“Cole doesn’t write. He’s ashamed of his poor education, and no, he didn’t phone me.” She touched Cruz tentatively on the arm as he stood to leave. “Is he all right, do you think?”
Cruz wouldn’t tell her that if her brother didn’t report in soon, he could be right back in prison. Although the discharge records hadn’t been clear, Cruz had read between the lines and figured Cole had debriefed in prison. That’s why he’d gotten the unusually early release. If Cole was a snitch, he was in serious trouble, whether on the street or back inside.
It looked like Cole had figured that out, too, and was on the run. “I’m sure he’ll get in touch with you soon,” he soothed as he left.
Useless to tell her the truth, much kinder to give her hope.
Chapter 26
On his way back to Placer Hills and the parole office, Cruz got a call from Sheriff Slater. He put the cell on speaker phone. “What’s up, Slater?”
The Sheriff’s voice sounded worn and disgusted. “Another one. We got another body.”
“Jesus Christ. Where? Not Ryder Park again?”
“No, just outside the county line at Battery Hill Park.”
“On Auburn Drive?”
“Yeah, just barely out of Bigler County. Not my jurisdiction, but I have a friend in Sac County. Hell, Chago, from what Clarence said, it sounds like it might be the same perp.”
Cruz didn’t hesitate. “I’ll meet you at the station in thirty.”
The air was chilly, with a hint of frost to come, when Cruz accompanied Slater to the crime scene site. Battery Hill Park was an old, tattered location next to a cemetery and a middle school.
Wondering briefly how that odd combination had happened, Cruz realized the park had been an afterthought, established long after the cemetery’s residents had turned to bone and bits of cloth. What short-sighted city council had then authorized a middle school right next to a graveyard?
The notion gave the crime scene an eerie, ghostly aura, but Cruz shook himself clear of such foolish thoughts as he met up with Slater. Sacramento PD had already cordoned off the area, and Slater hailed a man dressed in a rumpled suit and wearing, of all things, a worn fedora. A cigarette dangled between the fingers of his right hand.
“Clarence, Santiago Cruz. Clarence West is my very old friend from homicide division of SPD.”
“Not so very old,” growled West with a voice like a gravel truck dumping its load. He coughed harshly for a moment and held up his hand to ward off anticipated questions. After he recovered his breath, he asked, “So why do you think this homicide is like yours, Slater?”
The Sheriff shook his head. “You called me, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, well.” West stepped gingerly over the crime scene tape and motioned Cruz and Slater to follow. “CSU’s already finished here and our coroner will release the body in a few.” He nodded toward a heavy-set man in a white lab coat under a heavy parka.
Clarence West hunkered down over a body bag partially unzipped and tugged at the fastening, pulling it down to the woman’s knees. “No ID on her, no plastic bag or backpack to carry her stash. Zilch. She looks homeless, but no one around here could identify her.”
“A woman?” Slater said, registering surprise.
“That’s one difference between our victim and this one.” Cruz noted the ragged clothing, the torn sneakers wrapped with bands of cloth around the sole, the dirt-crusted fingernails. “But, yeah, she was a street person.”
The wounds looked remarkably like those found on Dickey Hinchey’s body, except the face wasn’t disfigured. Below the neck, however, the torso was a wild slash of mayhem – blood and gore extended from the stomach area, and intestines wriggled out from the body cavity like a nest of snakes.
Clarence stared up at Slater. “You think this could be the same doer as did your vic?”
“Maybe. Both homeless. Both bodies savaged. Still ... ”
“Don’t see something like this very often,” Clarence muttered.
Slater lifted both shoulders, pursed his lips in thought, and glanced at Cruz.
“Well, we’ll see,” Clarence answered, rising creakily from thick haunches. “The medical examiner will provide more, I expect. Just wanted to give you a heads up in case the homicides are tied together.”
The two men shook hands. “Keep me informed,” Slater said as he and Cruz stepped back from the body.
“Ditto,” Clarence echoed, his attention already wandering.
The ride back to Placer Hills was long and silent, Slater and Cruz pondering the possibility of coincidence – or something much worse.