Wolf's Trap (The Nick Lupo Series Book 1)

by W. D. Gagliani

  He glanced across the squad room at Ben, who was standing still for a change, staring out a window at the gray spring day as if somehow frozen between two activities. Ben seemed to be moving even though he stood immobile, his implied forward motion not so much muscular as neurotic.

  Just hours earlier, Ben had been visibly shaken by the assault on his home and family. Lupo understood. Ben considered the smug phone call from the driveway an assault, and his request for a day-and-night police patrol was quickly and quietly granted by Lieutenant Bowen. Lupo had slept on the Sabatini couch, his Glock cocked on the cocktail table only inches away from his hands. Marie Sabatini had seemed flustered the rest of the evening, and the children were subdued until they had kissed their Uncle Dominic good night before heading off to their beds.

  “Thanks for staying the night, Nicky. I really appreciate it.” Ben had worn a somber look as he shook his partner’s hand. “I ever get a hold of that son of a bitch, I’m gonna cut his balls off. Sitting in the driveway like that, staring in at my family, my kids, scarin’ my wife to death. He’s a real sicko, and I’m gonna take him down if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Lupo just nodded, knowing words wouldn’t measure up against Ben’s fear and anger. Ben jacked a shell into the Remington pump he kept for home protection. Lupo figured there was no way the guy would return—his goal had been accomplished—but the shotgun would reassure Ben.

  Now Ben came over to Lupo’s desk. “I sent Marie and the kids to my brother’s farm out near New Glarus. I think it’s best they’re out of here. My brother works at home, and he’s well-armed.” He looked at Lupo. “No way this jack-off is getting near my family ever again. My kids are too young for this. I’m hopin’ they’re not traumatized by what happened.”

  Lupo almost spoke in agreement. Instead he grunted as a picture formed in his mind. He looked down at his doodles. Too out there. But Ben had said, “Too young… I hope they’re not traumatized…” and the words flipped a switch in Lupo’s brain.

  “What about a juvie?”

  Ben froze. They knew they were butting heads with a brick wall for suspects, but obviously he caught the meaning immediately. “Sealed records?”

  “You got it. Might explain why killing’s not new to him, but there are no records.”

  “Fuck! I’ll get right on it and run a database search. How far back?”

  Lupo thought. “Go back a long ways. Thirty, forty years.”

  “Nick, some of those records won’t be converted to machine-readable form yet. They’re working backward. I think they’re up to the mid- or late- seventies.”

  “It’s a start. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Ben nodded and hurried off.

  Minutes later in Bowen’s office, Lupo once again found himself staring at the dozen or so framed color photographs the lieutenant had placed on his paneled walls. An avid outdoorsman and hunter, he had recorded some of his most treasured kills with the careful fastidiousness of an artist. Each photograph showed Bowen as the victor, but left the victim with a strange kind of dignity. For instance, though he had won his contest against a ferocious-looking grizzly bear, Bowen had somehow managed to capture the beast’s awesome majesty—even in death. And the way Bowen cradled the antlered head of the elk spoke of the love Bowen had felt for the beast.

  Just before blowing it away with a .458-caliber high-velocity fully jacketed slug from his prized Weatherby rifle.

  It was a whispered joke among homicide squad detectives that if Bowen had loved the beasts as much as the photos showed, he wouldn’t have killed them in the first place.

  It was also understood that if the Tac Team ever needed another sniper, Bowen’s name was on the short list of those who would get the call. Behind the stock of a rifle, Bowen was the best. And his photograph collection drove the point home again and again. Rumor had it he’d learned sniping as a Green Beret toward the end of Vietnam and liked it. Everybody believed the rumors.

  Lupo hoped Bowen never had a chance to hunt wolf. Every time he had the thought, he felt the shivers creeping up his spine. Now it brought him back into the conversation.

  “What I’d like to know is why you haven’t been able to match any prints,” Bowen was saying. He had a gravelly Robert Mitchum kind of voice, a voice that went with the image. Maybe a little too well. Too studied. But it fit, and that was the bottom line.

