Credo's Bandidos, page 25
Steve had listed approximately 40 people who’d lived in their neighborhood when they were kids. He’d used color coding to denote where he’d found the information. For instance, blue stood for census records, and green represented a website called “Find a Grave.” The names in yellow, on the other hand, came from some genealogical database. There were several additional colors as well, but at this point, I really didn’t care where he’d gotten the info—only that he’d gotten it. I scanned the list of names, none of which meant anything to me.
The next page held a listing of all the yearbook files he’d collected and collated. He’d separated the boys from the girls, and since we’d discussed the fact that statistically, most serial killers were men, he’d moved the girls to their own tab, leaving the boys in a file all their own.
Casey and I simultaneously heard a commotion outside the door leading to the outer hallway, and we were both staring at the door when it flew open and banged against the sidewall. In a knee-jerk reaction, I glanced at the interview room, first in the hopes the sound hadn’t interrupted the interview and second, vaguely wondering whether the door handle had put a hole in the drywall. The irrational thought that Kate wouldn’t be happy about that flitted through the apparently empty corridors of my mind. It only took an instant to realize how ridiculous my reaction had been, and I quickly pulled my attention back to the entry door.
George stormed in with a patrolman who staffed the front desk hot on his heels. He strode up to my desk and slammed his hand down hard enough to make one of my pencils jump. “What the hell do you think you’re doing bringing Steve down here and reading him his rights? Is he under arrest or what?”
I stood up, got in his face, and hissed, “Unless you want the whole world to know what we’re doing here, I suggest you keep your voice down.” I glanced around the office and was relieved to see the only other detectives sitting at their desks were Nate and, of course, Burney Macon. I pulled my attention back to George. “How did you know he was here, anyway?”
George followed my gaze, then turned back to me and poked me in the chest with a stiff finger. At least he lowered his voice so only Casey and I could hear what he was saying. “What the fuck is going on, Detective Wolfe?” He spat out my name as though ridding his mouth of a distasteful fungus.
“I asked you how you found out Steve was here.”
He glared at me a moment, and then I guess he realized that if he played nice, he might get some answers. He visibly reigned in his temper, stared at the floor a moment, and then raised his gaze to mine. “Steve was smart enough to call me when they read him his rights. He may not understand a whole lot about law enforcement, but he knows enough to keep his mouth shut if some asshole pulls out a Miranda card.”
That made sense. I strode over to where Nate and Burney had their desks pushed up against each other. They both looked up from paperwork they were pretending to read while not listening to our conversation. “None of this leaves this room, got it?”
Nate said, “got it.”
Burney nodded, “Don’t need to worry about anything coming out of this mouth.” Since Burney is a very overweight sugar addict, I knew there was a joke in there somewhere, but this wasn’t the time to pursue it.
Kate heard the commotion and stuck her head out of the interview room door. “What’s the problem, Alex?”
Before I could answer, George strode down the hall, stepped close to her, and snarled, “I want to see my brother, now.”
Kate stepped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her. “I’m afraid that’s not possible right now, Mr. Ogilvie.”
“Why not? Have you arrested him??”
“No. But he’s not free to leave, either.”
The patrol officer who’d brought George into the office followed me to where George and Kate were having their standoff.
I grabbed George by the arm, “George, come over to my desk and have a seat. You have two of the most respected detectives in the country speaking with your brother right now. Believe me, if you want to help him, let them do their jobs.”
He looked at me and then back at Kate. “Do I need to get him an attorney?”
“You’re more than welcome to do that, Mr. Ogilvie. But Steve has waived his rights and is giving us a lot of good information. Now, as Detective Wolfe said, I want you to go have a seat and wait for us to finish.”
I pulled on George’s arm and motioned for him to precede me back to the bullpen.
Casey leaned against the corner of the hallway next to her desk, arms crossed and watching to make sure George calmed down. When she realized all was well, she went to one of the empty detective’s desks and co-opted a chair, which she wheeled over and placed next to our workspace.
The patrol officer stepped up beside me, “You want me to take him back downstairs? I brought him up here because he had an ID card saying he was a sheriff’s deputy. I didn’t know he was gonna go off the rails.”
I shook my head. “No thanks, Tom. You did the right thing. We’ll keep him up here with us for a while.”
“You got it, Alex. Let me know if you need me to come get him and take him back downstairs.” After shooting a glaring, silent accusation at George, he lifted his chin in Casey’s general direction, “See ya, Case.”
Chapter 19
I indicated the chair Casey had brought over and said, “You’re welcome to sit while you wait, George.”
George aggressively put his hands on his hips, probably to stop himself from throttling me. “Just tell me you don’t think he’s the Coward because that’s absolute bullshit. I thought you guys knew your stuff, that you were a professional Police Department. But this shit?”
I rubbed my temple, hoping to stem the headache threatening to pounce on my unsuspecting brain. “Look, George, you’re just gonna have to trust us on this one.” I made sure he was looking me in the eyes, “You’re going to have to trust me on this one. I can’t explain what’s going on yet, but when Kate comes out, I’m sure she’ll explain everything. Now please, would you take a seat?”
