people’s hands. Unscrupulous hands.”
Scheer shifted in his seat. “Well, I-I don’t want anything bad to happen, but I’ve got a job to do, and my job is to find credible information on a case and report on it. And since you’re here, I’ve obviously found credible information.”
“We’ve all got jobs to do,” Vail said. “And my job is to make sure more elderly women and men don’t get killed. Tortured. Raped. And sodomized.”
“I understand. But-”
“Is that your parents?” Vail asked. She pointed to the photo.
Scheer did not turn around. His face hardened. “Get to the point.”
“They’re around the age of the couples who’ve been murdered. Would you like to walk into a crime scene tomorrow and find your mother tortured, raped, and sodomized? As you were so apt to point out in your article, the killer uses an umbrella, and he shoves it up the woman’s rectum. Very hard. He tears her up inside. I don’t think I have to tell you it’s a very, very unpleasant death.”
Scheer’s eyes narrowed. His jaw jutted out. “Is this about Friedberg? Is that why you’re hassling me? Why didn’t he come here himself?”
“You’re not getting it,” Vail said. “This isn’t about Friedberg. It’s about the old woman who was brutalized and killed because of you.”
He rose from his chair. “We’re done here.”
Vail and Dixon did not move. “I don’t think so,” Vail said. “We know about your…personal problems. And we know you’ve somehow managed to keep them under the radar. Maybe you’ve got friends where it counts. But, see, we do, too. And all it takes is one phone call.”
Scheer’s face reddened. “Go to hell,” he said, then walked away at a brisk pace.
Vail sat back in her chair. “Well, that didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. Definitely not as planned.”
“Definitely not.”
Vail watched him yank open the stairwell door, and then disappear inside. She eyed his desk, the papers strewn across it. The files likely contained information that could be material to their case. But she swiveled her seat away from Scheer’s workspace. I’ve crossed the line too many times the past few months. I’ll get the info some other way. Somehow.
Dixon rose from her chair. “Just a guess. But I don’t think he’s coming back until we leave.”
Vail stood up as well, then pretended to notice Dixon’s outfit for the first time. “Jesus, Roxx. You don’t look very professional. Put your jacket on, will you?”
VAIL AND DIXON WALKED BACK to their car in silence, until they exited the building. Then Vail asked, “What do you think?”
“Not to be Captain Obvious, but he’s protecting his sources.”
“But what source could it be? Remember when we were looking at the wine cave murder a few months ago? I kept saying it was all about access. Who had access to the cave? Let’s approach this the same way. Who had access to the information found in Scheer’s article?”
“You, Burden, and Friedberg. The people who handle the files-the file room clerk and the guys at evidence storage. The crime lab. The ME. Potentially other inspectors. The lieutenant.”
“And the killer,” Vail said.
“And the killer.” Dixon chirped her car remote and the doors unlocked. They stood outside it. Dixon reached into the backseat and grabbed her jacket, shoved her arms through the sleeves.
“So…what do we do, start questioning all the people involved in this case?”
Vail thought a moment. “Who would have a reason to disclose the information?”
“Unless it’s something obvious, figuring that out could take a long time.”
“True,” Vail said. “Then how about a shortcut? Let’s look at the phone LUDs and see who’s been talking with Stephen Scheer.”
“If you can make that happen, it’d definitely save us some time.”
Vail pulled open the car door. “If they used their work phones, or department-issued cells, not a problem. If they use their personal cells for work, too, then that makes our job easier. We get everything at once. I’ll send Burden a text, let him know we struck out and see what we can get.”
She sat down, and as she hit Send, her phone buzzed. A text stared back at her. “Gotta be kidding me.”
“What?”
Vail let her head fall back against the seat. “Another vic.”
MacNally walked into his cell. The two men watched him but did not speak. The one on the top bunk was fat-large and bald, ink-blurred tattoos that appeared to be homemade adorning his neck and shoulders. A red and black bandana was wrapped around his thick head.
The man on the bottom bed was just as massive, but his bulk was the result of weight lifting in the rec yard. Body art also covered his upper torso, which was bare and sweat- moist.
MacNally cleared his throat. “How are you guys doing?”
“What’re you in for?” the obese man asked.
MacNally tossed his materials on the bed. “Armed robbery. You?”
“Armed robbery, double murder. Rape. You got a name?”
Double murder and rape. Shit. But what did he expect? This was one of the toughest maximum security penitentiaries. Did he think these inmates were going to be upstanding citizens? “MacNally. Guys call me Mac.”
“MacNally. Like the road maps?” The two men laughed.
MacNally laughed along with them. “Rand McNally’s Irish, like me. But he spells it differently.”
“I’m Carl Wharton,” the obese man said. “He’s Kurt Gormack.”
MacNally sat down on his bunk. “What about you, Kurt? What are you in for?”
“Lots a things, I guess. Take your pick.”
