The Garbage Man

by Candace Irving

  "I don't hear the chipper anymore, either."

  Joe cocked his head. "Nor do I."

  "What say we wander next door, Agent Cordoba, and see if those yard workers saw or heard anything while they were setting up shop?" Any second now, the local boys in blue would be streaming into the kitchen to take over this part of the scene too. They might as well use the ensuing confusion to see what they could glean, then come back to offer up their own, detailed eyewitness statements.

  Joe's wink served as her answer, as did the sweep of his hand underscoring the path out of the room.

  They retraced their entrance, skirting the first two bodies they'd spotted in the den, then out and around the back of the house, all the way to the silver Jaguar in the semi-circular drive at the front. There, they stopped.

  A tall, impressively muscled suit had beaten them to the chipper crew. He was shaking hands with the older of the workers, then turned to nod and wave at them.

  "Looks like we've been summoned, Holland."

  Kate returned the wave for the both of them. "Try not to piss the man off." She knew full well her friend's true feelings on smaller town cops, despite his ability to shield those feelings from others...when it suited him. "I'd like to get out of here in time to stop by Grant's condo while they're still searching it to see if anything's turned up."

  "Roger Dodger."

  "Shut up."

  To her relief, he did, even to the extent of letting her field the introductions as the dark-haired, muscled suit reached their side. Kate extended a hand. "Deputy Kate Holland, Braxton PD." She turned slightly to facilitate the second set of shakes. "This is Special Agent Joe Cordoba, US Army Criminal Investigation Division."

  "Detective Arash Moradi, Mazelle PD." He didn't appear taken aback in the slightest by Joe's federal affiliation, or the shredded side of her face.

  She'd almost chalked up the cause to a combination of the Sunday paper and the all-points bulletin for Grant that was bound to have blanketed the state by now—until she spotted the detective's tattoo as he withdrew from his handshake with Joe.

  It was small, roughly an inch in width and centered on the inside of his right wrist, just beneath his palm. The simple, black inking consisted of four Arabic letters that, together, spelled out the one word so very dear to nearly every soldier who'd served over there.

  Infidel.

  Kate nodded. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

  Moradi grinned. "Afghanistan. Matter of fact, last time I was there, I was just down the road from you. Even took a jaunt around the countryside with a bunch of buddies for about eleven hours one day just to seek you out." His grin deepened, along with his palpable respect. "Turned out you didn't need any help finding your way home."

  Well, that was debatable. Especially since she was fairly certain she'd yet to arrive.

  Home, that is.

  At least that's what it felt like, even four years later, standing in an upscale neighborhood in a central Arkansan town, chatting with someone who looked like him. With those distinctive features, he'd have blended in well in Afghanistan or Iraq. Except that name was Persian. His accent and manners, though, were pure Deep South.

  As for his part in that search for her, she offered up her own, genuine smile. "I appreciate the effort, regardless."

  The detective clipped another nod, and they both let it go at that.

  Joe glanced across the drive to where the chipper crew appeared to be wrapping up their labors for the day, no doubt at Moradi's suggestion. "I see you had the same idea as us."

  "Figured I'd waylay them early, in case they tried to leave." The detective shrugged. "It didn't yield much. They've been out there with that chipper for over an hour. Between earmuffs and almost non-stop grinding, they didn't hear a thing—not even the dog. They did see the cars pull up though. The BMW, shortly after they started the chipper. The Jag, ten, fifteen minutes before your Durango. Their backs were turned when the Jag turned in, so they can't be certain."

  It was enough to confirm that Grant had been on foot, at least during his final approach. The most likely reason: the guard at that gate. If he'd seen Grant coming and going from Kensington Acres often enough to recognize him, the guard's mere presence would've forced Grant to adapt accordingly.

  But what about the new bodies? Had Grant planned to kidnap and hack up the CEO, his lawyer and the woman as well? If so, had the Doberman and his misplaced muzzle forced Grant's hand and saved his owner from a nasty postmortem fate?

