Beneath her skin, p.18
Beneath Her Skin, page 18
The man had disappeared inside himself again. She had lost him, before she had even reached him. She set the photos down over the phone, muffling the mic with her hand. She leaned forward and stared at the same empty space between them, lowering her head away from the security camera.
“Your brother came to me last night,” she said quietly.
The man’s piercing eyes looked up and she held his stare.
“He wants me to let you go. He said you had nothing to do with it. Convince me. Talk to me.” She pushed harder. “I will get him.”
Puck rapped on the one-way mirror and Kes sat back, uncovering the phone, and inadvertently knocked over the cup of water. In a flash, the man’s hand shot forward the length of the chain and caught it before it tipped. He sat the cup upright, close to Kes and beyond the safety line demarcated on the table.
The door slammed open and Puck charged in. “Hands back!”
Kes stopped him. “It’s okay.” She looked to the man, but he had returned to his former position, hands clasped, eyes fixed inward. But she had seen the flash of his unfettered wildness.
Thirty-Six
When Kes entered the conference room, her team fell quiet. She sat on the edge of the table and took a moment to look at each of the men.
Brownley was wearing the same shirt as the night before, and his brown shoes with their scuffed toes were still marred with mud from the day she’d first met him at the rifle range. She had found him to be loyal, diligent, and quietly perseverant. Old school. When he went home at night, she imagined he took off his shoes and tie, cracked a beer, and gave himself completely to the quiet life he loved with Susan.
Chester had the squirrelly energy of a mind that was always multi-tasking. He saw everything as a problem to logically solve. He spent more time, on and off the job, with computers than humans. He was someone who liked the precision of thinking and action. She looked at his hands. These were not detective hands. They were hardened from woodworking and fishing. A man who stilled his mind with physical labour.
And Harrison. His eyes were tired. And they held such loss. Loss of a marriage, of a child away, and an empty home. He had a small paunch and had probably started drinking more at night. He had seen too much, too soon, on this case, but he held it tight. Even when afraid, he would step forward. He was a man who tried to live by a personal creed of integrity. A good man.
She could sense these deepest parts of them. She hadn’t lost her ability to read people. It was just him, the man in the cell, who eluded her.
Puck stepped in and went to his usual spot beside the door and leaned against the wall. He had taken up that perch so many times, the paint had slightly darkened.
“He’s not talking,” she said. “We only have a few hours before we have to cut him loose.”
“What the hell?” Harrison exploded. “We found him with the victim’s car!”
“There’s no forensic evidence connecting him. No blood, no prints, no DNA. No confession. We don’t have enough to charge him.”
“But we know he’s guilty!” He looked to the others to back him up.
“Cool down,” Brownley cautioned.
Harrison looked to Kes in disbelief. “So that’s it? All this death and fucking horror? My kid shoots a man because of him and he walks?”
Kes stood up. “I didn’t say it’s over. I said we have more to do. Get Sally and Doug to pick up Billy Cochrane. Let’s see if he can ID our guy. Brownley, take an officer and finish up at the Nichols’ house.” She needed them to come together.
“The man we have is not our primary suspect. He didn’t operate alone. Chester, I need you to get into the juvenile and foster-care files again, five to ten years prior to the school fire. Harrison will assist.” She didn’t want him in the field until he got himself in check. “Look for brothers in the system. The captain will help you put on the pressure. There’s someone else out there. These two have been together their entire lives. They’ve lived through unimaginable hell and never left each other. One is the protector. He won’t leave that man in there behind.”
Puck eyed her narrowly. “What are you saying, Kes?”
“Charge him. I need more time. We’ll get the evidence. And I want an additional team on tonight. Full security. He’s going to come in.”
“Why would you think that?” Puck asked sternly.
She held his stare. “Because he told me, sir. Him in exchange for his brother.”
“In my office now, Detective!” Puck slammed the door on his way out.
Kes turned to her team. “Find me something.”
* * *
The thin walls and doors did little to muffle Puck’s voice as he berated Kes.
Susan eventually got up and shut the door between the front desk and the offices. Kes took the dressing-down and focused on a spot over Puck’s head, letting words like dangerous, protocols, and commanding officer spill around her. When he had finished venting his displeasure, she finally spoke.
“Respectfully, sir, we only have hours left. This isn’t helping us find what we need to keep our suspect locked up. I need you to contact the media and set up a story that we have a suspect in custody, who will be charged, and will be transferred to federal custody tomorrow. We need his brother to think we have more than we do.”
“You want me to lie.”
“Mislead. Stall. Buy us time. He will come, sir. And when he does, I want to have enough to convict them.”
Puck couldn’t hide his exasperation in his voice. “You are dangerously riding the line, Detective Morris, and my patience.”
“He came to me, sir. He’ll come to me again.”
Puck’s voice rose. “You think he’s going to turn himself in? A man capable of such atrocities? This is who you’re going to trust?”
