Chapter 9
“None of this makes a goddamn bit of sense.”
Sloan Dvorak ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Moto had called him in at three AM to doublecheck what he’d found on Mike Turner, former police officer with the Mobile, Alabama PD.
Initially, Sloan had been pissed that Moto called him instead of contacting Mac directly, but now that he was here and they’d been going over the information for the past hour or more, he understood why.
Turner’s records were a minefield of misinformation, from his hiring all the way through his discharge.
Someone had been fucking with Turner’s personnel file, but good.
It was difficult to figure out what—if anything—was true.
“How in the hell could these be actual records from the Mobile PD?”
Moto hitched his hip onto the desk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re not. They’re obviously falsified.”
“Which part?” Sloan threw his hands up. “The part where he got the mayor’s commendation for bravery or the part where he was whitelisted by the FBI?”
“See? Like that,” said Moto. “I don’t even think that’s a thing, being whitelisted by the FBI.”
“It’s like a kid making up details as he goes along,” said Sloan. “Do we have anybody with a connection to the Mobile PB?”
Moto shook his head. “Not in this office. Maybe in Atlanta.”
“I’ll call Cowboy.” The leader of HERO Force Atlanta wasn’t bound to appreciate the early morning wake-up call any more than Sloan had, but it was necessary. Sloan took the bizarre file, walked into his office, and called Leo Wilson. “Cowboy, it’s Sloan Dvorak.”
“What the hell time is it?” Cowboy asked, his voice blurry
“Almost oh-four-hundred hours.”
“This had better be good.”
“Mac asked Moto for information on a detective Mike Turner with the Mobile, Alabama, PD. His file reads like a work of fiction. You got any contacts in the department who can check this out for me?”
It took Cowboy just a second to pull the info from the mental drive. “Flasher worked there before he enlisted, maybe ten years ago.”
“You got his number?”
Cowboy gave it to him and Sloan called Flasher, who was equally unhappy to be woken up. Although when Sloan posed his question, Flasher told him, “Detective Turner? Yeah, I knew him. Worked on the Godak case.”
Sloan furrowed his brows. “Arnold Godak, the guy who was just executed? That Godak?”
“That’s the one. About damn time they killed him, if you ask me.”
Sloan’s mind engaged as his eyes narrowed. There’d been a news story. Something had happened at Godak’s execution, though he hadn’t paid much attention at the time. He opened a browser window on his computer. “There was something about another murder. A letter he left the media.”
He Googled it, the results matching Flasher’s words as he spoke.
“He said ‘The murders don’t end with me. You and your loved ones will never be safe,’ with an X marked on a map. Then they found the sister of one of his victims floating in the goddamn river right fucking there.”
“Son of a bitch,” Sloan said under his breath, images of the police at the site where the body was found filling his screen. “And this Turner guy worked the case?”
“He ran it. Him and some other guy, but Turner was in charge.”
In Sloan’s opinion, some of the best evidence wasn’t tangible, it was what you felt on a mission or working a case. “What did your gut tell you about Turner?”
“My gut just tells me when to eat and poop.”
“I mean it, Flash. What kind of feeling did he give you?”
Flasher sighed heavily. “It might have been just me, but I never trusted the guy. Always seemed kind of phony, you know what I mean?”
“Phony, how?”
“Geez, I don’t know. Just fake. Like he didn’t really know what he was doing, like he was playing a role. But the brass seemed to like him. The other detectives, too.”
“How long did you work with him?”
“About two years. He showed up after we figured out we had a serial killer on the loose. Transferred in from somewhere else just to help with the case.”
“Anything else you can remember?”
Flasher wracked his brain and came up with a few other tidbits of info, but nothing that seemed to have a bearing on anything that mattered.
When Sloan was satisfied Flasher didn’t have any further information, he thanked him and hung up.
He walked back into Moto’s office. “Flasher worked with Turner on the Godak case. Said he transferred in when the shit hit the fan.”
Moto cocked his head. “That’s not right.” He took the file back from Sloan. “It says here, Turner came to the department two years before the Godak case. He supposedly received that commendation for bravery a full year before Godak killed his first victim.”
Sloan called Flasher back. “How sure are you about Turner’s start date? Are you sure he didn’t work at the department before the Godak case?”
“I’m positive. He took all us guys out for beers when he first got there, said he wanted to keep the lines of communication open, or some shit like that. I remember we talked about the Godak case that night.”
Sloan thanked him again and hung up. “So why does the personnel file of a detective who started working at the precinct after a murder case began, lie about being there longer?”
“Not to mention claim he was a highly decorated, respected officer. If that were true, just use his real records.”
“Sort of begs the question,” agreed Sloan. “If they didn’t use his real records, did he really have any prior employment records at all?”
“Well, that’s fucking terrifying.”
Sloan flipped through the folder again. “Who has access to personnel files?”
“It wasn’t hard to get. But legally, who should be in there? Administration. Higher-ups would have access.”
“What about Turner himself?”
Moto shook his head. “That should have been off-limits.”
“But not hard to get,” Sloan pointed out. “Somebody wanted the official paper trail to say Mike Turner belonged there and was highly qualified to be working on the Godak case, even if he wasn’t.”
“I may be able to access the logs. See who else has been in his personnel file and when.”
Sloan nodded. “Do it. I’ll call Mac and give him the update.” He checked his watch. “Or maybe I’ll let him sleep another hour first.”
“He’s awake. Mac doesn’t sleep for shit.”
“Really?”
Moto nodded. “Says sleep is for wussies. I think he’s clinically depressed.”
Sloan narrowed his eyes. Moto had a way of psychoanalyzing everyone. “You would.”
He picked up his phone and dialed his old commanding officer. And sure enough, Mac sounded wide awake on the other end of the line. “O’Brady.”
“We have that information you wanted on Detective Turner, Mac. You might need to wear boots to wade through the bullshit.”
He told Mac everything they knew, and what Moto was working on.
“Dvorak,” said Mac. “I want backup down here, pronto. It’s a private matter. I’ll pay the bills, but send me a couple of men.”
Joanne and the kids were off visiting David’s mother, and Sloan was as intrigued by the Godak case as the rest of the American public. “How do you feel about Moto and me? We got up early. We should get dibs.”
“Fine, fine. Just get on the bird and get over here.”
He rattled off the address. “I don’t know what I’m dealing with, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Sloan nodded. “On our way.” He hung up. “We’re going to Alabama.”
“They have bugs the size of tennis rackets down there.”
“Bring your Skin So Soft and quit your bitching. We’re going wheels up in ten.”