Rogue wolf, p.9
Rogue Wolf, page 9
The sound of heavy footsteps in the grass drew his attention away from the man and he turned his head to see Connor racing across the park toward him. A few seconds later, his friend was at his side, asking if he was okay. Trey couldn’t do much except nod.
“What the hell was that thing?” Connor whispered, moving over to check the other guy on the ground. “I heard you yelling from a couple blocks away and came running, but she was already on the move by the time I got here. I tried to chase her…it…whatever the hell we’re supposed to call the thing, but it was too damn fast. I almost caught up to it until it ducked into an alley and ran right up the side of a frigging wall.”
“I’m not sure what that thing was, but it’s definitely the same thing that’s responsible for the bodies in the landfills,” Trey said weakly. “She was well on the way to draining this poor guy when I arrived.”
“Draining?” Connor prompted, curious.
Trey questioned why he’d used that particular word but decided it actually fit. He described what he’d seen upon first getting on the scene and what it had felt like when the creature latched onto his chest.
“I think it was feeding on me,” he added. “It felt like she was sucking the life out of me. Hurt like a son of a bitch, too. I’m exhausted and she was only on me a couple seconds. I have no idea how long she’d been going at this guy.”
Connor looked over at the man on the ground. “What are we going to do with him? If we call an ambulance, the hospital won’t have a clue what to do with him.”
Trey agreed. “I say we call STAT and get them out here to help, then send a sketch artist back to that bar we just left and have them work on a drawing of our suspect. We need to tell Gage and the deputy chief that we definitely have a supernatural creature hunting people in our city. One that’s stronger and faster than we are and damn near immune to injuries.”
Connor reached for his phone, shaking his head. “When the hell is the weird crap in this town going to end? If it’s not serial killers that steal body parts, it’s supernatural soul suckers with big, freaky eyes.”
Trey sighed and leaned back against the dumpster. As his mom always liked saying, when it rained, it poured.
Chapter 9
Samantha was staring at her computer screen lost in thought when Crystal walked into her office a few minutes after eight Monday morning.
“Having second thoughts about asking your sister to analyze Trey’s blood?”
Samantha sat back with a sigh as Crystal slipped into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Second, third, and fourth. I know that sounds crazy, especially since I’ve been obsessing over this forever, but what I’m doing—going behind Trey’s back like this—I feel like I’m betraying him.”
“Wow. Betraying.” Crystal did a double take. “That’s a heavy word.”
“I know, right?” Samantha gave her a small smile. “Want to hear something even crazier? We’ve only been on a few dates, and I already feel a connection with him that I’ve never felt with anyone else.”
Her friend leaned forward. “Then talk to him and ask him to explain all the weird stuff you saw at those crime scenes the past two years. You’re a medical examiner. It’s not a bizarre question coming from you.”
Looking at it that way, what Crystal said made a lot of sense. If she asked Trey a straightforward question, he would probably be honest with her. More importantly, she wouldn’t have to feel so crappy about deceiving him. Then again, what if being up front with him backfired on her and he broke up with her?
Crystal opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, the thud of heavy boots in the hallway interrupted her. A few moments later, Trey appeared in the doorway, the delicious scent of bacon and eggs wafted from a fast-food bag in one hand, a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee balancing in the other.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said, flashing both of them a charming grin before looking at Samantha. “I was in the area and thought you might want breakfast. I only brought two cups of coffee, Crystal, but you’re welcome to take mine.”
Crystal shook her head as she got to her feet. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said with a smile. “I already ate and have a freshly brewed pot of coffee in my office waiting for me, but you two go for it.” She caught Samantha’s eye. “I’ll see you later. And what I was saying earlier? Think about it, okay?”
Giving Trey another smile, Crystal walked out, leaving Samantha alone with Trey.
He set the bag on her desk, then took one of the cups out of the tray and offered it to her as he sat down in the chair Crystal had just vacated.
“Milk, two packs of sweetener, right?”
If Samantha wasn’t already feeling so crappy about how she was treating Trey, this would have pushed her over the edge for sure. Not only had he thoughtfully brought her breakfast because she happened to mention the other night that she ends up skipping it because she’s usually running late, but he remembered how she liked her coffee, too. Could he be any more perfect?
“Right.” She reached for the cup with a smile. “Anytime you feel like stopping by with breakfast, feel free.”
Breakfast turned out to be a breakfast burrito the size of her forearm stuffed with eggs, sausage, and hash browns, all smothered in a thick ranchero sauce. There was no way Samantha could eat the whole thing herself.
As Trey settled back into his chair and pulled his own burrito out of the bag, Samantha realized he wasn’t wearing a bandage around his hand any longer. She opened her mouth to tear him a new one for not protecting the wound when she saw the faded bruising around his neck. More light bruises colored both forearms, some extending all the way up to where those droolworthy biceps disappeared into the sleeves of his uniform shirt. Forensic mind kicking into high gear, she immediately recognized the marks on his arms as defensive bruising, and the yellowish-green smudges around his neck looked like someone had tried to choke the life out of him—with a pair of Vise-Grips.
