Once Upon a Crime, page 19
Chelsea had a lot she wanted to say but couldn’t form the words. Instead, she started investigating her leads and let him work on his.
The picture was too grainy for facial recognition to get a hit. Still, she had to try. And as expected, it turned up nothing. She had a little more luck with the van. A trace of the license plate showed it was registered to a rental company. Maybe they’d get lucky — pull a clearer image of his face from the security footage or obtain a credit card receipt with his identity.
“McPherson? I got something on the van.”
He looked at her but didn’t say anything.
She tamped down her anger and continued. “It’s registered to a rent-a-car company in Monrow. I thought I’d drive over there and see what else I can dig up. Want to come with?” The invitation was the biggest olive branch she was going to offer. And frankly, she was hoping he didn’t take it.
He still didn’t answer her. But he stood and put on his jacket, then he snatched keys from his desk drawer.
It drove her nuts that he always insisted on driving. Worse still, that he assumed he’d drive to run down her lead. But she was exhausted and wouldn’t mind resting on the way there. Besides, if she napped, she wouldn’t have to talk to him.
The drive to Monrow went pretty much exactly as she expected it to. Chelsea kept her eyes closed, and McPherson kept his mouth shut. It was hard to say if the silence made things better or worse, but there wasn’t time to dissect things.
When they reached the rental place, Chelsea marched up to the man behind the counter. She pulled her jacket aside to show the badge clipped to her belt. “I’m Detective Sullivan. This is Detective McPherson. We’d like to ask you a few questions about one of your customers.”
“Uhhh… I just work here. You should talk to my manager.”
“Is he here?”
“No. It was a slow day, and he has a bad cold. He went home early.”
McPherson leaned on the counter. “You’re not in any trouble. We’re just hoping to get a look at your security footage from last week. Maybe an ID from a credit card receipt.”
The kid glanced up at the cameras in the corner. Then he looked at McPherson. “Is it legal for me to let you see that?”
“Sure. You can show us whatever you want.” McPherson grinned at him. “And think what a cool story this will be for you to tell your friends. Especially if it leads to us catching our guy.”
A smile broke out on the kid’s face. “That would be cool.” He chewed his lip and glanced over his shoulder. A door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY was directly behind him. “I guess I can show you how our system works. You can look through the footage. I can’t stay back there with you, though. I’m the only one here, and I have to man the desk.”
“Perfect.” McPherson started walking around the counter. “Lead the way.”
Chelsea followed them, silently seething. This was supposed to be her lead, but as usual, McPherson took over. He could talk until he was blue in the face about team members having each other’s backs. Fact of the matter was, he didn’t have hers. And she doubted he ever would.
The clerk got them set up at a computer terminal, quickly showed McPherson how to operate the system, then returned to the front desk. That left Chelsea alone with her so-called partner. She stared at the screen while he navigated to last week’s footage. It wasn’t long until they found their bearded man. He never looked directly at the camera, so they couldn’t get a screen capture for facial rec. And he paid cash for the rental, so there’d be no credit card information.
“Damn it.” McPherson pounded his fist on the desk. “I knew he’d be too smart to pay with a credit card, but a guy can hope.”
“At least we have a timestamp. We can have the clerk pull his rental contract. More likely than not, his address will be fake. But we have to run it down. And if we’re lucky, the van will still be on site. We can have forensics go over it.”
They walked back out front, and McPherson talked with the clerk. While he was getting the information they wanted, Chelsea looked around. Cameras facing the doors and the counter, yet none of the footage showed his face clearly. This guy was smart. He rented outside of the city. He paid cash. He had all his I’s dotted and T’s crossed.
If he didn’t make a mistake soon, more people would die. And Chelsea couldn’t stand to have that on her conscience. If he wasn’t going to slip up, then she had to step up.
Had to bring him down. Soon.
McPherson thanked the clerk, nodded at Chelsea, then headed for the door.
She followed him out to the car. When they were both seated, she turned toward him. “So?”
“No point in calling forensics. The van has been out three additional times since this guy returned it. And it’s out again. This time, it’s a one-way rental. Someone’s turning it in South Dakota. We could track it down, but everything will be compromised at this point.”
“I think maybe we should, anyway. If there’s any DNA evidence in there at all, we’ll eventually need it to make our case.”
He offered her a few sheets of paper. “Knock yourself out. But any defense attorney worth his salt will argue the evidence was tainted by multiple renters. It will probably be ruled inadmissible.”
“I will.” She snatched the pages out of his hand. Maybe he didn’t see the need, but she knew any piece of evidence — no matter how small or how potentially-compromised — could make the difference when it came time to convict.
McPherson sighed and turned the key. The motor roared to life. “You mind if I stop at Mario’s? Since we’re all the way down here, might as well get some good cannoli.”
