Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (6 page)

Grasso shrugged. “I can’t speak for him, but my guess is that if he picked somewhere quiet, he would really be alone.”

That was profoundly honest. It sounded like Grasso knew exactly what he was talking about. She shot him a sidelong glance, couldn’t get anything from his expression, and murmured, “Please don’t make him more human on my behalf.”

The man walking up the stairs next to her said neutrally, “We’re all human, MacIntosh. Even the bad guys.”

That statement was bland enough but caught her mid step. She faltered for a minute, looking back over her shoulder, hand on the rail. “Point taken. I wasn’t trying to criticize him, I was just wondering.”

“I assume he feels comfortable here.”

She wasn’t as convinced. Santiago lived in an apartment building that obviously, from the playground equipment and pool, had a ton of small children. It didn’t fit the man she knew, but whatever. She was there about two murders, not his choice in lifestyle.

The building wasn’t new, the carpet in the hallway a bit worn, but it was cheerful enough and there was a faint hint of someone somewhere baking a cake maybe … the scent of chocolate just a tantalizing background nuance.

Fine, maybe she could buy it. Ellie knew enough about her partner that his past
might
make him seek out a family atmosphere. He answered the door on the second knock, and for someone who had two bullet holes in the chest not all that long ago, he looked pretty good. He’d let his wavy-blond hair go without a haircut for a while, but who could fault a small detail such as that when he was recovering from multiple gunshot wounds? He had very blue eyes, almost startlingly so, direct and clear, and he wore baggy cargo shorts and a faded T-shirt.

She hadn’t seen him since he was released from the hospital and felt a bit guilty about it, but to say they were friends would be stretching the truth. However, they did seem to work pretty well together, maybe even
because
of their disparate personalities.

“Hi,” she said with a genuine smile. “You look good. Once again I hope you don’t mind us dropping by.”

For a moment he propped himself against the doorjamb, and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s kind of an interruption if you want the truth. I was about to watch an episode of
Gilligan’s Island
that I’ve seen thirty-seven times or so in my lifetime, but what the hell. Come on in.” He stepped back and held the door. “Hey, Grasso, how is it hanging? The two of you together, this must be official police business. If you’re here to search my place for porn, you’ll find some, but it’s all legal.”

“I’m not vice right now, Santiago.” Grasso laughed and followed her in.

“Good, but don’t get too comfortable.”

Yes, that was the Jason she remembered. Nor was his apartment a surprise, even if the family style building had been unexpected. There were some mirrors on the walls with beer company logos and half-naked women, a plaid couch in red and brown that looked comfortable but not even close to new, a coffee table that might be nice if dusted—but it wasn’t. The open sliding glass doors to the balcony showed two plain plastic chairs. Aside from a couple of
Sports Illustrated
s next to a recliner and an obscenely huge flat-screen television, the place really didn’t say too much about the man who lived there.

She handed him a small wrapped dish. “I brought you some lasagna. You told me once you don’t like to cook.”

“Thanks.” For a moment he looked uncharacteristically serious, but it faded fast. “Real food, huh? I might go into shock. It doesn’t help that the doctors haven’t cleared me to drive yet,” he said sardonically. “Luckily, there’s always pizza delivery and a Chinese place about a block away. Did you know you can order boxes of mac and cheese from Amazon and they ship it? No shit. This is a great day and age to be an invalid. Have a seat.”

“We’ll try and keep it brief.” She chose the couch—it
was
comfortable if not aesthetically pleasing. “We want to talk about the shooting. You were on the scene.”

“Chad … I liked him. A lot.” Jason nodded and sat down in the recliner, his breath going out in a long huff of either pain or anger. “Those fuckers.”

Irreverent was an understatement when it came to Santiago, but in this case, Ellie didn’t disagree. “We wondered if you could talk to us about him a little. The second cop to fall in a homicide in a week. The chief is worried.”

“He should be.” The words were forceful. “Goddamn it, Fielding had a wife and little kid. The department should not be burying two good cops so close together. Both were straight arrows. What the hell? Fielding especially … it looked like someone came after him with a purpose.”

“It just seems like a straightforward hit.” Ellie kept her voice even. “Any idea why?”

