Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (48 page)

“
No one on my team would do something like this
,”
Captain Meyers says, struggling to take control of the meeting. 

Everyone gives him respectful nods.  The ma
n’
s Darlen
e’
s lackey, but h
e’
s still captain.  The moment is uncomfortable, with everyone glancing around the conference table, trying to figure out who gave the
Enquirer
this awful scoop and who, of a more prurient interest, is the NPD detective involved with the murder suspec
t’
s sister? 

Most gazes land briefly on Sheriff Cornwell, then pass to Wes, then land on me.  What had Wes said? 
The wor
d’
s all over NPD. 
Damn, I hate rumors, especially when the
y’
re true and even worse when
I’
m the one bearing their brunt.

I shoot Wes a grin.  H
e’
s no on
e’
s lackey, certainly not Mayor Law
s’
.  In fact, everyone sitting at the table knows better than to even imagine h
e’
s the NPD detective hob-nobbing with Megal
o’
s sister.

I wait.  I want DeeDee to confess.  She does
n’
t, which means
I’
m going to have to take Mayor Law
s
’ heat for the
Enquirer
article. 

“
I
t’
s time to stop dicking around and lay our cards on the table
,”
FBI Special Agent in Charge, Roger Smith says.
 “
We all know wh
o’
s responsible for the article
,”
he adds.
 “
Wha
t’
s important now is
n’
t worrying about how unprofessional some of us ar
e
”
—
his gaze, upbraiding and disapproving, searches out DeeDe
e
—
“
but i
t’
s about locking down evidence and linking it to a suspect.  W
e’
ve worked behind the scenes so far, but i
t’
s time we all worked together on this case
.
”

“
Thank you
,”
I nod. 

I bear no good wil
l—
nor any ill wil
l—
to the FBI suits wh
o’
ve inserted themselves into this investigation.  Instead, I smile with relief, watching SAC Smith guide a chair to the other end of the conference table, scooting Captain Meyers out of the way. 

“
W
e’
ve got a serial killer on our hands in this Megalo Don character
,”
SAC Smith says, taking charge.
 “
What do you all know about what h
e’
s been doing in Ohio
?
”

We stare, our surprised looks proving his implied point: we know nothing about Megal
o’
s activities in Ohio.  Wes chews a frayed toothpick.  The way he gazes at SAC Smith, who proceeds to fill us in, makes me worry h
e’
s measuring the FBI agent for a coffin.  Wes is clearly ready to squeeze the information out of SAC Smith for no other reason than the hell of it.  Over the past six years,
I’
ve learned that Wes tolerates suits and bureaucrats even less than he does rookies like DeeDee Laws.  Must be left over from his famil
y’
s having to fight revenuers. 

“
H
e’
s been killing women in Ohio, has
n’
t he
?”
I say. 

Everyone in the room turns speculating gazes toward me, the NPD detective who cavorts with Megalo Do
n’
s sister, if the
Enquirer
articl
e’
s to be believed, and then curiously back to SAC Smith.

“
He has
,”
SAC Smith agrees.
 “
In fact, h
e’
s murdered several.  Now le
t’
s get down to business and review what w
e’
ve got
.
”

Chapter 43

I start the case review by discussing what all three victims, including Meera and Angie Miller, plus our Jane Doe from the alley last night, have in common, starting from fact and then moving to possibility.  I
t’
s standard operating procedure.

“
H
e’
s killed two young girls from Oma
r’
s bar and left his signature on their shoulders
.
”

“
Yo
u’
ve verified this forensically
?”
SAC Smith asks. 