  “Nobody has him on file,” Lupo said. “We’ve lifted pristine entire sets, but it’s a no-go. The Bureau, Interpol, the Yard—you name it. I’ve sent email to all my contacts, with attached files explaining what we need. Nothing, so far. That’s probably why he’s never made an effort to hide his prints.”

  “And what does that mean?” Bowen glared at them until Ben cleared his throat.

  “He’s either a first-timer or he’s got some way to alter his prints, which ain’t likely.”

  “Or he has friends in high places,” Lupo said, surprising even himself for stating this thought half in jest. He didn’t want to mention the sealed records just yet, and he’d convinced Ben to go along.

  Bowen nodded. “Maybe. But he’s sure as hell no first-timer. He likes it too much. These acts are obviously related. He’s on a mission. You just need to figure out what it is.”

  Without making myself a suspect, Lupo thought. Or getting myself killed in the process. No sweat. What the hell does the perp know about me, and how?

  “Have you gentlemen made some time to speak to the doc about this? Seems to me that should have been one of your first stops.”

  Ben and Lupo looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “So, there you are. See her today. Now.”

  Lupo sighed. This was a waste of time. Meanwhile, somewhere out there, the guy was thumbing his nose at him.

  He was glad he had buried Corinne’s letter, and that Ben was willing to cover up Lupo’s connection to her. He glanced again at the photographs on Bowen’s wall, at the way Bowen’s hand and eyes caressed the dead animals. Lupo hoped he never saw the same kind of concern in the lieutenant’s gaze for him.

  “Come on, Nick, let’s get this over with.” Ben stood in the open doorway, disgust written on his features.

  They left the office without a second glance at Bowen, who snatched up a stack of color-coded folders and followed them out, then beelined down the hall.

  Lupo waved Ben over to his desk again. It was piled high with manila folders and textbooks. Some time before a coffee cup had spilled, and it still sat in a congealed brown stain. They slouched into the two squeaky chairs.

  Ben waved a folder he carried. “The filings at the gun shop were silver, just like you said. How’d you know?”

  “Instinct.”

  “Ah, so,” Ben said with a smirk.

  “What do you think?” Lupo cocked his head at Bowen’s door.

  “Bowen’s a dork,” Ben said from a sideways slit in his mouth. “We smeared shit all over his desk, he’d still have to taste it to figure out what it is.”

  Lupo grinned without humor. “Still, he’s got a point about the doc. We should have talked to her already.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “I tried to make us an appointment yesterday—”

  “Without telling me?”

  “I’m telling you now. But her schedule was full. She wouldn’t see us until sometime next week, the uppity broad.”

  “Great.” Lupo tossed his clipboard onto the desk and strode off down the hall. “Let’s move up on her agenda.”

  “Good luck.”

  A dozen offices down he stopped and rapped loudly on a closed door. The hallway traffic flowed around him without slowing down as he stared impatiently at the frosted glass. The woman who opened the door several inches moments later was severely dressed in a gray wool suit, her gray hair tied in a tight bun. Her lips were a red gash, slightly askew. A pair of gray wire-framed glasses seemed to float above her forehead.

  “Yes, Detective?” Her tone was curt, barely polite.

 
“Doc Barrett.” Lupo nodded and came right to the point. “Bowen wants me and my partner to consult with you on this murder at the mall.”

  “The prostitute?” Her distaste was palpable.

  Lupo swallowed his anger and nodded. “I have the report on her, and it looks like some pretty weird shit went down after he killed her. We want to start getting a handle on this guy before he finds he really liked it and goes out to score again.”

  “Do you make him out as a potential serial?” She held the door so he couldn’t see inside her office, as if she wanted to hide the person who was sitting inside with her. He could make out a trousered knee and a nervous hand resting on it.

  “I think it’s a possibility. We may need a task force,” he added as an afterthought, to sweeten the deal if she had political aspirations.

  Dr. Barrett seemed unimpressed. “Yes, I told your partner to make an appointment. I’ll be glad to sit down with you and sort this out, but I have a tight schedule.”

