The kid was smart, that was what rankled him. He could do better, he could do
things
. Go places. Not just sit and cook over a low burner. What a waste of a normally functional human brain that was more capable than most.
Carl regarded him over a cracked table that had seen better days during the Eisenhower administration. “I know a lot of things, and then again, unfortunately there are some things I don’t know.”
“Son of a bitch,” John muttered, shifting in his chair, his eyes scanning the room again as if the clientele had changed in the past minute, which it hadn’t. “Do your best to not get me into trouble, okay?”
“Have I ever?”
“Not yet.” A grimace. “I’m here. But talking to you is, well, whatever … You have a reputation. What do you need?”
He had a reputation. All right, he’d admit that. The killings were not something he could ever shake.
“You’ve heard about the two burnings, right?”
“Okay,” John said slowly, staring at him hard. “I watch the news, so yes, but I didn’t think you were homicide anymore.”
“My career isn’t really your concern.” Carl folded his hands on the scarred table, trying to ignore the blast of rap from the speakers. He’d never been a fan of that kind of music. “Anyone have any ideas?”
“What makes you think—”
“If they are talking about it on the news, they are talking about it on the street. You are on the street all the time and you have a special skill set most stoners don’t, so talk to me.”
John had a small scab on his chin and he scratched it off, avoiding Carl’s gaze. “Maybe,” he muttered. “But keep in mind, the sort of man you’re after isn’t inclined to a lot of conversation with close friends.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Jesus, Grasso, for the same reasons you do. Some men move in packs, and some are loners.”
“We have us a loner?”
His companion nodded. “Yes, this one is part of the latter group, and I am going to tell you one thing, I’m not scared of him.”
Glasses clinked in the background as a preteen boy bussed the next table. How the hell the place didn’t get busted for that, he had no idea, but if the kid needed a job and wasn’t serving alcohol, he wasn’t going to say anything.
Carl had to admit the defiant look in his informant’s eyes was interesting. “Really? Go ahead. Tell me why you won’t be the next charred body.”
John looked away, his eyes distant. “I suppose, since you’ve been shaking me down for a while, you know I was a psychology major at one time. Is that why you’re asking? You said you wanted to meet for information but might also pick my brain a little.”
It was impossible to keep a slight smile from surfacing. Carl grinned, fingered his glass, took a long drink of iced tea, and set it aside. To his relief the music had shut off. “Come on, John. You actually have a degree in psychology from DePauw University in Indiana, which is a fairly prestigious school, and if you had the balls or inclination to kick your bad habit, I suspect you could get back on track and straighten it all out. You aren’t a total write-off yet, or a real scumbag. I should know, I’ve met a lot of them. So yes, that’s why I’m asking. Tell me what you think.”
There was a silence between them. A big one. Actually, since the first time he’d arrested this young man over a year ago, Carl had wanted to express what he’d just said, so he could cross it off his to-do list now.
John blinked and looked out the window at the steaming midday street. “I’m not sure I can answer. Or do that other thing either.”
The other thing? “Kick it? I highly recommend it. Most of us do shit all the time we aren’t convinced we can do. Ever considered it? Just chuck the drugs. It’s dragging you down. Join NA. Do something.”
He wasn’t supposed to get involved … that was off the table according to policy, but goddamn, sometimes you couldn’t help it.
“I’ve thought about it, but like I said, not sure I can do it. I tried once, but it’s been awhile. I wanted to open my own practice one day, you know? Clinicians make a decent living. Private practice, set your own hours, have an office … I started my Ph.D., but … well, it didn’t work out.”
“Just skip med school. A prescription pad might be a death knell.”
He nodded in agreement. “I’d have to stay away from that. If I could write my own scrips … that wouldn’t be good.”
The kid was nervous, but not scared … didn’t know anything worthwhile at a guess, but might be able to give a little direction.
Carl flipped the edge of his napkin negligently. As if he didn’t care, when against all odds, he actually did. “Try graduate school again.”
“Maybe, but aren’t you here to talk about The Burner?”
