The touch of murder, p.9
The Touch of Murder, page 9
A slippery slope if there ever was one.
But Steve was in thick.
“Sounds good,” he said. “Then let’s get some product to trade, shall we?”
Chapter 21
Despite Veronica’s promise, they had nothing.
Two bodies, a word written in blood, a video capturing some of their likely murderer, and a grisly MO.
They had all of that.
But they had nothing.
No motive, no suspect, no idea when their unsub would strike again. Veronica had spent a good hour on her computer trying to identify a link between Jake Thompson and Cooper Mills.
Again: nothing.
A career criminal involved in drugs and a sketchy accountant who liked to knock his wife around.
They didn’t go to the same bars, stores, gym… nothing.
They lived fairly close to each other, about five miles apart, but in dramatically different settings.
Freddie wasn’t having any luck either.
“Maybe it really was random,” the man remarked. It was perhaps the fifth time he’d said this during the course of the day.
Veronica didn’t want to believe it but was leaning in that direction despite the security footage from outside Cooper’s office.
Random acts of violence, especially with this level of depravity, were exceedingly rare. And that made them exceedingly hard to solve.
Veronica knew from experience that even if a crime appeared random, it very rarely was. Even Bundy had a type.
But what did a skinny, malnourished drug dealer and an overweight tax accountant have in common?
Sinner.
That was it; they were both sinners.
Her phone rang. It was Dr. Thorpe.
“Tell me you have some good news for us, Dr. Thorpe.”
Good news in the form of evidence. Foreign DNA, a fingerprint, anything.
“Unfortunately, not. Ran a tox screen on Mr. Mills—no alcohol or drugs in his system.”
Veronica had suspected as much, but deep down, she’d been holding out hope that Cooper Mills was secretly buying drugs from Jake Thompson.
Secretly buying drugs…
This made her think of Steve and the pills that she’d found in his pants pocket and flushed. She contrasted how he looked then—red-faced, eyes wild—with yesterday when he’d strangely gotten out of the car at Jake’s crime scene, only to get back in and drive off moments later—pale, withdrawn.
He couldn’t still be using, could he?
This made Veronica feel guilty. Despite how things ended between them, she still cared for the man. And yet, she hadn’t so much as checked in with him in months.
In turn, these thoughts spurred more guilt—guilt that she was with Cole and thinking about Steve. Not just now, either. But lying in bed after—
“Detective Shade? You still there?”
Veronica shook her head, trying to rattle thoughts of Sheriff Steve Burns out of it.
“Sorry, I’m here. You were saying?”
“I made a mold using the wound in Mr. Thompson’s throat. Nothing unique about it, I’m afraid. One edge, likely a kitchen knife. I compared it to molds made from Mr. Mills’ wounds. All I can conclusively say is that nothing rules them out as being the same weapon.”
Veronica frowned, thanked the doctor, and then hung up.
“Nothing good?” Freddie asked.
“Nothing good,” Veronica confirmed. “You’re sure there’s no link between their socials?”
“Can’t find anything.” Freddie took a bite out of the apple he was holding, which made an annoying squishing sound. It was a huge bite, and he was forced to chew dramatically. Juice ran onto Freddie’s lips, and he licked it away. For some reason, this annoyed Veronica, and she wished that he still stuffed his face with chips and French fries. Somehow, that would be less disgusting at the moment. “Jake didn’t have much, but he was on Instagram. I couldn’t find anything closer than four degrees of separation linking the two.”
“Check again,” Veronica snapped. When Freddie raised an eyebrow, she toned down her request. “Please? There has to be a—”
The captain’s door opened, and once again he summoned both Veronica and Freddie into his office. Normally, Veronica appreciated the man’s desire for privacy. But now, getting up, walking to his office, closing the door, waiting for him to sit while they just stood there, twiddling their thumbs?
That was annoying, too.
Everything was annoying when you were going nowhere on a case.
“Detective Furlow, I’m going to need an update.”
Freddie obliged, offering what little information they’d uncovered. He spoke of Molly Mills, the expected abuse, but noted that the woman’s grief seemed genuine. He looked at Veronica as he hesitantly put forth the theory that these killings might indeed be random, that someone out there was obsessed with punishing sinners for their transgressions.
When he was done, Captain Bottel sat there, massaging the corners of his mustache with thumb and forefinger, smoothing it out.
Yeah, this was annoying, too.
“There’s no way that these two men knew each other?” the captain asked after a pause.
“If they did,” Veronica replied sharply, “we haven’t been able to find any proof of it. I doubt they ever so much as passed each other in the street.”
More stroking of his mustache. Veronica half-expected to see his fingers dyed brown when he finally pulled them away.
“I think we should go public.”
Veronica had not been expecting this.
“You’re joking.”
Captain Bottel pressed his lips together.
“I thought you said… I thought you wanted this to be quick and clean? That’s the opposite of going to the public.”
