Three Times a Murder Read online

  “Probably should have been two.” Charlie nodded.

  “Only one guard?” Jim asked

  “That’s not unheard of,” the captain said.

  “You’re right, it’s not. When the guard is in tactical gear and there’s a second vehicle for backup if he needs it. The news didn’t say anything about a follow car. Was there one?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “Was Fletcher in ankle shackles?”

  “Doc said there wasn’t time. They didn’t even have his hands cuffed together. One hand cuffed to the bed rail. The other hand was free. Ankles free.”

  Jim looked at Davenport. “Sound like protocol to you?”

  “But one hand was cuffed, right?” Chelsea finally spoke up.

  “What?” Charlie asked.

  “He still had one hand cuffed. And even though the guard wasn’t in full tactical gear, he was armed. So you had a trained guard with a gun and an EMT who was fully mobile, as well as a driver who could have swerved all over the place to keep the prisoner off balance. All three of these people against a guy who was cuffed on a gurney. How did Fletcher overcome all of them? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “He had help from the inside,” Charlie said.

  “Had to,” Jim added. “Cops on scene already think so. The prison doctor is my bet. Had means and opportunity.”

  “Motive?” Davenport asked.

  “We’ll find it,” Jim said.

  Chelsea rubbed her forehead. Her temples were throbbing, and her stomach was about to revolt. “But he wasn’t on the bus.”

  “Didn’t have to be. He did his part back at the prison. Had to have given Fletcher whatever he needed for his best chance of getting free.” Jim turned to Charlie. “What do we know about the crime scene?”

  “Cuff on the gurney was either picked or unlocked. EMT was found by the gurney. The guard was found not far from him. Both throats were slit, no hesitation marks.”

  “Like with a scalpel, maybe?” His jaw ticked.

  “I’m not an ME. Would be nice if we could get Nia to do the autopsy, but they’ll never give us jurisdiction on the case. Might be able to get the photos for her to review, though.”

  “I’ll put in a request for them,” Davenport said.

  “What about the driver?” Chelsea asked.

  “He was found on the side of the road.”

  “Also with his throat slit?”

  Charlie shook his head. “No. He was shot.”

  “With the guard’s gun?”

  “They’re running ballistics now, but they don’t think so.”

  “They don’t think so?” she asked. “Are there rounds missing from his gun or not?”

  Jim ran his hand through his hair. “That’s how they know he’s armed and dangerous. He took the guard’s gun with him.”

  Davenport shook his head. “Not necessarily. If it wasn’t the guard’s gun, that means someone else was there. With another weapon. Or Fletcher somehow got on that gurney already armed.”

  “Yeah.” Charlie sighed. “Sorry it’s not better news.”

  A burst of maniacal laughter escaped her. “Better news? What could be better news than the serial killer who abducted and nearly murdered me escaped prison because he had inside help, slaughtered his transport officials, stole the guard’s gun, and is now on the loose? Oh, and no one informed us? And we have no leads? Did I forget anything?”

  “Chelsea?” Jim said. “It’s okay. We stopped him before when we knew a lot less about him. We’ll get him again. And this time, the whole state is after him.”

  “Yeah, Sullivan. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be back in custody before sundown,” Charlie said. “You just wait and see.”

  “Why don’t you take a few days?” Davenport started typing. “We can juggle the schedule.”

  “No. Why is it when things get tough, you guys always try to protect me? Just because I’m a girl — a woman — doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself. I’m a cop, same as all of you.”

  “No offense, Chels,” Jim said, “but you just kind of had a meltdown.”

  “Who’s the one who needed a hug when we came in here? Wasn’t me.”

  He glanced at Charlie, then arched his brow at her. “You didn’t? Could have fooled me.”

  “It’s immaterial. What I need right now is a plan. I need to not be sitting here. I need purpose. Action. I need—”

  “To get to the crime scene,” Davenport said.

  Chelsea looked at him.

  “Both of you. Go. See what you can find that the first-on-scene missed. As far as I’m concerned, the Grimm Reaper was your case, so you’re entitled to be there. Anyone gives you grief for it not being your jurisdiction, have them call me.”

  The way she felt, she almost hoped someone would start something with her and Jim about whether they had the right to be there. She needed to blow off a little steam and had no intention of calling Davenport to back her up.

  “After you, partner,” Jim said.

  But she was already halfway to the door.

  Chapter Three

  It should have taken about thirty minutes to get to the crime scene. Jim made the drive in a little over fifteen.

  Chelsea didn’t say a word the entire time.

  He tried talking to her for the first five minutes. She refused to respond.

  Tried music for the second five. He was torn between classic rock and modern country and decided country might be too depressing. She slapped the “off” button when Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” came on.

  An unfortunate twist of fate, but he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t bother putting on a different playlist.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence.

  The road was closed two miles from their destination, but when he flashed his badge, they were waved through.

  The mobile crime unit technicians were loading their vehicles when they arrived. Jim and Chelsea donned booties and gloves before getting out of his SUV, then they approached.

