“Front page. Bottom right-hand corner. I set it aside for you.”
“Tell me what they said.” She slathered cream cheese on her toasted bagel and took a bite. Her dad read every inch of the daily Pensacola News Journal and could usually repeat almost verbatim the articles he took an interest in.
“Suspicious fishing cooler retrieved by the Coast Guard,” he told her, while tipping little splashes of cream into his coffee like he was rationing it. “It didn’t mention anything about the contents or even suggest foul play or that it had body parts inside.”
Liz almost choked on her bagel.
“Why do you think there were body parts?”
“It’s okay. I won’t say anything to anybody. The little guy, the one who had all the hot dogs and couldn’t hold his liquor—Tommy? He let it slip about the foot. He said there was other stuff, too, so I’m just assuming there might be the rest of a body.”
So much for all their training. Liz knew Wilson and Ellis were green, but this was ridiculous. The entire aircrew could get suspended for something like this.
“You know there was an article in last week’s Journal. Someplace up near Washington, D.C. A possible serial killer. One of those sick bastards who kept pieces of his victim. Maybe this is related.”
“Dad, I can’t talk about it. You know I can’t discuss this.”
“I’m just talking about the news.”
He struggled with a bagel for himself, trying to cut it in half with a bread knife. Liz gently took it from him, twisted it apart, and dropped both halves in the toaster.
“Okay, so tell me what you read about the serial killer.”
CHAPTER 10
NORTH SEVENTEENTH AVENUE UNDERPASS
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA
Billy Redding hit the jackpot. His battered shopping cart rattled with stacked aluminum cans. He crushed as many as he could until his hands were sore. The curse of small hands. In fact, Billy had convinced himself years ago that it had always been his worthless little hands that had prevented him from being successful in life. But maybe his luck was turning. Now with most of the cans crushed and almost flat, he could fit another two dozen into the cart.
Saturday nights always left a jackpot in the Wayside Park trash barrels. The trick, Billy had discovered, was to get here early enough on Sunday to beat the city’s cleanup crew. Cashing in this pile would take care of him for a week.
He headed back to the underpass to hide his stash. The short distance exhausted him. He was out of breath when he heard a car coming from behind him. Billy pushed back onto the curb to get out of the way. The car slowed. Billy kept moving uphill, panting in the morning humidity. His T-shirt stuck to his back like a second skin. He hated that and wore a long-sleeve button-down shirt over it, thinking it would act as a layer of insulation or at least soak up the extra moisture. He didn’t mind being hot. He hated being wet. Bugs would get tangled in his beard whenever it got wet. That’s why he learned to stick close to the underpass. It provided shelter from the rain.
“Hey, Billy,” someone called out to him.
He wanted to pretend he didn’t hear them. He needed to keep going. But sometimes people stopped and gave him a couple of bucks. He glanced over his shoulder.
A police cruiser. Damn!
He stopped immediately. Secured the shopping cart with a rock under one of the back wheels. A big rock he carried strictly for that purpose.
As he got closer to the car Billy recognized the orange-haired cop. Sometimes they told him their names but he never remembered. He was always polite. As long as he was polite, they were polite back. So Billy just kept his head down and answered their questions, said “yes” a lot and called them “sir.” Once he even called a female cop “sir.” He was so embarrassed that he couldn’t stutter out an apology. She ended up giving him five bucks and said not to worry about it.
“There’s a hurricane coming this way, Billy,” the cop told him through the rolled-down window of the cruiser.
“Yes, sir.”
“When the time comes I’ll send someone here to pick you up. You’re going to need to go to a hurricane shelter. Do you understand, Billy? You won’t be able to stay out here.”
“Yes, sir. Will I be able to bring my shopping cart?”
“They’ll have food and everything else you’ll need at the shelter.”
Billy kept his head down and kicked at the curb. “It’s hard to find these.”
The cop was quiet and out of the corner of his eyes Billy could see him shaking his head.
“Sure, Billy. We’ll figure something out. I’ll tell them you can bring your cart.”