“In the financials, I got it,” Nash interrupted. “Feds, Hosman, financials—I’m all over it.”
“Porter? Can I speak to you for a second?” Captain Henry Dalton was standing in the doorway. Nobody had seen him come in. His thinning hair was slicked back, still damp from a shower, his suit clean and pressed.
Porter gave Nash and Watson a quick glance. “Excuse me.”
The captain put a hand on his shoulder and steered him out into the hallway. He glanced in both directions, then spoke quietly after confirming that they were alone. “Listen, the guys down at the Fifty-First picked up a kid last night on an attempted burglary. He tried to hold up a 7-Eleven on the East Side with a .38. An off-duty uniform happened to be in the store and got the better of him, took him down without a single shot fired. They processed the gun, and it’s a match to the one from, well . . . the gun from Heather.”
Porter’s stomach twisted into an ache so powerful he thought he might double over. He drew in a deep breath and tried to fight it back. He felt the weight of his own gun under his shoulder, the gun he wasn’t supposed to be carrying right now. Technically, he was still on leave. They wouldn’t allow him a gun until he completed an evaluation and the shrink signed off, until they thought he was ready. If the 4MK case hadn’t broken, he’d still be home, waiting for news, any news, something to help carry him through the day. But the case had broken and they’d called him in. He had welcomed the distraction, anything was better than all the waiting, all the waiting and the solitude.
He slipped his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his cell phone. He wanted to call her. He wanted to hear her voice.
You’ve reached the phone of Heather Porter. Since this is voice mail, I most likely saw your name on caller ID and decided I most certainly did not wish to . . .
“I need to go down there,” Porter said. His voice sounded like a little boy’s. The voice he’d had when he was a child, the voice he’d had when there was no bad, only life and good things ahead.
“I know,” said Captain Dalton. “I already told them to expect you.”
A tear welled up in Porter’s eye, and he quickly snatched it away before shoving his shaky hand back into his pocket.
Dalton had noticed and offered a concerned smile. “Maybe someone should drive you.”
Porter opened his mouth to argue with him, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to pull Nash or Clair off the case, not now.
“I’ll get Watson to take me over.”
Captain Dalton glanced into the room and nodded. “They got him dead to rights on the attempted burglary last night, but nobody’s told the perp they matched the gun. I explained your situation, and they agreed to hold off until you got there to observe. I promised that is all you’re going to do: observe. Stay on the right side of the one-way and let them do their job. They’ll get a confession out of this kid.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dalton put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, I truly am.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dalton pulled in a breath, nodded, and started for the door of the war room. “Nash! Where the fuck is your latest report? I got a dozen reporters camped outside my office. I gotta feed those dogs some scraps.”
Nash shrugged his shoulders. “You told us to go home and rest—no time for paperwork. You’re welcome to sit in while we hand out assignments.”
Dalton paused at the door and turned back. “Oh, and Porter?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave your spare piece in the car. I don’t want a record of you carrying right now. They’d try and log it at the lineup.”
Porter nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Clair hung up and walked over. “Hosman may be on to something; he wants us upstairs.”
“Go with Nash; I need to take care of something down at the Fifty-First. I’m commandeering Watson too.”
“You’re going to leave me alone with that Neanderthal?”
Porter’s eyes watered up. He turned away. Clair glanced back at the captain. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay. Just . . . just call me if you need anything.”
Porter forced a smile and nodded. “Thanks, Clair-bear.”
She punched him in the arm. “Don’t you start too. Assholes, the both of you.”
Porter winked at her and stuck his head back in the war room. “Watson? Let’s go see about that watch.”
* * *
Evidence Board
Victims
1. Calli Tremell, 20, March 15, 2009
2. Elle Borton, 23, April 2, 2010
3. Missy Lumax, 18, June 24, 2011
4. Susan Devoro, 26, May 3, 2012
5. Barbara McInley, 17, April 18, 2013 (only blonde)
6. Allison Crammer, 19, November 9, 2013
7. Jodi Blumington, 22, May 13, 2014
Emory Connors, 15, November 3, 2014
Left for a jog, 6:03 p.m. yesterday
TYLER MATHERS
Emory’s boyfriend
ARTHUR TALBOT
Finances?
Body found in Mulifax Publications Building (owned by Talbot) identified as Gunther Herbert, CFO Talbot Enterprises
Something fishy with the Moorings Development (owned by Talbot)
N. BURROW
Housekeeper? Nanny?—A little of both Tutor
ITEMS FOUND ON 4MK
Expensive shoes—John Lobb/$1500 pair—size 11/UNSUB wears size 9— have Talbot’s prints on them
Cheap suit
Fedora
.75 in change (two quarters, two dimes, and a nickel)
Pocket watch
Dry cleaner receipt (ticket 54873)—Kloz is narrowing down stores
Dying of stomach cancer—meds: octreotide, trastuzumab, oxycodone, lorazepam
Tattoo, right inner wrist, fresh—figure eight, infinity?
Calc book—left by 4MK—leads to—
MULIFAX PUBLICATIONS WAREHOUSE
Partial print found on railcar at tunnel mouth. Probably used to transport the body.
Ear, eyes, and tongue left in boxes (Gunther Herbert)—brochure on body AND boxes lead to—
THE MOORINGS LAKESIDE DEVELOPMENT
Extensive search — nothing found
Video footage—Appears 4MK committed suicide, no clear visual on face
Info needed:
Background on Emory’s mother
Facial reconstruction—Done
Assignments:
Nash and Clair going to see Hosman
Clair—Organize canvass of cancer centers with image of UNSUB
Kloz, research dry cleaner’s ticket
Watson, visit uncle regarding the watch with Porter
* * *
45
Diary
I was asleep when Mother and Father returned. Well, truth be told, I was pretending to be asleep, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard them.
At first there was shouting, but I couldn’t make out the words. Mother and Father never ever fought, and I couldn’t imagine them arguing outside where a neighbor might listen, but there they were—yelling in the driveway.