Frozen (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (22 page)

“They took my laptop,” Bryce said, not really in the enthusiastic spirit of joyous communion with the local authorities in the aftermath reality of the search. “What, do you think I’d plot my diabolical intentions in some file labeled ‘My victims and how I did it’?”

Jones elevated his brows at the outrage in his tone but kept his response even. “Now you see, sir, sarcastic remarks like that don’t help.”

“I can’t work without my computer,” Bryce said flatly, not bothering to conceal his annoyance and sense of intrusion.

“Thought you were up here for a little R and R.” Jones smiled but it was brittle and hardly heartfelt. “Sorry for the inconvenience but it should be back to you soon.”

“I’m up here to work on my book. So far it has been a bust. Can you even take it without charging me or a warrant?”

“You gave us permission to look for evidence.”

The open door was letting in the cold but Bryce wasn’t in the mood to invite the man inside so they could continue the acrimonious conversation. “
Is
it evidence? Because, quite frankly, I don’t see how.”

“We’ll know that as soon as forensics checks it out. Be happy you still have your cell phone.”

Fuck
.

Bryce closed the door as Jones turned away, his hands shaking. Not that there was anything on his computer to raise any forensic red flags, but it made him feel helpless to have something taken from him that was pretty personal. E-mails were like reading a diary in his opinion, and he sure as hell didn’t want anyone seeing the unedited, unfinished first draft of his novel.

It was a little depressing to know he didn’t have any secrets that would raise any eyebrows, he thought sardonically. Was that why he was so pissed off? That some technician somewhere would discover he was actually a pretty lackluster individual?

Maybe that would be the headline:
“Possible Serial Killer Exonerated! Police Certain Grantham Too Boring to Have Committed the Crimes.”

It would be nice if he could laugh about it, but he was beyond laughing and well into the frozen tundra emotional stage. It was also pretty much of an energy drain to deal with the combined suspicious hostility and confused sympathy of the law enforcement community he was coming to know pretty well. If he was a victim of circumstance that had been brought to the attention of a vicious killer, they were all sorry for him.

If he was the killer, trying to pull a sleight-of-hand fast one and make them all look like incompetent fools, they wanted his blood in a figurative sense … or maybe a real one.

The situation was untenable at best.

Bryce glanced at the moose clock. The hands were at rump and left antler. Three o’clock.

As he pulled out his cell phone he wondered how much Alan Silver charged for calls on the weekends. Maybe he needed to go ahead and get a lawyer.

Chapter 17

There were police everywhere, but while he took chances, he only took calculated ones.

It was tantalizing, like a childhood dare, but they all didn’t draw him like Ellie MacIntosh. He saw the crime scene tape across the drive, smiling inwardly as he spotted her four-wheel-drive …

She was there, and they were wondering about those bones, about how they got there, about Dr. Bryce Grantham.

Good, that was exactly what he wanted.

Fall was turning, getting nasty, winter flexing its claws as it prowled on the sidelines.

Restless, like him.

Perfect hunting weather.

*   *   *

“I wish we
had the goddamned head.”

Ellie raised her brows and flicked off her brights. It was going to snow tonight, she could feel it. “Now that’s not something you hear every day.”

Rick shifted in his seat, running his hand through his hair in a rough gesture. “Sorry, that came out all wrong.”

“Maybe just a little,” she agreed, braking carefully because there were thin veins of frost already all over the road and icy surfaces were more treacherous than deep snow. “But I agree wholeheartedly that a skull would have been valuable, so yeah, I also wish we had it.”

“The bastard did it on purpose.” Rick’s voice held the same frustration she felt. “He deliberately kept it from us so we don’t know who she is. I get this feeling that before he was getting off on kidnapping women and killing them, but now he’s playing with
us
. New game and game is
on
.”

“Seems to me Grantham is his new playground buddy.”

“
If
Grantham isn’t our boy.” His tone held a hint of belligerence. They didn’t like each other. Ellie had already gotten that loud and clear, but it didn’t mean Bryce Grantham was a killer.

