Dirty Rotten Scoundrel (Romantic Mystery) (J.J. Graves Mysteries) Page 7

  I heard the clank of the elevator and more footsteps on the stairs, and the body was taken out of the kitchen and out to one of the waiting SUVs. They all moved with an eerie silence as if they didn’t need words to communicate.

  “You’d be right about that,” Greer said, pulling a thick file from his briefcase. “Staying or going, Doctor Graves?”

  “She stays,” Jack said. “We’re engaged to be married.”

  Lauren Rhodes made an appearance at the top of the basement stairs at that point and I saw the surprise on her face before she quickly masked it and moved to the barstool beside Agent Greer.

  The air expelled from my chest at the news that Jack still planned to marry me, and my grip tightened on my coffee cup as I tried to get hold of my emotions. I knew a woman like Lauren—a woman that saw something she wanted—would exploit whatever weakness she could find until she achieved her goal.

  “Congratulations,” Greer said. “I didn’t find that information in your file.”

  Lauren’s eyes cut to my vacant ring finger and I didn’t have to interpret the arched eyebrow before she turned her attention to Jack.

  “We just got the details worked out today. It took me a while to talk her into it,” Jack said, his mouth quirking. “She’s stubborn.” Jack gave all pretense that he was relaxed and in a good mood, and it would fool anyone but me, but I could see the tension. I wasn’t that good an actress, so I spent most of the time with the coffee cup held in front of my face and the sent of whiskey tickling my nostrils.

  I felt bad for not offering Lauren a cup of coffee, so I offered to get her some.

  “I don’t drink coffee, but I’ll take water if you have it.”

  I decided I might as well try to be friendly. I just wanted the night to be over. “God, how do you survive without coffee?”

  “It makes me jittery, but I practically live on Diet Coke.”

  I handed her the bottle of water I’d taken from the fridge, but I was distracted by the photographs Agent Greer was lining up on the table. Crime scene photographs taken from somewhere, a mass killing by the looks of things.

  “Six years ago, a seven-man team attempted a heist on the Federal Reserve Bank in Washington DC. From the intel gathered, we know they had a top notch electronics guy, someone working inside the bank, a cop, a security expert, a demolitions expert, and the money men to fund the operation.”

  As soon as Greer mentioned the Reserve Bank heist I took Jack’s hand in my own and held tight—the anger between us forgotten for the moment. I knew that had been his last mission as a SWAT cop and all I knew after that was it had taken him months to heal from the wounds.

  “The team went in just at closing,” Greer continued. “The bank guards were all killed instantly and twelve employees were executed. They didn’t need help getting past the vault security because whoever was running the electronics knew the system and managed to hack past all the government walls that had been built up.”

  “SWAT was immediately called to service and a ten-man unit went in the Reserve building with only one goal—to eliminate the threat. You were the Commander, Sheriff Lawson.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I think my memory is probably better than whatever you have there in your notes.” Jack’s voice was steady and he looked Greer straight in the eyes. “What your file doesn’t mention is the stench of fresh death. Of stepping over the body of a man in uniform who was curled over the body of a heavily pregnant woman, both so riddled with bullets that there was no way to step around the blood. Only through it. You have the reports. You have the photographs.” He put his finger over the image he’d spoken about and pushed it back toward Greer. “I’ve already made my statements.”

  “I have what was written by the agent who initially did the investigation. I want to hear it from your own mouth.”

  I shot Greer a look of censure and wanted nothing more than to tell him where he should shove his request. Jack had done his time and paid a price. But Jack turned his head and looked at me, and I could see the resignation on his face. There was no way to get out of this. So he weaved his fingers tightly with mine and gave his report.

  “We already had quite a bit of intel by the time we mobilized. We had accurate blueprints and we were able to see heat signals as they moved around. We knew there were no living civilians and we knew the suspects were heavily armed.

  “It was a relatively fast job. We went in hot and silent, and I was the last inside because I was team leader. We broke off into two lines of five and then did our jobs. Our orders were to kill, not apprehend. As we made it farther into the building and began taking them out, my team went through our usual patterns, what we’d been trained for. We broke off into smaller groups of two and secured the areas.”

  “But something didn’t go as planned?” Greer said.

  “You could say that,” Jack said wryly. “I was in front by this time and I broke off to one of the vault rooms with Detective John Elliott. He was covering my back. It was routine, but he and I picked the vault area where several of the robbers were located. They’d set explosives in some of the other areas, covering their trails as they got ready to make an exit. Sometimes it really just comes down to luck, you know?”

  “I know,” Greer said, nodding.

  “Elliott and I just happened to pick the right room. It wasn’t even the next room on our normal rotation. I can’t tell you why I zeroed in so far down the hall, but I knew I trusted my gut over procedure at that moment. If Elliott and I had gone into the room we were supposed to go in they would have been able to ship what was left of my body back in a Zip Loc baggie.”

  “Your partner didn’t question procedure? He just followed you?”

  “My team was the best there was. We trained together and socialized with each other. We were brothers. A cohesive unit. And we didn’t need words or questions when we were on an op. It was like being inside of each other’s minds and always being able to anticipate the next move. It was clockwork.”

