Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

house, the gurney was being unloaded from the wagon. Frank was suiting up, so were Joe and his team. Dehan said, “What?”

I shook my head. “Brace yourself. It’s ugly. He’s been practically cut in half.”

She suppressed a wince. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“No. Don’t go in just yet, I want to talk to Joe.” Joe was moving toward us with his guys. I beckoned him to follow me through the front door and called to the sergeant, too. Dehan was close behind, listening. I talked as I went, pointing at the floor. “I think the killer took a number of marijuana plants from the basement out to a vehicle. At a guess, he must have done the trip at least six times, probably more. He’s spilled dirt on the stairs and then trodden in it. So he has left boot prints all the way along. I need to know his shoe size, the make of his boots, and if he was alone or there was somebody helping him. Sergeant, start knocking on doors. Somebody saw him loading up a vehicle with cannabis plants.”

“I’m on it, Detective.”

The team went to work on the basement steps and the carpet. Frank came in as we moved out of the doorway. He stood in the entrance to the living room, staring down at the horrible, inhuman mess on the floor.

“I can honestly say I have never seen anything quite like this. In all my years…”

Dehan looked and turned away. Her skin had turned a pasty gray color. I said, “You need to step outside?”

She shook her head.

“Come, I want to have a look upstairs.”

We climbed the steps to the upper floor. There was a small landing, a john, and two bedrooms. The back bedroom was jumbled with everything from boxes to bicycle parts. It seemed to be an improvised storeroom which didn’t yield much in the way of information. The front bedroom was also chaotic, but was clearly where he slept. The bed was rumpled and unmade. The sheets looked overdue for a wash. There was a TV on a bookcase at the foot of the bed, several dirty plates on the bedside table by the door, a couple of empty beer bottles, and a couple of dirty glasses. All, plates, bottles, and glasses contained butt-ends of what looked like joints. We moved into the room and Dehan stood looking around. “Where the hell do you begin? What a slob!”

On the far bedside table I saw what I had not seen downstairs. A telephone. It was a hunch, not even that, a vague feeling: I saw them, him and Lynda, shouting at each other, both drunk, both mad, both caught up in their toxic, dependent, over-emotional relationship. I stood staring at the phone but seeing the scene play itself out, and spoke aloud.

“He didn’t hit her. To be honest, Dehan, my gut tells me she’d be more likely to hit him. When he left her house the night before last, he did one of two things. Either he went to Angela’s house and killed Sebastian…”

She interrupted me. “Which would mean he had a gun, and knew they were going there…”

I nodded. “Or, he came home. They are both drunk, both hooked on each other, both making each other unhappy, but needing each other…”

I sat on the bed and pressed the messages button. There were six new, and three saved. The new ones were all people asking for dope. He must have been doing a good trade. The first of the saved messages was from Friday night, more precisely, two fifty on Saturday morning. It was Lynda, crying, speaking with that wet, swollen voice of alcohol-induced tears.

“Jack baby, are you there…? Please pick up, lover boy… don’t be mean. Look, I’m sorry… just…”

The message was cut short. I looked at Dehan. We had both heard it. Just before it was cut short, Jack’s voice, with that same wet, sobbing sound, saying, “Lynda, I’m here, darlin’…”

Dehan sighed. It was a big, depressed sigh, and she followed it up with a heartfelt, “Fuck…”

“He was here talking to Lynda while Sebastian and Luis were getting shot.”

She shook her head. “I never really believed… What a waste, Stone.”

I nodded. “A stupid waste. He was a nice guy.” We stared at each other for a long time. Neither of us said anything, but we were both thinking it, and we both knew we were thinking it.

She turned and made for the bedroom door. I stood and followed. At the bottom of the stairs, I paused to look one more time at what was left of Jack O’Brien. They were preparing to load him onto the gurney, and that was something I couldn’t watch. Dehan was standing in the open doorway, breathing deeply. I was about to join her when Joe came up beside me.

“John, I can’t be sure till we get this all back to the lab, but we may have something here.” He hesitated. “Is this related to Sebastian and Luis’ case?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

“I know Frank was kind of mentoring Sebastian, so we’re giving this…” He shrugged. “An unofficial priority.”

“I appreciate that, and I know he will, too. What have you got?”

“By the looks of it, he had over a dozen plants down there, and there are two sets of footprints, his and somebody who appears to have removed the plants.”

“Good.”

“Whoever that was seems to have been a very large man, and there is something distinctive about his boot print. I am pretty sure I can trace the manufacturer, but more important than that, John, is that because of the way he walks, he has worn down the heel in a distinctive way. In addition to that, at some point he has trodden on a nail or a piece of glass, or something sharp, and it has etched a