  Either way, who was left?

  Grant hadn't been waiting around for them or the police. Who else did he plan on killing?

  "Deputy?"

  "Sorry. Just sorting the pieces. And it's Kate."

  Especially for a fellow former soldier who'd given up a day of his life to search for her.

  She glanced at the crew across the street. "Their timeline meshes with the gate guard's estimate on the Beemer. Agent Cordoba and I heard the dog as we pulled up. We rounded the house and found the French doors ajar. The two in the den were already dead; their throats had been slashed. The one in the foyer—a lawyer by the name of Robert Stern—was dying when I reached him. Agent Cordoba called 911 but Stern died within seconds. He wasn't able to name his killer, but he did manage to signal that the house was empty. We suspect—" She broke off, swallowed the surge of renewed muck.

  It was one thing to suspect Grant of hacking up those bodies, another to discuss him with Joe. But a stranger? Even a fellow cop?

  Damn it. Grant was a suspect now.

  She drew her breath in deep and forced herself to act like it. "We suspect Grant Parish, a surgeon with the Little Rock VA. I take it you've seen the APB?"

  "I have. I was a block from here, headed to his place to assist with the condo warrant when your 911 call came through. Looks like I've been rerouted here for the duration." Moradi withdrew a small memo pad and pen from his inner suit pocket. He opened the pad to a half-filled page and drew a line beneath the scrawl, then added several more notes. "Robert Stern. So you knew the victims?"

  "No. I've been working the body parts cases from Braxton since the start. I had a lead on a possible connection between the victims—that all three may have been hired through a medical staffing company out of the Baymont building in Little Rock."

  "The company's name?"

  "Madrigal Medical. I met the woman lying in the den at the Baymont this morning. She never gave me her name, but it may be Marilee. I'm fairly certain the man lying next to her is the owner of the house and the CEO of Madrigal, Ben Kessler—but I never actually met him. Stern was his chief legal counsel. I did speak to Stern."

  "And were the victims from your case connected to Madrigal?"

  "We believe so. Stern denied a solid connection at the Baymont, but we came across evidence since that contradicts a major portion of his story—which is why Agent Cordoba and I came here. I'd intended to question the CEO without prior warning. Unfortunately, we arrived too late to assist. I should be able to say more once I've had a chance to speak with my boss. Until then, that's all I can offer."

  Moradi nodded. "Understood."

  "You should know: Grant Parish is smart. He's left damned little at the dump scenes in Braxton. Plus, the staggered arrivals of that BMW and Jaguar, along with the timing of the kills in the mansion, the location of the bodies over two different rooms, and the ownership of the house? It all suggests that both men were targets, possibly the woman as well. Also, the alarm was off when we arrived. I'm betting it was off when Kessler and the woman returned, too."

  "But you can't be sure."

  "No. But there's no sign of forced entry on those French doors, and given what we've learned this afternoon, it's very possible Parish had access to the keys and codes to this place. Again, I'll need to speak with my boss before I can offer more."

  Moradi added a final note and closed his tablet. He retrieved one of his business cards and traded it for the one she'd had ready. "Thanks, Kate. Would you mind showing me t
he position of the doors upon your arrival?"

  "Sure thing." She was about to turn around when her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, then Joe. "It's Saint Clare's." Sergeant Fremont must've gotten her message.

  Joe nodded. "Maybe we'll get positive news for a change. I'll show Detective Moradi the doors and start the walkthrough. Catch up when you can."

  "Thanks." Kate accepted the call as the men headed around the mansion. "Steve?"

  "I'm sorry; this is Father Popichak with the homeless mission at Saint Clare's."

  Too many hours steeped in the ugliness of this case had her gut plummeting to her boots. "Yes?"

  "I am speaking to Deputy Holland, correct?"

  She blew out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding hostage. "Yes, Father. This is Deputy Holland, Braxton PD. Please, call me Kate."

