“You killed Taneesha somewhere else, drove the car to the scene.”
Crandell clapped his big hands and grinned.
“Did it in an ol’ barn. Franklin talked and talked. She didn’t know squat, as it turned out, a waste of time. I made the car look like a robbery, drove it across town on a hauler, waiting for Shuttles to get there and plant the knife with the prints.”
Just like a car hauler had picked up Lucas’s car after he’d been set up for the Holtkamp killing, Pettigrew’s tracks to nowhere. I recalled another discrepancy. The trucker Dell had described the Wookiee figure as apelike, but Leroy Dinkins had described Lucas’s build as tall and slender. Crandell was wide-built, with short and bowed legs. A simian body.
I said, “It wasn’t Lucas the trucker saw.”
Crandell patted at the sides of his head.
“Ten-dollar Halloween wig-and-beard combo. Lucas never shaved in here, more youthful rebellion. When Mama read the police reports, she figured it was her boy indulging himself again.”
“And you’re going to bring him back.”
“It won’t take long. He’ll stay close. Mama’s still talking about keeping him here, putting more locks on the doors or whatever. But no more pussyfooting this time, Ryder.”
“What are you talking about?”
His grin went to a thousand watts. His eyes glittered with the wonder of himself.
“Lucas is going to kill one more time, Ryder. But no more holiday at the Ritz. Mama’s finally gonna allow a complete lobotomy on Lukie-boy. We already got a Mexican doctor to do the digging.”
Disgust roiled in my guts. The three older Kincannon brothers were going to turn Lucas Kincannon into a vegetable, ending the threat of his superior mind.
“Who’s Lucas going to kill?” I said.
Crandell gave it a two-beat pause. He looked carefully into my eyes, loving the moment.
“Buck Kincannon’s girlfriend, Ryder. A pretty little blond newslady. Ever met her?”
Nautilus walked through the door of the Police Academy at eight in the morning. He’d been up until three, then grabbed a few hours of sleep, knowing his head had to be ready for what he might have to create. What was needed was confirmation, a sign that pulled it all together.
These days the academy was run by Major Dominick Purselli. Dom Purselli had been Shuttles’s training officer and might be able to fill in details on the kid, make sense of Logan’s story. Purselli knew Logan, the two were buddies, actually, and had been partners years ago. Like Logan, Purselli was something of an old warhorse, he just had a much better temperament.
Nautilus opened the door to Purselli’s office. A squat woman with wiry hair sat at his desk.
“Hey, Alice, Dom in?”
“He’s on vacation this week.”
“Vacation?”
“Somewhere up in Canada, moose country. Due back in a week. You teaching a class again this year?”
“Trying not to.”
“We’ll get you.” Her face fell suddenly. “Harry, about Carson…”
Nautilus waved her words off.
She said, “I know. Tough to talk about.”
Nautilus jammed his hands in his pockets and walked past the Hall of Heroes, photos of officers who’d died in service to the force. There was a space for the next picture, the hanger already in place. He closed his eyes as he passed by, opened them as he passed twenty feet of displays honoring those who’d made some form of contribution to the Mobile Police Department.
Almost out the door, he snapped his fingers and spun, jogging back to the display case. There were plaques, photos, newspaper clippings. The items were arranged chronologically. When did Shuttles start? Nautilus checked dates, found the most recent. He saw a big wood-and-brass plaque with a photo of Nelson Kincannon mounted on it, the photo and a newspaper clipping coated with acrylic. Kincannon was canted toward the camera, eyes squinted above a big toothy grin.
Nelson Kincannon was shaking hands with Tyree Shuttles.
Feeling sweat prickle on his back, Nautilus read how, a few years back, Tyree Shuttles had been a recipient of the KEI scholarship for law-enforcement excellence, a recognition paying for all his college courses and any living expenses incurred, and granting him a “Merit Endowment” of fifty thousand dollars.
One hand gives…
CHAPTER 44
“You’re a liar, Crandell! Kincannon wouldn’t let you kill his girlfriend!”
Crandell’s hand fell over my mouth. His smile was a mockery of humor, a twisted sneer, poisonous. He put his lips to my ear, whispered, “It was Buck’s idea, Ryder. Buck’s got a dark side like you wouldn’t believe. It’ll make Mama think old Luke’s taken a turn for the worst.”
Crandell removed his hand from my mouth.
“Turn for the worst?” I said. “Maylene thinks Lucas killed two women. That’s not bad enough?”
Crandell chuckled, a hollow sound. “A spinster schoolteacher and a black junior reporter? To Maylene, that’s deer on the highway. By this time tomorrow, Lucas will appear to have killed Buck’s high-profile girlfriend in Buck’s house, way too up close and personal for Maylene. She’ll beg for that Mex doctor, get Lucas’s head roto-rooted so this nastiness never happens again.”
“When is this supposed to go down?”
“Tonight, Ryder. Lucas strikes again.”
The door closed and I fought my restraints to no avail. I cursed myself aloud and repeatedly. I remembered Rudolnick’s hidden records describing a madman, a concealed sociopath on a downward spiral.
It is like walking beside a normal and respected person who has decided to become a suicide bomber, never knowing when he will grasp the plunger.
I’d figured Rudolnick was surreptitiously observing Lucas.
He was observing Buck.
“You want what, Harry?” Claypool said. He was wearing a tie-dyed ball cap, purple jeans, tire-tread sandals, and a black shirt with bold white lettering: ELECTRONS GIVE ME A CHARGE.
Nautilus explained his needs.
“That doesn’t take any thinking,” Claypool said, “but it sounds like fun. Lemme grab a soldering iron.”
“Maybe some of the bubble wrapper stuff, too,” Nautilus added, “like it just came out of a box. You folks got any of that?”
Claypool looked about to swoon with delight and promised to send the package over within an hour. Nautilus made his office by nine. He wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper, then called Glen James from Tech Services.
“That’s strange, Harry,” James said, studying the lines. “But I’ll be glad to help.”
Nautilus went to the windowed conference room off the detectives’ room and unhooked the monitor and pushed it to the side, like it was being replaced. He saw an intern from Forensics wandering the floor with a brown package in his hand, waved him over. He set the package from Claypool on the table, then dialed Shuttles at his desk.
“Hey, Tyree, this is Harry. I’m in conference room A. Got a minute?”
“Sure, Har,” Shuttles said, excitement in his voice. “Be right there.”
Har, Nautilus thought. He recalled the movie All That Jazz, Roy Scheider popping a couple pills to kick off his day, smiling in the mirror, saying, “It’s show time.”
“Show time,” Nautilus whispered.
Shuttles bounced in the door and took a seat. Nautilus figured Shuttles had to be thinking the two would be paired as a team. It’s a terrible thing about Carson, Tyree, but I need a new partner, and I think we’d work well together…
“What’s up, Har?” Shuttles was trying hard to hold in the grin.
Nautilus kept the smile. But shifted his eyes to the ones he used for interrogations. Black rockets, someone once called them. Nautilus aimed the rockets through Tyree Shuttles’s pupils and into his brain.
“Did you really think you’d get away with it, Tyree?”
“Uh, what are you talking about, Harry?”
Nautilus picked up the package prepared by Claypool. He pulled out an object protected by bubble wrap.