“I know what I said,” the captain replied, matching Veronica’s tone. “But that was when we had one victim. Now, we have two. Somebody may have seen them together or noticed something unusual the nights they were killed. Maybe there was a car—”
Veronica suddenly thought of something.
“There was a witness at Jake Thompson’s murder.”
The captain made a face and Veronica knew what he was thinking.
Why didn’t you start with this?
“Sort of,” she clarified. “A man with a severe mental disability said he saw a midnight blue car at the scene around the time of the murder.
And a monster. He saw a monster, too.
Veronica kept this bit to herself.
“Did he get a tag number? A look at the suspect?”
“Like I said, he has some severe disabilities. Saw a midnight blue car, but that’s all I could get from him.”
“Right, well, that doesn’t exactly narrow it down.” Captain Bottel straightened. “We’re going public.”
“I’m not going back on TV,” Veronica stated, crossing her arms over her chest.
The captain held her gaze.
“Understood. Detective Furlow, set up a press conference for this evening.”
Veronica had intended on staying quietly defiant, but her willpower wasn’t what it once was. She’d expected to have a few days to come up with at least one suspect before they opened the gates to the zoo.
“This evening? Captain, we need more time. If we go public tonight, with nothing, the only thing we’re going to accomplish is spooking this guy. If he leaves the state, we’ll never find him.”
Veronica read through the captain’s silence. If their unsub leaves the state, then he became someone else’s problem. Sorry, Molly Mills, the person who murdered your husband got away.
Ho hum, better luck next time.
“Give us another day,” she pleaded. “Give us one more day to figure out who did this, and then we’ll have the press conference.”
“You know, Detective Shade has a point,” Freddie said when it looked like the captain wasn’t about to change his mind. “If we can come up with a suspect list, even a vague one, we can have eyes on them when we go live. That way, if they get spooked and make any rash moves, we’ll be watching.”
Veronica was grateful for her partner’s support, but she was also perturbed that her pleading wasn’t enough.
“I know how these things work, Detective Furlow.” The captain snapped. “But I think we can hold off until tomorrow. In the meantime, what’s the patrol situation like in Nettle Point? I don’t want another victim on our hands by the time we go to the media.”
“I’ll double the number of cops circling the area tonight,” Freddie said.
“Good. Now go get me a suspect, will you?”
Chapter 22
Veronica opened the door to her house, then closed it as quietly as possible. It was late, and she didn’t want to wake Cole.
But she was also a little bit drunk after going to the bar again after work.
She dropped her keys.
“Shit.”
As Veronica bent to pick them up, Lucy sauntered over, the bell around her neck tinkling softly.
“Shhhh,” she said as she scratched the cat’s back. “Quiet.”
Veronica straightened too quickly, and she bumped into the closed door.
“Shit.”
The lights flicked on, and she saw Cole sitting at the kitchen table. In front of him were a bottle of champagne and two glasses filled to the brim.
What the hell?
Thinking that this was a mirage of some sort, Veronica blinked rapidly.
Nothing changed.
“Cole? What the—what the hell is going on?”
The man appeared as confused as she was. He looked at the glasses, then the champagne.
“I tried calling like a dozen times, Veronica, but you never picked up. I must’ve fallen asleep waitin’.”
Veronica brought a hand to her forehead.
“Did we—did we have plans or something?”
Cole grinned slyly as he picked up the two glasses and walked over to her on unsteady legs.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Veronica protested. “I’m tired, Cole. It’s been a long day, and—”
He pushed the glass against her chest, and she had no choice but take it.
“I quit,” the man said simply. Then he clinked her glass, cocked his head, and sipped the champagne.
Veronica wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or if this scenario was just too bizarre to wrap her head around.
“You quit what? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I took your advice and quit. I’m out. No longer part of Internal Affairs, no more investigating whether or not Lieutenant Tim Brown stole rookie cop Miranda Smith’s underwear from her locker and wore them for a five-mile run. I’m out.”
When Veronica didn’t say anything, Cole’s grin reversed course.
“I thought you’d be happy for me. I’m thinking of starting a PI firm like we talked about.” He took another sip of the champagne. “I think this is the point in the conversation where you say something.”
Veronica blinked.
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“Yeah, I’m serious. I quit. I couldn’t handle one more day of IA.”
Veronica finally raised her glass, but it wasn’t to cheers Cole. Instead, she brought it to her mouth and downed the entire glass. She wasn’t typically a champagne person, didn’t like the way the carbonation tickled her throat, but this tasted like the good stuff. Not overly sweet or acidic.
“Cole, you can’t just quit. Y-you can’t.”
Cole shrugged.
“I can. I did.”
She knew that she was hurting his feelings now and that he was incredibly disappointed by her reaction, or lack thereof. But they hadn’t discussed this, not really. You couldn’t just decide in a day or two that you were going to just quit your job.
That’s not how it was done.
Even though he was in IA, Cole was still a cop. He had to go through the same basic training Veronica had, and while boot camp was a far cry from Navy SEAL hell week, it wasn’t fun. It was a commitment, physical and mental. You didn’t graduate, become a cop... just to quit.