“What happened?” she asked, not sure why her heart was suddenly thumping way too fast. “It looks like someone tried to choke you to death.”
Unbelievably, Trey chuckled. “It was nothing,” he said, not even looking up from the burrito he was busy unwrapping. “Connor and I were down on Pacific Avenue flashing a photo of a guy around a few clubs and bars. He was murdered two weeks ago, and we were trying to ascertain if anyone had seen him. We ended up running into someone we think was involved in the guy’s death and they weren’t exactly friendly.”
Samantha didn’t think Trey was lying, but something told her he was leaving a lot unsaid. She knew the Dallas SWAT team was involved in a lot more stuff than a normal SWAT team might be, but she still couldn’t understand why they’d be downtown wandering around the bars with a dead guy’s picture. That’s not what SWAT cops did for a living.
Unless there was something weird going on that he wasn’t ready to share yet.
Doubting he’d tell her anything, she opened her mouth to ask anyway when she got a good look at the palm of his injured hand. Except it wasn’t injured now. For a moment, she thought she was looking at the wrong hand. But that wasn’t it at all. In fact, there was a line of pink scar tissue across his right palm exactly where it should be, completely sealed and well on its way to disappearing. She might work with dead people who didn’t heal from wounds, but she still recognized one that looked at least ten days old.
Her first thought was: What the hell? But then she remembered how many times she’d heard outlandish stories about members of the SWAT team being injured in the line of duty without ever going to the hospital. She’d always thought those stories were urban legends, the law enforcement equivalent of the fish that got away.
Looking at Trey’s hand, maybe not.
Samantha was still trying to figure out a way to get a closer look at the scar—short of grabbing his hand and telling him she was going to read his palm—when a slight cough from the doorway interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see Louis and Hugh standing there. While Louis smiled at them with a fatherly expression, Hugh’s sour grimace made her think he’d rather throw something at her.
“Morning, Officer Duncan. Sorry to interrupt,” Louis said, stepping into the office with Hugh on his heels. “I just got a call from DPD dispatch. It seems they’ve found another possible body dump near that homeless camp south of the George Bush Turnpike off West Renner, and the task force lead wants you there ASAP, Samantha.”
“I’d be happy to tag along if you need some help,” Hugh added quickly.
She just bet he would. He stopped by her office at least twice a day to check on the progress in the investigation.
“I can drive Samantha to the site and make sure she gets back here whenever she needs to,” Trey said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
While she could have driven herself, Samantha wasn’t going to turn down Trey’s offer, especially if it gave her a chance to get a closer look at his hand. She thought Hugh might insist on going, too, but to her relief, he turned and walked off in a huff.
As they drove to the crime scene that likely involved one or more dismembered bodies, Samantha tried to get a peek at Trey’s right hand. Unfortunately, he kept it on the wheel the entire time, so she didn’t get a chance to check out the well-healed scar again.
Samantha ate slowly as Trey turned onto the George Bush Turnpike and headed north. The burrito was the best thing she’d eaten for breakfast in a long time, but it was kind of heavy for the situation she was heading into. As they slipped through morning traffic, most of it heading south at this time of day, they chatted about the shops they’d seen in the Bishop Art District and where they should go on their next date. Samantha loved seeing Trey again, even as her stomach twisted at the way she was going behind his back with the whole blood-sample thing.
She felt a lot better when the conversation got around to Trey trying to get her to talk about the Butcher case while Samantha pumped him for more details on what happened to him and Connor at the bar last night. Neither one of them ended up getting what they were looking for, both of them dancing around each other’s questions, talking but saying little.
The moment Trey turned onto West Renner, Samantha caught sight of the crime scene. In addition to all the emergency vehicles lined up along the road, there was also a large collection of tents set up in the nearby tree line.
“Wow,” Trey murmured, looking out at the dozens of tents nestled in the shade provided by the scraggly pines. “This camp gets bigger every time I see it. There must be close to a hundred people living out here.”
Samantha didn’t doubt his estimate. The homeless camp was one of many that had sprung up throughout the city over the years.
As she gazed at the crowded camp, Samantha wondered if the cops had made a mistake and that the body found out here had nothing to do with the Butcher case. All the previous dumps had been in the middle of nowhere. Why the sudden change in MO?
Then she realized that most of the cops and gawkers were standing on the other size of the road from the homeless camp, staring at a section of high grass near the side of a rundown building. She couldn’t see what they were looking at, but it wasn’t hard to guess that’s where the body was located.
Trey must have thought the same thing because he turned into the building’s overgrown parking lot, stopping a short distance away from the grassy area where a handful of young cops were busy setting up crime scene tape. She glanced out the passenger window at the tents spread out among the trees across the road. Based on the heavy puddles scattered around the area, it must have rained late last night or early this morning. Assuming the body had been dumped in the dark during that time, it was possible the Butcher hadn’t known there was anyone out here.