She responded with calm, her head deferred in respect. “I think he would do anything to save his brother. Even sacrifice himself. I think, sir—I know—that he’s done it his entire life.”
She looked directly at Puck. He looked older these last few days. Deep worry etched his face. The lightness of the man who enjoyed golf after work and had earned his community’s respect with his gentle, fair approach had dimmed. There was a vial of antacids on his desk and the normally neatly organized files were piled haphazardly. One folder was ringed with a coffee stain. Even his clothes had lost their crispness.
“He’s coming, sir. Whether we’re prepared or not.”
Puck pondered the implications. “Two officers, two detectives, and a detail outside.”
“One officer. Myself. One detective. And a detail outside. I need him to feel safe.”
Puck evaluated the risks and the detective standing before him. “I want to know every beat as it happens. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is my family, Kes. This isn’t just a job for me. All protocols will be followed to keep my family safe.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, sir.”
Puck checked his watch and sighed. “Then stop wasting time.”
Thirty-Seven
Billy Cochrane was roused from sleep by Sally and Doug. It took some convincing to assure him he was just coming in to give an ID. It was only when Doug started poking around a pile of suspicious marine parts from various boats that Billy decided he would do whatever he could to help. But he kept reiterating that he “Didn’t know nothing.” Claimed he’d told the woman detective, “the pretty one with the eyes that look through you,” everything already.
Kes greeted Billy warmly and thanked him for coming back in. She led him down the hall and kept up small talk about the fine spring weather to lull him into a friendly comfort. When she rounded the corner to the holding cells, she went quiet.
Billy kept rambling on about nothing and almost bumped into Kes when she stopped short and stepped aside. Billy shut up then. He stared at the man in the cell who was crouched in the back corner.
“Do you know this man?” Kes watched Billy’s face.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Never seen him before?”
Billy’s eyes shifted to the floor, to the wall.
“Look at him again.”
Billy settled on the man again. “No, ma’am.”
“That’s not who paid you to follow me?”
“No, definitely not.” He said it with conviction. He was telling the truth.
Kes stepped closer to the bars. “Look up,” she said to the suspect. The man’s head slowly lifted.
“Step closer,” she said to Billy. He did, and steadied himself with one hand on the cell bar. An unconscious grip. For strength or courage? The man stared emptily at Billy, then lowered his head again. Not a flicker of recognition.
Kes looked at Billy, who smiled weakly. “Is that it?” His ears had flushed red. When he lowered his arm in relief, she glimpsed his scarred wrist.
“No,” she said. “I have a few more questions.”
She escorted him to the small interview room and as she passed Harrison, she said, “Come with me.” She directed Billy to take a seat in the corner. The table was tight to his belly. Kes sat across from him. Harrison stayed at the door.
“I really appreciate you coming in,” she said. “It was a slim chance, but we hoped we might get lucky.”
“Happy to help, that’s for sure.” Billy’s hands were fidgeting, his thumb absently rubbing his wrist just below the cuff of his shirt.
“I couldn’t help but notice the scar on your wrist, Billy. That looks like a burn.”
He tugged his sleeve down. “Yeah, a long time ago.”
Kes stared at him hard. She looked to Harrison. “Would you get the photos for me, please?”
Harrison stepped out and Kes kept her gaze fixed on Billy. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“I think you told me before that you had always lived around here?”
“Yep.” He shuffled in his chair. Lie, she thought.
Harrison returned with the photos. Kes set them on the table face-down and retrieved her phone. “I’m going to record this, Billy. Sometimes my memory can’t hold it all. Is that okay with you?” She laid the phone between them.
“I can’t see why he’d mind,” Harrison pressured.
“Yeah, no, that’s fine.”
Kes ID’d the recording: “Interview with Billy Cochrane with Detective Kes Morris, lead, and Officer Cooper Harrison present.” She slid the phone closer to Billy.
“Billy, have you ever heard of the Holy Cross School for Boys?” Her eyes sharpened.
“No,” he said. He swallowed. Lie.
“You would have been young. You might not remember it. It burned down. How old did you say you were again?”
“Thirty-two.”
“That would have made you about nine years old then. But you’ve never heard of it?”
“No.”
“Where did you go to school, Billy?”
“Up South Bay way, a little community school, but I never finished. It’s not around no more. Got tore down.”
“I was wondering because of the scar on your arm. Do you mind rolling up your sleeve?”
“I don’t see what that’s gotta do with anything.”
“Well, the man in custody, I think he went to the Holy Cross School for Boys. I think he was there when it burned down. So, I’d like to see your arm and I’d like you to tell me how you got that burn.”
Billy’s carotid was pumping.
“Roll up your sleeve, Billy.”
Billy’s eyes darted between Kes and Harrison. “Don’t you need a warrant for that?”
“We could, but that would make me suspect you’re hiding something, rather than trying to help us.”
