“I bow to your expertise, Detective.” Reubens shrugged and glanced at the clock on the white, sterile wall. “And I wish you luck, since I’m currently working overtime. I’ve a vacation scheduled in a week, so can you pick up the pace on this one? I’ve already bought my tickets, rented the place on the beach, and I have a date with paradise.”
“We’ll nail him to the wall,” Santiago said with more confidence than
she
felt.
“I’m sorry but I’m with Detective MacIntosh.” Reubens peeled off a glove and carefully deposited it in a container for contaminated matter. “Bodies are usually the topography of a crime. Some findings are like a mountain, huge and obvious. If a victim is stabbed with forty-seven wounds to the abdomen, chest, and neck, I can safely conclude that it was homicide and an interesting degree of hatred involved.” He went to the sink and rinsed his hands despite the gloves. She would too. The water splashed off and he glanced back over his shoulder. “On the other side of the coin, when a perfectly healthy person dies of no apparent cause, that raises my hackles too. Most people aren’t intelligent enough to pull off a successful murder—they just aren’t. It isn’t easy to do. I’m smart, you are both smart; there is little argument that you deal with this every day. Do you think you could get away with it?”
Good point. He was perfectly right. She wasn’t sure she could. It was a delicate balance of the crime and the investigation. Hard to say what a person might get if he chose to break the law.
“Maybe.”
Reubens shook his head. “It requires too much. Let’s face it that intelligence isn’t enough. You also need luck, and all of it good. There are just too many variables.”
He was right, and that was why they usually found the culprit, but usually was not always and that galled her. Ellie said, “Burning the bodies, that’s … crafty, clever, whatever you want to call it.”
“Clever works.” His smile was rueful as he wiped his hands on a towel. “It doesn’t leave me with a lot to give you. Medical science has made some leaps in the past decades when forensics came into its own in a big way. I can do a lot with very little evidence, but I’m not finding anything. As long as we both understand that, we’ll do fine together. Only in one of these cases can I say I think I know the cause of death, and even then, it’s not certain.”
“The burning of the bodies,” she said tentatively, “in your opinion, is it to so compromise the evidence that an investigation is impossible?”
“As to that, I would say with conviction, yes, but as I understand it, he’s killing them elsewhere. That location might still hold clues.”
She noted it down, not that she hadn’t already come to that conclusion all on her own. “Anything else?”
Dr. Reubens looked at her, his face somber. “I am afraid, Ellie, you are up against someone who does not like rules very much.”
It was Santiago who said with sanguine humor, “That could be his mistake. He and I have a lot in common.”
“That’s amusing, as I was under the impression your job was to enforce the rules.” Reubens had slipped off his lab coat and put it in the rolling laundry basket along with his surgical hat and mask. His brown hair was tousled and it suited him far better than the usual carefully brushed strands.
“Doesn’t mean I have to like those rules,” Santiago said laconically, and Ellie was fairly sure he meant it. “Thanks for staying late, Doc. Have a nice night and a good trip. I’m kinda hoping not to see you again before you leave.”
“The feeling is mutual, Detective.”
Chapter 14
They are out there. Looking for me, asking themselves unanswerable questions because even I don’t know how to define it. Predators after the ultimate predator, their stakes almost as high as mine.
Not exactly.
There wasn’t a lifetime in prison waiting for them. The state of Wisconsin does not embrace capital punishment, but still … they have their purpose and I have mine. I wouldn’t be given much leniency and a lifetime in a prison cell is not my goal. All I really want is to banish a few ghosts …
That’s a lie. I want … it. The thrill. It is hard to shake. I’d always been afraid of it, of the lure.
I have some habits they frown upon in law enforcement.
With a small twist, the lock gave.
I popped the door, waited there, listening for any sound of habitation, and when I didn’t even get a hint of movement, I stepped inside.
It smelled old, like the closet of a woman past middle age, with an odd fragrance of dated perfume that had been kept too long in the bottle … and maybe a hint of whatever she’d had for dinner. Something from a can, no doubt. I have my moments, but in general a good memory.
