Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (9 page)

And she’d wondered if he had been paying attention. She should have known better. A few puffy clouds haunted the horizon and she stared at them. “The real question, please.”

“Do you want to move in? Live together all the time, night and day, and give this relationship a real shot, not the half-time wavering from one camp to the other?”

“My condo isn’t camping.” She immediately raised a hand in apology. “Fine, yes, sorry, I know we aren’t joking. I think I’ve been waiting for you to say that is what you want.”

“Even when you know it is
exactly
what I want.” He theatrically checked his watch. “You
were
there not even an hour ago when I made love to you, correct?”

Her shoulders lifted just a little because he had a point. “Bryce, I needed to hear it. Besides, can I correct you? I think we made love together.”

“You wanted to hear me ask? A clue to that would have been helpful. All right.” He nodded, his long legs outstretched, his expression about as neutral as possible. “Detective MacIntosh, will you
please
move in with me?”

That was definitive enough.

But it required an answer. She responded tentatively, “I am thinking we should try it.”

“Okay. I agree. Is that a yes?”

“And you should tell my grandfather that we are seriously dating, but nothing about the new living arrangements.”

“I agree with that, too. Is it a yes?”

It was just plain time to change the subject. “Santiago is going to help me sift through all the missing-person reports, but my first stop today is the medical examiner’s office.”

He let her get away with the evasion. “Open on Saturday?”

“Someone is always available,” she said as they passed the first exit for Oshkosh. “There’s a deputy examiner or a tech always on call. Believe it or not, death has its own agenda.”

“That’s a lovely poetic observation.”

“That is the reality. We aren’t all writers, Bryce. I wasn’t trying to be poetic.”

“Maybe so, but since this isn’t actually something you are assigned to investigate, can you do this?” His gaze was inquiring.

It was probably skirting the edge of protocol, but then again, so was Metzger’s request for her and Grasso to poke around the department with regard to the two killings.

Ellie stared at the road and then equivocated. “There is no rule to say I can’t go talk to my grandfather again about that grave.”

“No.” Bryce sounded as reasonable as always. “But obviously that is not all we are doing unless he is at the medical examiner’s office.”

Good point. She muttered darkly, “I sure as hell hope he’s
not
there.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. God, Ellie.”

“I know. Sorry, bad attempt at humor.” She was silent for a minute or so. “This is really bothering me, Bryce.”

“I’ve gotten that impression.”

“It’s a big deal, not a small one, to have a body turn up on your property.”

“It would definitely ruin
my
day. Wait, I believe when it happened to me last fall, it tore that day into tiny little shreds.”

She signaled to pass a van. “I hate to say this, but I wonder if that kid hadn’t been the one to find it, if he wouldn’t have just covered it back up and not reported it.”

“Why? Your grandfather seems to be the epitome of the upright American citizen.”

Softly she murmured, “You know, I think that is what throws me the most.”

*   *   *

The call came in mid-morning on a Saturday, and had Carl any other kind of life, he might have ignored it. Instead he registered the number and answered. “This is Grasso.”

Short and to the point.

“Officer Crawford. You know who I mean, right?”

“Who is this?”

“I’m talking about Crawford.”

He leaned an elbow on the glass-topped table in the sunroom that overlooked flagstone terrace and the pool. It was a nice day and he was enjoying a cup of coffee. He’d bought a new flavor: southern pecan. It was pretty good but maybe not a favorite. In the evening though, he’d decided right before the phone rang, it might be perfect with a splash of whiskey. “I know her.”

“She was sleeping with Chad Brown.”

The call ended, and in frustration he punched up a screen to show the number but had the feeling it was a generic burner phone since there was no name.

Immediately he got up to go inside. In the kitchen there was a computer nook he’d had built in a few years ago, and he powered up his laptop and made a few notes while the call was still fresh.
Voice: female. Accent: not heavily Wisconsin but definitely Midwestern. Soft vowels. Chicago? Information: a cop allegedly sleeping with another cop, the latter now dead. Connection: none I can really see, but check on first victim and see if Crawford might tie somehow back to him too. Caller: has my personal cell number.

