Unhinged (15 page)

“The press secretary will take care of everything. Only Agent Wayne, yourselves, and a few select agents know the real reason I'm here. We're not going to hamper your investigation. We're offering our services, our help, and our support. You can say that the FBI is at your disposal. I hear Agent Wayne has helped to build a good profile of our killer.”

Our killer, there it was again. It sounded like ownership rights. This was huge, a powder keg waiting to be lit. I was certain this guy could convince Greenwood to excuse me from the case because of my inexperience or my personal involvement. And I still wasn't sure if Ron was ready to defend me if that time came. If Agent Wayne could influence the case, then Dorrick could absolutely run it.

Dorrick looked at Ron and me when he spoke. “I suppose there wasn't any luck in apprehending the suspect, Gene Lotz?”

“Do you see him?” Ron asked.

“I'm afraid not, Mr. Director.” Wayne jumped in as the referee. “We interviewed his mother and followed two leads that came from the meeting, but they were dead ends.”

“Is there anything else we can do tonight?” Dorrick asked.

Ron butted in again. “You could give
The Fugitive
speech. You know, search every outhouse, bathhouse, doghouse, smokehouse . . .”

Dorrick frowned, and it looked like Greenwood was about to bleed from his eyeballs. I thought he was going to say something harsh, but he kept his lips sealed, lest he be deemed a lunatic in Dorrick's eyes.

“We've exhausted ourselves tonight, sir,” Wayne said, coming to Ron's rescue. I didn't know about Ron and Greenwood, but I felt as if we were waiting for the deputy director to dismiss us or at least punch Ron. “We were thinking of going home to get a good night's sleep and start fresh.”

“Sounds good,” Dorrick said. “Agent Wayne and I will meet everyone here at 6 a.m., and we can go over what we know and maybe get an idea of where Lotz could be. I understand you know the killer? And he's killing women you know?” he asked me with strained compassion.

“I used to work with him,” I said. “It seems like he's fixated on me.”

“That should prove to be invaluable. Detective Dupree, go home tonight and think about every aspect of the times you and Gene Lotz spent together. It's the details that matter. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.” Dorrick waited a brief moment and then offered a single nod. It seemed to be an effort for him to be chummy.

“Okay, let's get some rest,” Greenwood said as I watched his nose turn brown. He was probably thinking about how far this was going to advance his career or how he could keep Ron from destroying it. “You need anything at any time, Mr. Deputy Director, just let me know. I'll get Detectives Lacey and Dupree right on it.”

“Fine. You have my hotel information. Agent Wayne, please meet me at my hotel room in the next hour. I'd like to hear your assessment.” Dorrick made a round of shaking hands.

Dorrick's handshake was powerful, like the title he carried. I knew he was a man who could make things happen. After all, he was a personal friend of the president. But his presence here was like Bill Gates personally checking my computer. It didn't make sense.

The three of us followed the Feds out of Greenwood's office to the vacated main room. I went to my desk with Ron as Greenwood tried to make brownie points by apologizing for my disgruntled partner. For a moment, I felt bad for Dorrick having to endure Greenwood invading his personal space with odd questions and compliments. But easily influenced people in high positions were probably a plus for Dorrick, making it effortless for him to maneuver around the system.

Greenwood and Dorrick walked downstairs together, both of them leaving for the night. Agent Wayne saw Ron and me sitting at my desk and joined us. Ron didn't ignore him, and that told me some of the ice was melting between them. Maybe he saw that Wayne could help us control the head dog.

“You fellas not giving up?” Wayne grabbed a chair.

Ron rotated his head, stretching his neck. “We just need to wind down a bit, make a plan for tomorrow. No offense, but I'm going to have something to say if your boss thinks he's just going to come into our station and take over this investigation.”

“Don't worry about him. He hasn't been in the field in years. Just let him say what he's going to say. He'll report back to the president that we're doing everything we can. I've met him on several occasions. He's a hard-ass, but as long as we're doing the job, he's not going to complain. I must say, I don't know if anyone has ever talked to him like that. It was almost enjoyable. Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” Ron smirked.

“I really don't think he'll be here that long. He's too busy,” Wayne said.

“I hope not.” Ron sighed. “Why would the president be interested in this case?”

Agent Wayne reflected for a moment. “It could be the PR thing for New Orleans like he says. Or if there's a crime bill being introduced to Congress or something else going on that's teetering on a fence right now, a case like this could have a major impact. He's trying to get reelected, remember.”

Ron nodded, apparently too tired to speak.

I was still pumped and not ready to wind down. “Okay, if his mother isn't hiding him, maybe there's another friend. Or that grandmother of his. What if Greta Lotz is lying about her involvement?”

Wayne scanned his notes. “Gene Lotz's grandmother lives on Gladiolus Street off Franklin Avenue. Eleanor Lotz.”

“That's the first place we'll hit tomorrow after meeting here. I'll put a detail on the house tonight in case Gene happens to be there.” Ron yawned while shaking his head. “God, I'm getting old. Don't you have to meet that guy at his hotel tonight?”

“Yeah, but I'm in no rush. You're not old, either. You're young at heart like I am.” Wayne smiled, meandering in the direction of the door. “The challenge of the job keeps us that way. Some days I can't wait for my retirement in two years. Others, I can't imagine it.”