“If,” she agreed, but more and more she just didn’t think so. Ellie pulled into Rick’s driveway. His house was a prefab one level, but it was nice enough, with pines all around and a circle of asphalt in the front with a small garden at this time of year filled with dead zinnias and withered marigolds. “I can’t pretend I know what makes our perp think murder is a game, but I promise you, as careful as he’s been, he knows it isn’t a legal sport. From everything I’ve ever heard, these individuals enjoy getting away with it as part of the power trip.”

She parked the car by a Jeep that had seen better days, rust holes starting to eat along the sides like acid through the metal. The house was well lit and another vehicle, a tan sedan, sat next to Rick’s cruiser. Obviously Jane wasn’t working this evening.

Ellie didn’t often regret her single state because she liked both solitude and autonomy, but tonight she wished the lights would be on in
her
house when she got home.

As if he could sense the vague melancholy, he said, “Why don’t you come on in and have dinner with us.”

“I doubt Jane would appreciate the spontaneous invitation.”

“She picked up Chinese food. I talked to her about an hour ago. There’s always more than enough and she bitches at me for not eating the leftovers. The argument I’m not home much doesn’t seem to get through.”

“I thought she was going to cook and wanted a menu.”

“She changed her mind, anticipating my not-so-festive mood. Come on.”

He got out, his breath a small plume of steam in the cold, and slammed the door. It did beat sitting around brooding over this bizarre case, Ellie decided philosophically, and followed. Besides, she’d liked Jane the few times she’d met her, though they didn’t know each other all that well. Pine needles were slick under her boots and she shoved her hands deep into her pockets as he unlocked the front door.

Residual fatigue from the morning—from the past damn week—made her passively accept Jane’s offer of a beer though she wasn’t really in the mood for it. Rick gave Jane a perfunctory kiss. “We had a quite a day. Tell me you got garlic chicken.”

“Like I wouldn’t. You’re predictable, Jones, in case you didn’t know it. Beef and broccoli and shrimp lo mein too. Pork eggrolls. We have all the common proteins going.” She motioned at the counter as she moved to take out another place mat from a drawer.

Silverware rattled. “There’s plenty. I’m glad to not be eating by myself, if you want the truth. Your call wasn’t exactly brimming over with information.”

Ellie had heard that tone of voice before. It was called I-Date-a-Police-Officer irritation. She’d dealt with it herself a time or two. Amused for the first time all day, she took a sip of her beer and watched Rick handle it.

He predictably didn’t catch it, or if he did, he was immune to it. With a noncommittal male grunt—she’d heard that before too—he sat down and reached for one of the white containers on the table.

“And that,” she said to Jane with as much equanimity as possible, “is why I’m not married.”

“Be careful, MacIntosh,” her partner said with a sour smile as he set his elbows deliberately on the floral tablecloth, “or I’ll eat all the garlic chicken.”

“He does anyway,” Jane said with a quirky smile. “So that’s not much of a threat.”

They ate, talking about small things—not the case, not in front of Jane—and an hour later Ellie thanked them and got up to leave. Rick walked her out, both of them donning their coats, the night holding a thin northern wind that made the trees groan and rustle.

“Snow.” The word was succinct but said it all.

“I know.” The icy breath of Mother Nature wafting across her unprotected face made it impossible to ignore. The most inconvenient part of winter was all the extra clothing and gear.

He walked beside her as they went the short distance to her car. “Just three inches maybe they said on the radio. That’ll probably melt off, but we’re on a time frame.”

“I’m uneasy leaving Bryce Grantham alone out there.” She felt the sting of the breeze wheeze past.

“Pearson thought about a detail but decided against it for several reasons.” Rick watched her take out her keys, his features shadowed. “The first is obvious. But Grantham isn’t in danger if he’s our killer, Ellie. I’m thinking more and more he’s just messing with us.”

She did her best to keep her tone even. “And if he isn’t? That means our killer visited his property recently. Very recently. I don’t know about you, but that would make me uneasy as hell. He already looks like he hasn’t slept in about a month.”

