in a silent, never-ending scream. I stared at the face for what felt like an eternity, then tore the plastic away with my fingers.
Piper Stone stared up at me, her lifeless eyes wide open. Her skin was cold to the touch, and she wore a necklace of ugly purple bruises. Her killer had broken her neck, then folded her up like a bundle of sticks, and tossed her away. Tears burned my eyes. I had only met Stone for an hour, but she had impressed me as one of the good guys. It made her death that much more painful, and I hopped off the milk crate.
“What did you find?” Vorbe asked.
“A body,” I said.
Vorbe grabbed the milk crate I’d been standing on, and turned it into a seat. Falling onto it, he emitted an unearthly moan.
“I cannot believe this is happening again!” he declared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I stepped into the building’s shade and called the mayor’s office on my cell phone. A secretary answered in a hushed voice. In the background, I could hear the mayor yelling at the top of his lungs.
“I need to speak with Detective Burrell,” I said.
“Detective Burrell is in a meeting with the mayor and cannot be disturbed,” the secretary said.
“Tell her it’s Jack Carpenter, and it’s urgent. I’ll hold.”
Vorbe came out of the building with a white towel draped over his arm. I watched him climb onto the milk crate and cover Stone’s face with the towel. The secretary came back on the line. “Detective Burrell says she’ll call you back.”
“I must speak with her,” I said.
“She’s with the mayor,” the secretary whispered.
Back when I’d run Missing Persons, I’d come up with code words and expressions that had allowed the detectives in my unit to communicate with each other without anyone else being the wiser. I said, “I need for you to give Detective Burrell another message.”
“Sir, I can’t.”
“Write this down. Elvis has left the building. She’ll know what it means.”
“But-”
“Just do it.”
The secretary put me on hold. Thirty seconds later, Burrell came on the line. “Jack, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re going to get me fired.”
“Are you still with the mayor?” I asked.
“He’s taking a leak. What do you want?”
“I just found Abb Grimes’s defense attorney in the Dumpster where Abb put his victims. Her neck’s broken.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Does anyone else know about this?” Burrell asked.
“You’re the first person I called.”
“Give me directions to the grocery.”
I had smoked on and off when I was a cop. It was the only thing that I’d found that calmed me down after finding a corpse. I was puffing on my second cigarette when Burrell’s Mustang pulled up behind the grocery with a bubble flashing on its dashboard.
Burrell jumped out. I introduced her to Vorbe and escorted her to the Dumpster where I’d made the grisly discovery. Without a word, Burrell climbed onto the milk crate and looked inside.
“What’s her name?” Burrell asked.
“Piper Stone,” I said. “She’s an attorney at Crippen and Howe and was representing Abb Grimes. She told her boss this morning that she’d found information in the transcript of Abb’s trial that indicated evidence had been destroyed. She went to Memorial Hospital and spoke with Ron Cheeks, then drove to LeAnn Grimes’s place, and met with Jed Grimes. Not long after that, someone who looked like Jed was spotted by the Dumpsters by a store employee, and the manager called the police.”
“Are you sure that’s the right chronology?”
“Yes. It’s all been confirmed.”
Burrell climbed off the milk crate and dusted off her palms. “And then you met with Jed Grimes, and he ran away.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“So, do you still feel Jed is innocent?”
I heard the accusation in her voice. Burrell thought I’d screwed up, and had let a killer get away. Still, my gut was telling me that someone else had done this. And until I had cold hard proof that showed me otherwise, I was sticking with my gut.
“Yes,” I said. “I still think Jed’s innocent.”
Burrell called for backup on her cell. In what seemed like a few minutes but was probably longer, the grounds were swarming with dozens of uniformed cops and EMS. Burrell had the uniforms go to the front of the store, and seal off the property. It was a smart move, for it kept the media at bay, and let the police do their job without interference.
I stood next to the loading dock with my dog. A pair of medics lifted the garbage bag containing Stone out of the Dumpster and laid it on the ground. They cut the bag away, and lifted Stone’s body onto a gurney, and wheeled her into the back of an ambulance. Stone was not wearing any clothes, and it occurred to me that she’d died almost identically to how Abb Grimes’s victims had died. Twelve years had passed, yet it was like nothing had changed.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around. A homicide detective named Chuck Cobb stood behind me. A lot of people used to think Cobb and I were brothers. Cobb was tall and had a dark complexion, swam competitively in his youth, and had a smart mouth. Personally, I didn’t see the resemblance.
“Ready to get grilled?” Cobb asked.
“Sure,” I said.
Cobb led me inside the supermarket to a windowless room half-filled with boxes. I sat in a chair with Buster at my feet, while Cobb leaned against a wall and faced me. Flipping open his notebook, Cobb had me recount the events that led to my finding Stone’s body while carefully writing down my answers. It took a half hour.
Cobb then put away his notebook and turned on a camcorder. He repeated his questions, but this time taped my answers. Later, this tape would be compared to my written answers, in an effort to see if I was lying, or had unknowingly changed any facts about the case. This process took another half hour, and was draining.
Cobb shut off the camera. “All done. Anything else you can think of?”
“I think that’s about it,” I said.
“Next!” Cobb called out.
Vorbe came into the room, and took my chair. The morning’s events had done a number on him, and he was visibly upset. If I’d learned anything as a cop, it was that murder left a stain that never went away.
“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” I told him.
“Thank you,” Vorbe replied.
I went outside and stood on the loading dock. The area around the Dumpsters was a mob scene, with a small army of crime scene investigators scouring the grounds for evidence, which included removing every garbage bag from the Dumpster in which Stone had been found, and spreading its contents on the ground. I saw Burrell talking to an investigator, and tried to get her attention. To my surprise, she turned her back on me.
“Excuse me, are you Jack Carpenter?” I heard a voice ask.
I turned to see a man climbing up the loading dock stairs. He was about six feet and well built, with silver hair offset by piercing blue eyes. Despite the heat, he wore a black leather jacket zipped to his neck, and his clothes
