Chapter Nineteen #2
Well, he’d fake it until he made it and pray that he didn’t have to shoot anything to stay alive.
Because that was a recipe for disaster.
Big-time.
* * * Blackhawk & Cantrell * * *
The Park
Crime Scene
Three Twenty A.M.
When they finally got there, the place was lit up with red and blue lights, signaling there was something going on. From the sheer quantity of cop cars, there was no way to draw any more attention.
Way to keep it on the DL.
Now, this whole half of the city knew what the hell was going on due to chaos.
Yeah…
This was overkill and a pain in their asses.
From the appearance, you’d think there was a mass casualty situation, or something along those lines—not a single death.
Someone was putting on a show for the media.
CLEARLY.
That told them the homicide captain was likely up to his eyeballs in this response, too.
Oh, Jerry was annoying the fuck out of Gene.
This was one hell of a bad way to start the day, and Gene and Ethan, while accustomed to it, didn’t have to like it. Getting the call, they were out of bed and to the location as quickly as possible.
And they weren’t alone.
Not.
Even.
Close.
There was media.
There were cops.
There were two detectives.
Oh, and their team.
Thankfully, Ethan had been right, and their ME from Salt Lake City was on the scene, and with him came his people. The FBI was now fully driving the bus.
Well, now, maybe they’d get some answers. That was if the city ME didn’t pitch a fit in front of everyone.
“Well, this is a circus,” Gene admitted, as he and Ethan walked under the police tape after flashing their badges beside their guns.
Yeah, well, Ethan wasn’t arguing there.
Once cleared, they headed toward the melee.
And that’s where the body was.
Someone had brushed it off, revealing what was under the light covering of snow.
Yep.
This was definitely tied to it.
The body had been ‘degloved’, and the woman’s face just looked like it was frozen in horror.
As they crouched down, it occurred to both Ethan and Gene that something was missing.
There was not a trace of the ‘see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil’ done to this victim.
Interesting.
Already, Ethan was assessing that and working it into his profile.
That’s when they saw another Fed not far away, or who they assumed was a Fed.
The FBI ME.
“Doctor Fuentes?” Ethan asked, and the man held out his hand and shook his.
“That’s me, Agent. You must be Agent Blackhawk, who I spoke to on the phone,” he admitted. “That makes you Agent Cantrell,” he offered, pointing at Gene. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but it’s cold as balls out here. Greyson Croft said you two were running this.”
That they were.
Honestly, the FBI ME seemed pretty chill, and they were going to need him to be. The city ME was lurking, and looked like he was about to shit his pants.
“You nailed that, Doctor. I’m Gene Cantrell, and this is Ethan Blackhawk. We are normally out of the Philly office with Greyson. Did you have any issues when you showed up at the morgue?” Gene asked, returning the handshake.
The man laughed and pointed not far away at the city ME. He was standing there, staring at them.
No.
Glaring.
Oh, and if looks could kill, they’d all be dead. Deader than the woman at their feet, apparently.
“Well, he wasn’t happy when I showed up with the official paperwork. Someone had to give him a heads-up that I was on my way. He was waiting for me, and as charming as ever.”
Oh, they bet.
“When I told him I was ‘borrowing’ his morgue, he nearly had a stroke. Then, when I told him that he wasn’t needed on this scene, he wasn’t happy about that either. He’s a cranky bitch,” Luis admitted.
Yeah, they were aware.
Tell them something they didn’t know.
They’d dealt with him and his ‘misery likes company’ attitude when they first caught this mess.
“Yeah, sorry about that, Doctor. This place makes most people miserable,” Ethan admitted.
Luis could see that.
“Give me a few with her to see what I can determine before you begin giving me the million questions. Then, I can help you as much as I can. It’s going to be a long night as I do her autopsy and then go over the other women. I want to compare my results to Smiley’s back there,” he joked.
They appreciated that.
“How much of Greyson’s soul did he have to sell to get you to Damascus?” Ethan asked.
The man laughed.
“Let’s just say that he owes someone a whole bunch of favors because I got the call from Gabriel Rothschild himself and was told to haul ass. The only reason I didn’t get here for a while was I was elbow deep in another body for a Salt Lake City agent.”
Well, that was shocking.
Not the fact he’d been in another body, but the other part. Gabe called him personally?
Really?
Who would have seen that one coming?
To see how much time they had before they could rapid-fire questions at the ME, Gene looked at his watch.
“We’ll give you ten,” he said. “Then, we have to bother you. This person is dropping bodies left and right. They took four in just as many days.”