The wine bottle on the counter in the silent kitchen told me some things never changed.
She’d be asleep for it all …
* * *
Bryce must have
been working because he didn’t hear her knock and since she had a key, Ellie wasn’t sure why she bothered anyway. She let herself in, the wash of cool air welcome, and when she looked down the long hallway, sure enough he was in his office. She could hear the faint sound of the television, kept low because he really didn’t watch it much but sometimes he caught the news.
She walked to the door, always a little hesitant to disturb him. He worked from home but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working.
He was at his desk, staring at the screen on his computer, apparently deep in thought. Sure enough in the corner on a mahogany table that discreetly housed various electronic equipment, a flat-screen television flashed images. There was also an Oriental rug; a grouping of two comfortable wing chairs and a low, polished table; and several bookcases. If nothing else, from his dissolved marriage to Suzanne, he’d walked away with some lessons in good taste.
Suzanne.
Ellie was really debating how to bring up that subject. Or even if she should.
Her knee-jerk reaction was to ask him if he really had seen his ex-wife and failed to mention it, but she wasn’t entirely sure she had any right to be ticked off about it. She was the one who had made it clear she wanted to take it slow and easy.
Except she had turned her life upside down and moved to Milwaukee.
He’d be perfectly right if he pointed out that she’d never once said it was because of him, and Ellie wasn’t at all sure she was ready to admit that yet anyway.
She cleared her throat. “Hello.”
Bryce turned, a slight smile surfacing. “Hello.”
“I knocked but then used my key. I wasn’t sure you were even home.”
“Working a little.” He gestured at the laptop on his desk.
“The book? Am I interrupting?”
“I’m kind of at a stopping point, so no, you aren’t.”
She held a bag and lifted it. “I stopped and picked up some food. If you’ve already eaten, that’s okay. The medical examiner is really trying to help us out and he stayed late to do the autopsy on this last victim. You hungry?”
“That’s a strange combination. Autopsy and take-out food. But actually, yes, I am hungry. Just keep the details to yourself if you don’t mind.” He hit save and stood. “Lunch was how many hours ago?”
“Your favorite deli. I was close by.” Ellie led the way to the kitchen. “Pastrami for you. Some coleslaw. Roast beef on a bagel for me, unless you want to split and share?”
“Turn off your phone for dinner? Just for thirty minutes.”
She gazed at him curiously as she set the bag on the table. There was something a little off about his demeanor. “Sure. Yeah, I suppose so. I haven’t been off duty in five days. Probably a good idea. One quiet dinner isn’t too much to ask.”
In the end they did share, splitting the sandwiches. He drank a cold Leinenkugel with his meal and she had a glass of wine and was just starting to unwind when he said, “I watched the news.”
“You usually do.” She had to admit she was a little mystified by the way he was acting.
He suggestively lifted the bottle of wine. “A little more?”
“No thanks. I’m about to fall asleep as it is. Did you know it hit 103 today? I have no clue what the heat index was, but it felt off the charts.”
“It was 110.” He set the Chablis down. “Heard it on the local forecast.”
Ellie regarded him across the table. There was a moment of silence, and then she said in clipped tones, “All right, what is it?”
“What is what?” He didn’t pull off the blank look very well. She liked that about him. People lied to her constantly, but he couldn’t. Maybe that was why she didn’t want to ask about Suzanne. He would tell her the truth.
“You just don’t hide things very well. How we ever thought you were a killer … Never mind that, but, Bryce, just tell me, okay? Something has you off balance, I can see it, you were uncomfortable the entire meal and have been since I walked in.” Her voice was flat and uncompromising. “Tell me.”
He blew out a short breath. He disliked confrontation, which made them an interesting pair, but might just be a personal preference on his part as his ex-wife was an attorney. Maybe opposites did attract, she had no clue, but the issue at hand was he looked very much like there was something he needed to tell her that he didn’t want to reveal.
