“Hold up, Nick. Something you need to see before we’re in mixed company,” Miguel said, hanging back in the hall. Rixey let the door fall shut as his friend popped open his case. “After you left, I made some calls from Becca’s office while I waited for the locksmith. I found this partly buried under a pile of papers and files that had toppled over on the desk.” He handed Nick a brown paper bag.
Frowning, Nick opened it and peered in. He pulled out the first item, a black-handled military knife with a nasty curved blade in a plastic bag. The second plastic bag was lighter, smaller. Nick lifted it out. “What the everliving fuck? Is this a finger?” His hackles raised so high they were barely attached to his body.
“Yeah. Pinkie, judging by the size. Nail’s been torn off. Cut was nowhere near clean. When I saw it . . .” Miguel shook his head. “Times like that I wish I’d never given up the cigs.”
“This was on Becca’s desk?”
The older man nodded, concern etching into the lines on his face. “Knife had it pinned to the surface. Think maybe the papers fell over later, because this was meant to be seen.”
Rixey stared at the severed finger. Jesus. Didn’t take two guesses to surmise who it likely belonged to. And if he was right, it answered the question of whether Charlie had been kidnapped or gone on the run. Ice ran down his spine. How the hell was he going to tell Becca? “Was there a note or a ransom demand?”
“Nothing.” Miguel snapped his case closed.
“What’s the fucking message, then?” Just general threatening menace? Together with the level of destruction at her house, it all seemed aimed at terrorizing. If Charlie had found information related to Merritt’s extracurriculars, maybe it all meant his captors were frustrated they couldn’t get the intel out of him? Or maybe this was meant as a diversion from their efforts to capture Becca, too? Damn, and was it coincidence that the blade was military grade?
“Good question. And I’ve got more intel, too.”
Rixey blew out a long breath. “Come on in. I invited a few of my Army buddies over in case we needed more boots on the ground on this, which seems pretty frickin’ obvious now. They should hear whatever you have to say.”
Miguel nodded and followed him in. “Oh, here’s the new keys to your girl’s house.” Rixey mentally refuted the words your girl as he pocketed the ring of three keys.
As soon as he learned what other shit was raining down on them, he’d have to let Becca know what’d happened. But how the hell was he going to tell her the fuckers who destroyed her house and tried to kidnap her had—assuming all three incidents were connected—also dismembered her brother? Especially when he couldn’t say what the calling card was supposed to mean. Was Charlie dead? The attempted abduction could play either way—either they’d killed Charlie and needed Becca for . . . something, or Charlie wouldn’t talk and they wanted leverage. Both soured Rixey’s gut.
His teammates all turned to see who Rixey was bringing into the fold. He and Miguel stepped up to the bar. “This is Miguel Olivero. Ex-BPD. Now a private investigator. He’s a good friend and trustworthy.” The guys nodded to the older man. “Miguel was helping me at Becca’s today when we found it’d been tossed. After I left to get her, he found this stabbed into her desk.” He settled the bagged knife and finger onto the counter in front of him.
Sitting closest, Beckett lifted the smaller bag to examine it.
“Well, fuck me running,” Shane said. “Her brother’s?”
“Presumed,” Nick said. “He’s the only one that makes sense, anyway. I’ll have to see if Becca can ID it.” Man, he’d do anything to keep her from having to see this, from having to bear the weight of it. “Apparently, this isn’t all Miguel learned today.” He turned to his friend and nodded.
Miguel braced his hands on the counter. “You guys don’t know me from Jack, but I used to be a Baltimore City cop. Still got friends on the force. Sticks in my craw to say it, but something’s way off with how this case is being handled. No reports have been filed, despite three separate incidents and dispatches. Did crime scene techs come to Becca’s after the first break-in?” Nick nodded. “Well, no evidence in the system, either. My contact couldn’t even find who the lead investigators were for any of it. On a hunch, I had a dispatcher friend run Becca’s phone numbers against the nine-one-one logs.”
The arrow on Nick’s oh-shit-ometer pushed hard into the red.
“There’s no record of her ever calling nine-one-one from either her house or cell phone numbers.”
“Sonofabitch,” Rixey bit out, the blood heating in his veins. “I know she called nine-one-one after the first break-in, because police and ambulance responded to the call.”
“I’m not questioning you or her.”