  “So we go in and secure the corners first, and then Elliott and I are standing neck deep in the red zone. Shots are fired from both sides. I was wearing a vest, but there’s a weak spot on each side. The first and second bullet were pretty close together and came in from my right side. The third hit my upper arm. The bullets broke ribs and collapsed my lung, but by that time the rest of the team had converged and the threat was eliminated.”

  “Detective Elliott took a bullet to the head,” Greer said.

  “Yes.” Jack didn’t elaborate. I knew the death of one of his brothers would be like losing a family member.

  “When did you realize Elliott was on the take?”

  Jack paused and then let out a slow breath, but he didn’t take his eyes off Greer. “When he shot me three times and left me for dead.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  My head jerked to look at Jack and I stared at him open mouthed with surprise.

  “You failed to put that information in your initial report,” Greer said.

  Jack shrugged. “He had a wife and two little girls, one of which was in the middle of experimental chemo treatments at the time. I could put two and two together. And those little girls didn’t deserve to have their father taken off the pedestal they’d put him on. They would have lost both medical and widow’s benefits. He and I were the only two who knew what really happened. Which leads me to ask how you got hold of that information, and it’s obvious this is what you were getting to all along.”

  “You realize that I could have you brought up on obstruction charges. Take away your badge.”

  “You need me for something. Otherwise you would’ve already done it and I’d have kept my mouth shut. Try again.”

  “Your file says you have a tendency to be cocky and you have issues with authority.”

  “Which is why I like being the boss. In my experience, the higher up the food chain you go, the more idiots and political bullshit you run into.” He turned t
oward Lauren and gave her a curious stare. “And why are you here? It’s obviously not for my benefit.”

  “The Justice Department has an interest in seeing this through.”

  Jack raised a brow. “Interesting.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked. “She didn’t say anything.”

  “It means they have a dog in the fight, but she’s not going to tell us what it is. Why don’t you lay it out for me, Agent Greer?”

  “Like you said, they would have gotten away with the robbery if you hadn’t followed your gut. They had technology and equipment we’d never seen before, they moved and strategized like the military, and they had money backing the expedition. They knew the weak points beneath the building and cut a goddamned hole through the floor with a laser knife out of some sci-fi movie, and they had ATVs waiting below to transport them through the underground sewer system quickly.”

  “They had the building set with enough explosives to turn it to dust once they’d escaped past the hot zone. They had money and power and talent for the job, and you and your team took every one of them out. At least the body counts we came up with on sight corroborated with the statements you and your team gave. But we think we maybe missed someone.”

  “Seven men, seven bodies recovered,” Jack said. “Who could we have missed?”

  “You tell me.” Greer took more photographs out of his bag and lay them side by side across the island tabletop—nine photographs all together.

  “Jesus,” Jack whispered, his voice sounding as broken as mine. He stood up and leaned over the photos, touching each one reverently.

  Each photograph showed a body in various states of decomp. I tried to look at them as a coroner, as an outsider, and piece together what they all had in common. One man had been garroted. Another had his throat slit. Some had been exposed to the elements for long periods of time before their bodies had been discovered and documented. Nine men were dead whoever they were.

  “Winters, Gonzales, Price, Dreyer, Thompson, Garfield, Caine, Wolfe, and Santos. They all have names, Agent Greer. They’re not just crime scene photographs.”

  “Goddammit!” Jack hefted the bar stool with one hand and threw it with all his might to the other side of the kitchen, knocking a clock from the wall and chipping the doorframe. He turned away from us and braced his hands against the kitchen counter, keeping his head down as he tried to get himself under control. His back and arms were stiff and his fingers bit into the Formica.

  I hadn’t seen Jack lose his temper like this in more than a dozen years. He kept a tight rein on it normally, and I knew there was nothing to do but wait it out and let him cool off. Lauren started to open her mouth, to say something to him, and I shook my head. She wisely shut her mouth and left him alone.

  “Wallace was number ten,” Jack finally said.

  Greer nodded. “And Elliott was eleven. Or one if you want to be technical.”

  “So that makes me twelve.”

  I realized then who the men in the photographs were, and a fear so sharp and sudden came over me that I almost doubled over. It was nothing like the fear I’d experienced for myself over the last months. It was fear for a man I loved more than life itself—a man who made me a better person—who made me whole.

  “Why isn’t he under protection?” I asked Greer, coming to my feet.

  “He had to make sure I wasn’t responsible first.” Jack came back to stand beside me. “I’m the last man standing.”

  “When was the last time you had contact with any of your men?” Greer asked.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said, a cold fury taking root inside of me. “He could be a target and you’re sitting there treating him like he’s responsible.”

  “He covered for John Elliott. On record. There could be more he’s hiding.”

  “Maybe you need to have an attorney present,” I said to Jack.

  He ran his hand down the back of my hair and squeezed my neck. “No, it’s fine, Jaye. These are questions that have to be asked. And bringing a lawyer into it will only slow things down with red tape and bullshit when whoever did this to my men needs to be caught and punished.”