“There’s no way in hell I can sit here while he’s in there being interviewed about the Coward case.” Growling, he turned and paced to the office door, pivoted, and strode back to our desks, where he repeated the process several times. He reminded me of a tiger pacing behind the steel bars of a zoo.
I sat down, leaned back in my chair, and put my hands behind my head. I stared at the ceiling, the floor, and then at the screensaver as it flashed crime scene photos randomly across my computer screen. I’d taken several of the inside of the residence, but every now and then, one of the pictures I’d randomly shot of the crowd outside would load.
In one, a group of reporters huddled in a circle, probably exchanging notes about what they’d heard. To the left of them was a bunch of what I like to call looky-loos—people who have nothing better to do than stand around a crime scene gossiping. They huddled just behind the crime scene tape, straining their necks to get a view of the burned-out house and of the body they were ghoulishly hoping to see.
As I studied them, one particular person caught my eye. I leaned forward and pulled my chair closer to get a better look. Another picture loaded, and I quickly grabbed the mouse, wanting to reverse the images somehow to get back to the previous photo. “Shit.”
Casey chuckled and mumbled, “I hate when you do that. What’s the matter now?”
I frantically clicked around in the computer, trying to get it to do what I wanted. “I need to find the crime scene photos I uploaded earlier. You know, the ones on my screensaver.” Everybody knows that’s my usual practice, and she should have known what I was talking about. At her lowered eyebrows, I impatiently added, “C’mon. You know, the ones that randomly load and show up on the screen when the computer’s asleep? How the hell do I find them?” If I hadn’t been so frazzled and in such a hurry, I would’ve immediately known where to look.
Casey came over and stood behind me. Leaning over my shoulder, she brushed my hand off the mouse, and with a few clicks, opened the folder. “There you go. What are you looking for?”
I grabbed the mouse from her and clicked through the photos until I found the one I wanted. I hit print, accidentally backed into her with my chair so I could stand, and then hurried over to grab the photo from the printer. I yelled to the front of the office, “George.”
He’d just gotten to the end wall and turned to face me.
I hurried over and showed him the photo, pointing to one face in particular. “Do you recognize this guy?”
Acrimony dripped off his every word, “Why, you gonna tell me he’s the Coward now?”
His tone, combined with the fact that I needed the answer yesterday, angered me. I growled right back, “This isn’t the time, George. Just tell me who the fuck this is.” Kate’s voice flashed through my head, saying almost the exact same thing on several occasions. Minus the cursing, of course.
If the venom in my voice hadn’t given him a clue, the metaphorical daggers shooting from my eyes certainly had. He grudgingly looked at the picture again. “That’s Eddie. Eddie Gordon. Why?”
“He was in the bar with you the other night playing pool, right?”
“Yeah. Again, why?” He was starting to get pissy again.
I thought I’d recognized the man. He’d been the one wearing the green seersucker suit who’d left when Jerry had walked over wanting to get into the game. I grabbed my hair and pulled, a technique that often helped me focus when my brain was set on auto-spin. “I’m trying to remember. I think Steve once told me that Eddie visited him somewhere when he was in the Army. Somewhere in Europe maybe?”
George shrugged, communicating his lack of interest in anything I had to say. “Yeah, so what?”
“So, do you know what country?” I barely kept myself from baring my teeth at the guy.
He paused before grudgingly answering the question. “Eddie visited Steve in every country he was ever stationed in. The three of us have been best friends since elementary school. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
When he said, ‘every country,’ my adrenaline spiked. I grabbed him and pulled him over next to my desk. The two of us were going to have a Come to Jesus talk. In my mounting panic, I spoke more sharply than I should have. In point of fact, I probably snarled just a little bit. “Look, George, I need you to take off your pissy wounded brother pants and put on your big boy cop pants.”
He stiffened at that, but I didn’t have time to mince words. I grabbed the research Kelly and Jerry had given me and began going through each finding, one at a time. “Steve was in Italy. Arson, murder, same MO, same timeframe. He was in Germany. Arson, murder, same MO, same timeframe. Yugoslavia, Arson, murder, same MO, same timeframe. There are others. And now you’re telling me Eddie visited him in every country he was in?” I shook the papers at him. “There are more. Do I need to go on? And I’ll bet you guys have been talking to him about the case, too. There’s our leak. And how long has Eddie been visiting here in Tucson?”
George slowly shook his head, either not quite comprehending or not wanting to believe what I meant. “He’s been here…” He continued shaking his head, first looking out the window and then back into the room, and then to Sharon’s desk where he’d been pacing earlier. There was a bewildered quality to his voice when he spoke. “He’s been staying with Steve for about three months now. I’ve been coming down periodically visiting when I could.”
He pulled in a quick breath. “Oh my God.” He looked at me with near panic in his eyes. “Eddie knows what I’ve been doing yesterday and today. He knows where, and he knows that I came down here because of Steve…”
“So not only does he know where Babe and Mrs. Holloway are staying, but he also knows they’re not being watched right now?” I grabbed him by the collar and shook him, more out of frustration than anger. “Damnit, George!” I took off running and yelled over my shoulder, “Casey!”
