Freezing Page 27

  She seemed to assess him. ‘We never got debriefings. But I don’t think Jayne would have these repercussions if it weren’t for one particular incident, which jumbled up some of her reactions to other, normal things. That’s my opinion, anyway.’ She exhaled. ‘Look, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, though not as wrong a place as our escort. His name was Benni, a French soldier, all of twenty years old. We were looking for a gravesite in Kos. He tripped a wire, a mine blew, and he bled out a few feet from Jayne, who was on orders to stay put by the deminers, who were trying to get a handle on the situation.’

  She paused. ‘I’ve heard you’ve got a good six hours to intervene before a traumatic memory fixes itself like fucking concrete in your brain. No one got to Jayne, or anyone else, for three days. So,’ she reached for her bedside control and began reclining the mattress, ‘you know anything that can break up concrete?’

  After a moment, he met her gaze. ‘Freeze-thaw usually works.’

  She gave him a slight nod before she closed her eyes and settled back on the pillows. ‘Now, I’m an invalid and I know my rights, so stop harassing me. Sheesh.’

  He took a chance and looked at the name on the IV bag again from much closer. Then he pulled the covers above her shoulders, looking at her bruised chin one more time. ‘It’s good to have you back, Steelie.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m great,’ she mumbled.

  Outside the room, he saw Eric emerge from the elevator at the far end of the hallway. His partner shook his head as he walked.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Scott asked, assuming the worst and that King had managed to die in the last half-hour.

  ‘You won’t believe this,’ Eric murmured as he drew him back toward the elevators. ‘You know the cell phone sim cards the criminalists found at King’s house?’

  Scott nodded.

  ‘Tech Support’s pulled the numbers off them to cross-check against those suspect numbers on our missing prostitutes’ call records.’

  ‘He called the vics,’ Scott deduced.

  ‘Nope.’ Eric glanced at him. ‘He called our old boss Franks.’

  ‘What?’ Scott halted.

  Eric pulled on his arm to get him into an elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. ‘One of the sims shows a call to our anonymous tip line and two show a call each to Franks.’

  ‘Direct to Franks?’

  Eric nodded. ‘They date to after you started the media campaign for information on the van. Each call is about six months apart. We don’t know the content yet but Franks is going to have to give up his own phone log. My bet is that King was the anonymous tipster Turner referred to when he quizzed me in LA – the guy whose tips Franks was relying on to crucify you and get us transferred out of here.’

  Scott felt anger and vindication in equal measure.

  Eric looked at him. ‘King was playing him like a violin, man.’

  They left the elevator and walked out to the Crown Victoria Scott had left parked in an area for emergency vehicles. ‘You think Franks will go down for this?’

  ‘If he doesn’t go down, he’ll at least go sideways. It’ll be up to OPR. They’ll decide how much more Franks should have done to verify the information in the tips before he used it to make operational decisions. You want me to drive?’

  Scott hesitated at the car door and looked back at the hospital, where only every third light or so was still on at this late hour. He tried to work out which one was Jayne’s room and then realized he didn’t even know which side of the building it was on.

  Scott turned back to his partner. ‘Who’s on King’s door?’

  ‘We’ve got two guys on loan from Atlanta PD.’

  ‘Do they know he’s dangerous?’

  ‘Houston, he’s concussed. And handcuffed.’

  ‘Do they know he’s dange—’

  ‘They came personally recommended by Angie.’

  ‘OK, then.’ Scott threw his partner the keys over the roof of the car. ‘You should have said that first.’

  When Scott woke in the hotel room to the sound of his cell phone ringing next to him, he felt like he’d just gone to sleep. He saw it was Eric calling and answered in the dark.

  Eric didn’t bother with preliminaries. ‘King’s awake and talking.’

  Scott sat up. ‘Who to?’

  ‘Whoever’ll listen. But he’s made it clear that he refuses to talk to someone he calls “Special Adversary Houston”. That would be you.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll get him to talk to me.’