“Suit yourself.” Mario’s did make the best cannoli. Pretty much everything they made was gastronomic perfection. But the thought of a sugary confection — even a high-quality one — made her stomach lurch. She reclined her seat and closed her eyes. By the time they left Monrow, rush-hour traffic on the Parkway would be a nightmare. Made her glad she wasn’t driving.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Because McPherson insisted on stopping for pastry, it was late when they got back to the precinct. Late enough that Chelsea could leave for home. Especially since she had gone in so early that day.
The whole way to her apartment, she looked forward to a quick bite to eat and a long, restful sleep. McPherson was right about one thing — she hadn’t been sleeping. It would be nice to catch more than eight hours and wake up refreshed. Heck, if she managed to sleep through the night, she might not even need coffee in the morning. Or a vat of concealer to cover the shadows under her eyes.
Chelsea trudged down the hall to her door and was surprised to see a box sitting in front of it. She hadn’t ordered anything. Maybe it was for a neighbor. She bent and looked closer at the label. Definitely for her. No return address, but the postage stamp indicated it had been shipped from California.
A wave of excitement rolled through her. Mom must’ve sent her a present. What a nice surprise.
She hefted the box to carry it inside. It was slightly heavier than she expected. Chelsea flipped the light switch with her elbow, a lamp washing the apartment in a soft glow. She set the package on her coffee table before hurrying to the kitchen for a knife. Excited, she didn’t even bother taking off her coat and gloves. She just sliced through the tape on the box, then flung open the flaps.
A scream ripped from her throat. She leaped away from the table.
Nestled inside the box was a wolf’s head. Not a mask, like at the crime scene, but an actual decapitated wolf’s head. The fetor of rotting flesh and the coppery tang of blood wafted from the package, and her stomach roiled.
Chelsea ran to the bathroom and vomited until she could do nothing but sag over the toilet, dry-heaving. It was another five minutes before she had the strength to stand. A few minutes more before she could walk back to her living room. This time, she couldn’t miss the reek of death and had to approach the box with her nose buried in the crook of her arm.
Once there, she peered into the box again. Something reflected the lamplight, and she gave it a closer look. Metal. Copper? Brass?
She peered down, surprised to find her gloves were still on. At least she hadn’t contaminated anything with her prints. After slipping off her Isotoners, she slid her hands into work-issue latex then gingerly shifted the head aside. Gagging, eyes watering, she grasped a bundle wrapped in tissue paper, removed it from the box, then carefully pulled off the paper to find an antique hand mirror with an ornately-sculpted handle and frame. The looking glass was shattered, the cracked shards distorting her reflection into a horrific, Picasso-like image.
The mirror slipped from her fingers then landed on the sofa. She cringed and hoped it had no gore on it. Then she noticed a note fluttering to the floor.
Chelsea reached for it. Her hand trembled so much, it was difficult to read the message scrawled on it.
Mirror, mirror, held up high.
Who will be the next to die?
My prey can’t hide behind fortress walls.
Death in Steel City’s hallowed halls.
It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to crumple it and throw it away. Instead, she took pictures of everything then packed it all up. After she sent a text to McPherson, she carried the box out to her car, then headed back to the station.
As she drove, her thoughts cycled through one disturbing thought after another — the butchered wolf, the threat of another kill.
The fact that the killer now knew where she lived. Unless he had always known …
She again thought of her father. His love for the Brothers Grimm. His knowledge of their original, horrific tales.
That pretty much guaranteed she wouldn’t be getting a good night’s sleep. Or any sleep at all.
Jim looked at Sullivan’s message again as he walked from his car to the precinct doors. She’d sent him one text.
Get to the station. Now.
And despite him texting her back a few times, he’d received nothing further from her. She hadn’t answered any of his calls, either. Which both worried him and pissed him off.
He took the stairs two at a time then stormed through the doors into the squad room.
Sullivan was already there, ignoring her damn phone. She was cowering in her chair, which was pushed far from her desk, staring at a large box.
Two detectives on the late shift walked by. They tossed greetings her way while ignoring him. Jim didn’t have the energy to care about being snubbed. He was more interested in why his partner was unresponsive — so unlike the unfailingly polite persona she usually adopted. Well, with everyone but him.
But this was about more than Sullivan not smiling or waving. She’d barely managed to blink. That box commanded her undivided attention. And not in a good way.
“Sullivan.”
She didn’t answer.
It shouldn’t have surprised him, as she didn’t answer his calls or texts, either. Jim strode to her desk. “Is there a reason you’re ignoring me? And what’s so damn important I had to come here at this hour?”
She didn’t answer. Just pointed at the package.
He looked at her, at the box, then at her again. She didn’t look well, so he stooped to look her in the eye. “What’s the matter with you? You’re white as a ghost, and you’re still in your coat and gloves.”
Words failed her, so she gestured toward the parcel again.
He sighed, stood, then reached for it.
“Wait! You need gloves.”
“Gloves?” At least she was talking again. Jim loomed over the box to get a top-down view of the contents, not that he could, as she’d kept it closed. “What’s in there? Evidence? How did you know it was here?”
Chelsea swallowed past a lump in her throat. “I didn’t know it was here. It was sent to me. To my apartment.”
