sim cards the criminalists found at King’s house?’
Scott nodded.
‘Tech Support’s pulled the numbers off them to cross-check against those suspect numbers on our missing prostitutes’ call records.’
‘He called the vics,’ Scott deduced.
‘Nope.’ Eric glanced at him. ‘He called our old boss Franks.’
‘
Eric pulled on his arm to get him into an elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. ‘One of the sims shows a call to our anonymous tip line and two show a call each to Franks.’
‘Direct to Franks?’
Eric nodded. ‘They date to after you started the media campaign for information on the van. Each call is about six months apart. We don’t know the content yet but Franks is going to have to give up his own phone log. My bet is that King was the anonymous tipster Turner referred to when he quizzed me in LA – the guy whose tips Franks was relying on to crucify you and get us transferred out of here.’
Scott felt anger and vindication in equal measure.
Eric looked at him. ‘King was playing him like a violin, man.’
They left the elevator and walked out to the Crown Victoria Scott had left parked in an area for emergency vehicles. ‘You think Franks will go down for this?’
‘If he doesn’t go down, he’ll at least go sideways. It’ll be up to OPR. They’ll decide how much more Franks should have done to verify the information in the tips before he used it to make operational decisions. You want me to drive?’
Scott hesitated at the car door and looked back at the hospital, where only every third light or so was still on at this late hour. He tried to work out which one was Jayne’s room and then realized he didn’t even know which side of the building it was on.
Scott turned back to his partner. ‘Who’s on King’s door?’
‘We’ve got two guys on loan from Atlanta PD.’
‘Do they know he’s dangerous?’
‘Houston, he’s concussed.
‘Do they know he’s dange—’
‘They came personally recommended by Angie.’
‘OK, then.’ Scott threw his partner the keys over the roof of the car. ‘You should have said that first.’
When Scott woke in the hotel room to the sound of his cell phone ringing next to him, he felt like he’d just gone to sleep. He saw it was Eric calling and answered in the dark.
Eric didn’t bother with preliminaries. ‘King’s awake and talking.’
Scott sat up. ‘Who to?’
‘Whoever’ll listen. But he’s made it clear that he refuses to talk to someone he calls “Special Adversary Houston”. That would be you.’
‘Oh, I’ll get him to talk to me.’
‘No, I think we need to use this, Scott. Keep you out of there, to start with.’
‘I don’t think I can do that, Eric. I need to get this guy.’
‘He’s more likely to confess if he thinks he’s getting us to jump through hoops at the start. We can show him our good faith.’
‘This is bullshit.’
‘This is tactics,’ countered Eric.
Scott lay back down and thought for a moment, stretching his mouth and running a hand through his hair. ‘OK, but we review how you’re going to do it. You’ve gotta start with Patterson because we’ve got an evidentiary link with her personal effects at his house and then you want to get corroboration with Spicer’s evidence, so we can nail King with the biological traces from the van . . . sorry.’ He sighed. ‘You know what to do. Who are you going in with?’
‘We’ll start with Angie, see if he wants to boast in front of a woman. If that throws things, we’ll switch in Mark.’
‘OK. They both know the case.’ Scott paused. ‘I want ears in the room.’
‘You’ll get ’em. You can be next door, down the hall, whatever you want.’
‘Fine.’ Scott tried to switch into support mode. ‘What else are you going to need?’
‘Well, if he doesn’t confess straight off, I need whatever we can get from his property that rules out someone else using his backyard as an abattoir. But I think we’ll get a confession. If he’ll spill it to Jayne—’
‘Wait, what?’
‘Angie interviewed her.’
‘When?’ Scott strained his neck to see the clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s the middle of the night, for Christ’s sake! Are you at the hospital? Have you talked to her?’
‘Scott, I’m right here at the hotel. I can practically hear you shouting from down the hall, in fact. No, Angie talked to her while you were at HQ.’
‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’
‘We were just doing the routine. Jayne was lucid, so gave her evidence.’
Scott recollected Angie’s comment that Jayne was tougher than she looked. So Angie would have already heard Jayne’s account of whatever King did to her in that bathroom. Scott felt he was being left out of his own investigation but knew that wasn’t happening.
Eric began again. ‘So . . . if you can liaise with the ME’s office on the ID’s of whatever body parts are coming out of King’s yard and take over my link to the criminalists?’
Scott exhaled. ‘You got it.’
‘I’ll drop you at HQ. See you at oh-eight-hundred out front?’
‘Done.’
Scott hung up and let the phone rest on his chest as he lay in the dark, listening to the climate-controlled air conditioner kicking on. He hated sleeping in air-conditioning and had never become used to it even when he had lived in Atlanta. Now here he was, sleeping in it again, dealing with the same case, and he wasn’t even going to get to interrogate their suspect. He felt immensely irritated. He put the phone on the bedside table and lay on his back, drawing in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, willing a few more hours of sleep.
DAY ELEVEN
FRIDAY
THIRTY-THREE
Scott pulled into the hospital parking lot at 11.30 a.m. He’d finished his morning punch-list and was supposed to be on his way to the room neighboring King’s, where Eric had set up a station for Scott to hear the interview. But he was taking a detour to see Jayne. He turned into her room and almost collided with a cart of cleaning supplies. The bed was empty, didn’t even have bedding. He went back to the desk he’d sailed past a moment ago when ignoring staff who had asked if he needed assistance. He got the attention of one of the nurses.
‘I’m looking for Jayne Hall. She was in eight-thirteen. Just admitted yesterday.’
The nurse consulted a sheet of paper taped to the wall. ‘Eight-thirteen was discharged.’
‘When?’
The nurse looked at the sheet again. ‘Nine thirty this morning.’
‘But I . . . who authorized that?’
The nurse answered slowly. ‘Doctor Reid, the attending. Is there a problem?’
Scott told himself not to shoot the messenger, so shook his head and set off toward Steelie’s room. It was also empty. He backtracked to the elevator and ascended to the police-protected area where King was being held. He showed his badge to the Atlanta PD officer in the hall, who directed him to the room with the listening station.
Scott found Mark already inside, sitting at a table and wearing a headset that was plugged into an audio