  ‘No, I think we need to use this, Scott. Keep you out of there, to start with.’

  ‘I don’t think I can do that, Eric. I need to get this guy.’

  ‘He’s more likely to confess if he thinks he’s getting us to jump through hoops at the start. We can show him our good faith.’

  ‘This is bullshit.’

  ‘This is tactics,’ countered Eric.

  Scott lay back down and thought for a moment, stretching his mouth and running a hand through his hair. ‘OK, but we review how you’re going to do it. You’ve gotta start with Patterson because we’ve got an evidentiary link with her personal effects at his house and then you want to get corroboration with Spicer’s evidence, so we can nail King with the biological traces from the van . . . sorry.’ He sighed. ‘You know what to do. Who are you going in with?’

  ‘We’ll start with Angie, see if he wants to boast in front of a woman. If that throws things, we’ll switch in Mark.’

  ‘OK. They both know the case.’ Scott paused. ‘I want ears in the room.’

  ‘You’ll get ’em. You can be next door, down the hall, whatever you want.’

  ‘Fine.’ Scott tried to switch into support mode. ‘What else are you going to need?’

  ‘Well, if he doesn’t confess straight off, I need whatever we can get from his property that rules out someone else using his backyard as an abattoir. But I think we’ll get a confession. If he’ll spill it to Jayne—’

  ‘Wait, what?’

  ‘Angie interviewed her.’

  ‘When?’ Scott strained his neck to see the clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s the middle of the night, for Christ’s sake! Are you at the hospital? Have you talked to her?’

  ‘Scott, I’m right here at the hotel. I can practically hear you shouting from down the hall, in fact. No, Angie talked to her while you were at HQ.’

  ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

  ‘We were just doing the routine. Jayne was lucid, so gave her evidence.’

  Scott recollected Angie’s comment that Jayne was tougher than she looked. So Angie would have already heard Jayne’s account of whatever King did to her in that bathroom. Scott felt he was being left out of his own investigation but knew that wasn’t happening.

  Eric began again. ‘So . . . if you can liaise with the ME’s office on the ID’s of whatever body parts are coming out of King’s yard and take over my link to the criminalists?’

  Scott exhaled. ‘You got it.’

  ‘I’ll drop you at HQ. See you at oh-eight-hundred out front?’

  ‘Done.’

  Scott hung up and let the phone rest on his chest as he lay in the dark, listening to the climate-controlled air conditioner kicking on. He hated sleeping in air-conditioning and had never become used to it even when he had lived in Atlanta. Now here he was, sleeping in it again, dealing with the same case, and he wasn’t even going to get to interrogate their suspect. He felt immensely irritated. He put the phone on the bedside table and lay on his back, drawing in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, willing a few more hours of sleep.

  DAY ELEVEN

  FRIDAY

  THIRTY-THREE

  Scott pulled into the hospital parking lot at 11.30 a.m. He’d finished his morning punch-list and was supposed to be on his way to the room neighboring King’s, where Eric had set up a station for Scott to hear the interview. But he was taking a detour to see Jayne. He turned into her room and almost collided with a cart of
cleaning supplies. The bed was empty, didn’t even have bedding. He went back to the desk he’d sailed past a moment ago when ignoring staff who had asked if he needed assistance. He got the attention of one of the nurses.

  ‘I’m looking for Jayne Hall. She was in eight-thirteen. Just admitted yesterday.’

  The nurse consulted a sheet of paper taped to the wall. ‘Eight-thirteen was discharged.’

  ‘When?’

  The nurse looked at the sheet again. ‘Nine thirty this morning.’

  ‘But I . . . who authorized that?’

  The nurse answered slowly. ‘Doctor Reid, the attending. Is there a problem?’

  Scott told himself not to shoot the messenger, so shook his head and set off toward Steelie’s room. It was also empty. He backtracked to the elevator and ascended to the police-protected area where King was being held. He showed his badge to the Atlanta PD officer in the hall, who directed him to the room with the listening station.

