After he parked the car, Lorenzon led the way into the police department, where Morgan felt he’d stepped through some sort of time warp.
Police stations just didn’t look like this anymore. Hotch and JJ had both commented on the place as a security nightmare and were they right: no bulletproof glass, three officers within sight of the front door, making easy targets. A female officer, who had probably stood on her tiptoes to meet the height requirement, paused on the other side of the counter from them.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Before either man could say a word, a door to their right swung open and a tall man in jeans and a blue work shirt sauntered in. He had a shaved head and dark eyes that clouded with anger when he spotted Lorenzon.
“What the hell,” he said, his voice carrying through the nearly empty room, “are you doing back here, Lorenzon? Don’t they give you any crimes to solve in Chicago?” He moved through the swinging gate.
Unshaken, Lorenzon turned to Morgan. “Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan, meet Detective Jake Denson, Wauconda PD.”
“ Anothergoddamn fed?” Denson asked, making no effort to shake hands as he drew closer.
Morgan grinned, refusing to rise to the bait. “Yeah, I know you must feel invaded. But we need to talk to you.…”
“What about?” Denson demanded, really putting on a show for his buddies now.
“…in private.”
Morgan removed his grin and gave Denson a hard stare.
“You strut in here and tell mewhat to do?” Denson said. “Suppose I don’t feel like talkingto you?”
Morgan took a half step closer and dropped his voice so only the detective could hear. “That’s cool. Then I’ll have the supreme pleasure of disarming you, cuffing you, and, with the help of my friend Lorenzon here, dragging your ass out in front of all your pals, and all the way down to the FBI field office to question you there. If that’s how you want this to play out, hey, it’s your call.”
A tense silence hung in the room as Denson’s eyes bore into him and Morgan let the detective see the calm determination that told the local boy he meant every word.
“All right,” Denson said. He nodded behind him. “The chief’s office.”
“Lead the way.”
Denson took off quickly, Morgan and Lorenzon keeping up. A minute later, they were behind the closed door of an office.
“Where’s Chief Oliver?” Lorenzon asked.
“Family vacation,” Denson said. “He won’t be back for a week. Now, what the hell are you two doing, coming on my turf and threatening me?”
“I didn’t threaten you,” Morgan said coolly. “I was just providing you an option.”
“Fuck you, fed! You can’t come in here and bully me like I’m your dog and I just crapped on the rug. This is myhouse. We don’t want to join your goddamn task force, so you’re wasting your time coming back around trying to bully me into it.”
Morgan laughed, once. “That’s why you think we’re here?”
Denson’s face turned crimson as his hands balled into fists.
Lorenzon stood close to their host. “You better dial it down a notch or two, Jake, because my friend here will break your ass in public or private, doesn’t matter to him. And you definitely want to scale back the fuck-you rhetoric.”
Morgan, not really wanting a fight in either place, said in a businesslike way, “We’re here to talk to you about Bobby Edels.”
Denson’s face morphed from anger to confusion. “Who the hell is Bobby Edels?”
Is that genuine surprise?Morgan wondered. If it’s an act, it’s damn good.…
“Bobby Edels,” Lorenzon said, “is the kid who ended up dead in a barrel in Chinatown—I showed you that picture.”
“ That’shis name?” Denson asked. “You didn’t give me a name.”
“We didn’t have one at the time.”
Again, Morgan wondered if they were being put on. “He was identified this morning, Detective Denson.”
“Doesn’t mean diddly to me.”
“It should—you filed a complaint against him and the crew he worked with at Fix-It Mate.”
“What? This vic was on that worthless crew?”
“That’s right.”
“Hell, I didn’t know any of those guys,” Denson said, with a dismissive wave. “Did it say I singled out this Edel or Edsel or whatever? ’Cause I don’t think I did. I remember complaining about the entire crew, because they did a lousy-ass job and left a humongous mess behind.”
Morgan studied the man. “That’s all it was? Just some bad craftsmanship?”
“Hey, come home with me now, if you don’t believe me,” Denson said, his voice rising as his agitation grew again. “Look at my damn garage and make up your own mind about the ‘craftsmanship.’ ”
Looking to keep his quarry off balance, Morgan asked, “Aren’t you investigating the murders of Donna Cooper and Casey Goddard?”
“What of it?”
“I was just curious—did you know either of them before they were murdered?”
“Yeah,” Denson said. “I knew them both—they worked at the convenience store up around the corner. It’s a small town, in case you didn’t notice. That’s why I’m working so hard to catch the bastard that did this. What are you getting at?”
Morgan held Denson’s eyes. “There have been five bodies in this case and you’ve got ties to three of them.”
“Wait a minute,” Denson said, his eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute.… You’re not trying to muscle us into joining your damned task force? You’re here because you think I’m a suspect?”
“You’re a detective,” Morgan said. “Look at the facts—what would you think? Person of interest, certainly.”
Denson pointed at the door like a father banishing a wayward daughter in an old-time melodrama. “I think you need to get the hell out! And I’m not going to talk to you again without a lawyer present.”
Morgan and Lorenzon didn’t move.
“You think I’m bullshitting you?” Denson demanded, eyes and nostrils flaring. “Get the hell out of here! You’re not dragging me into your shit.”
They surely didn’t have enough to bring Denson in, so—having no choice—they left before the confrontation degenerated any further.
As they pulled away slowly from the PD, Morgan thought he could feel Denson’s eyes on him through the chief’s window, but he did not turn to look. He kept his focus on the windshield, looking for the convenience store Denson had mentioned.
He asked the Chicago detective, “What’s your gut telling you?”
Lorenzon stopped at a red light. “My gut believes him, and so do I. I think it’s a coincidence.”
“You have any idea, bro, how many serial killers have tried to join law enforcement over the years? The mental test can’t screen them all out.”
“I hear you,” Lorenzon admitted. “But I just don’t think anybody’s thatgood an actor.”
“I’ll give you that,” Morgan said. “But we’ll see.”
They traded a look.
“Do me a favor,” Morgan said. “Take a right and stop at that convenience store on the next corner. I want to get something to drink.”
Lorenzon shook his head. “Your boss is going to kick your ass, and I’m going to get mine fired.”
After a chuckle, Morgan said, “Is that all? Tate, I want a damn Coke. Is that against the law in Chicago?”
“We’re not in Chicago. We’re in Wauconda.”
“Do they sell Cokes at convenience stores in Wauconda?”