“I am, but do me a favor and think about school. How the hell did you hear that nickname?”
“News again.”
That would be Rachel. Carl said an inward curse. She still had friends at her former station and he had no illusions that she might pass along information. The professor was her new persona, but the reporter was still in there.
Good. She owed him now.
“Graduate school. Fuck … the application process, you have no idea … fuck.” John hung his head in his hands. “Reference letters? Where am I going to get those?”
“I have some friends and I think you could get back in if you tried. Get clean and call me.” Carl settled his elbows more comfortably on the table. It was a little sticky, but what the hell, he could always rinse off later. “If you were free of the drugs, you’d do fine. Everything in this life depends on how much you want it. But okay, that’s up to you, and let’s go back to my original question. Anyone talking about the murders besides the pricks on the news?”
“You are asking if anyone immediately guessed who it could be. No. It isn’t gang, and it isn’t a regular pyro, or if it is, I don’t know about it or him.”
He signaled for a second beer for his informant even though he wasn’t drinking. Carl would give John a few bucks too, just for showing up. Not too much, because he knew where it would go, straight up his nose or into a vein, but he’d give him enough to get a decent meal. “All right, let’s move along to the second part of this. Tell me what you can.”
“About who is doing this?” John readjusted, his perception altering, his focus going clearer. Even his face changed, giving a hint of that young psych student. “I’ll do my best.”
“Why is he burning them?”
“My first impression might not be your favorite, but if you want it,” John said, nervous, fingering his beer. “It’s kind of weird but…”
“Weird is fine, I’ll take weird. Just give me whatever you know.”
“When I heard about it, the first thing I thought was maybe the killer was a cop.”
* * *
“If squat is
what you want, then you have it.” Jason tossed aside the report onto Ellie’s desk in disgust. “Merry Christmas. Send me a pretty card later when the season is in full swing. One of a pine tree with ornaments will work just fine. I’ve never put one up.”
“It’s a little hot for Christmas … and never?” She glanced up, just the barest hint of a smile of her face. “No tree ever?”
She looked very nice in some sort of frothy pink shirt that gathered under her breasts and a pair of white shorts. It was still the weekend so they were technically not on duty, and for whatever reason he was tempted to answer her question.
Maybe it was some passive-aggressive impulse because Kate would resent the hell out of him opening up even in a small way to someone else. He hadn’t done it for her, and he wasn’t sure why.
“No. No tree.”
MacIntosh just looked at him.
Why in the hell had he ever said that about the tree? He had no idea so he brushed over it. “It’s a little hard to think about snowmen and holly jolly whatever when someone is out there lighting people on fire.” He pointed to the file. “That’s the doc’s opinion along with his notes. Other than the fact that the victim was older, we don’t have anything more than we had before. Dental records? Forget it. She had false teeth.”
“Oh, that’s great.” Ellie ran her hand through her fair hair and blew out a short breath. “Cause of death?”
“The body was too burned for him to really be sure, but he thought it might have been asphyxiation.”
“Smoke in the lungs?” She was glancing through the report already but he had read it twice himself and knew what was—and wasn’t—in there.
“No. Like our first one, she was dead before she was set on fire.”
She nodded, her brow creased, scanning another piece of paper before she set it aside. “I finally got the person who rents the apartment. He called back about five minutes or so ago. His name is Kilmarten and he says he has no idea who it could be. He’s incredibly ticked, by the way, about losing all of his video games and his television. The dead body didn’t compare.”
“That’s helpful.”
Jason dropped into the chair by her desk and rubbed his cheek. “Our guy, The Burner … maybe he belongs to some sort of pagan religion and believes in purification by fire or some such extreme bullshit that
my
pagan soul does not embrace.”
“Could be, I suppose. That’s as plausible as anything else. Three dead in three days. That’s extreme to me.”
“I don’t know if we can count Matthew Tobias. He jumped. We only have two murdered as far as I am concerned.”
“
Maybe
he jumped,” she corrected. “I wish the tox screen would come back on that.”