  “I think I’m insulted,” Lauren said. “But I agree with Dr. Graves. You need to protect yourself. I’d advise you to contact your attorney.”

  I could see the frustration in Greer’s eyes at the suggestion, but he didn’t reprimand Lauren for speaking out of turn.

  “We got together once a year for a weekend the first couple of years,” Jack said, ignoring our suggestion. “Winters, Dreyer, and Price transferred to different cities after the heist. Gonzales retired and opened his own consulting firm. Thompson took a slower paced job in some bayou town in Louisiana. Wallace took the job with Capitol Police. Wolfe became a high level P.I. The rest of the guys stayed on the team under a new commander.”

  “After about year three we weren’t able to get together as much. Lives got busier. Some had gotten married and others had started families. We’d stay in touch through email and talk of all of us getting together again, but then things started getting busy for me over the last few months and that’s been my focus.”

  “When was the last time you had contact with any of them?”

  “I got an email from Price before Christmas, telling me he and his wife were expecting their first child.” He touched the photo of the man I assumed was Price.

  “Where did Price transfer to?” I asked.

  “New Orleans.”

  “This crime scene isn’t too old.” Price was one of the men who’d had his throat slit from ear to ear. “See the way the skin at the edge of the wound is crusted? It’s frozen. Dressed in a suit and tie.”

  “The last place anyone saw him was at end of shift. New Orleans detectives are required to wear a tie most of the time.”

  “He hadn’t even had the chance to loosen it before this happened,” I said, noting the crisp knot.

  “I heard from Winters’ wife when he died in that car accident in January,” Jack said. “I was able to make it out for the funeral, and most of the guys were there too, but since you’ve got Winters here in your lineup I’m assuming the crash wasn’t an accident.”

  “Not an accident,” Greer confirmed.

  “What about Dreyer? Was he the first?”

  “Who’s Dreyer?” I asked, and Jack pointed to the photograph.

  “Yes, we believe Dreyer was the first victim,” Greer confirmed. “He transferred to SWAT in Texas. He always took a couple weeks vacation during hunting season every year. He’s got no family still living and never married, so no one missed him when he didn’t check in. He was hit with a long range rifle right through the heart.”

  I looked at the photograph in question and grimaced. The bullet hole was neat and round and the blackness of old blood was visible on the required blazing orange vest that would make him visible to other hunters. But Dreyer hadn’t been found for a long time and the animals had scavenged on him. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

  “When he didn’t report back to work, a search party was sent out. You can see by the area that this wasn’t the kill site. The body was dragged and buried under some leaves behind some rocks. It took them two more days to find him after the alert went out. The local police department interviewed everyone who’d checked in and out during that time but didn’t find anyone who clicked. The case is still open but cold. They have no leads or even a hint of a suspect. It’s noted in the file that the investigating officer thinks the killer was never registered at the hunting lodge. The land where they’re allowed to hunt backs up to private property and they found some ATV tracks along the fence line, but there’s no telling who they belong to or how long they’ve been there.”

  “I wasn’t able to make it to his funeral,” Jack said. “I was in the middle of an investigation and we had our own killer on the loose.”

  “Winters was next in January. He lost control on icy roads and went over the bridge into the water. One of the witnesses
on the scene thought she might have seen another car nudge him so he lost control, but she couldn’t be sure. And another witness swore he didn’t see any other cars on the road. No one could get him out of the water until rescue came because the water was so cold.”

  “February and March were quiet. Then two weeks ago your men were hit starting every couple of days. At first no one put it together. Not until Santos was killed. He was number five, and I don’t even think the FBI would have been involved if the body hadn’t been found on federal property. The killer made a mistake there because there was no reason to tie the other deaths in at that point. Five cops in different states with different specialties—the only thing connecting them being the SWAT team they belonged to six years prior. By the time I had all the information, Caine and Gonzales were dead. I put light surveillance on you, Wallace, and Wolfe, both for protection and to see if either of you had flipped your lids and were going after your old squad mates.”

  “Tell Agent Donaldson he needs to do a better job of going unnoticed,” Jack said. “I had him made after he’d been in town for five minutes. I just wasn’t quite sure what he was here for so I didn’t blow his cover. If you’d been another day in coming though I would’ve had the information on my own.”

  Greer’s eyes held respect and shrewdness as he tried to stare down Jack, not an easy thing to do considering Jack’s size and the fact he intimidated most people. “I’ll make sure to let him know.”

  “How did Wolfe and Wallace get taken out if you had eyes on them?” I asked.

  “We haven’t actually found Wolfe’s body yet. We just know he hasn’t showed up to his office or his apartment in the last four days. The apartment was clean. No sign of intrusion. Same thing with his office. He’s got a steady girlfriend, but she hasn’t seen or heard from him. She’s the one who called it in.”

  “Wallace is a different story. Definitely signs of a struggle. He clocked out from shift at four in the afternoon. As best we can tell, he did a couple of errands—grocery store, dry cleaners—that kind of thing. Then he went home, changed out of his uniform and into daywear, and then he spread out his open case files on his desk and started working. It looks like he had dinner alone—a couple of beer bottles and one of those T.V. dinners found in the trash. Went to bed alone.”