  A state trooper met them before they reached the yellow tape. He sighed, the weariness evident on his face and the set of his shoulders. Probably had been through this drill a thousand times in the last twelve hours. “Gotta stop you there, folks, and ask you to move along.”

  Jim moved his jacket so the guy could see his shield clipped to his belt. “I’m Detective Jim McPherson of Steel City PD. This is my partner, Detective Chelsea Sullivan. We’re—”

  “Sullivan and McPherson? The Sullivan and McPherson?”

  It was Chelsea’s turn to sigh.

  He let go of the tail of his coat and let it fall closed. “You make us sound like a sideshow act.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that. You’re legends in this state. Probably across the country.” He held out his hand, saw their gloves, then dropped it to his side. “Name’s McCann. Cade. I followed the Grimm Reaper case. And then the Gomorran Society? That task force on human trafficking is doing amazing things. It’s an honor to meet you both. You give cops a good name. We need some positive PR these days, you know?”

  “We just did our jobs. And that’s why we’re here. Fletcher’s out, and we want to put him away, same as before.”

  McCann glanced over his shoulder. “I’m really not supposed to let people contaminate the crime scene. Or even loiter here.”

  “We’re not just ‘people,’ McCann,” Chelsea said.

  Again, he glanced over his shoulder. “I know you’re not. As soon as the crime techs leave, I’ll let you down there.”

  “Appreciate it.” Jim nodded.

  “Can you tell us anything the news hasn’t reported?” she asked.

  “The MCU techs would really be more helpful than I would. I’ve mostly been chasing away gawkers and gapers all night.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it. The scene was grisly. Macabre. The stuff of nightmares. None of us wanted to be here. We’d all like to forget what we saw, but we never will. Yet dozens of civilians sought it out. And that was after we told the public it isn’t safe to go wandering around the countryside right now. Why the hell are people coming here in droves, putting themselves and their loved ones in danger just for a look at something so vile?”

  “You figure out how to stop a person’s fascination with something so sick, and you’ll stop violent crime,” Jim said. “Then you’ll be the one who’s a legend.”

  “And we’ll be out of jobs. Happily, might I add.” Chelsea turned and watched the last crime scene van pull away. “Mind if we go take a look now?”

  McCann held up the tape so they could walk under it. “Just don’t take too long. If the investigators come back, they’ll be pissed. At all of us. But I’m the one who’ll take the heat.”

  “It would be a lot easier if they’d work with us,” Jim said.

  “Did you ask them to share what they had with you?”

  “They weren’t here when we arrived.”

  “They’re good guys. They might be willing to work with you. But not if you sneak around behind their backs.”

  “We’ll just take a quick look,” Chelsea said. “You can give us their names and contact info on our way out.”

  Jim led the way down to where the techs had set up markers before photographing evidence. In some cases, it had been removed for processing. They had no way of knowing what those items were. In other cases, plaster molds had been made. He and Chelsea studied footprints and tire marks near the areas where the casts had been poured. She took pictures, which would have to suffice, but they wouldn’t be as good as what the State Police had.

  “We need to make nice with the investigators on this case if we want to get anything useful,” she said.

  He grunted. Making nice wasn’t something he did often. Or
well.

  “You think that shoe print is Fletcher’s or one of the vic’s?” She pointed to a footprint in the mud. The only one they’d managed to get a clear photo of. All the others had been destroyed by the crime unit walking on them or taking molds of them for evidence.

  “I doubt it’s Fletcher’s. I’m guessing it’s at least a size thirteen. I’m taller than he is, and that print is bigger than mine. People’s feet are usually proportional to their height. Do we know how tall the driver was? He was the only one who made it off the bus.”

  “People’s feet aren’t always proportional to their height. I’m only five foot four, but I wear a size ten.”

  Jim glanced down at her feet. “Holy shit, Sullivan. I never noticed. It’s like you’re walking on skis.”

  “Shut up, Jim. My point is, you can’t make assumptions based on his height.”

  “Well, you dated him.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “My point is, even if you can’t count on his height as an indicator … never mind.” Open mouth, insert foot. Even if it wasn’t a size thirteen, he was choking on it.

  Her cheeks reddened. “Get your mind out of the gutter, McPherson.”

  “I just meant you knew him better than I did.”

  “That’s not what you meant.”

  “You used to love to watch him work. Did he have big hands?”

  “I don’t know, Jim.” The heat left her voice. “I didn’t analyze his hands or his feet or anything else on him. I thought he was smart and kind and charming. The physical stuff wasn’t important. Shame on me. Can we just get back to the evidence, please? Or whatever’s left of it?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” He led her over to the ambulance. “Better check out the bus before they come for it.”

  It had been easy enough to dismiss the dark patches on the ground outside as variations in the soil instead of a pool of blood that had seeped into the earth. But there was no way to ignore the carnage that had happened inside the transport vehicle. Although the bodies had been taken away, the evidence of the murders was still blatantly evident by the crimson splatters on the ceiling, smears on the walls, and puddles on the floor. Spatter patterns were tagged for photos and would be analyzed to determine the angle of the arterial spray, but Jim already had a good idea of what had happened.