“If that’s what’s happened, whoever put those bones there isn’t likely to do it again so soon.”

“And we know this because we understand this guy so well we nabbed him right away, correct?”

Rick shook his head over the sarcastic tone of her voice. “Grantham isn’t typical of the victims either. First point of fact, he’s not female. Our guy doesn’t want him dead if he really is trying to frame him. He wants him healthy and ready to be charged with murder. Grantham might be the safest person in northern Wisconsin tonight.”

“Did you pay
any
attention to my last observation?” She unlocked the door and got in her car, shaking her head. “We don’t know what our killer is thinking, Rick. If we did, we might have managed to arrest the asshole before now.”

*   *   *

There was a
reason, Bryce decided, why people didn’t stay at lake cabins all winter. It wasn’t complicated and he probably should have remembered that the inhospitable seasons were why the government gave you a tax break for adding insulation or new windows, because the cottage had neither.

The snow fell as silently as the temperature. He tossed another piece of wood into the stove and shut the door, hearing the welcome crackle as the flames caught the seasoned pine.

The musical tones of his cell phone startled him and he realized part of it was the complete and utter quiet. He hadn’t even bothered to turn on the radio or put a movie in the DVD player to watch on the twelve-inch television. Instead he’d sat by the window and watched the reflection of his own face in the black glass and wondered what someone—some
thing
—out there was thinking.

Until now, with police cars swarming all over the property, he’d felt more like an observer. A detached force who’d inadvertently stumbled into horror but wasn’t actually attached to it in any way.

The visceral vision of those naked bones among the stack of firewood was going to haunt him forever, as was finding Margaret Wilson. He flipped open his phone, considered not answering, and then expelled a breath and took the call. “Ellie.”

There was a moment when she didn’t speak and he wondered himself why he’d used her first name, but maybe it was the night, the cold, the pressure, but it had just come out that way.

When she spoke her voice sounded ordinary enough. “Hi. I was wondering how you were doing. Everything quiet?”

Now that was something new. Suzanne knew of this mess—Alan had told him so—and she certainly hadn’t bothered to call, though in her defense, he wouldn’t have talked to her anyway. “It’s snowing, Detective.”

“This is nothing up here. This is nothing down in Milwaukee. I repeat my question, all quiet?”

“Worried about me?”

It was really wrong to get sarcastic with someone who had been decent to him so far, but his conversation with Alan Silver hadn’t been all that reassuring.

Don’t cooperate with the police unless they threaten to charge you and if they do that, call me before you utter the first word
.

Last Bryce knew, this was America and the police were supposed to be the good guys.

All true, unless they thought
you
were one of the bad guys. That was when you hired someone at an exorbitant rate to keep them at bay.

One body, a partial skeleton, and a missing woman’s blood-stained shoe later, he wasn’t even sure he could blame the law enforcement powers that be for whatever conclusions they had reached. Worse, he wasn’t sure Alan, who’d known him for years, was positive he was innocent even though Bryce had said so repeatedly. On the other end of the line was a strictly no-comment vibe to those assertions. Alan had evidently been lied to by clients often enough he kept an open mind, for he’d brushed off the small matter of innocence or guilt and just gave ambivalent advice that would apply to both scenarios.

They have to have probable cause to arrest you, though they can hold you for twenty-four hours for questioning. If either happens, shut up and call me.

Ellie MacIntosh said, “Yes, I am worried about your safety.” It actually sounded like she meant it. “If I were you, I’d be crawling up the walls.”

It stopped Bryce in his self-centered, poor-me tracks.

The strange thing was—and he couldn’t quite explain it—he really wasn’t worried about the killer coming after him, or if so, not consciously. He just wondered what this psychopath was going to do next to screw with his life, or even worse, to end someone else’s.

“I am a little bit crawling up the walls,” he said carefully. “And I am not actually supposed to talk to you anymore unless you plan to arrest me.”

“That’s a lawyer speaking right there. I wondered when you’d take that course.” She didn’t blink a figurative eye that he could tell. He could picture her with that smooth honey gold hair and formidably serious composure.