  "Very well, Kate. I'm told you left a message for Sergeant Fremont. Something about needing to watch his back. That's why I'm phoning you. I'm worried. The sergeant does odd jobs for me around the mission and the church. He usually stops by my office on Sunday afternoons to discuss the upcoming week's tasks. He missed today's meeting. Since he has been very concerned recently about the welfare of three other missing vets, I thought perhaps I should phone and let you know."

  Kate's heart followed her gut to her boots. "Absolutely. When was the last time someone saw him?"

  "I was told the sergeant had last-minute plans to have breakfast with a friend this morning. He hasn't been seen since."

  "Thank you, Father. Please let me know if you hear from him. I'll do the same."

  "I will."

  "I'd also like to send a local officer by the shelter today to look through the items in those tubs that you still have. The ones that belonged to the missing vets. We need as much information on each man as we can get."

  "Of course. I won't leave until your officer shows."

  "Thank you."

  Kate closed her eyes as the priest hung up. Breakfast. She braced her free hand against the Jaguar as the sensation she'd experienced that morning during her walk from her Durango into the Silver Bullet diner snapped in so vividly; she could feel the same prickling of flesh as it rippled down her neck once more.

  What if someone had been watching her then?

  What if it had been Grant?

  Kate turned to face the now yawning entrance to the CEO's mansion as a dozen of Mazelle's crime scene technicians, burdened with their gear, began to file inside. Her fears had come to fruition. Grant was cleaning house. Sergeant Fremont was already either drugged and zip-cuffed to a gurney somewhere, and next on Grant's list.

  Or he was already dead.

  14

  By the time she and Joe made it back to Braxton, the search for Sergeant Fremont had gone from bad to rotten.

  Though Kate had called Lou to brief him on the latest developments after she'd spoken with the priest, she hadn't been able to provide anything other than a general description for an immediate all-points bulletin on the vet. Evidently, the VA computer system was down across the entire blessed nation because of yet another inexplicable outage—its third that month alone. The timing of this particular outage couldn't be worse for their investigation, since as a result, she had no photo, no social security number and no home of record for the man.

  Hell, she wasn't even sure of the vet's legal name.

  "Steve Fremont" hadn't come back in the state DMV. Neither had "Steven" or "Stephen". Due to the nature of his disability combined with his current homelessness, that wasn't surprising. She doubted the man had a current driver's license in any state.

  But he might've had one prior to his injury. Lou had their best data tech running those possibilities now.

  Hope allowed the tension to ease, if only a bit, as Kate parked the Durango in the police station's lot. It eased a bit more as her boss met her and Joe at the glass doors with a decently thick manila folder. "VA's system's still down, but Carole's been bustin' her hump. These are all the Steve, Steven and Stephen Fremonts she's been able to round up so far, nationwide. Let's take a look."

  Lou led the way to their conference room.

  Agent Walker was seated at the far end of the rectangular table, an open laptop to his left, a yellow legal tablet overflowing with notes in front of him. He glanced up to nod a welcome, before shifting his attention back to whomever was on the other end of that call.

  Kate shrugged off her jacket and tossed it to a spare chair before occupying the seat next to Lou at the head of the table. Joe joined her down the line, setting his laptop on the table as the manila folder Lou had waved earlier landed in front of her.

  Kate flipped through the out-of-state DMV photos as quickly as she dared, frowning as she reached the final one. She slid the folder back to Lou. "He's not there."

  She turned to ask Joe to access the Army's archives, but he was already hefting his laptop and returning to his feet. "I'm on it. You said the man was Special Forces?"

  "Yes."

  "Then, archives or not, someone's bound to remember him. I'll interrupt the SOCOM general's Sunday dinner if I have to." He glanced down the table to where the BAU agent was still scrawling out notes while listening intently to his phone. "Sheriff, do you have someplace I can set up where I won't disturb Ed?"

  "Sure thing. Hang a right when you leave here and head down the hall. Carole will find you a quiet spot."

  "Thanks."

  Lou caught her stare as Joe departed. "How you holdin' up?"