More disturbingly, Carl thought as he wandered back to the sun porch, dropped into his chair, and stared out at the pool which this time of year was covered and already had a few withered leaves that had drifted on top of it, the caller had to know he and MacIntosh were looking at the case. Unless his partner had told someone else and the word had spread, as far as he knew, only Metzger and Santiago were aware.

That made the call even more interesting. He decided to make a call of his own.

Ellie answered on the second ring. “Lieutenant?”

“Good morning.”

She laughed on a brief exhale. “Don’t continue to confuse me by being polite. I’m so used to Santiago. Good morning to you also. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“I have a quick question. Did you by any chance tell anyone about what Metzger wants us to do?”

“No. No one but Santiago, and you were there for that conversation.” Swift and sure. She asked sharply, “Why? What’s happened?”

“I got a call just a few minutes ago telling me that Brown had been involved with another officer. I can’t see the significance of the information.”

“I can’t say as I don’t agree with you on that score. They didn’t identify themselves?”

“No, and no name came up. I have the number, but it could be untraceable.”

“Who is the officer?”

“Danni Crawford.”

“I don’t think I know her.”

“It’s a big department and you haven’t worked here long. She’s on the street.”

“Is this a good lead?”

Carl watched a robin in the landscaped part of the terrace as it hopped around in a flower bed full of dying plants he was hard-pressed to identify since he paid someone else to take care of the landscaping. “I don’t have the slightest idea if it is solid or not. I’ve never heard a word against her.”

“It might be worth looking into, I suppose, though surely if she knew something, she would have come forward already.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” He watched as the robin took off in the correct direction and wished it a safe journey. “I’m wondering how this person got my cell number.”

Someone spoke in the background and he realized at that moment Ellie wasn’t alone. “Good question, but it could be something as simple as just calling the station and saying they needed to get in touch with you. Easy enough to check on that.” MacIntosh sounded brisk and businesslike, but she usually did. “Maybe we can both give it some thought and regroup tomorrow afternoon.”

“No problem.” He thought about the rest of his day. Wide open. “I might ask a few questions around so we actually have something to talk about. Right now, unless you know something I don’t, we have nothing.”

There was just the slightest pause before MacIntosh said, “If you’ll keep me up to speed, I’d appreciate it. You’re right. You know everyone and I am just getting my feet wet.”

“Yes, like by catching the Burner?” He was quietly amused. He’d been on the force at least ten years longer so the competitive spirit was not exactly a new entity; in fact, most good cops had it. Only a few months on the job and she’d solved a very high profile case. “That is not tickling your toes in the water. That is taking a plunge in the pool. And in answer to the question, I will let you know if I find out anything.”

“Thanks.”

After he hung up he thought about what he did know about Officer Danielle “Danni” Crawford.

Let’s see. Same age as MacIntosh probably. Early thirties. A little chunky but pretty in the face, with a reputation for being steady and reliable.

She’d been at the funeral—but they’d all gone. Despite what the public might believe, not that many officers were killed in the line of duty. She had cried, but so had pretty much every woman there, and quite a few of the men too. It wasn’t like mourning for a colleague, a psychologist who had come to address the department once said. It was more like mourning in advance for yourself.

In case that was you one day. In that coffin.

That was cheerful.

He wasn’t a mental health professional, but he understood the tears. Both murders had been senseless, and the lack of a suspect somehow made it all worse. If an officer was shot trying to apprehend a fleeing criminal, the dynamic was obviously volatile. If the person was peacefully sleeping in his bed or pulling someone over for a routine traffic violation, the danger level was usually quite low.

Two down so close together? Was Crawford the connection?

He had to wonder.

So, since it was a nice morning and he had nothing else to do, Carl decided, still gazing absently out the windows, maybe he’d check up a little on Officer Crawford. It sure couldn’t hurt.