“Cole, like, why didn’t you just transfer out of IA? You know, Greenham and Matheson are always looking for cops.”
“Because I didn’t want to. I want to start my own private investigation firm.”
“But you spent all that time becoming a cop.”
Cole shrugged.
“So? I’m young, besides, I made some connections that can definitely help. There’s stuff I learned...” Cole let his sentence trail off. “Didn’t you say I should try this?”
“No, don’t do that,” Veronica warned. “It wasn’t my idea; it was your idea.”
“I’m pretty sure we were lying in bed talking, and you said that I should just quit, that if I wanted to start a PI firm, I should just do it.” Any hint of humor or enjoyment was gone from the man’s voice now.
Veronica couldn’t remember the exact exchange—the past few days had been rife with distraction—but that sure as hell didn’t sound like her.
“I thought you’d be happy for me, Veronica.”
“Then you thought wrong, Cole. This is a completely rash decision. Did you even think about how much it costs to become a PI? What about getting a license? Did you do any research at all?”
Cole put his glass down on the table and stared at her.
“I did my research. As an ex-cop, I’ll have no problem getting a license. As for costs? It’s about five hundred bucks in fees or whatever. I could set up shop right out of our—” he stopped himself, but Veronica knew what he was going to say.
Our home.
But it wasn’t their home. It was hers.
“I’m sorry, I can’t be happy for you, Cole. It’s just… it’s just… this is too much.” Everything was too much. Too fucking much. “Please… I—I think you should leave.”
Cole was aghast.
“What? What did I do?”
Veronica stepped away from the door.
“Yeah, please. You should go.”
“What are you talking about, Veronica? I didn’t mean to upset you, I thought that—”
“I’m sorry, Cole, please, I just need some time, okay?”
Cole made a face.
“Veronica, what did I do? I thought things between us were great. I get why you’re concerned about this whole PI thing, but I’ve got some money saved up. It’s not that big a deal. I left on good terms, too, so if things don’t work out, I can go back.”
Veronica felt guilt threatening to overwhelm her again. Cole didn’t deserve this. She should be happy for him, nervous, sure, but also happy.
But she wasn’t.
She was just annoyed.
And that was telling.
It wasn’t fair for her to be with Cole, not now.
She liked him, but she didn’t love him. But it was clear as day that Cole loved her. Even though he hadn’t explicitly said it, she could tell.
Veronica could tell every morning she woke up next to him and saw that expression in his soft eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, staring at her empty champagne glass as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “Please leave.”
“Veronica, I don’t—”
Her eyes shot up.
“Cole, leave my house. Now.”
He raised his hands and took a step back. She thought she saw tears in his eyes. If he started to cry, Veronica didn’t know what would happen. Most likely, she would break down, too.
“Okay, okay—it’s your house. Can I just grab my—”
“No. Go now. You can get your stuff tomorrow.”
Cole left his glass on the table and took a wide berth around her as if fearing she would physically lash out before opening the door and heading onto the front porch.
Once there, he turned.
“Veronica, I’m sorry for whatever I—”
She closed the door, locked it, and rested her forehead against the cool metal.
This wasn’t fair.
Veronica grabbed the champagne from the table and drank directly from the bottle.
No, it wasn’t fair at all.
But where in the manual did it ever claim to be? Where in the fuck did life ever claim to be fair?
Life was raw, unfiltered, hateful, obsessive, painful, and occasionally bright, but never fair.
Never, ever fair.
Chapter 23
DEA Agent Troy Allison was right: it took very little effort to turn Steve from Bear County sheriff into a generic, and thus unrecognizable, addict. A little dirt on his face, a soiled hoodie and messy hair, and Steve fit right in.
His hands were jammed into the pockets of his dirty jeans, and in his right, he clutched the small baggie of white pills that Troy had signed out of evidence.
It was complicated to obtain product from the evidence locker via legal means, even when the DEA was involved. Things got especially dicey when their plan was not to return said evidence. It was easier because Steve was the sheriff and Troy was with the DEA, but it wasn’t easy by any stretch.
Dozens of photographs were taken, and forms signed.
Pages of protocols were to be read, of all things.
They skimmed over that part.
Steve had wanted opioids, of course, but Troy insisted that the best way to get in with the crew was to offer Kendrick ‘Trigger’ Holchester ecstasy. So, that’s what he had in his hand now, a bag of ecstasy worth maybe four hundred dollars.
A trade, that’s the story that Troy had armed him with. Trade the E for some H, see if the product has the insignia on it. If it does, they intended to up the stakes. Try to work on trading larger quantities.
McVeigh had wanted more details, develop a deeper back story, but Steve had decided against it. He didn’t want to sound too rehearsed.
Now, though, as he was forced to duck into an alley after alley to avoid being seen by what felt like a Greenham cop on every corner, Steve began to reconsider their hastiness.
