted it out. “I hate dogs.”

  Gallagher saw her face turning ashen. “Don't you dare puke on my crime scene, Mendes. You gotta hurl, do it up on the pavement.”

  Lara gritted her teeth. “I said I'm fine.”

  He didn't believe her but he let it go. He snapped on the latex gloves and kept circling closer to the body, pressing aside the weeds with his foot. Give me something, he thought. Anything. Nothing appeared and then he was standing over the deceased. What he saw was the worst kind of luck you could draw. A body out in the raw elements with nothing to work from. No clothes and no ID. The body gone cold and washed in the rain. Zero chance of finding any hair or fibers. Not that it really mattered much. Gallagher couldn't remember the last time trace evidence led to a suspect. Still. Look at this mess. Give me a plain old drug murder in some shit-stained alley any day, I'll work it. But this cluster-fuck? This was going to be hell to work and a bitch to close.

  Lara kept her eyes down and methodically examined the earth. Focusing on the ground gave her stomach a chance to settle. She'd hardened herself to blood and twisted limbs long ago, keeping up with the dark jokes every cop used to deal with the sight of broken and dying human beings. But these remains, that was new. Her first day on Homicide Detail, being tested under the ape she got partnered up with and she gets that disaster? Jesus. Never mind. Stay focused and work the scene harder than you ever worked a scene before.

  She didn't see the second carcass until she was right on top of it. Bloated from the expanding gases and boiling with flies, it took a second to recognize it as a dog. Dead and reeking, its tongue lying in the grit.

  That's when she puked. Lara doubled over and just let it rip. Game over.

  ANOTHER Crown Vic arrived thirty minutes later,
delivering Detectives Latimer and Bingham to assist. Both men took one look at the scene and shook their heads in dismay, silently grateful they hadn't caught this call. They joined Detective Mendes in the ground search while Detective Gallagher hovered over the body. The meat wagon rolled up shortly after and the medical examiner waited on the gravel spur until the primary waved her in.

  Gallagher straightened up, his legs numb from kneeling and his shoes soaked from the wet grass. He stepped away from the corpse and marched to where the secondary worked. “You got anything?”

  Lara plucked a dented beer can from the mud with latexed fingers and popped it into a bag. “Nothing good,” she said, holding up the can in the evidence bag. “Trash.”

  “Figures.” He waved at the medical examiner to come on in. “Have you met the M.E.?”

  Caroline Brunt had been with the Multnomah Coroner's Office for over a decade and had worked most of Gallagher's crime scenes. She was five foot nothing but freakishly strong and could haul a fat man onto a gurney easier than he could.

  “Lara, this is Caroline. Champion body-bagger. Caroline, meet Detective Lara Mendes. Super-cop in training.”

  They shook. Caroline spoke first. “Who did you piss off to get saddled with this creep?”

  “I'm still trying to figure that out.” Lara glanced back down the riverbank. “Just down there. Is there anything you need from us?”

  “Just some room.”

  “There's a dog, too.”

  Caroline looked at Gallagher. “Dog?”

  “Over there. Can you have a look at it before the animal shelter collects it?”

  Caroline nodded, then trod down the path. Gallagher looked up at the vehicles on the roadside. “Let's talk to the kids.”

  “WHO shot the dog?”

  Owen Tilgard and Justin Brophey leaned against the cruiser, eyes on the ground. Not looking at the cops and not looking at each other. Owen couldn't believe they busted him. He called 911 and reported the body. His conscience clear, he didn't give it another thought.