She pushed the door open and walked out onto the porch. The air was cool now that the sun was down. Cool enough for a long-sleeved shirt. She hugged herself, staring at the moon sailing above the cut-out hills.
Closing her eyes, she willed the air to stir behind her, to hear his step, to smell Max’s cologne as he put his hands on her arms and put his face against her neck.
But Max was far away. In a galaxy far away, a place completely foreign to her.
A dog barked. Tess shook off the feeling of Max standing beside her, the phantom closeness that made her melt inside.
Steve Barkman figured into this somehow. Either he was taunting her about his knowledge of her case, or he was trying to pump her for information.
She brought out her laptop, and under the yellow stain of the porch light she searched for the website of the
It was a very short piece, not even an article. More like a paragraph, and it read like a follow-up to an earlier story, probably from the previous day.
No mention of multiple gunshots.
Yet Barkman was sure Hanley had sustained massive firepower.
Why?
Maybe somebody with Pima County Sheriff’s Office told him. She could picture someone he worked with saying that the man found in Credo was shot up badly.
She stared at the hill across the way.
“Why is it so important to you?” she said to the invisible Steve Barkman. But the only ones who heard her were the stray cat and the crickets and the dark.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning, Danny pulled into the parking lot the same time as Tess did.
“Autopsy results,” he called out. “Including photos!” He waggled a thumb drive.
Inside, they went over the report and the photos.
The photos were gruesome.
Tess had taken many photos of George Hanley at the scene. He was only recognizable as a human being by his legs, arms, and the shape of his head.
“Look at this.” Danny opened up one of the autopsy photos—George Hanley, naked on the autopsy table, his wounds cleaned up and looking as if he’d been attacked by dark red leeches. But this photo focused on Hanley’s lap.
Tess had looked at and photographed the body. She’d marked evidence, but hadn’t touched him. There was always a risk that her own clothing lint, her own skin or hair follicles, her own DNA, could end up on the victim, especially one as torn up as this one was.
Tess could see exactly what Hanley looked like on the floor of the cabin. She could see the crime scene techs as they took Hanley away, could run it on a reel in her mind. They almost had to scrape him off the floor of the cabin to get him into the body bag. He was a blood-soaked bag of grain. The cloth of his knit polo shirt and chinos had been enmeshed in his flesh.
So Tess had not seen then what she saw now.
His genitals were fully intact.
“That’s right,” Danny said. “He’s still got his balls. And here’s Exhibit B.” Another photo of Hanley’s mouth. “They didn’t stuff them in his mouth.”
Tess hadn’t stripped away the duct tape. There was no way she could do that at the scene. But she had wondered…
She’d wondered, as she knew Danny had wondered, if anything had been jammed down Hanley’s throat, his lips sealed by the tape after the fact.
That didn’t happen.
Both Tess and Danny knew what this meant.
When it came to looking like a drug-related or cartel killing, Hanley’s death had walked like a duck. It had walked like a duck, and talked like a duck.
But it wasn’t a duck.
“Somebody didn’t do his homework,” Danny said. “They sure didn’t know about the latest fashion accessory. You gotta wonder who would work so hard to make it look that way.”
The focus on the case had changed. It was quite possible that whoever killed George Hanley had tried to make it look like a drug-related hit.
Tess and Danny attended George Hanley’s funeral.
They went to pay their respects to a fallen cop—no matter how long he’d been out of the job he would always be one of them—but also to see who might show up.
The funeral was held at the Lois Maderas Memorial Park outside Nogales. The only people who attended were George Hanley’s daughter Pat; her husband, Bert; and a handful of people Tess put in two categories: a couple of Hanley’s neighbors at the apartment he’d been staying in, and a sprinkling of well-off people in middle age. Judging from the bumper stickers on their big SUVs, Tess pegged them as environmentally conscious members of SABEL. Jaimie Wolfe did not attend.
Tess and Danny kept an eye out for anything unusual, and chatted up the SABEL people and neighbors when they could. But they could only do so much. They had to keep it respectful—this was not the time to grill anyone. Mostly, they were here to watch and learn.
And to document with photos of the mourners—both Danny and Tess were adept at taking photos with their cell phones without their subjects being the wiser.
Before the service began, Tess walked to the main building under the pretext of using the restroom, and from there she watched the mourners.
Sometimes killers attended funerals. It was always wise for a detective to attend the funeral of the victim if he could. Some killers were loved ones—domestics were common as dirt. The bad guy came because he (or she) had to show up as part of the family. Sometimes, they came out of guilt. There were also instances where killers came to see their handiwork—what they had wrought.
They came to gloat.
But Tess saw no unusual behavior.
It looked mostly like people attended because they either wanted to pay their respects, or they felt they had to.
She walked back to the graveside.
Pat Scofield looked as if someone had taken a baseball bat to her—stunned. Her face and eyes were red from crying. She wore thick hose with a chunky-looking dress that was years out of date. Her husband was turned out surprisingly well in a bespoke suit.
“The odd couple,” Danny whispered, nodding at Pat and Bert. “Think I’ll go for a walk up on that hill.”
His turn to watch the mourners.
After the funeral, Tess asked Danny if he’d like to go with her to check out Jaimie Wolfe. Tess still hadn’t gotten the list of SABEL members. She’d called Jaimie twice and left messages.
“Sure,” Danny said. “I got some things I have to do—some cleanup on Roscoe, but later this afternoon, I’m available.”
Roscoe was a sad story—a woman had neglected and starved her little son to death. Tess knew the case haunted Danny, what with his own firstborn coming soon.
They split up after agreeing to drive out to visit Jaimie at the end of their shift.