“None. And I’ve been sitting here thinking about it a lot. Even more since last night.”

“Why exactly were
you
there?” Grasso asked.

“Danni called me to see how I was doing. I asked if maybe she wanted a little company on her shift. It isn’t like I’m a civilian or anything.” Santiago shrugged, but his eyes were distant. “It was probably better I was there for her sake, but I am not sure about mine. He was a friend. I wish I’d not seen it firsthand.”

Ellie would probably be wishing the same thing.

“The way Fielding was murdered really makes you think. It wasn’t a lot different with Brown. We’re wondering if they were both into something that came back and bit them.”

“If you think he was dirty, think again. No way.” Santiago shook his head emphatically. “Chad was a good guy. A good cop, for that matter. If you believe this is mob or gang related, it isn’t, because he was not on the take in any way. Besides, I thought Hamish and Rays had the case.”

Grasso had stood by the open glass doors, his hands casually in his pockets. He didn’t answer the implied question. “Yes, Hamish and Rays have it. No one has mentioned organized crime. Some reason it came to mind?”

Jason rubbed his chest. It looked like an absent motion, as if he did it often. Ellie well remembered the night he was shot. “The first homicide was definitely a hit, I’ll give you that. I didn’t know Fielding enough to vouch for him. Seemed like a good guy, though,” he said, his expression thoughtful. “Obviously Metzger thinks they are linked together? I’m not sure I disagree. I take it you don’t have the actual investigation but he wants you to poke around. Why?”

He had a quick mind, she’d give him that. Besides, she’d only joined the department a few months ago and he knew—like Grasso—the chief a lot better. “You tell us,” Ellie said, her gaze intent. “You’ve worked almost every single division in the MPD. Anyone have a problem with either of the officers who were killed?”

“He thinks it’s
inside
?”

Grasso looked impassive. “No, he doesn’t. He just wants us to make sure the problem isn’t internal but he doesn’t want an official IA investigation.”

“Oh yeah, that’s sweet. Nothing like being a narc. Let me know how it turns out.” Santiago got up restlessly. “Anyone else want a beer? I cut off the pain meds a few days ago and I’m starting to hurt. I also need a minute to think about this. Who drove?”

“I did,” Grasso said dryly.

“Good. You get to be the sober one.”

“Lucky me.”

“MacIntosh?”

She declined. “You go ahead … I had some wine with dinner.”

When he came back, he handed her a cool bottle. “Leinies. Have one.”

He’d already opened it, so she reluctantly accepted the offering, more concerned with his attitude than with the beer. “What about this would make you think the chief would be concerned so quickly? You came to that conclusion pretty fast.”

Santiago looked at her as he settled back into the chair, his gaze sardonic. “I have no idea. That bothers me because I’d like to think he and I aren’t like-minded people. What did he say, and I mean
exactly
.”

Grasso spoke in an emotionless tone. “Know anyone who might want to hit both of them?”

“Off the top of my head, no.” Santiago tipped the beer back, tilted it forward, and then tipped again, his throat working. When he was finished, he said, “Maybe it just is what it is and they aren’t related.”

Ellie said neutrally, “You really think Chad Brown was clean, and maybe Fielding just ticked off his neighbor or crossed the wrong junkie on the street?”

“A junkie would have robbed his house.” Her former partner shook his head. “I see Metzger’s concerns, though. It was too slick. Too professional. They didn’t kill Fielding’s wife or kid. Only pros do that. They aren’t paid for the wife and kid, so why risk the prison time, you know?”

She didn’t know. The entire conversation left her cold. “Why would
anyone
do it? Why would someone kill Officer Brown? Any ideas there?”

Santiago popped up the footrest on the recliner. He had on flip-flops with small palm fronds on the straps. “I can do some digging. From here. I swear I won’t compromise the investigation, but you are right, I know everyone in the department, good and bad. If there’s something going on, I might actually be able to find it. After all, I’m a detective, right?”

“So we’ve heard.” Grasso was joking but dispassionate.

“You’ve been investigated.” Ellie glanced at her current partner. “So that process is not new to you, which I would guess is why Metzger chose us.” She transferred her gaze to Santiago. “You, on the other hand, are considered rogue material. I am just going to suppose I’ve landed in such lauded company because I shot a man to death in the line of duty and because of that particular incident find myself in this predicament. I’m not all that fond of either of you right now.”