  By Chelsea’s wide eyes and pale skin, he suspected she did, too.

  “I think we’ve seen enough in here.”

  She turned and left without a word.

  They walked up to the road, following the path the driver took as he left the asphalt. The crime scene techs had tagged a long stretch of skid marks.

  Jim sighed. “I’d convinced myself he managed all this in a few seconds. Some kind of ninja attack. Now I’m starting to think there was a longer struggle involved. At least as far as the driver was concerned.”

  “The two in the back had to be taken out fast. Otherwise, the guard would have stopped him.”

  “Unless the guard was in on it. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “But he killed the guard,” Chelsea said.

  “You think he’s above a double-cross?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “You’re letting him get in your head.”

  “And you’re not emotionally compromised?”

  “Work with me on this, would you?”

  “Fine.” Chelsea crossed her arms.

  “Yeah. That’s open-minded.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Here’s what I think. Fletcher convinced the doctor he’d give him money or something if he helped him. So he gave him the keys to his cuffs and hid a scalpel somewhere in the gurney. He made sure not to shackle his ankles and only one wrist, then he told the EMTs it was too big an emergency to do it. Because Fletcher was ‘unconscious’ at the time, it wasn’t that big a deal. Or so they were led to believe. If the guard was in on it, too, and I think he was, it made things that much easier for him. When the bus hit this stretch of road — practically deserted, no cameras — Fletcher slit the EMT’s throat, who was caught off guard. Assuming he was quiet enough, the driver would have been unaware. The guard probably helped him by catching the body so it didn’t make noise when it fell. Then Fletcher was free to unlock his cuff, at which point he dispatched the guard, who foolishly thought he was safe.”

  “No one could ever think he was safe around Fletcher.”

  “Relatively safe. Safe enough. Maybe they struggled, but Fletcher managed to kill him. That could be why the driver skidded for so long. There might have been a scuffle in the back. Then when the driver finally stopped, he ran. Fletcher chased him down and killed him, too. He’d have had the guard’s gun by then.”

  “Except they don’t think the driver was killed by the guard’s gun.”

  “The prison doctor could have given Fletcher a gun along with the keys and a scalpel.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “That’s a lot of smuggling.”

  “Well, we know — or think — this happened at an arranged place. Stands to reason there could have been someone else involved in his breakout scheme. They could have been waiting outside with a getaway vehicle. And a gun. If there was another weapon that took out the driver, it’s the most logical way to introduce it into the mix.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Well?”

  “It’s the only theory we’ve got.”

  “But you don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like any of this. Doesn’t mean it isn’t plausible.”

  “So, you agree with me?”

  “I agree it’s a possibility. None of this matters. It’s not like we have any evidence to actually go on. For that matter, it’s not even our case.”

  “Yet we’re here. Davenport sent us. We know Fletcher better than anybody. And if anyone’s going to find him, it’s us.”

  “Yeah, because he’s probably coming for us.”

  “Doesn’t matter why.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes.

  “Come on. McCann’s pacing. We need to get out of here before he loses his shit.”

  “You can’t blame him. He’s sticking his neck out for us. And investigators can be jerks. They could make his life difficult if they come back and find out he let us walk the crime scene without their permission.”

  Jim took the lead on the way back toward their car. “What do you mean, investigators can be difficult? They’re detectives. We’re detectives.”

  “Look in the mirror. I rest my case.”

  “I’m a delight.”

  “You’re something. ‘Delight’ isn’t the word I’d use.”

  “What is?”

  “I told you. Difficult.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that isn’t the word you were thinking?”

  “I don’t use the kinds of words you’re thinking.”

  “Ah. You might not say them, but I bet you think them.”

  Chelsea sighed and picked up her pace. “Trooper McCann.” She pitched her voice a little louder as she closed the distance between them. “Thank you for letting us walk the scene.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” He produced a business card. “The investigators didn’t leave me any of their cards, so this is mine. But I wrote their names and numbers on the back.”

  She removed her gloves, pocketed them, then shook his hand. “Much appreciated.” Chelsea took the card then looked at the names on the back. “Danny Sherick’s on this case?”

  “Who?” Jim asked.

  “Yeah,” McCann said. “You know him?”

  Chelsea smiled. “We’ve met. Anyway, thanks.”

  On the way to the car, Jim nudged her. “So, who’s Danny Sherick?”

  “We were in the academy together. He, Rob Morrison, and Neil—”

  “Rafferty?”

  “Yeah. They kept me sane. They said I was too serious and made sure I laughed at least once a day. Usually at their antics. Sometimes at myself.”

  “You are too serious.”

  “We work with criminals. There’s not much to laugh at.” She climbed into the car.

  He folded himself into the driver’s seat. “Think you can use your charm and convince him to work with us on this one?”

  “I’ll talk to him. But I can’t make any promises. He’s agreeable, but like I said” — she tapped the rearview mirror — “detectives can be jerks. We don’t know anything about his partner, and he might not be the sharing type.”