Billy reluctantly rolled up his sleeve. His forearm was a thick braid of scar tissue. “I got it playing around a wood stove when I was kid. Fell onto it.”
The scars flared around his arm. They didn’t have the sharp, hard edge of the branding of metal on skin.
“We know what happened at that school, Billy. What happened to the boys.” Kes spoke gently. Billy rolled his sleeve back down and tugged it to make sure the scars were covered. He was working hard to hide himself. “But you don’t remember that place?”
“No,” he said.
“Billy, I don’t believe a stranger came up to you and offered you a pile of money to watch me.” Her fingers fanned the corners of the photographs.
“It’s what happened.” He couldn’t meet her eyes.
“The man in the cell is suspected of torturing and killing five people, likely more.”
“I don’t know him.” She could feel the bounce of his leg under the table.
“The people he killed ran the school, but I don’t think he did it by himself.”
“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
“But taking money from a murderer, interfering with an investigation…that could make you an accomplice, an accessory after the fact. That’s a long, life sentence in the penitentiary.” She watched for her way in. “I know the man in the cell has a brother.”
Billy’s fidgeting stilled. She flipped over the photos of the victims.
“Jesus Christ.” Billy looked away. “I didn’t have nothing to do with that!” He shielded his eyes with his hands, not wanting to see. She could see scars on his other wrist.
“It’s okay, Billy. You don’t have to look. I’ll tell you their names, and maybe you’ll recall something: Rakes, Olson, Doc Wilson, these two went by Gov’nor and Mistress. Ever heard of them?”
“No,” he said adamantly.
“The killers wanted them to hurt. It was slow and painful. Punishing.” She turned the photos back over. “I’ve put the photos away, Billy.” He looked up.
“When I check the school’s records am I going to find your name there, Billy?” She selected another photo and slid it towards him. The one of the boys posed in their soccer uniforms.
“I was always curious about this boy.” She pointed to one of the children. “He’s younger than the others. Too small to play soccer with them. But there he is. And you see those boys behind him? They each have a hand on his shoulder. He had friends. Is that little boy you, Billy?”
“No,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise.
“I’m going to arrest someone, Billy. I have one person in custody and I need to get the other. I’m under pressure to deliver, you know how it is. Whether it’s you or him, I don’t really care. Guilty is guilty. Case closed. And I don’t buy your story, Billy.”
Kes pushed back her chair. “Charge him as an accomplice to murder. I know enough.”
“You don’t know shit,” Billy said. “I didn’t kill no one! And the one you got, he didn’t do nothing neither. You’re setting him up. He’s not like that.”
“What’s his name?”
“That guy in there never came to me.”
“His name?”
Billy growled, “Mason.”
“Was it his brother then who came to you? Hired you to keep an eye on me?”
Billy sat back, surprised she knew about a brother.
“I’ve talked to him,” she said. “I know what he’s capable of. I know he doesn’t leave loose ends. Are you a loose end, Billy?”
“I hadn’t seen him in over twenty years. He came back and looked me up. He knew I could use the money.” He clasped his hands on the table. Separating himself from her. “We didn’t talk nothing about the old days, just how we were now. He looked good. I figured you were an old girlfriend and he wanted to know who you were hanging with. That’s all.” His thumb lightly traced the scar on his wrist.
“His name, Billy.” She could smell his fear. Metallic and bitter. “Your friends are murderers.”
“No.” His grip tightened.
“Sadists.”
“No.” She could see the strain of his muscles holding himself in.
“By protecting them, you’re going to serve time. Why would you protect these animals?”
He slammed the table. “You don’t know nothing about them!” His eyes blazed, betraying the fire in him. Harrison stepped forward, but Kes stayed him with her hand.
“How did you get burned, Billy?” she pushed, knowing he wanted to set them straight. He wanted them to know the truth. “Help me understand.”
His jawline tightened and his eyes hardened. “I was seven when I was sent to that hellhole. I had nobody. But they saw me and they protected me. They got me out of there and took care of me. They saved me. So you’re never gonna convince me that what they did was wrong.”
“How did you get burned, Billy?”
His hand went to his arm. “They were going to make it stop and I wanted to help. They said I was too young. But I had matches too.” He looked past Kes and his gaze shifted upward, like he was a small child seeing that night again.
“The curtains went right up. They already had the main buildings burning. Kids were running, everybody was supposed to get out. But the curtains lit up and flames was climbing the walls and ceiling and around the door. I tried to pull them down, but then the fire was on me.” He looked to his scarred arms. “My sleeves were on fire. They came back for us. For me. He come through the door, Mason right behind him, always behind him, and dragged us kids out. They almost got us all. They got me.”
He looked back to her, his eyes clouded with sorrow. “They thought if the school was gone, we’d be safe. They didn’t kill those boys. I did that.”
He pointed to the morgue photos. “Every one of those bastards deserved to die. I wish I had the courage to have done it. If they did it, then they’re fuckin’ heroes.”
“What’s his name, Billy?”
