“It’s okay,” she said, her tone soothing. “You must be afraid.”
“Good bye, good bye, good bye,” he said.
“Are you talking about Fritz?”
“Fritz. Fritz. Bird loves Fritz.”
“Is your name Bird?”
“Bird. Bird.”
“You’re a good boy.”
“Good boy, Bird.”
Toni looked up at Clay. “I suppose he might usually have free run of the house, but we should try to put him in his cage so he doesn’t get out when deputies arrive.”
“Just a second, and I’ll help.” Clay finished taking pictures.
A tray table sat next to the recliner, a beer can in a cozy, and a large ashtray filled with butts sitting on the scratched top. A ratty couch was on the far side of the room and that was it. No pictures on the wall. No knickknacks. Nothing. Just dust bunnies.
He stepped to the ashtray, poked through the contents, and took a few pictures. “Pack on the table says he smoked Marlboros, but we have a few hand-rolled butts in here.”
“Too bad we can’t take one for DNA, and I’m not comfortable swabbing a butt as they’re difficult to do and the water we’d use could change the composition.”
“It’s times like these that I wish I was still in law enforcement. Not finding the dead body part, but these butts could be from our killer.” He picked one up and sniffed. “Not pot.”
“Jason might be a smoker and the butts are from him, if he ever visited his dad. If Trent hasn’t had Jason’s Facebook page taken down, I’ll search the photos, and maybe we can determine if these butts are from him.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“Let’s get this guy in a room.” She held out her arm to Bird, who sat bobbing his head. He hopped closer and jumped on her arm. She frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“His beak has blood on it.” She slowly stood.
“Is he hurt?”
She looked him over. “Not that I can see.”
“Maybe he pecked someone.”
“The killer?” Hope raised her tone.
“Could be.” Clay stared at the blood and took a moment to think. “I have swabs in my car. We could collect the tiniest of samples for Sierra and Emory to process.”
“I’m okay with that. As long as it really is a small sample so there’s plenty left for the forensics staff.”
“You take this guy into the bedroom, and I’ll grab the swabs.” He waited for her to head down the hallway with the bird before bolting out the door.
This could be the lead they needed to get ahead in their investigation. If Rader was connected to Hibbard. A big if right now.
Clay grabbed a few swabs and tiny tubes of distilled water, put it all in his pocket, and rushed back inside. The bird’s squawks led Clay to the back bedroom.
He knocked on the closed door. “Okay to come in.”
“Yes,” Toni replied. “But move slowly.”
He opened the door a few inches at a time, slid in, and closed the door behind him. The large octagonal metal cage he’d glimpsed earlier sat in the corner of the room. The food and water dishes were empty. Probably the only reason blood remained on Bird’s beak.
“There’s blood on his talons too,” Toni said.
Bird ruffled his feathers. “Stupid bird. Stupid bird.”
“Obviously Rader wasn’t real kind to Bird.” Clay opened the swab container and wetted it with a drop of water, then handed it to Toni. “I think you have the best shot at not upsetting him.”
She slowly pressed the tip of the swab against his beak, and it came away red.
“Perfect.” Clay took the swab and put it back in the plastic tube.
They repeated the process with his talons, and Clay zipped his jacket pocket to keep the samples safe. “Can you get him into his cage?”
“Only one way to know.” She eased forward.
“Hungry.” Bird bobbed on her arm.
She slowly reached her arm out, and the bird hopped onto the perch in the cage. She moved at the speed of a snail and got the door closed and secured.
“For a while there I had visions of a bird permanently secured to my arm.” She chuckled.
He smiled with her for a moment, nearly getting lost in her eyes, but it was hard to forget the reason they were in this house. “We should work our way through the house to look for other evidence, then get Trent out here so someone can feed Bird.”
“Poor guy. Too bad food and water could contaminate his beak or I would give him some now.”
“Bird hungry,” he squawked from the cage. “Bird hungry.”
Feeling bad for Bird, Clay headed to the kitchen, Toni following. He used his cell to take a wide photo of the old pea-green cupboards, ancient appliances, and an empty eat-in area. “The lack of furniture is odd when he’d lived here for so long.”
“Maybe he was getting rid of things.”
A frying pan on the stove held shriveled burgers and moldy buns sat on a plate.
Clay turned to Toni. “Looks like his dinner was interrupted.”
“Think he planned to eat both the burgers or was he expecting company?”
“He’s not a big guy, but maybe he could eat two burgers.”
She opened the refrigerator. “Condiments and a twelve-pack with three cans missing.”
Clay looked through the cupboards but found nothing odd. “Let’s keep going.”
He went back down the hallway to the first bedroom holding a double bed with a worn lavender comforter. He focused his camera on the bed, thinking the comforter was an unusual color for a guy. Maybe it belonged to the missing wife. He opened the closet while Toni pawed through dresser drawers.
“Nothing here,” he said.
“Drawers either.”
They went down the hall to the second bedroom, this one with a twin-size bed covered with a baseball comforter, and framed baseball posters hung on the walls.
“Maybe Jason’s old room,” Clay said.
She crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer. “Whoa. Look.”
Clay looked inside to find the drawer brimming with stacks of twenty-dollar bills. “Wow. Whoever killed Rader obviously wasn’t looking for money.”
She opened the remaining drawers to find them stuffed with cash too.
Clay let out a low whistle. “How much do you think’s there?”
She flipped through the bills and looked up. “All total, I’d say sixty grand or more. Why was Rader living in this dump like this when he could afford something much nicer?”
“Based on this bedroom and the fact that Rader’s still using the old comforter, maybe it was sentimental reasons. Or…” Clay didn’t want to continue, but it had to be said. “Maybe he can’t sell the place because the missing wife is still here.”
Toni’s eyebrow went up. “You mean buried out back or something?”
“Yeah.”
“We need to mention that to Trent when we talk to him, but I want to take a look outside before we give him a call.” Toni stepped down the hall ahead of Clay.
In the living room, the concentrated smell hit him hard again, and he hurried past the body. Outside, he sucked in fresh air on the way to the tall stockade fence. He opened the rusty side gate to reveal an expansive property with evergreen trees planted in neat rows, tall weeds and grass growing between them.
“Let’s check out the garage.” Toni slogged through the weeds to a ramshackle garage. She lifted the wide door. The rusty metal groaned on the hinges as the sagging door rolled up. She shone her phone’s flashlight inside, revealing stacks of cardboard boxes and worn garden tools.
She set her phone on a pile of boxes and opened the flaps on a box on the next pile. “Miscellaneous household items.”
Clay glanced inside to see a mixer with only one beater and stained pans. “Looks like junk. Wonder why he’s keeping it?”
“If the house says anything, he’s not a packrat or hoarder.” She set
the box aside and opened the next one.
Stained linens and torn towels. She moved on to the final box and found broken small appliances. She removed a chipped toaster. Jewelry tumbled out.
“Look at this.” She held out several of the cheap costume pieces.
“Maybe belonged to his wife.”
“The items seem too juvenile.” She set down the jewelry and picked up a stack of rusted cake pans. A silver brush, comb, and mirror set rested inside.
“This could be the wife’s, I suppose,” she said, looking puzzled.
“Otherwise, why would he have it?” Clay reached past her to grab a Sugar Smacks box with a silver frame peeking out of the corner. “I remember when they changed the name to Honey Smacks in the eighties, so this box has to be at least that old.”
He drew out a framed photo, brown with age. She took a look and stumbled back.
Clay looked at the photo, his heart rate kicking up. “This is the same picture as the one in your father’s boxes.”
She gave a wooden nod, and her eyes were tight with unease.
“Who is this?” he asked gently.
“Me and my mom.” The words came out on a whisper. “My dad always kept this picture on his desk.”
“It looks like your father is connected to human trafficking.” He locked eyes with Toni. “And we now need to figure out how.”
Toni could hardly breathe. She rushed out of the garage. The world spun around her, and she planted her hands on her knees to gulp in the fresh air. Her dad was connected to Fritz Rader. A man who’d likely trafficked young girls. There had to be a connection between Hibbard, and Rader too, and was the reason he showed up at the raid where he died.
“Hey.” Clay came up behind her and rested a hand on her back. “We’ll figure this out, and when we do, I’m sure your dad will be in the clear. He was likely investigating Rader, and Rader somehow got a hold of the photo.”
“But why?” She stared at Clay without really seeing him, her mind a mass of questions. “What good would it do Rader to have my picture?”
Clay’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Would they? Would they really, or was Clay being his usual positive self? Did he really believe his words?
Did it matter? Not really. She wouldn’t stop investigating until she had an answer.
She stood up straight, hoping the posture would bring back her confidence like her dad had always taught her. But as she peered into the garage, she was so far from confident it wasn’t funny.
She looked at Clay, his eyes filled with compassion. Made her want to cry, but she swallowed away the tears. “I’m glad you’re here. I would hate to have discovered this on my own.”
He raised a hand as if he planned to touch her, but let it fall. “I’m guessing this is more stressful than finding the body.”
Yeah, but she wouldn’t cry. Not even if she was off duty. She blinked the tears away and considered their next move. “I can’t bear to leave the picture in his things. I don’t want to have the detective see it and connect Dad to this.”
Clay didn’t answer right away, just looked at her as if he regretted what he was about to say. “You know we can’t take it, right?”
She did, but her heart screamed not to leave something so personal behind. It would become a piece of evidence, likely to be trotted out in court and put on display. But it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Rader and Hibbard had to pay for their crimes, and that meant putting everything back where they’d found it.
“Let’s go through the other boxes,” she said. “And take pictures of everything.”
Clay nodded. “You take the pictures. I’ll do the boxes.”
“I need to look at everything too. An item might mean something to me that you’d miss.” She squeezed his arm. “But thank you for trying to protect me from anything else we might find.”
He rested his hand over hers. “It hurts to see you suffer like this, especially when I can’t do a thing about it.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with my personal baggage.”