  Scott found Mark already inside, sitting at a table and wearing a headset that was plugged into an audio playback device. Mark held out a second headset toward him. Scott shook his head and indicated that he wanted to talk.

  Mark removed one earpiece. ‘You haven’t missed much.’

  Scott held up his hand. ‘Where are Jayne and Steelie?’

  Mark glanced at his watch. ‘Probably in the security line at the airport.’

  Scott rolled his index finger over, as if spooling a tape backward.

  Mark got the message. ‘They were cleared by the doctor and had no reason to – or interest in – staying around, especially with King upstairs here. Carter org’d their flights and took them to the airport. He’s escorting them right up to boarding.’

  Scott swallowed an expletive.

  Mark put a hand on his earpiece and then pointed at Scott. ‘Here we go.’

  Scott got his headset on and sat down. He didn’t recognize the voice he heard. It had to be King.

  King: I didn’t need a uniform back then. And I was using the van.

  Eric: How’d you get them to go with you, then?

  King: It’s the red light district. How do you think I did it?

  Eric: You were a John?

  King: I wasn’t a John. I posed as a John. Two different things.

  Eric: So you asked the women to get in your van. Then what?

  King: You don’t have to ask them to get in! They ask you. Or haven’t you cruised the district, SA Ramos? Houston’ll tell you; they’re desperate to get in. Isn’t that right, lady?

  Angie: It’s Special Agent Nicks, Mr King. Answer the question.

  Scott pulled off the headset. He couldn’t focus but he knew what he would have to do to get back on track. He indicated to Mark that he’d be back in a few minutes and went in search of the hospital’s post office.

  When Scott returned and resumed listening, he could tell the interview had moved on.

  Eric: The garden and the garage. Why did you use them?

  King: First rule they teach us Bureau criminalists, something a lowly agent never learns: every contact leaves a trace. So I had to hang on to the bitches. Took ’em up the garden path. Literally. Ha!

  Eric: Why the dismemberment?

  King: Running out of space. Easier to transport from the back of the van. You ever move a dead body? It’s heavy. Because of the water or the bones, or both.

  Eric: But you didn’t just dismember. It looked like careful cutting.

  King: I’m flattered that you noticed. Yes, for show pieces, I took great care.

  Eric: Show pieces?

  King: The ones I’ve been scattering across the country in one long love letter to Special Adversary Houston.

  Eric: You mean the ones you left in Los Angeles?

  King: [Laughter] Uh, no, SA Ramos. He’s a bit slow, isn’t he, lady? Let’s ignore him. You, lucky lady, will find body parts everywhere between here and California.

  Angie: These are people you killed in other states?

  King: No, they were not people I did in other states. The body parts are from the same pros I picked up on Atlanta’s fine boulevards. I’ve dumped them along the interstate.

  Angie: Why did you do that?

  King: The glorious day finally arrived when Special Adversary Houston went public with his warning that a serial killer was loose in Atlanta and he gave a decent description of my van. I seem to recall he was flanked by you, Ramos but you stayed silent like the good little partner that you are. And that was the signal for me to start making it look like those bitches were killed elsewhere. I had some body parts frozen solely so I could dump them in places where they’d defrost in time to look fresh to the cops who’d find them. I left clues that different truckers came through Atlanta with regularity, picked up pros, took them interstate, and killed them while on the road. Houston would have been following that trail, with me leading him by the nose. And that would have been the end of the serial killer theory, the end of the interest in my van, and the end of Houston.

  Angie: We’re not aware of body parts being found outside Atlanta, besides the ones you lost in Los Angeles.

  King: Yeah, well, the cops are stupid. First they have to find the stuff, then they have to scratch their asses. It would have worked, in time.

  Angie: Mr King, if you’re going to do a deal with the prosecutors, you’re going to have to give up the locations of these women’s bodies.

  King: I am, am I? Listen, you don’t tell me how it’s done. I tell you how it’s done. [Unintelligible muttering] Bitch.