“Someone sent evidence to your apartment?” He took gloves from his desk drawer, put them on, then opened the cardboard flaps. “Holy fuck. Is that… Is this the wolf’s head? Garvin’s missing wolf?”
She shrugged. “I would imagine so unless we have someone spree-killing wolves, too. Brought it here for the lab to examine, but I thought you should see it first.”
“This was sent to you? At your apartment?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded.
Jim pursed his lips and vented a long, slow stream of breath. He ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe you should recuse yourself from this case.”
“Why bother? I’m already on this sicko’s radar. He knows where I work, what case I’m working on. He knows where I freaking live. Getting reassigned right now won’t change any of that.”
“We need to tell Davenport about this. In the meantime, I’m getting a forensics team up here.”
“You can tell the captain if you want. We need to keep him in the loop, anyway. But neither you nor he is pulling me off this case.”
“Sullivan—”
She held up her hand to stop him. A dark spot on her finger caught her attention, and her eyes widened. If possible, her face grew whiter.
Blood. Wolf’s blood.
Her hands trembled as she stripped off the gloves then tossed them in her trashcan.
“Look …” He tried again. Still couldn’t manage to complete a thought, though.
“There’s more,” she whispered.
“What?” Jim peered into the box again.
“There’s a hand mirror in there. An old-fashioned one. Ornate frame. Brass. The glass has been shattered. Could have happened in transit, but I doubt it.”
He reached for it, extracted it. Studied it. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged. “Fits the theme. Snow White’s evil queen had a mirror.”
“Wasn’t it on the wall?”
“Does it matter at this point? Everything has been loosely related, not spot on. Regardless, there’s a more direct connection.”
“More? What else?”
“He left a riddle. A fairy-tale-like riddle.”
McPherson rooted through the box. He didn’t have to dig far until he came across the poem. Expensive card stock. Pristine penmanship. After a quick perusal, he looked up at her. “You’re right. Mirror, mirror. Obviously Snow White this time.”
She nodded again.
“Any idea what it means? Why you?”
Sullivan shook her head. “No clue. I’ll think about it. Right now, though, I can’t really think straight about anything.”
“I’m not surprised.” He took his phone from his pocket to take pictures of everything. “Receiving this has to have been traumatic. And that’s on top of not being able to sleep lately.”
She scoffed. “I sure won’t be sleeping now. I have a feeling there’s a clock on this. We need to figure it out sooner rather than later, or someone else is going to die.”
He heard her unspoken words — before she was next to die.
Thank God she didn’t give voice to that fear.
“It’s going to have to wait until morning, Sullivan. You need to get a good night’s sleep. It’s not up for debate.”
“You must be joking.”
“Not even a little. You needed rest before this, and now you’ve received a pretty big shock. You’re liable to fall flat on your face tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep tonight. That will make you a danger to yourself, those of us who work with you, and the public we serve.”
She looked up at him. “If you’re seriously trying to tell me you’d be able to sleep in your apartment after receiving a package like this at your door, then you’re lying to me or to yourself. No one in my shoes would want to go home.”
“I agree. And I’m not suggesting you do. Far from it. That’s the last place you need to be and the last place I feel safe sending you. Stay with me.” The suggestion popped out before he even considered how it would sound. He’d have made the offer to any partner. To any coworker. And no one in her position would take it out of context.
No one but Chelsea Sullivan, of course.
“Oh? Are you expecting a three-way with me and your latest chippy? Maybe one of us can make you breakfast while the other shines your shoes before work.”
He bit back a sigh. “I don’t date ‘chippies.’ And nobody’s waiting at my apartment for me. Even if someone was, this is more important. I would send her home so you could feel comfortable.”
“How gallant of you, letting someone keep my side of the bed warm.”
Jim crossed his arms and stared at her. “That isn’t what I meant. And despite what you might think, I care about your well-being. Which is why you’re not going back to your apartment. Not tonight, not ever. I mean, not until we catch this psycho bastard.”
“I have no intention of going home tonight.”
“At least we can agree on that.”
“But I’m going tomorrow. I have things I need to get there.”
“We can send someone for them.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“That won’t be necessary, either. I’ll be fine once the sun’s up.”
“Daylight doesn’t equal safety, Sullivan. And if you asked Davenport or your dad, they’d agree with me. You shouldn’t go back there at all, but if you insist on going, the time of day doesn’t matter. But who goes with you does. You aren’t going alone. I won’t let you.”
“You won’t let me?”
“I’ll pull rank if I have to.”
“We’re both detectives.”
“But I have more experience.”
“You have more gall.”
A headache was brewing behind his eyes. And she was undoubtedly the cause. “I’m your partner, Sullivan, and I’ve got your back. If you must go, I’m going with you.”
Forensics showed up before she could argue further. They took pictures of everything, then they left, taking the box and its contents with them. Before departing, one of the techs promised to send them copies of the photos — though Jim had already taken his own and he’d bet his paycheck Chelsea had done the same — and said he’d put a rush on the tests.