He took her hand in his, his big warm fingers wrapping around hers. “I don’t mind. I just want to help.”
Tears pricked her eyes for real this time. He was being so kind, she wanted to sink into his arms. He would hold her. No doubt. Give her a chance to collect herself, but allowing that would send the wrong message. She withdrew her hand and went back into the garage. Still, she was desperately craving Clay’s strong arms around her, offering comfort. Something she missed after losing her dad.
Sure, she hadn’t visited him very often, but a hug from him had made things better. But she wouldn’t blur the professional line they’d set. Especially not with proof that her dad was involved in the investigation. It might turn out to be an innocent involvement, but he was connected all the same.
She reached into the box for the photo, jewelry, and brush set and arranged them on a nearby workbench.
“What do you think these items mean?” Clay asked from behind her.
He was close enough that his breath tickled her neck and too close for her fragile state. He could simply put out his arms, she’d turn and be in them.
Focus. She dug her phone from her pocket. “Everything is personal. Maybe they’re souvenirs from trafficked girls.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Except for the picture.” The deep timbre of his voice settled around her like a comforting blanket, like the hug she was craving.
She snapped several photos and checked her phone to be sure she’d clearly captured every item. Once done, she shoved her phone in her pocket and started to put things back in the boxes. Clay helped, grabbing the photo, which she appreciated. They returned the boxes they’d reviewed to their proper places and moved to the next stack.
Clay opened the top one and set aside tattered clothing. His focus remained on the box, and he let out a low whistle as he lifted out a stack of pictures. He fanned out the pile, revealing close up shots of young girls, mostly teens, of all ethnicities, shapes, and sizes.
Terror flooding from their eyes was the one thing they had in common. Pain. Sharp. Horrific.
Toni’s stomach roiled. Unable to speak, she clamped a hand over her mouth and watched as Clay counted the photos. Some were aged and yellowed. Some were dated in the eighties. Some early nineties. Others didn’t have a date stamped on them but looked more current.
Clay kept counting. The numbers grew quickly. Ten. Twenty-one. Thirty. Forty-eight.
Each snap of a photo onto the box tightened her stomach, and she had a hard time breathing again. She gulped the musty air, and waited for the final number.
“Fifty-five.” Clay shook his head, his eyes blazing with anger.
She steadied herself with a hand on the workbench. “This is horrible. So horrible.”
Clay clenched his jaw. “As much as I hate to do it, I’ll lay them out and take photos.” He moved past her to the workbench. “Then we can have Erik search the internet for matches. I wouldn’t be surprised if the results come back as missing or runaways.”
Toni nodded but had no idea what to say. Had her father known about these girls and didn’t stop it? Worse yet, was he part of it? No. He couldn’t be. She didn’t believe he would do such a thing. But other people might.
With six of the pictures lying on the scarred and gouged wood, Clay took the first photo. The flash lit up the room and seemed to show her the light.
The best way to help these girls wasn’t to get nauseated or lose her breath. Helping them meant identifying them and finding justice for whatever horrific actions were taken against them. No matter who was involved. Finding her dad’s killer or finding out what he was involved in was secondary. These lost souls looking at her in horror were top priority now.
“I’ll keep going through the box.” With renewed purpose, she dug into the items and found female clothing, small-sized, most of it slinky and sexy. She felt dirty just touching the gar
ments, but she would tough it out and take pictures just like Clay was doing.
“Finding anything of interest?” he asked, not looking back.
“Suggestive clothing.”
“We need to—”
“Take pictures. Yeah. I got it.” She arranged the clothing on nearby boxes and got out her phone, revulsion swirling in her stomach. The photos might not lead them anywhere, but hopefully Trent’s forensic team could locate DNA from the clothing to help find the girls.
Toni reached the bottom of the pile.
“No. Just no.” She backed away from the box.
Clay hurried over to her. “What is it?”
She pointed in the box. He looked inside, his forehead furrowed.
He looked up, opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he didn’t know what to say. Finally he looked her in the eye. “How can this creep have the clothes you’re wearing in that picture with your mother?”
9
Clay squeezed his fingers on the steering wheel, working hard to eliminate his frustration. He would do just about anything to remove the shock and pain Toni was feeling. But all he’d been able to do was gently lead her to their vehicle and encourage her to get into the passenger seat and close the door while he’d returned everything to the boxes and called Trent.
As expected, Trent wasn’t happy that they’d gone into the house and garage, even if they’d worn gloves and booties to protect the scene. He’d sent the closest deputies to the house to take over. Now, as he arrived, lights twirling on the top of his vehicle, his angry expression was evident even through the windshield.
“Wait here,” Clay told Toni and got out. He prepared himself for a confrontation with the sheriff and searched for a way to pacify him.
Trent crossed the few feet separating them. He held his elbows wide from his body, his chest thrust out. His nostrils flared. He reminded Clay of a bull ready to attack. Clay would have to do some fast dodging.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he snapped. “I’ll have a look at the scene, and then we’ll talk.”
“We’ll be here.” Clay waited for Trent to go inside before sliding behind the wheel.
Night Hawk Page 9