What I love about our partnership is Casey didn’t even hesitate. Without being privy to my entire conversation with George, she leapt up from her chair and came running. We sprinted to the elevators, and when I saw two people waiting for the elevator to arrive, I took an immediate right, ran a few steps down a short hallway, and shouldered open the stairway door. I took the stairs three at a time.
I hadn’t realized George was following until we reached the basement, and I saw the two of them sprinting with me to the car. I stopped and yelled at Casey, “You take your car. If we need to split up, I want to have both vehicles available.”
Again, without any questions, she nodded and ran up the ramp toward her car.
I suddenly remembered she had no idea who Eddie was or what he looked like and shouted in frustration. “Shit!”
As if reading my mind, Casey stopped and looked back. “Please stop saying that, or I’m gonna have to add my ulcer to Kate’s by the time we’re done with this case.”
I was still holding the picture of Eddie standing in the crowd, and I ran up and shoved it under her nose. “I’m ninety-five percent sure this is the Coward. This guy here.” I pointed to Eddie’s face. “I don’t have time to explain why I think it’s him, but I believe he’s going to go after Nathaniel and Babe and Mrs. Holloway since George isn’t there watching them.”
She took the picture from me and studied it a moment. “Then I think you’re right. We do need to split up. I’ll go to Nate’s house where they’re currently staying, and I’ll call for uniform backup. You go to Mrs. Holloway’s house. If he’s already grabbed them, I think that’s where he’ll take them.”
George and I ran back to my car, and by the time Casey had pulled her door shut, we were already speeding past on the way out of the garage. It was a good thing the reporters weren’t standing in the way because I blasted out of the garage, not caring whether I hit any of them or not.
I pulled out my phone and called Babe. No answer. At the stoplight, I scrolled through my contact list and called Nathaniel. Also, no answer. I suppose they could’ve left their cell phones in another room for whatever reason, but that seemed improbable since this generation is rarely without their phone.
The stoplight was taking too long. It was a relatively small intersection, and I looked left. No cars. I looked right and saw a little Volkswagen putt-putting its way towards us. I ground my teeth and waited until it passed. I looked left again. The road was empty, and I gunned the engine and sped through the red light.
I was impressed that George simply grabbed his seatbelt and pulled it tighter. He angrily pounded the dashboard. “I should’ve known. I should have fucking known!”
“How the hell could you have known? You didn’t know about those other cases, the ones in Europe and Eastern Europe and South America and Asia.”
“South America and Asia too?”
“I can’t be sure about the one in Korea. All I know is when Kelly put in the search for cases that matched ours, there was one that came up in Korean. The translation program didn’t do that well, so I can’t be sure exactly what it said, but what I do know is the search engine flagged the article during her search.”
George pulled out a cell phone. “Do you think I should call him? Eddie, I mean. Maybe he’ll listen to me.”
“Absolutely not. Eddie’s been using you and your brother as steppingstones to these murders. I mean, he had the nerve to kill your pet rabbit and left the eyes for you guys to find. What kind of a friend is that?”
George must’ve felt the need to protect the small boy Eddie had been because he said, “He was only seven or eight at the time.” Realization dawned, and he smashed his head back into the headrest. “I can’t believe this. Not Eddie.”
As we drove, I remembered what Doc Hampton said about what we should look for in the Coward. “Did Eddie live with his parents?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Out of exasperation, I barked, “Just answer the question, George.”
“Okay, sorry, sorry. Yes. Well, most of the time. His father was in the military, and whenever he came back, they sent Eddie to live with his grandparents because his father was a real bastard.”
“And the grandparents? Were they his maternal or paternal grandparents?”
“I think they were paternal.” He thought about it and then bobbed his head, “Yeah, yeah, they were his paternal grandparents because I remember his mother’s parents were killed in a car crash when we were, oh, we must have been around four, I guess.”
One thing I know for sure is that abuse is often passed down through the generations. Not always, but often enough. If Eddie’s father was abusive, it’s a good bet that either his grandmother or his grandfather had been abusive as well. “Did Eddie like going to his grandparents?”
George massaged the back of his neck as he tried to remember back that far. “I think the first time he was excited to go, you know, to get away from his father. But after that, I remember him getting super upset whenever his dad was rotating back home. After a few years, he seemed to become resigned to it. He’d get moody, and a black cloud would descend, and…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, and he didn’t have to. I think we both got the idea. I called Babe and Nathaniel again. Neither of them picked up. As we entered Mrs. Holloway’s neighborhood, I found Casey’s number and hit send. When she answered, I asked, “Anything?”
Her voice was low and quiet when she answered, “I’m looking in the windows now. I don’t think they’re here. But it doesn’t look like anything is out of place. You know, like there was a fight or anything. I’m heading your way now.”
Up to this point, I’d been gunning the engine at stop signs and around corners, but now I reduced my speed because I didn’t want to alert Eddie to the fact we were coming. I pulled to a stop one block over from Mrs. Holloway’s house, and George, who by now knew this neighborhood better than I did, motioned me forward with a flick of his hand. “Pull up a few more houses. That’ll get us closer to a pathway we can take that’ll get us to the back of her house without being seen.”