Those solemn words were the last spoken as we left the station. Wayne had verbalized what Ron had been feeling for some time. I could tell in the way he looked at these rookies and the attitude he took toward the younger men who were his superiors.

As soon as I walked out of the station, I lost the wind in my sail and became aware of how tired I was. I couldn't wait to climb into bed and feel Jennifer against my body.

Somehow, however, Sarah still hung in my thoughts.

J
ennifer had been especially affectionate when we woke, driving all lingering thoughts of Sarah Simpson from my head, and I was one big grin until I pulled up to the Eighth. It was either going to be a great day or a miserable one. I hoped Ron would come to the station in a better mood than he was in the night before. He had to know to behave himself if Dorrick began spouting orders.

The office was just starting to buzz. I assumed everyone had already gone into Greenwood's office and was waiting for me, but Ron was poised at his desk, obviously pissed that no one had showed. He looked at me, then down at some papers on his desk.

“Not here?” I asked.

“Greenwood's in his office, but the Feds haven't arrived. You know, this is top priority and all.” He drummed a pen on his desk and let it roll from his fingers on the final tap.

“We wait?” I took a seat at my desk, contemplating more coffee.

Ron grabbed the pen and started to tap again. “We wait another fifteen; then we tell Greenwood we're gonna wake up Granny. The Feds can come later if they want, or they can just read our report.”

I went to the coffeemaker. “Want some?”

“No thanks.” He stopped tapping and put the pen down. “Let me ask you something. If Lotz's father, Bruce, hated his own mother because of abuse or whatever reason, wouldn't she try to make contact with her grandson behind his back? Try and get a relationship going? When Bruce was alive, I mean.”

“If she had nothing else in her life? Most likely, she would. I'd think she'd try to win him over with gifts or whatever she could.”

“Fuck this.” Ron sprung out of his seat. “Let's go knock on Eleanor's door. I got the address. Let me tell Greenwood what we're doing.”

I watched Lacey stick his head in Greenwood's office. Even though Greenwood was our captain, Ron was still his own drummer. He was undoubtedly telling Greenwood to inform the Feds we went on our own because they couldn't get their asses out of bed on time.

Ron walked out of the office, nodding. “I told him we were going for beignets.” He chuckled.

Eleanor Lotz lived in one side of a double-shotgun house not two miles away from the beautiful, pajama-topped Sarah. Eleanor's house wasn't as nice, however. It was smaller and up on blocks with dull white aluminum siding that still showed the water damage from Katrina like a bathtub ring. The driveway was grass except for two strips of splitting concrete that ran up to an old, rusted-out shed in the back. I was amazed the shack was still standing. There were no cars in the driveway, but I assumed she was too old to have a license, anyhow.

We were at the front steps when Ron pointed at the rear of the house. “Go cover the back, just in case.”

I nodded and walked along the side of the house, out of view from the windows, ducking under two air conditioners dripping water. I got to the gate, checked for rabid dogs, and quietly lifted the latch, letting myself in near the back door.

The backyard was small, with the old shed taking up half its space. There were two thin white ropes hanging from a pole to the house with laundry pins clinging to them.

Creeping up to the garage-sized shack, I suddenly heard faint voices coming from inside the house. It was Ron using his polite voice.

I moved a little closer to the back door, waiting for Ron to invite me in, but it didn't happen. Instead, I heard other voices and got a crazy idea that Dorrick and Wayne had arrived and were in the house, scolding Ron for leaving the station—unless they had decided to ditch us and come by themselves.

Then I heard a noise from the shed. For all I knew, the roof was caving in. I guessed it was probably a cat or a nutria but decided to check it out anyway.

The main entrance was padlocked, but the side door looked unsecured. I raised my yet-to-fire-at-a-suspect gun I had bought when I was promoted, a light .32 caliber Kel-Tec, twisted the doorknob, and entered with as much stealth as I could muster, although the squeaky door didn't help.

A figure zipped around a jigsaw and over a toolbox, traveling from one wall to the other toward the back door. He covered about twenty feet as if he were Flash Gordon.

“Freeze,” I yelled as I aimed my weapon.

The man stopped right in front of the door, inches from escape. He was tall, with messy hair, and he was shirtless. He turned to face me with his hands in the air and smiled.

It was Gene Lotz.

I stood halfway in the side door, afraid to expose myself to dark, unfamiliar territory. There were saws, machinery, car parts, and cobwebs everywhere. In my peripheral vision, I could see a sheet hanging over a drooping rope, forming a makeshift wall.

Gene leaned toward the outside light coming through the open door as if he were a plant in a window, and the possibility of escape made me nervous.

“Come closer to me, Spider,” I said sternly. I saw how the cocky little bastard I used to know had morphed into a man whose idea of himself was totally based in fantasy. I was staring at what Paulina, June, and Angel had seen moments before they were murdered, and suddenly the only sensation I felt was in my trigger finger.

“Hi, Decland. It's been a long time.” He took a baby step in my direction. “You've let your hair grow.”

“Ron, get out here.” It seemed like an eternity waiting for Ron or one of the Feds to venture out of the house to back me up. Although Spider seemed calm, almost at ease, he was freaking me out. “Come closer, Spider,” I said again.