  “What about today?” Lupo pressed. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  She stepped through the tiny gap and stood in front of the door. Lupo took advantage of his greater height to attempt looking over her head at her guest, but she was too quick, and then they were both in the busy hallway, dodging the stubborn foot traffic that never seemed to abate during prime time.

  “I’m afraid I can’t be interrupted today. Send me an email and we’ll make an appointment for next week, and I’ll be glad to help you then.”

  The door was closing in his face before he could respond, but his right foot shot out and stopped its arc. She glared at him but he didn’t remove it, and her insistent pushing made no headway.

  “I certainly don’t mean to clutter your busy schedule, Doctor,” Lupo spat, “but more innocent people could die if this jerk thinks he’s getting away with it.”

  “I sincerely doubt any woman like that is innocent, Detective, and I’d guess they know the risks every time they climb into some john’s car or shimmy into some hotel room, not to mention spread out on a cheap motel bed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a prior appointment. Surely Lieutenant Bowen would not want to hear of this harassment, if I make myself clear?”

  Astounded, Lupo stepped back and watched the door slam. He stood for a full minute, ignoring the stares as people passed, letting his anger come down from full boil. He found it difficult to avoid pounding his fist on the doctor’s door, but somehow he was able to channel the fury he felt into a long, low growl, which sufficed as an outlet. When he turned, he saw Ben smiling crookedly at him from down the hall. He squeezed past his partner and reached his desk in quick strides, then spent another thirty seconds rearranging the clutter with a sweeping hand until he had cleared a space large enough to accommodate a legal pad. Lupo rarely used his desk to work, preferring its unending storage potential.

  “What’d I tell you?” Ben said from across their desks. “She’s got some broomstick up her butt, and I’m not sure she doesn’t enjoy it.”

  “Let’s get out of here. I was going to put a note on her door, but I’ve got better things to do than start a war.” He held up the pad, where he had scrawled: Do not disturb the fucking doctor.

  Ben nodded wisely and walked away. “Better you than me, my friend.”

  “Whatever that means,” Lupo muttered, following.

  Ben drove, because he pointed out that Lupo was so upset that he would certainly break some minor traffic law and some rookie street cop would pull them over.

  Without discussion they headed for the Third Ward again, driving the brief stretch of freeway and getting off at the Lakefront exit. Ben steered Lupo’s Nissan Maxima through the decorative arch that spanned the revitalized road, announcing their entrance into the historic section of town. Within minutes, Ben pulled in behind a customized van and parked, a half block from the set of Vic’s latest opus.

  “How official is this?” Lupo said.

  “How official you want it to be?”

  “We don’t have a warrant.”

  “We could get one, we ask nice.”

  Lupo grimaced and nodded. “We could probably find something to charge him with, without looking too hard.”

  “I bet.”

  Lupo sighed. “Much as I don’t like the sleazebag, I don’t think Vic’s the murderous type. And if we pull him in, we might screw up enough to send the real guy packing to another state.”

  “We’re on the same page, partner.” Ben took a stick of cinnamon gum from his pocket, unwrapped it and pushed it into his mouth.

  “Assuming the real guy is somehow connected to Vic,” Lupo mused.

  “Like a costar? A camera guy?”

  Lupo wiped a hand over his mouth, feeling the bristly hairs scrape his lips. None of this sounded right, and it felt as if they were just going through the motions. “Maybe,” was all he said.

  The same burly doorman waved them through without a glance at their badges. “Camera’s on,” he muttered, fulfilling his duty admirably.

  Lupo and Ben stepped inside. The center of the room was ablaze with impossibly bright lights humming on stands and tripods, all aimed at a low bedframe. Two cameramen were simultaneously recording the action from different angles. Panting and a low moaning came from the bed, which was half surrounded by sound technicians with microphones, and other crew members. Vic stood off to one side, his hand rubbing his chin absentmindedly.

  Lupo could see that two performers were sprawled on the bed, one atop the other, with a third about to step in.

