Bugbee sauntered in an hour or so later, and they sat in an empty interview room.
“Strikeout on AFIS,” he announced, almost proudly. “Nada.”
So the old man’s prints didn’t match any of the fingerprint records in Lansing, neither the Tenprint Database nor the unsolved ones in the Latent Database. No real surprise there. The victim’s prints would only be in AFIS if he’d been arrested for something.
She said, “The rounds that were fired were.380s, according to Bert Koopmans. Brass-jacketed.”
“Oh, that’s helpful,” said Bugbee, deadpan. “Narrows it down to about a thousand possible weapons.”
“Well, not really.” Audrey ignored his sarcasm, proceeded on the assumption that Roy just didn’t know what he was talking about. “Once the MSP in Grand Rapids takes a look at it, they’ll winnow it down a whole lot more for us.” The Forensic Science Lab of the Michigan State Police, in Grand Rapids, handled the firearms investigations for the police in this part of the state. Their examiners were good, trained in identifying weapons and ammunition using all sorts of tools, including IBIS, the Integrated Ballistics Identification System database, which was managed by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.
“That shouldn’t take more than six months,” said Bugbee.
“Actually, I was hoping that when you drive it over there, you could press them to speed it up.”
“Me?” Bugbee laughed. “I think you ought to drive to Grand Rapids, Audrey. Pretty woman like you, bat your little eyes at them, ask ’em to put it on the top of the heap.”
She breathed in. “I’ll drive it over there,” she said. “Now, what about informants?”
“None of the snitches know a damned thing about some old guy trying to buy crack down the dog pound,” he said grudgingly, as if it annoyed him to part with the information. Why that section of town was called “the dog pound” Audrey didn’t remember if she ever knew. It just was.
“But the crack in the guy’s pocket was fake.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bugbee said with a wave of his hand. “Oldest trick in the book. White guy, easy mark, goes down to the dog pound to buy rock, and some zoomer sells him flex made outta candle wax and baking soda.”
“Horehound lemon drops broken up, actually.” So Bert Koopmans had told her.
“Whatever, don’t make no difference. White guy argues with the zoomer, who says, Who needs this shit? and wastes the guy. Takes his wallet while he’s at it and takes off. Open and shut.”
“And leaves the lemon drops.”
Bugbee gave a “lay off” shrug. He leaned back in the steel chair until his head was resting against the wall.
“And then instead of leaving the body in an alley somewhere, he goes to the trouble of wrapping it in garbage bags and then lifting it into a Dumpster, which isn’t easy.”
“Coulda been two guys.”
“Wearing surgical gloves.”
“Hmm?” He looked annoyed.
“The lab found traces of surgical-grade cornstarch on the trash bags consistent with the use of latex gloves.”
Bugbee probed a seam in the Sheetrock wall with a lazy forefinger. “Probably the lab’s.”
“I think they’re more careful than that,” she said, thinking: Come on, Roy, did you even think this one through? Are you working this case? She felt a pulse of annoyance, then willed herself back to serenity. “I kind of doubt many crackheads have surgical gloves lying around.”
Bugbee exhaled showily. “Is Noyce in this room?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, I don’t see Sergeant Noyce standing here, so if you’re trying to show off, no one’s watching, okay?”
Audrey swallowed, heard her inner voice begin, Now the God of patience and consolation grant you…and then she interrupted that inward sensible voice and spoke in a voice even softer than usuaclass="underline" “Roy, I’m not here to impress you. I’m here to do my job.”
Bugbee brought his chair forward, sat up straight, gave her a sleepy-eyed look.
She could hear her heart thudding. “Now, I know you don’t like me, for whatever reason, but I’m not going to apologize to you for being who I am and what I am. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to deal with it. I don’t judge you, and you shouldn’t judge me. You don’t sign my paycheck on Fridays. If you want off of this case, talk to Noyce. Otherwise, let’s both try to be professionals, okay?”
Bugbee looked as if he was debating shoving the table at her or getting up and slamming the door. A couple of seconds of silence passed. Then he said, “You don’t judge me, huh? Christers like you, that’s all you do. You’re always ticking off everyone’s little infractions like some hall monitor at school. It’s all about feeling superior, isn’t it, Audrey? Like you got the Big Guy on your side. All that praying you do, it’s about sucking up to the Big Boss in the Sky. Ass-kissing your way to heaven, right?”
“That’s enough, Roy,” she said.
A pounding on the door, and it swung open. Sergeant Noyce stood there, squaring his shoulders, looking from one to the other. “May I ask you two something?” he said. “Did either one of you check the missing persons database?”
“I called Family Services this morning,” Audrey said, “but they had nothing.”
“You’ve got to keep checking, you know,” Noyce said. “These things sometimes take a day or more to get posted.”
“You got a possibility?” Bugbee asked.
“It’s a lead, a pretty decent one,” Noyce replied. “I’d say it’s worth a look.”
21
Nick called Eddie, didn’t IM him, still feeling paranoid about what kind of records were stored on the corporate server.
They met at the southwest building entrance, outside of the Security offices, Eddie’s idea. Eddie didn’t want to talk inside the building. What did that mean, Nick wondered, if his own security chief didn’t feel safe talking in there?
They walked along the paved path that encircled one of the parking lots. The air had a faint manure smell, from all the surrounding farms, mixed with the charred scent of the burnt buffalo grass.
“What’s up?” Eddie said, lighting up a Marlboro. “Dude, you look worried.”
“Who, me?” Nick said, grimacing. “What’s to worry about?”
“Come on. Everything’s under control.”
Nick looked around, made sure no one was walking remotely near. “What’d you do with…him?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Nick was silent, listened to the scuff of Eddie’s shoes on the pavement. “No, I do. I want to know.”
“Nick, believe me, it’s better this way.”
“Did you get rid of the gun, or do you still have it, or what?”
Eddie shook his head. “The less you know, the better.”
“All right, listen. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and I think-I’ve got to go to the cops. There’s just no other way. What happened was legally defensible. It’ll be a goddamned mess, but with a smart enough attorney, I think I can tough it out.”
Eddie gave a low, dry chuckle. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. “You can’t put that toothpaste back in the tube.”
“Meaning what?”
“Friday night you wanted it to go away. I made it go away.” He seemed to be straining to keep his tone civil. “At this point, we’ve got a serious cover-up, involving both of us.”
“A cover-up devised in a panic-”
“Look, Nick,” Eddie said. “I don’t swim in your toilet, you don’t pee in my pool, understand?”
“Huh?”
“I don’t tell you how to run Stratton. You don’t tell me about crime and cops and all that shit. This is my area of expertise.”
“I’m not telling you what to do,” Nick said. “I’m telling you what I’m going to do.”