Chapter 18
Boone
My steps are hurried as I approach the small beige building.
We get several sidelong glances from the local officers and EMTs, but Hawks dissuades them with a minute shake of his head.
Their stares are easy to ignore. I’m used to local PD’s less than inviting welcome, but this time it isn’t because they know I’m from another agency.
“Blood’s already tacky,” Hawks says as he pauses several feet from the entrance. The door, made of dark wood or something that looks close enough to it, is ajar, allowing me to see the pool of liquid on the floor. I crouch to get a look at the foot tread print clearly visible in the mess.
“That’s Brown. He was the first on the scene. He was checking for signs of life.”
I nod, unfortunate but also necessary. “Who alerted?” I scan the rest of the floor I can see from this area, noting the amount of blood and chaotic scene. I wonder if John got himself in trouble with the wrong man. There seems to be a lot of rage in this room, and I haven’t even seen it all yet.
“A male resident, coming home from an overnight shift. Micca is keeping tabs on him. I’d put money on him not having anything to do with this, but we’re keeping an open mind.
” Hawks is speaking to me like I’m on the case, not that I mind, otherwise I wouldn’t be within a hundred yards of this scene, and it feels way too close to Harlyn to ignore.
“What time?”
“A few minutes before seven. His shift ended at six, but he stopped at BP for fuel and started chatting with Carrie. Poor bastard got out of the car when the gate didn’t lift, and he didn’t see anyone inside.
He walked around this side, and bam. He said the door was already open.
Witness said he didn’t touch it or anything else. ”
I lean forward and look at the underside of the inside knob. “There’s a blood smear on the knob.” I stand. “Doubt you’ll get a usable print, but I would still try like hell.”
“I’ll make sure Joey gets on that. He came up from Detroit a few months ago, and he has the most experience with homicides.”
“Any idea on what kind of weapon was used?”
“Maybe, but we haven’t recovered anything outside the scene. I have a few of my people out doing a ground search nearby just in case, but I don’t have many people to put on a search team. I’m sure the state police will expand when they take over if an additional search is needed.”
“You aren’t going to keep this?” I glance at Hawks. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would easily give up a case.
“I don’t have the budget or the knowledge to handle this. They do.”
His answer is smart and rather selfless, not something I see often when one agency takes over a case from another. It would make things a hell of a lot simpler. I nod in a sign of approval.
“So can you tell if that is John?” Hawks tilts his head, motioning inside and to the left of the door.
As carefully as possible, I lean through the opening, making sure not to touch anything.
It takes my mind a moment to catch up with what I’m seeing, and when I do, it confirms my earlier thoughts of rage.
Words like overkill, disorganized, and vicious flit through my mind as I take in the scene.
There is debris all over the floor—papers, a stapler, a computer keyboard that I’m certain has some brain matter or other soft tissue stuck to the corner, and so much blood.
This wasn’t planned, and I doubt Hawks will need to look for another weapon outside, because the killer found everything he needed in this room, including the reusable metal straw that is sticking out of John’s eye socket.
“That’s John. Don’t know his last name, only met him in passing,” I confirm.
“Anything else?” Hawks prods.
“A lot of something else. This isn’t just murder, it was torture.
The assailant isn’t new to violence. They are comfortable hurting people.
It wasn’t planned, which leads me to think poor impulse control, but they were willing to take their time, which speaks to a level of confidence.
They either knew they would have time alone with the victim or were too enraged to care, because this kind of violence doesn’t happen in the span of a few minutes. ”
When I turn, Hawks is watching me, his eyebrows high on his forehead, allowing me to see his surprise. “I’m a profiler,” I explain.
He blinks once before his features relax.
“Your lady friend was worried about someone being in her house, and we have a murder right outside her door. I can’t help but think you might know a hell of a lot more than you’re telling me, and you just told me a shitload.
Do you know who did this?” He sounds more curious than accusatory, but I can’t say I like either sentiment.
“I don’t know who did this, but I agree, it’s too coincidental for my liking.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“A lot more than I am.”
“Do I need to be worried for my community?” His eyes narrow in the first signs of wariness.
“I don’t know. Long story short, Harlyn’s sister was murdered, and I think whoever did it is now hunting her.”