“Yeah, well, our pathology department is a little overworked.”
“I’m feeling a little overworked myself.”
He, on the other hand, had nothing else really to do. The investigation at least gave him something to focus his energy on rather than sit and feel sorry for himself because Kate had decided to move on to greener pastures.
Brian Wilfong. Fine. He wished her joy of that supercilious little prick. He hated pretention.
Still, he was all alone. His pasture was dull gray, dry as dust, and not likely to get any rain soon.
“It’s a long weekend,” he said neutrally. “This isn’t northern Wisconsin, America’s vacationland.”
Ellie looked affronted. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that the sheriff’s department doesn’t have plenty to do up there. Yes, the detectives aren’t strictly assigned one type of case, but they are busy.”
There was a slight snort in his laugh. “What? Investigating how one would-be hunter who had scotch with his coffee shot another one because he was too stupid to realize deer don’t wear camo jackets?”
That was insulting, he knew it, and yet it came out of his mouth anyway. Maybe Kate was right, he
was
an asshole.
“I know you aren’t thrilled MPD hired me,” she said evenly, looking at him, her hazel eyes direct and unflinching. “I know you are even less thrilled to be assigned to be working with me. But they
did
hire me, you are my partner, and we have an important case to solve. You don’t have to like me, I’m fine with that. But you do have to work with me. I’m aware you think I got this job because of one case, but I was a detective before the Northwoods Killer started abducting young women, so don’t think I lack experience in this line of police work.”
This was kind of a long overdue conversation. Maybe he had a bit of an attitude … okay, hey he did, but he was entitled to a few questions, he thought. He propped his elbows on her desk and there might have been a hint of belligerence there. “How many homicides, MacIntosh?”
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe.”
“How many serials have
you
worked?”
“Before this? None.”
“You see?” She folded her hands and squared off with him, eye to eye. “You are going to have to just accept the answer that I’ve worked homicide cases before and know what I’m doing. You and I aren’t running a contest.”
“That’s because you’d lose. I’m not sure I trust your experience.”
“I’m not sure I trust you, period. There, do we both feel better?” She picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk and straightened them. “Going back to our investigation, maybe tomorrow, when people get back into town, and when the apartment building has all the tenants in their units again, we will find out someone saw something. I want to know how in the hell a person can get in without anyone noticing them either carrying a body, or if the person was still alive at the time, with a companion. I know it was the middle of the night, but people work different shifts. The risk was huge.”
Fine. She was right, actually. The case was the important thing. “Has to be a male perp,” he said, which had been his opinion all along. “The ME says they are dead before the fire is set and that the first one was decomposing before he decided to build his little bonfire. If he’s right, they have to be carried in. You think the second one is different from the first? I don’t.”
“A woman could kill someone and stuff them in a suitcase before rigor sets in, and then just wheel them through the door.” She sat back, her face thoughtful. “Maybe we should ask about that. No one thinks about someone with a suitcase. The last time I flew my bag was overweight and cost me a fortune because of the penalty, but I had no problem rolling it through the airport and was surprised when they told me how much it weighed. I couldn’t have carried it, at least not any distance, but wheeling it around was a cinch. We can’t entirely rule out a woman.”
“That’s not bad,” he conceded. “Possible. We’ll ask about suitcases.”
“The fire department broke down the door. We still have no idea how he got in.”
“I do think we know how he got out. The window was open, probably to facilitate the fire, but also as a means of exit.”
“Two stories?” she objected.
“Well, we know the corpse didn’t set itself on fire and there was no one else inside and the door was locked until they kicked it in. If it was tampered with first, it will be hard to tell. Look, I don’t know about you, but if I have air-conditioning, in this weather, my window is not open. He went out that way somehow.”
It took a moment, but then she nodded. “I think you’re right.”
“Then how the shit
did
he get in?” Jason thought about fire and empty apartments and open windows with a considerable drop to the ground that might involve broken bones, and muttered, “I think we’re looking for a fucking Houdini.”