“Predicament?” Santiago looked amused. He glanced at Carl. “Are we entitled to be insulted? Because I just can’t decide. And, MacIntosh,
you’ve
shot more than one suspect. Remember the man who kidnapped the niece of a federal judge? You’re no angel.”

Oh, yes, she remembered. “He lived. Besides, he tried to bludgeon me to death.”

“Still counts, sweetheart.”

Outside someone had started to play basketball on the lighted court down below. She gave a short laugh. “Okay, so none of us here have any reason to throw darts at each other. Can we talk about
this
case?”

“Fine by me.”

“So we’ve all shot suspects and I am not sure that it is a brotherhood I want to belong to, but none of us have ever gone after a cop, and none of us would.”

“Never say never.”

Surprisingly it wasn’t one of Santiago’s flippant remarks, but Grasso who said it. Dryly, he added, “Look at Reubens. Sometimes it is hard to tell the white hats from the black.”

“What is up?” Ellie was really searching, trying to stay focused, but honestly, she was distracted by lakeside skeletons and hidden graves. “Is there something going on, or is Metzger just paranoid?”

“Nope.” Santiago set aside his beer, blue eyes serious. “I don’t like it either. Fielding and Brown knew each other pretty well. Makes you wonder if they both stumbled over something. It isn’t always what you know, but just sometimes what someone
thinks
you know.”

Chapter 6

It drizzled, but maybe it was just as well.

No one was on the lake, not even a light on in the cottages across, mist over the water floating like gray ghosts, moving wisps in the uncertain light.

The branches were still there, scattered in a haphazard fashion over the stones she’d found and labored to move, but something had been at the grave. There was fresh dirt clawed out of one corner and she could see a glimpse of white flesh.

It was what she’d feared all along and a surge of panic ran up her spine, quickly tamed as she took in a deep breath.

Scavengers were fine as long as nothing pulled the body from the ground. The faster it was gone, the better.

She just needed to make sure it stayed buried.

The boat. Maybe she could pull that old rowboat up over it, but leave it tilted just enough.

That might just work.

*   *   *

Ellie sat outside
the office and waited. The receptionist glanced at her now and then, but she just ignored it and assumed it was because the woman knew she was a detective. On her last visit she had handed over her card, but that had been official business.

Now she was a patient, though she really didn’t like to think of it that way.

“The doctor is ready to see you.”

Was
she
ready to see the doctor? She wasn’t sure, but this was not a decision she’d made lightly.

Dr. Lukens met her at the door, eyebrows raised. “Detective MacIntosh. Come on in. Imagine how surprised I was to see your name on my appointment schedule.”

Ellie’s first thought was Georgia Lukens had a nice tan. Tropical location maybe? Sandy beach, plush towels, frozen drink in hand? Sounded good. Must be the case, because she hadn’t gotten it in southern Wisconsin. Though it had been a record-breaking summer, it had been way too hot to sunbathe, and then it had abruptly cooled off considerably. Tall, leggy, with a no-nonsense haircut that showed off the fine bones of her face, the psychiatrist had on very little makeup, the sum of the parts completed by tailored slacks and a jacket. Her smile was unreadable. Dr. Lukens said neutrally enough, “Have a seat.”

The office Ellie followed her into had paneled walls, two oak bookcases, and a few too many plants, so there was the hint of damp soil in the air.

“I am not sure I want to do this.” Ellie remained standing, wondering if she’d made the right decision in coming.

“Fine. Just fine.” Dr. Lukens sank down into the leather chair behind her immaculate polished desk. “Now you really have me curious. I’m all ears. What is on your uneasy mind?”

“
My
uneasy mind?” Ellie went ahead and sat down too.

“People without problems rarely visit me, at least not at the office. Last-minute uncertainty is not an uncommon reaction, but you made the appointment for a reason. Tell me what it is you want to discuss. Ever since my secretary said you called, I have been tossing the possibilities back and forth. Is this about the Northwoods Killer, or the Burner? Either way, if you are struggling, we can talk about it and work it through. Post-traumatic stress disorder is a viable condition, Detective MacIntosh.”