“
Yes
,”
I say, glad for We
s
’ help with HVO, and even more glad
I’
d paid attention when Bite Doc explained Hollow Volume Overlay.
 “
Doctor Brick Verbote took impressions of both girl
s
’ wounds
,”
I explain
,“
and h
e’
s verified that they belong to the same per
p—
to Megalo Don
.
”

SAC Smith interjects.
 “
Yo
u’
re right.  I got the report Verbote sent to the Scientific Analysis Sectio
n’
s hair and fiber division.  He sent his renderings, too, and we ran them against our database.  Doctor Verbot
e’
s renderings match the ones we submitted to him for impressions and analysis, bu
t
”
—
he holds up a hand to stop the buzz of excitemen
t
—
“
the problem is this.  Few of our databases as yet contain offender
s
’ odontological impressions
.
”

Ther
e’
s a collective sigh of disappointment.  Mayor Laws, who has no clue what SAC Smith is talking about, moves a chair closer to the end of the table.  She wants to be where the action is, on and off duty.  From her shrewd scrutiny of SAC Smit
h’
s smooth-shaved face and sturdy frame conditioned at Quantico, I figure sh
e’
s got her cap set for him.  I feel for him, but
I’
m glad
I’
m no longer her target.

Not that I did
n’
t enjoy being with Darlene: I did.  I no longer want anyone else.  Alaina Colby satisfied me completely, left me hoping for more.  So if ther
e’
s going to be any further bite wound identificatio
n—
an
y‘
odontological analyse
s
’ in Darlene La
w’
s worl
d—I’
m happy to let her take bites from SAC Smit
h’
s nice white-collar neck, not mine. 

“
So your analyses, Bite Do
c’
s renderings, prove what
?
”
 
Wes grumbles, switching his toothpick impatiently from one corner of his mouth to the other.  My former partner and good bud is clearly battening down the NPD hatches, locking down the case, collecting facts.

“
The same ma
n’
s killed all seven women in Ohio and three in Kentucky
,”
the SAC says. 

“
And h
e’
s taking two teeth from each vic
?”
I ask.
 “
As trophies
?
”

“
Yes, spot on
,”
SAC Smith says, and then nods toward Captain Meyers.
 “
Your boy her
e’
s on top of his game
.
” 

SAC Smith returns his attention to me.
 “
Detective, you interested in working for the FBI
?
”

Captain Meyers is
n’
t the toughest captain Newport P
D’
s ever had, but h
e’
s our star administrator, and from his dark scowl it appears h
e’
s unwilling to let me go, even if he hates me personally because of Darlene Laws, even if I do cavort with Megalo Do
n’
s sister. 

“
H
e’
s perfectly happy working here, Agent Smith
,”
the captain says.
 “
I suggest we keep focused on the task at hand, not recruiting NPD officers for Quantico
.
”

“
At least we got the Coke truck back
,”
Wes says.
 “
Property logged it in to their inventory this morning.  Tha
t’
s progress
.
”

Ignoring We
s
’ acid tone, SAC Smith continues
,“
Yes, well, so far Megalo Do
n’
s collected fourteen teeth in Ohi
o
”
—
he rakes his gaze around the room, letting it land on everyon
e
—
“
and six in Kentucky an
d
—”

Finally seeing his chance to interrupt, Sheriff Cornwell says
,“
Hold on a damn minute.  Le
t’
s back up, Nell.  What does Doctor Verbote use to make these so-called renderings of his?  How do we know w
e’
re working with solid evidence
?
”

H
e’
s the only sheriff left in Kentucky who has
n’
t earned a high school diploma.  He was re-elected before the state upheld the new law that all law enforcement officers must have at least a high school education, if not college.  H
e’
s been grandfathered in.

SAC Smith, seeing Captain Meyer
s
’ threatening glare, his attempt to stop Sheriff Cornwell from putting his foot in his mouth and embarrassing NPD, stops and politely answers the old sherif
f’
s question.
 “
I
t’
s a nifty little computer program called TIDBIT
.
”

“
Could
n’
t he just eyeball the damn bite wounds and matc
h‘
em up
?”
Cornwell says, ignoring Captain Meyer
s
’ stabbing glares. 

Kudos, Old Boy.
 

I cheer Sheriff Cornwell on.  Maybe
I’
ve been wrong about Megalo targeting Alaina as my next victim.  After all, if h
e’
s only collected twenty teeth so far, fourteen in Ohio and six in Kentucky, then h
e’
s still got twelve to go.  That means six more female vics before Megalo finishes his complete set of thirty two.  Tha
t’
s twelve more teeth he needs before he gets to the point where he takes his last two teeth and, maybe, before he thinks of targeting Alaina. 