He whips off his hat and smacks the thing against his leg before muttering, “Christ on a cracker.”
“I don’t know for sure if this was him. This doesn’t match his MO, but he could be escalating, devolving, or… this John guy could have pissed off the wrong person, and it could be completely unrelated.”
Hawks gives me the kind of droll stare that seems to be perfected with age.
I lift my hands in capitulation. “I don’t like it either, which is why I’ll be getting Harlyn the hell out of here.”
“And leaving us with a hell of a mess,” he retorts with attitude I understand.
“This was never my case, Hawks. I was here to do a podcast.”
“Jesus. I knew that thing was going to invite problems up here. I just thought it would be too many fudgies, not dead bodies.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t plan on letting up until whoever killed her sister is no longer an issue.”
“Let’s hope Wexford doesn’t ask too many questions so we can get you both out of here. You need to make sure that happens sooner rather than later.” He looks over his shoulder as if he can feel the small group of state police approaching.
“Hawks?” the one in front greets in question.
“Wexford. This is Special Agent—”
“Landry,” I fill in while extending my hand.
“You called in the feds?” Wexford grips my hand tightly, but his eyes are on Hawks.
“Nope, I had the pleasure of meeting Landry yesterday, and when I saw him outside, I thought I would ask if he saw anything. He was able to identify the victim, unofficially of course.”
“Of course,” Wexford parrots.
“No last name as of yet, but we have a place to start,” Hawks continues.
“I’ll get the boys on it.” Wexford returns his attention to me. “You here on business or pleasure?”
“Neither anymore. I’ll be leaving today.”
“Today?” He sounds slightly relieved and maybe a little skeptical.
“Yeah, heading back to D.C. Speaking of…” I turn to face Hawks and offer him my hand. “I need to get packed. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
He returns my grip. “You gave me a place to start. I appreciate that.”
“Safe travels, Special Agent Landry,” Wexford mutters in dismissal before turning on Hawks again.
I don’t stick around long enough to hear the conversation.
If Hawks decides to share what I told him about the scene or Harlyn, I’m sure I’ll be getting a call soon enough.
Right now, I need to get Harlyn the hell out of Michigan.
Harlyn
I’ve been shifting my weight from foot to foot for so long, I’m starting to feel like the people behind me probably think I need to pee, but really, it’s just nervous energy.
As much as I didn’t want to get near that shed, I’m now regretting it, because it feels like Boone’s been gone a really long time.
I don’t even have my phone to distract me, because I feel like the dang thing is contaminated, so all I can do is stand around and wait.
As the minutes tick by and more cars arrive, I begin to feel a little detached.
The immediate worry about John, if it was him, slips into something less tangible, less real.
I know I shouldn’t embrace the numbness, but I do.
I let my thoughts splinter and soften around the edges until things like the sound of chatter near me turns into a soft hum, and I can pretend none of this means anything to me.
I’m just a bystander like everyone else, and when this is all over, I will go home and…
I cut that thought off before things get too real.
When Boone finally emerges from the mess of vehicles, I get a rush of emotion, but it only lasts for a heartbeat before the fuzziness returns. He’s walking fast and heading straight for me, but that’s about it. I don’t try to decipher the look on his face or the stiff set of his shoulders.
“Harlyn,” he calls before even reaching me.
I mouth the word, “Yeah,” because my voice doesn’t seem to be working at the moment.
“What happened?” He looks around, spying the small groups that have grown since he left.
I find my voice. “Nothing.” He turns his neck just enough to give me a skeptical glance before taking me by the shoulder and physically turning me around. With his arm wrapped low on my back, Boone guides me to the condo.
“Wait here,” he instructs once we’re in the small entry hall near the powder room. I do as I’m told while staring out the back windows to watch the calm blue water.
“Harlyn!” Boone snaps.
I jerk into action, walking toward the stairway. “Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you answer me?”
“I did,” I counter.
“Not the first two times.” He’s eyeing me like I’m keeping a secret.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I admit. He’s still watching me, and I find it hard to meet his eyes, so I examine his body instead. “What are you doing with that?”
He holds up my overnight bag. “Packing for you. Come get your personal stuff.”