Chapter 9

She waited.

It seemed like that was the pattern. The ticking clock, the anxious nights, the cold mornings.

Why had she thought it would all change?

Maybe she was a dreamer. Her grandmother had always said so, and she was starting to believe it.

But the risk … God help her, the risk …

Life was unpredictable. It was true. There was no denial on that point. That was how it had all started. That awkward moment outside the post office, the dropped package, the proverbial meeting of the eyes. She’d known then. He had known too, but it was more complicated on his end, she’d understood that.

Death hovered. Tomorrow there could be the speeding car, the icy steps, the pain in your chest that didn’t ease.…

And then it was all over.

But physical death was not same as emotional trauma. She hoped it wasn’t over for her
.

*   *   *

It was like
a gruesome jigsaw puzzle. She recognized most of the parts, but this was not a fun game.

Ellie looked into the drawer and declined to have the deputy ME drag out the skeleton.

“There are the notes,” he said, indicating a computer screen at a table in the back. “I’ll print off the file. I’m afraid we don’t have much. I guess I didn’t realize Milwaukee PD was in on this one.”

“I’m interested, that’s all. More on a personal level than official department business.” The reply was only a little evasive she told herself, staring down at the bits of humanity, trying once again to make sense of it. “Any of the local PD ventured yet to make an identification or ask for dental records? Anything like that?”

“They do their jobs pretty well up here, as you know.” He handed her a sheaf of paper. “We haven’t identified the victim but this is a short summary of the notations on the autopsy. Whatever happened to her wasn’t yesterday.”

“I was afraid of that.” She took it and frowned.

Undetermined age. Female. Postpuberty but good bone density at time of death. Some teeth missing but more likely postmortem. Late twenties or early thirties maybe. Time period is difficult to define since there is no clothing or other artifacts. Speculation the skeletal remains are at least twenty years old, but possibly, dependent on the condition of the burial site, even a hundred or more. More tests needed.

“So our victim is an adult woman,” she said slowly. “Cause of death?”

The deputy medical examiner was middle-aged, at least in his mid-forties, and his slight smile held a great deal of cynicism. His five o’clock shadow held a slight dark brown with just a hint of gray. He closed the drawer and brushed back his surgical cap. “We have two problems.”

“Only two? That sounds promising. Go on.”

His smile was ironic. “I love you guys, you know? Always so upbeat. Anyway, I can test a lot of things, but the absence of clothing or anything else makes this difficult to date. For instance, no wedding ring, no zippers, no buttons, nothing. You’re the detective, but I am going to say she was buried nude, or buried somewhere else first and the bones moved later.”

Ellie was well aware of that possibility. “What else can you tell me?”

He nodded and closed the drawer. “There are some interesting striations on the rib bones. Quite a lot of them. Normally I would say this is a stabbing victim, but if so, it was quite an event, and the evidence is difficult to pin down. The marks are so faded it is hard to tell, but it is possible this is a mauling. Bear maybe? The only thing that makes me discount that is that almost always in those cases the hands and arms take the brunt of it as the victim tries to defend himself. If attacked, we reflexively throw up our arms. Those bones are not damaged like I would expect.”

He demonstrated and Ellie wished away the image. Being mauled by a bear would not be her choice when it came to making an exit from this world. “The black bears around here don’t often attack and kill people.”

“True enough. Almost never. But there are plenty of creatures out there that don’t mind eating us after the fact. Why were coffins invented? Not to keep the person in—they aren’t leaving, remember? Why six feet under? To keep the smell of decay deep enough that nothing wants to dig us up for a little snack.”

Ellie was not squeamish—in her job, she couldn’t be—but that statement got to her a little.

“Nice mental picture. Thanks, Doctor.”

“It is possible, and maybe even probable, she died of natural causes and was simply buried poorly and dug up by animals and therefore we have the marks. In my professional opinion, at least some of the damage is the result of a predator or scavengers.”