The Enemy Inside (21 page)

“Even his facial bones have been smashed. Autopsy results will show any spinal damage or cerebral hemorrhage, but whatever the eventual cause, this guy was beaten to death.”

Jay and Berg pondered Halwood’s words for a moment as they looked at the broken body in front of them.
 

“First responding officers on the scene said no clothes or wallet were found. However, they suspect the abandoned rig about a mile down may prove to be this poor guy’s,” Jay said, shaking his head.

Berg gently picked up the dead man’s hand in her own latexed ones, displaying the fingers that were sticking out at odd angles. “Even his fingers are broken,” she said with amazement, lowering the hand and standing back up. “How would you even do this?”

“A vise or a good set of pliers for the fingers and toes. A bat or something heavy for the bigger bones,” Halwood replied matter-of-factly.
 

“He has the usual ligature marks on wrists and ankles common with the other victims, plus burn marks,” Berg said.

“If the point was to torture him, like the others, then they would have started on the smaller bones before working their way to the ribs, neck and head which would have caused death quickly,” Halwood said.

“How long’s he been out here, do you think?” Jay asked.

“Not long. The body is in plain view, so I’d say it was dumped this afternoon, in daylight, not more than an hour ago,” Berg responded, and Halwood nodded agreement.

“Okay. Well, we’ll put out an appeal to motorists who may have seen something odd. Could get lucky.”

Jay and Berg worked over the body, searching diligently for visible fibers or other evidence, but finding little. Eventually, Jay turned off his recoding app and they walked back to the sedan.
 

Berg remembered something and turned back. “Hey, Halwood?” she called as he looked up. “You ever find that bullet that killed Winchester?”

Halwood shook his head. “Not yet. Don’t hold your breath.” He shrugged regretfully and walked back to the scene as the detectives turned to face a car that had just pulled up behind them.
 

Friends and fellow detectives Sam Rodriguez and Cheney climbed out, apprehension on both their faces.

“What are you guys doing here?” Jay asked. “Did dispatch screw up?”

Cheney took a deep breath. “Consiglio sent us.”

“What the fuck?” Jay replied.

“He wants a fresh pair of eyes . . .” Cheney’s voice trailed off as Jay glared at him. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
 

Jay stalked to the car, slamming the driver’s side door behind him.

More accepting, Berg nodded at the replacements and joined Jay in the car. “We can meet the body back at the morgue after we check out his rig,” she suggested, changing the subject. “And I have to drop off the evidence to the custodian.”

“Whatever.”

“This is bullshit!” Jay bellowed, the expletive almost reverberating around the captain’s office.

“Either calm down or get out!” Leigh shouted.

Jay took a deep breath and nodded.

“That’s better. I’m not taking you both off the cases,” Leigh said. “Even though that’s undoubtedly what Consiglio wants. But it’s my call and I won’t be bullied, by him or you. If you let Cheney and Rodriguez take some of the heat, you might find he calms down enough to leave you both alone. He hasn’t forgiven or forgotten, detectives. So it’s in your best interests to lay low.”

Jay and Berg had complained to Captain Leigh the second they were through examining the latest victim’s truck. The rig hadn’t yielded much, no fingerprints or obvious hair or fibers, just a preliminary ID of Darryl Williams.
 

“It doesn’t make any sense, Captain,” Berg said. “Having two sets of detectives on the same crime is just a waste of time and resources. We worked on the first two trucker victims so obviously it makes sense to keep us on this third one, we have the background knowledge and a better shot of finding the lead that will help put this killer away.”

“That’s just it, Raymond,” the captain replied. “Consiglio feels you are both too quick to link these crimes together. He wants a fresh set of eyes on it.”

“Jesus!” Jay said. “What’s not to link? Truckers? Stun guns? Torture? Dumped on the tollway near forests? How much more linked can you get? Do we need to draw him a diagram?”

“I know that, you know that, and unfortunately, the media knows that. Consiglio will come around. He’s just in denial, as usual. A serial killer in Chicago threatens his election stance of a dropping crime rate. Just be patient and keep your hands to yourself. Another scene like yesterday’s and I won’t be able to save your job.”

“This is fucked!” Jay shouted.

“Go take a walk, detective, and calm yourself down,” Leigh said. “I need to talk to Raymond alone anyway.”
 

Jay remained standing in the office, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
 

“Go!” Leigh said.
 

For a moment Berg thought he was going to argue, before he got a handle on himself and stalked out, banging the door behind him.
 

“He slams the door one more time and I won’t have an office left,” Leigh said, referring to the crack in the glass that expanded every time Jay stalked out. “I wanted to see . . . how you are? You’ve been through a lot recently. I’m concerned.”

“No need to be,” Berg replied quickly.