Someone in the neighborhood hadn’t used all their firecrackers on the Fourth. She could hear the staccato sound in the background, but it barely registered. The cicadas chirped in the trees also, a more soothing summer song.
In the end he lifted his shoulders in surrender. “You were on the news.”
That stopped her dead. Whatever it was he didn’t want to tell her, she didn’t expect that. “On the news? Me? Why?”
What the hell are you talking about?
“They made a point of the case last fall and that you were working this one.” He stood, took both their plates, and moved toward the sink. “Not a lot of detail but a video of you ducking under police tape, and a note about this maybe being a serial and you were assigned to it. I just happened to catch it.”
Surely he wasn’t serious. But then again, his tension ever since she walked in the door told her he was excruciatingly, absolutely serious.
She sat in the chair and watched him rinse their plates. Finally, she said, “I’ll take that second glass of wine, and when you are done, can you please sit down across from me again and tell me what this broadcast said?”
Bryce glanced back over his shoulder. “I really just caught your name.”
“My name?”
“And the footage. You looked good.”
“Dr. Grantham, I suggest you don’t equivocate.” She meant it too. It was clear in her tone.
“When you call me that it brings back memories of a not-so-happy time. Let me get the wine.”
She wasn’t letting him get off that easy. As he retrieved the bottle and tipped the golden liquid into her glass, she said quietly, “Bryce, just tell me why there would be any reason for me to be mentioned on the news.”
He met her eyes and it wasn’t just the issue at hand, but her heart stopped for a moment. He didn’t want to tell her. He just didn’t. She could read it on his face. He said reluctantly, “The recent murders.”
“So?” Her fingers toyed with the glass but she wasn’t going to take a drink until he answered. “We don’t know anything. What could they possibly be saying?”
Bryce settled into the opposite chair. He shook his head. “It was just a short piece about how you are on the case. Linked it back to last fall and tried to make it look deliberate on the part of the police department.”
“In what way?”
“Apparently you are the current force to be reckoned with in the effort to stop serial murders in this neck of the woods, so to speak … or that was just my impression.”
“Shit.” She picked up the glass and took an inelegant gulp of wine. “What station?”
“I’m not sure. The television is probably still tuned to it. You can look if you want.”
She set down the wineglass and stared at it, thinking.
Disaster?
Not really, not in terms of anything except it proved someone was feeding information to the press and she was pretty sure it wasn’t Metzger.
Santiago? There was an issue of professional jealousy whether he would admit it or not. This suddenly put the pressure on her in a big way.
“No need, the station doesn’t really matter.” She sighed. “It’s out there now. Good God, we have a job to do. I’m not opposed to the public being informed if there is a threat, and this is one … let’s not kid ourselves, but Metzger didn’t condone this, I know that. Why would anyone even care if I’m on this one … it isn’t news, for heaven’s sake.”
“Ellie, you caught the killer who had abducted at least five women and brutally murdered them. I see why you don’t want the attention, but it is interesting you are now working
this
case. Look at it this way, at least you were not the main suspect in the other case. I admit I was pretty happy they didn’t mention me.”
“I don’t think I blame you there.” Ellie regarded him with contemplative introspection. “Neither of us is going to find what happened easy to live down and it makes our relationship interesting. If the media really gets ahold of that, we should be prepared. I really hope no ambitious reporter ever looks at me closely enough to figure out we are seeing each other.” It had worried her just a little, all along. Santiago knew, obviously. It was why she strictly did not discuss her personal life.
“I was cleared. If I remember correctly, you were the one who did that for me.” His dark eyes were direct.
“Bryce, I realize everyone does not know this, but I slept with you when you were still a suspect. I was fairly sure of your innocence, but—”
“Hold on.” He lounged back, his tall body not precisely relaxed, but giving that impression. “
Fairly
sure? I can’t decide if that is a compliment or an insult.”
She gave him a level look. “Sure enough, apparently. However, I am not too thrilled about anyone finding out that you were so involved in that case and now we are … here.”
“Where would here be, Ellie?”