  “All right, Dick,” Vic began. Somebody snickered, and Vic shot the perpetrator a deadly look. “And…enter,” Vic said with complete seriousness. The chuckler struck again, but no one seemed to care. The third actor lowered himself onto the couple, impaling one of them—Lupo couldn’t tell which one—and soon all three were swaying together in a chorus of moans.

  It was hot in the room, due to both lights and sexual energy, and Lupo felt desperately in need of air. He’d seen porn before, had even enjoyed it to some extent, but here the act’s mechanical nature—as the actors stopped while someone snapped stills—and the crew’s leering faces and surreptitious groin-groping, and the memory of Corinne’s sideline all combined to produce a throbbing ache in his head.

  And in his heart, he realized.

  Thankfully the scene was soon over, and the three actors headed for the shower, sweat and semen shining on their slick bodies. Vic saw to the stowing of the cameras personally, then pretended to notice them for the first time.

  “Detectives,” he said by way of greeting. “Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.”

  Lupo and Ben kept quiet, Lupo hoping their silence might put him on edge, maybe enough to make him slip and reveal something—anything—that could help in their investigation.

  “I can tell you, Detective, your friend Corey loved that kind of scene. It was her favorite—couldn’t get enough.”

  Lupo blinked, and when he opened his eyes, it was as if Vic were covered in a red haze.

  He felt the growl building way down in his throat, and he struggled to suppress it. He felt Ben’s hand on his arm and let himself breathe slowly again, hearing Vic’s words in midsentence.

  “…was going to bring them by, but since you’re here I’ll get them for you.” He plucked a plain brown box from a nearby cocktail table and held it out. “Corey Diamond’s only pro-am work for us, as well as the list of everyone who worked on them. As you requested. I hope you have DVD—we don’t use much VHS anymore.”

  Lupo made no move to take the package, so Ben did, tucking it under his arm. “Anything else you have to tell us?”

  Vic started shaking his head, but then thought better of it and nodded. “Yeah, one thing. I got this from one of the crew. Corey had been asking around for somebody to put up a website for her.”

  “A website?” Lupo asked.

  “Yeah, you know, like www.coreydiamond.com. A presence on the Web. Place to sell her videos, pictures
, have her panties sold off to weirdos with fat wives, that kind of thing. Oh, and probably live video so guys could dial in and tell her what to do and watch her do it on a webcam. All the porn stars and wannabes have sites maintained for them. It would have been her next logical step in this glamorous career.”

  Lupo felt the rage simmering. Vic lived off them and bad-mouthed them in the same breath. Ben touched his arm and brought him back a little.

  “Who gave you this information?”

  “Soundman named Carter. He’s gone home, though. Caught a flight to LA. I can get him back for you.”

  “Maybe later. Did she get beyond just asking around?”

  Vic beamed widely. He had very nice teeth. “Very good, Detective! You beat me to the big announcement. Yes, Corey did find somebody and Carter knows him. I’ll get you the name as soon as I can.” He waited for a response. “You’re welcome.”

  Ben pointedly avoided thanking Vic, who grinned too widely.

  “Can I get back to work now?” Vic said with a smirk.

  “Knock yourself out.” Ben half-pushed, half-pulled Lupo along toward the door.

  When they were standing in the stairwell, Lupo let out a long breath—as if he’d been saving it up.

  “I’m no prude, Ben, but that guy…that guy makes me crazy. I don’t know what it is.”

  “Heh, I got a word for it. Scum. That guy is scum.”

  “Maybe so. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Yeah, this is the only kinda homework I’m ever gonna like.”

  Lupo made to punch his partner in the arm, but he was too slow. He dreaded what he’d see on the discs, what he would have to force himself to watch. For the sake of closure, if nothing else. And there might be a clue, something they could use.

  Lupo felt the hairs on his back rising as if to meet the moon. In a way, that was exactly what they were doing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Martin

  When the doorbell pealed its one note, Dr. Freiburg opened the door.

  The young woman who stood in the hall was stunning, but then he’d known she would be.