Leigh crossed her arms. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Leigh stared at Berg, leaving a gaping silence. Berg was desperate to fill that silence with the truth, but knew she couldn’t. Telling Leigh about the clubs would put her in an impossible position, and her job in jeopardy, too.

Minutes went by before Berg cleared her throat. “Uh, can I go? I’m fine, I swear,” she whispered.

Leigh looked annoyed before nodding briefly.
 

“Okay . . . you know, not a lot of officers would cope as well with being wrongly accused of murder as you are. So, let me know if you need any extra help?” Leigh asked. “Time off? Counseling?”

“I’m fine,” Berg said firmly. “Doing my job is all I need.” She tried to sound convincing, but she was worried. If anything, the voice in her head was getting louder, angrier.
 

She had been to a few sex anon meetings, but the hope she had felt was fading. She had refused the offer of a sponsor and wondered whether the group members were just replacing one addiction with another. If they mentioned God one more time, she was going to start shooting.

Leigh smiled slightly. “I know what you mean. As frustrating as it can be, at least we occasionally get to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, very occasionally. Didn’t help Melissa, did it?”

Leigh nodded. “I know. Sometimes you have to wonder if there’s a better way.”

Berg sat in her car in the parking garage of her apartment, wrestling with herself. She had just been to another pointless meeting.
 

Despite her efforts to try to move forward and not let the demons derail her recovery, she felt herself slipping. The hope she felt was gone, and the black was expanding again, oozing through her like oil.
 

She had been doing so well, but she desperately wanted to escape the encroaching darkness. It was so tempting, so
near
that she could almost feel herself falling. It would be so easy to just let go . . .

She was also terrified of her growing feelings for Jay.
 

It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you, too,
the shadowy voice whispered, breaking the silence.
 

“Shut up!” Berg screeched in the empty car. She climbed wearily out of her seat, deciding to take Jesse out for a run. Still thinking about the twelve steps she needed to take, according to her group, her cell rang. Glad for the distraction, she answered it.

“Yep?” Berg said in between puffs while running up the stairs to her apartment.

“I need you two to come to the morgue. We’ve hit a snag,” the ME said.
 

Berg sensed it was more of a demand than a request. She closed the door behind her as Jesse, the fuzzy ball of energy, came running up to her, lead in mouth, looking at her hopefully with his big, brown eyes.

“Okay, sure. What’s up?” Berg asked, feeling sorry for her neglected dog.

 
“The hair you dropped off . . . we got a hit on the DNA database.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” she asked, confused at the late-night call and the unhappy-sounding medical examiner.

“Not really. It came back as Amelia Smith.”

Berg wrinkled her brow. “One of the missing hitchhikers?”

“Yes. She went missing two years ago.”

“And we found her body twelve months ago,” Berg replied, remembering the case. “Fuck. So you’re thinking if she’s dead, why is she leaving hair in a crime scene a year later?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay. I’ll call Jay and we’ll be there soon.” Berg signed off.
 

Jesse looked up at her with sad eyes. He already knew his walk was not happening.
 

“Sorry, baby, I have to go. I promise we’ll go for a walk when I get back, okay? And if I’m going to be late, I’ll call Vi to come and get you.”

Jesse dropped the lead at Berg’s feet with an air of canine annoyance, turned his furry back, and climbed onto the couch in a huff.

Chapter Twenty-One

The detectives met in the precinct parking lot before taking the service elevator down to the morgue.
 

Berg had already explained the situation to Jay when she called him, not bothering to ask what he was doing or if he was even available. But he looked disheveled, like his clothes had been thrown on in a hurry. His hair was mussed and his lips swollen.
 

She felt a stab of jealousy.

“Doesn’t he ever sleep?” Jay bitched on the trip down.
 

Berg rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. And between work and the meetings, I’ve got a dog who’s about to get himself legally emancipated.”

The pair stepped out of the elevator and walked through the swinging door of the morgue to meet Dwight. The squeaky floors smelled of disinfectant.

“Any chance of a mistake?” Berg asked as they walked over to a state-of-the-art lab computer.

Dwight picked up a yellow manila file on the way. “Not at this end. I ran it twice just to be sure.”

“Is there any way to date hair?” Jay asked, his forehead furrowed. “Can it be from a few years ago, for example?”

“There’s no way to tell absolutely. Sometimes an older hair can be degraded due to insect activity, but it’s not an exact science. There was no follicle attached, but the lab did manage to extract mitochondrial DNA from the hair shaft for the ID. I can tell you what she ate and that she had a nice little cocaine habit a couple of years ago, but not when it dropped out of her head. Could have been years ago, or just yesterday.” Dwight stopped and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.
 

“Either way, it’s too much of a coincidence for her hair to turn up at a random murder scene, as there is no evidence they knew each other. They lived twenty thousand miles apart, for Christ’s sake,” Berg said. “Not to mention this is the third time some erroneous DNA has shown up at a recent murder scene.”