Chief Leclair was there to greet Samantha as soon as she stepped out of Trey’s vehicle. The chief looked back and forth between her and Trey curiously before raising a questioning brow at Samantha, clearly expecting an explanation as to why the ME assigned to the Butcher task force had decided to show up at a crime scene in the company of one of her SWAT officers. But there was no way in hell Samantha was getting anywhere near that conversation, so she just nodded toward the grassy area and the young cops busy with their rolls of yellow tape.
“So, what do we have, Chief?” she asked, taking her kit out of the back seat of the SWAT SUV, noticing Trey had moved away to talk to some of the other officers farther across the parking lot. He probably didn’t want to get cross-examined by the chief, either. “Another mutilated body, I’m assuming?”
“Not quite.” The chief grimaced and motioned toward the crime scene with a hand. “Maybe you should take a look yourself rather than have me try to describe it.”
Curiosity definitely stoked now, Samantha fell into step beside the chief, pausing for a moment when they got closer to the grassy area and one of the younger cops suddenly turned and stumbled before bending over to throw up. Okay, that probably wasn’t good.
As they reached the edge of the parking lot, Samantha slowed for a few seconds to watch one of the techs from the ME’s office masking off some tire tracks there in the mud between the pieces of asphalt. She was guessing, but based on the width and tread pattern, the tracks were from a large truck or SUV. Almost certainly the one that had dumped off the body. The tread pattern looked generic, but maybe they’d get lucky.
“I’ll leave you to it,” the chief said as they reached the entrance to the crime scene and the young officer standing there writing down the names of everyone who entered the taped-off area. “But as soon as you can, I need to know if this is connected to the Butcher case. It would help if the mayor hears it from me before he gets it from the press.”
Just inside the tape, right before the grass started getting thicker, Samantha found a boot print in the mud. She leaned down to get a closer look before calling back to the tech still working the tire tracks, telling him to get on this print next. It looked identical to the ones she’d seen at the other Butcher body dumps and seemed like the connection the chief had been looking for. She’d be happy—or unhappy, depending on her point of view. The high grass and brush had been completely crushed down by the killer as he’d moved through the area, and once again, Samantha wondered how big the Butcher was. At least as large as Trey, maybe bigger.
Another few feet in, Samantha finally saw the reason the young cop had run off to throw up earlier and the meaning of the chief’s equivocation when Samantha asked about this being another body dump. It wasn’t a body. It was part of a body.
First, there was a portion of a man’s arm, neatly and cleanly amputated at the wrist and elbow. Directly beyond the arm was a fully intact left leg, amputated a few inches above midthigh. There was also another lower arm and a hand missing the fingers. It only took a quick glance at the slightly different skin tones among the parts for Samantha to realize the three pieces hadn’t come from a single victim.
She took another step forward but stopped cold when she caught sight of the pile of what could only be called scraps left strewn across the grass just short of the building’s wall. In addition to bits of skin, there were bigger chunks of internal organs and long lengths of mangled muscles and ligaments. She saw pieces of bones buried deeper in the grass. She wasn’t quite sure what part of the body they’d come from. Maybe broken rib pieces. There was an ear to one side of the bones and, nearby, a handful of knotted and twisted hair.
There was blood slopped on the wall, where the earlier rain hadn’t reached it to wash off. The way it was spattered made her think the killer had slung a bucket full of the stuff in their desire to get rid of it quickly.
Samantha swallowed hard. Even with her extensive exposure to upsetting scenes like this, she regretted her decision to eat that breakfast burrito. She’d seen a lot of vile stuff in this job, but this was hard even for her. She pushed the thoughts aside and pulled her camera from her bag, starting with wide-angle shots before moving in for close-ups.
“Is it the Butcher?” the chief asked from behind her. “I know you can’t say for sure until you do an autopsy, but I’ll take your best guess.”
Samantha turned to see Chief Leclair standing just beyond the crime tape, Trey at her side. “The boot imprint in the mud over there is a visual match for the ones at the previous crime scenes. And from a cursory look at the ends of the three amputated limbs, I can tell you they were cut with a high-speed oscillating bone saw. Unless we have two nearly identical killers using identical cutting tools, we can assume that this is another Butcher scene.”
Mouth tight, the chief gave her a nod, then left, heading over to talk to several detectives Samantha recognized from the task force. She knew the exact moment when the chief told them that they were almost certainly dealing with another Butcher killing. None of them seemed surprised; instead they all looked pissed. This psychopath was making a laughingstock out of all off them.
“Some of the people who live in the camp saw a large truck pull into this parking lot early this morning, a little after four a.m.,” Trey said, looking down at some notes he’d scribbled on a small pad. “They described the guy who got out of the vehicle as frigging huge. Well over six feet, easy. He was wearing some kind of long coat with a hood, so even if it hadn’t been dark and raining, no one would be able to describe him.”