  "All things considered?" She pushed forth a stiff shrug that said it all. "You?"

  She needn't have asked. The shock and profound grief of the day had added at least a dozen lines to Lou's face. "I still can't believe what he and Abel did. Barbara must be turnin' over in her grave 'cause of this—Dan, too."

  Amen.

  "Anything turn up at Grant's condo?"

  "Not yet. Joe and I spent the last two hours shadowing a Mazelle detective around that mansion. Nothing jumped out at any of us. They were packing up the CEO's computer when we left. It should be at the state lab later tonight. The detective phoned the condo search team, but there's nothing there yet either. And no sign of Grant's smartphone, or that burner phone. They did find his laptop. It's on its way to the lab too. Detective Moradi promised to call if anything interesting surfaced."

  "Moradi?" Lou appeared to consider the name for a moment, then shook his head. "Must be new. He's the one you shared the case info with, right? You get a good feel about him?"

  Kate nodded. "He's former Army. Did a handful of tours over there. Intel and interrogations."

  Lou nodded as he reached for the plate of muffins on the deserted side of the conference table.

  She shook her head as he nudged them toward her. Despite her humiliating genuflection in Abel's barn, she still wasn't hungry. Must be the worry and the guilt.

  "So what about this end, boss? Did Seth find anything else in that barn?"

  Lou took a chocolate muffin in her stead and began to peel down the waxed wrapper. "Not yet. But Seth's still processin' the farmhouse. Abel's nurse showed up. She offered to stay the night. I agreed. Seth'll leave someone from the department behind to stay with, but we'll need to figure what to do about Abel soon. Given what he's done, we'll have to bring him in at some point."

  Though she hated thinking about it, Lou was right. Terminal cancer or not, Abel couldn't be allowed to just walk away from this, even if it was to shuffle up to his grave.

  The fact that he hadn't known at the time would've mitigated things—had Abel come forward when he'd found out. But he hadn't.

  Worse, he'd kept his mouth shut about the reoccurring possibility of other victims.

  Finally, it just wasn't their call. All cops did was enforce the laws; they couldn't change them.

  That was up to the voters and the courts.

  Lou must've decided against the chocolate muffin, because he pulled the paper up and set it on the plate. "Before I forget, Tonga called. The ini
tial tox report came back on Andrea Silva. Same paralytic in her system as with Kusić and Dunne."

  Shit.

  She'd known it was coming, had even tortured herself with that inescapable vision during the ride here: Steve Fremont, a man who'd already given so much to his country, who'd been giving everything he had left to his fellow wounded vets; to think of him lying on a gurney somewhere, paralyzed by some drug as Grant—

  Lou's hand covered hers. Squeezed. "Don't punish yourself. It might not even be true. There's a chance the sergeant got waylaid by a friend today and is just late gettin' back."

  "Yeah. There's a chance." There was always a chance. Kate caught the shadow in Lou's eyes.

  He didn't believe it either.

  She tipped her head toward the BAU agent, still deeply engaged in his notes and that quiet conversation at the opposite end of the table. "Who's Walker talking to?"

  "Some kidney doc he went to college with. The woman does transplants. Ed says what happened to Abel occurs more than you'd think. His friend's a member of some kind of international network of like-minded physicians. She and her fellow docs monitor illegal transplants by cobblin' together stats on patients who show up at hospitals and clinics with new organs in place and no paper trail to show for it. While the docs don't swap medical info or forward names to folks like us, they do piece together enough to sketch out a decent picture of the black market. They share that with some bigwig at the UN. Anyway, Ed's tryin' to get the lowdown on Madrigal and VitaCell. Want some coffee while we wait?"

  She might've passed on the muffins, but she was always up for caffeine.

  Before she could accept, Walker concluded his call. The BAU agent dumped his phone on the table, then his pen. He sat there, staring at his notes as he rubbed his temples, disgust and horror tinging his features a washed-out gray as he attempted to process what he'd heard.

  Kate was loath to interrupt the man. Lou, too.