The man whistled as he began pulling on his gloves. As a Fed, he knew that wasn’t something an agent wanted to see happen.
“That can’t be good,” he admitted.
Oh, it absolutely wasn’t.
That was for damn sure.
Heading away from the body to give the man time, they saw the two detectives not far from them and met up with them.
When Ethan stared at the female detective, Dannie knew what he was thinking.
“Dispatch called us both,” he admitted.
Well, that was out of their power, and honestly, they’d been planning to let her help in a few hours regardless, so this wasn’t a big deal. Still, Ethan chose to be wary.
Honestly, her attitude stunk, like the MEs.
“You beat us here,” Gene said. “Did you get to talk to the dude that found the body?” he asked.
Dannie nodded.
“Yeah, and we wouldn’t let him leave. Do you want to talk to him yourself?” he asked.
He absolutely did.
“Yep. Take us to him. We have ten minutes before we have to play the rousing game of ‘try to get the ME to talk’.”
The detectives led them to a police cruiser, and in the back, there was a guy around twenty-five, and he was holding a small dog.
When they opened the door, Gene crouched down, and as he did, Ethan stood behind him so he wouldn’t fall backward. His man was still wobbly, and the media didn’t need to see him fall onto his ass.
They’d have a field day.
“Hey, I’m Special Agent Gene Cantrell. What’s your name?” he asked.
The man answered.
“Brett Davies,” he offered. “Can I go home?” he asked. “I have work in the morning.”
Gene would let him go as soon as they finished talking to him. He found the body, so he had questions.
“Sure, as soon as we’re done. I hear you lost your dog. Is that why you’re out here?” he asked.
Ethan was standing there, scanning the area, making sure that there was no one going to shoot them, or that they’d crossed paths with in case the killer wanted to watch them.
The man nodded.
“Yeah, he ran away two nights ago, and I’ve been chasing him all over the place. I couldn’t sleep, so I started going around and looking at all the places I’ve taken him. He likes the park. He was licking her. Is he going to get sick?” he asked.
Gene would have laughed, but the dude looked genuinely scared. Then again, the man had found a skinless woman in a park. That was pretty high on the freakout meter for civilians.
“Well, he licks his own ass and balls, right?” he asked. “So, he’s pretty good with bacteria.”
That seemed to make the man look less freaked out. The little white yappy dog appeared to be fine. He was doing what yappy dogs did best.
Yap.
“Did you touch her?” Gene asked.
He shook his head.
“No, Sir. I saw a foot, and that’s when I grabbed my dog and called the police. I think they thought I was insane.”
Likely not, since this wasn’t the first body drop this week.
Ethan was curious, so he got in on the questioning.
“What do you do for a living, Brett?” he asked.
The man didn’t hesitate to ask.
“I work for the city. I’m an administrative assistant at City Hall. Mostly, I just collect tax payments at the window and validate parking, but the health insurance is good.”
Well, that was nice to know.
Not pertinent, but…whatever. Freaked-out people tended to babble.
Pulling out his phone, Gene showed him the three first victims to see if he knew them.
“Have you ever seen them before?” he asked.
The man took in the pictures and then slowly nodded.
“Where?” Gene asked.
The man was honest.
“The news is plastering their faces all over the place. Those are the women who died and were found,” he began, but before he could finish, he leaned forward and began puking.
Gene had just enough time to be pulled out of the way by his partner before the vomit hit the snow.
Well, shit.
That was close.
The man yakked up his guts, and while he did, the four investigators stared at each other. The man was having an appropriate response.
Gene knew they could cut him free.
When he stopped puking, he went there.
“Where are you parked?” Gene asked.
The man pointed to a red truck not far away on the other side of the police tape.
“Do we have your address?” he asked.
Dannie clued them in.
“We have it,” he admitted.
Well, then, they didn’t need to keep him here any longer since he only knew the women from the media running their faces non-freaking-stop.
“Head out,” Gene said, giving him the okay, and the man didn’t hesitate. He took his dog and made a beeline right for his vehicle.
Someone had seen some shit, and likely, he’d never forget it.
“He was freaked out the whole time,” Dannie said. “The beat cop said dispatch called him, and said there was a frantic and screaming call that came in.”
Gene sighed.
“I mean, once upon a time, I would have been the same. Now, I can eat over a body. Who is the real sicko here?” he asked, rhetorically.
Scanning the area, the media was trying its hardest to get photographs.
The sickos were always acting a fool.