world, one of us will learn something that turned her into a victim. At the least, we can get a cheek scrape from her mom or her kid, match it to the bones. Not that I’m expecting Jane One to be anyone other than her.”
“What about Big Laura?”
“I’ll see what the moniker pulls up. In terms of Jane Three, she’s probably been dead the longest and memories on the street are short. But maybe an older white woman will stand out in someone’s mind.”
“If she’s from the area, we could have a bad guy concentrating geographically for a while,” said Reed. “Then he wants a new level of thrill and shifts from pros to Selena. Her apartment’s not that far from the airport. Or the marsh, for that matter.”
I said, “Psychosocially, Selena’s a big leap from the others. There could be transitional victims.”
“Such as?” said Milo.
“Nonprostitutes perceived as lower class.”
“Working his way up the social ladder.”
Reed said, “The dog didn’t find anything else in the marsh, but the K-9 search was limited to the east bank.”
“Cheerful thought,” said Milo. “With a normal dump we could get warrants, no problem, bring in the backhoe. Instead, we’re stuck with hallowed ground.”
I said, “Maybe the killer sees it that way, too.”
As Milo extracted a cigarillo from his pocket, Reed’s pale eyebrows rose. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ll keep your air clean… in terms of going through the hassle of getting permission to dig up other areas of the marsh, let’s clear up the bodies we already have first. Time to hit the streets.”
As we headed for the door, Moe Reed said, “Too bad Duchesne didn’t recognize Huck.”
“Idiot claims he never sees the johns unless there’s a problem, and I believe him,” said Milo. “He wasn’t much use to Big Laura when she did get into trouble with that skinhead. Some business model.”
“Bald man with a scalpel,” said Reed. “You’d need more than that to cut off a hand, right, Doctor?”
I said, “Wrong kind of doctor, but yes. A limb saw would work fine.”
“Any kind of saw, sharp enough,” said Milo. “Goddamn Chinese cleaver would do it if he’s strong and coordinated.”
Reed said, “Maybe we’re talking about someone with medical training.”
“Twenty years ago,” said Milo, “I’d be looking that way. Nowadays, the Internet, anyone can get anything anytime.”
“Freedom,” said Reed.
“Nothing else worth living for, kiddo, but it’s a tricky concept.” Unwrapping the cigar, he jammed it into the side of his mouth. “Gonna light up, kid. Fair warning.”
We walked Reed outside, crossed the street to the staff lot. His drive was a shiny black Camaro.
Milo said, “That’s no clunker.”
“Pardon?”
“What your brother said.”
“He thinks he knows everything,” said Reed. He got in, revved loud, drove off, tires squealing.
CHAPTER 13
Milo and I walked south on Butler Avenue. The cold glare of government architecture gave way to postwar bungalows and apartment buildings and the sky grew bluer, as if in sympathy.
He said, “Any new thoughts about Huck? Or anything else?”
“Now we’ve got two bald-guy sightings-the date Luz Ramos saw with Selena, along with Mr. Scalpel-so I like him a whole lot better. But at this point, short of watching him, I don’t see what you can do.”
“Too early to invite him for a chat?” he said.
“With crimes this calculated, he’s likely to lawyer up. I’d want ammunition before I shoot.”
Half a block later, he said: “That Camaro that Reed just peeled out in was either borrowed or a rental. AutoTrack says his drive of record is indeed a clunker. ’Seventy-nine Dodge Colt hatchback, bought used ten years ago. Before that, he sported around in a ’73 Datsun wagon.”
“Doing deep background on the staff?” I said.
“Perish the thought.” Since the arrest of a corrupt private eye and several cops for trafficking in official data, the rules forbade traces on anyone but suspects.
I said, “What got you curious about Reed’s wheels?”
“It seemed to be an issue between him and Fox.”
“One of many.”
“Exactly. Last thing I need is personal drama impinging on the investigation.” Small smile. “Such as it is.”
“What does Fox drive?”
“Brand-new Porsche C4S.”
“Tortoise and hare,” I said.
He lit up, blew smoke rings at the heavens. Aiming for casual but cherries in his jaw said he was faking.
I said, “Fox and Reed bother you.”
“I asked around. Fox’s dad was a Southwest patrolman named Darius Fox, murdered on the job thirty years ago. Before my time but I know the case. Everyone knows it because it’s used during training. As in What Can Go Wrong.”
I said, “Domestic call or traffic stop?”
He removed the cigar. “You read tea leaves, too?”
“Just playing the odds.”
“Routine early-morning stop, Caddy with a broken taillight, Thirty-seventh just west of Hoover. Car came up stolen, but not before Darius and his partner made a bonehead goof. Instead of running the tags first, the partner did it while Darius went over to check out the driver. We’re talking way before MDTs, everything was called in over the radio, records weren’t computerized, it could take time. All the more reason to be careful.”
“Rookies?” I said.
“On the contrary, Darius had eight years, the partner six, nearly all of it worked with Fox. Maybe that was part of it-comfortable marriage, taking too much for granted. It was close to shift’s end, maybe they were eager to sign out, got sloppy. Whatever the reason, Darius walks up to the Caddy, raps the window, down it comes, a gun sticks out and…” Cupping his hands, he clapped three times.
The noise assaulted the afternoon. An old woman tending her flowers looked over. Milo ’s grin caused her to grip her pruning shears as we walked on.
“Direct hit, point-blank,” he said. “Darius left a widow and a tyke. Aaron was three. The partner called in the Officer Down, got behind his door, started shooting. He managed to score a hit on the Caddy’s rear but couldn’t prevent it from driving off. He ran over to help Darius but Darius was gone before he hit the ground. Big citywide sweep for the car, everyone checking out hospitals, doctors, on the off chance the partner wounded someone. Nada, and two weeks later the Caddy shows up in a junkyard near the Wilmington docks. Windows busted out, seats ripped, bumpers removed, no prints, no nothing. Darius got a bagpipe funeral and the partner got investigated, reprimanded, and demoted. Soon after, he quit the force. What I hear is he worked construction for a while, got injured, lived off disability for five more years then died of liver disease.”
“Driven to drink?”
“Or maybe he had a problem before, don’t know, Alex.” Inhaling deeply, he burned through half an inch of cigar. “Seven months after Darius Fox’s funeral, partner marries the widow in Vegas. Two months after that, she gives birth to a kid.”
He dropped the cigar, ground it into the sidewalk. Picked it up and carried it at his side. “Figure out the punch line, Dr. Wizard?”
“Partner was Moe Reed’s daddy.”
“Guy named John ‘Jack’ Reed. People do say he tried hard to be a good father to both boys.”