“
As I was saying
,”
SAC Smith says, moving on
,“
seven vics in Ohio, three right here in Kentucky, and
,”
he adds, acknowledging everyon
e’
s inhale as they hold their collective breath
,“
five vics in Indiana.  So far h
e’
s collected thirty teeth
.
”

Hellfire!  Megalo Do
n’
s got his thirty teeth!
 

“
That means he needs only two more
,”
I say, my blood pressure skyrocketing. 

The other commonality Alaina shared with Angie Miller and, maybe Meer
a—
who knows at this point
?—
was the fact she danced at Oma
r’
s.  Megalo has a foot fetish, a thing for young dancers, and gets off on biting them ante moren and torturing them to death with sadistic sexual rituals.  She must be next.

Quietly, I experience my ah-ha moment.  Alaina works for Bite Doc.  She has access to the materials Megalo needs to make his mouth grills, the retainers that not only hide his DNA from investigators, but which also enable him to get a sexual thrill by leaving his distinctive signature on his victim
s
’ shoulders.  Whoever knows this fact about Alaina could be Megalo Don.  This narrows my suspect list considerably.

“
Anything yo
u’
d like to share with us, Detective
?
”
 
SAC Smith glances at me, interrupting my reverie, my private case review. 

“
Who the hell is Meera
?”
I ask.
 “
Does the FBI know?  As far as I know, sh
e’
s the first vic found in Kentucky.  Other than our Jane Doe we found in the alley last night, sh
e’
s the only one w
e’
ve been unable to identify
.
”

SAC Smith frowns.
 “
We do
n’
t know, either
,”
he says, apologetic.
 “
Like you, sh
e’
s the only vic we ca
n’
t identify.  W
e’
ve identified the rest, including those from Indiana, but not Meera.  And, of course, w
e’
re waiting to ID your Jane Doe
.
”

“
Guess that darn tiddly-wink computer program of Bite Do
c’
s ca
n’
t solve homicides, can it
?”
Sheriff Cornwell sniggers. 

No one corrects him.  Tiddly-wink.  TIDBIT.  No one cares any less than Sheriff Cornwell to know what Bite Doc does with his strange computer program.

“
Sounds to me like we need some good old fashioned legwork to find this sonofabitch
,”
the sheriff adds.  To his credit, and despite his rude manners, h
e’
s got one of the highest solve rates in NPD history.   

I gaze at the old boy.  I agree with him, but
I’
ve also got to admit that Bite Do
c’
s computer technology set me on the path to discovering who Megalo Don is.
 “
Without HVO
,”
I say
,“I’
d never have identified the Do
n’
s signature or his MO.  It works, Sheriff
,”
I say.
 “
It works, but i
t’
s got its limitations as prosecutorial evidence
.
”  

“
Mebbe so, mebbe so
,”
Sheriff Cornwell says, standing and holding his back against the crippling arthritis pain.
 “
But
I’
ll wager the Do
n’
s snickering right now behind them there whatchimacallits he wears when he chomps his victim
s—?
”

“
Grills
,”
I say.
 “
The
y’
re called Grill
s
—”
              Everyon
e’
s glaring.  The old sheriff has pushed his opinion too far.
 “
Shut up, Boyd
,”
Mayor Darlene Laws says, aggravated.
 “
If you ca
n’
t add anything, then leave
.
”

“
Shut up yourself, woman.  Do
n’
t give me orders
,”
the old boy growls.  He is
n’
t much for technology, or for long meetings, either.  To his credit, he also does
n’
t tolerate open hostility and rudeness from Mayor Darlene Laws. 

I also hate long meetings, and this on
e’
s turning murderously lengthy.  Somehow,
I’
ve got to escape. 
I’
ve got to figure out the answers to my questions about who knows Alaina and where she works. 
I’
m sure as hell not getting that done sitting here.  I toss DeeDee a scowl.  If sh
e’
d done her leg work like I told her and found out who Alain
a’
s friends are, w
e’
d be ahead of the game right now.