  Eric: Watch your mouth, King. Agent Nicks is right. They will not deal with you unless you give us locations.

  Scott pulled off the headset to answer his cell phone, which had begun vibrating and displaying the Los Angeles number of his boss, Craig Turner. He walked into the hall as he answered.

  ‘Morning, sir.’

  ‘Houston. I’ve got your fax from this morning. The suspect’s declined legal representation?’

  ‘That’s correct, sir.’

  ‘Is the interview underway?’

  ‘Yes, I’m at the hospital now and Ramos and Nicks are in with him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s going well. They’re stringing him out, taking him round corners.’ Scott didn’t refer to how often his own name was coming up in the interview because he didn’t understand it yet.

  ‘Good. What have you got for material to ID the bodies coming from the suspect’s back yard?’

  ‘I spoke to Atlanta Missings this morning. They’re going back over the misper reports for cases that fit the suspect’s activity period. They’ll transmit any biological information direct to the Medical Examiner’s office. But we’ve got another issue. The suspect has just alleged that he dropped body parts along the interstate between Atlanta and LA. We need to find out if any of the material’s been recovered and why it hasn’t been ID’d yet. If we can get proof on those ones, we can charge him on each count.’

  ‘I’ll call Cates at CJIS; he’ll get you an NCIC liaison.’

  ‘Sir.’ Scott could hear his boss switch the call to speakerphone and he waited for him to continue. He thought about how the head of the whole Criminal Justice Information Services Division might not be too pleased to get a direct call about an NCIC issue, but he couldn’t help it if Turner wanted to show off.

  ‘OPR interviewed me last night.’ Turner sounded more casual now, as though leaning back in his chair. ‘Never liked internal affairs myself but I try not to hold it against the rank-and-file.’

  Scott smiled as he imagined the cross-grilling tactics Turner probably used on the agents trying to question him.

  Turner stated, ‘I made it clear that my assessment of the situation is that, during the course of this investigation, you have not displayed activity that warrants disciplinary action.’

  ‘Thank you—’

  ‘Now, Houston, the only way I could do that was to actually assess the situation. I see now why you chose this Agency Thir
ty-two One. Why is it called that? Do you know?’

  ‘Uh, it’s named for the Geneva Conventions, Article Thirty-two, Protocol One.’

  ‘Geneva? As in the laws of war?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I understand that the part it’s named for deals with the right of families to know what happened to their relatives – where their bodies are buried, and so on.’

  ‘Huh. Well, your fax this morning shows that Thirty-two One led you to the firm ID that’s become crucial for building the case against the suspect. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And now you tell me we’ve got body parts strung across the Bible Belt, the Corn Belt, and the Rockies?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Turner went from the speakerphone back to the handset and Scott quickly ran down a mental list for what Turner could hit him with next.

  THREE DAYS LATER

  Monday

  THIRTY-FOUR

  San Fernando Road, Los Angeles: 2.00 p.m. Carol was having a vacation day so when the mailman came in the front door, Jayne went to meet him. She gave him the outgoing mail, which consisted of one piece, a checklist for the Ledbetters of Wisconsin, now that they’d decided to do a profile of Amy at 32/1, combining it with a road trip to Disneyland for their other two daughters. The mailman handed over the incoming pile and Jayne heard Steelie call out to her, so she diverted down the hall, mail still in hand.

  Steelie was sitting at the light box, looking at a rectangular X-ray that measured about an inch and a half on each side. She turned when Jayne walked in and said, ‘Can you look at this?’

  Jayne put the mail down, checked out the bruise on Steelie’s chin for new color changes, then focused on the X-ray. It showed several upper teeth in a human jaw.

  ‘Got anything besides a bitewing?’ she asked.

  ‘This isn’t a buffet,’ Steelie parried. ‘Would you say that’s a root canal plus a post or just a root canal?’

  ‘Got any dentist’s notes?’

  ‘No. When they archived these they lost all the paper notes. The only things left were these bitewings, probably because they were stapled on to the folder itself.’