A little makeup applied professionally by the barber down the street, and Lucas's unkind wounds were made to pretty well disappear. It beat a giant Band-Aid, he decided. The neck was, as he'd predicted, stiff as a board, and his head still ached somewhat dully, but he was otherwise well. It had been the massive, bear like blow to the back of his head that had wreaked most of the havoc. When he had stepped over his blood in the gutter this morning, the sight made him boil and seethe with anger.
He wasn't used to being taken so easily. Maybe he should let it go, but his pride was bruised along with his neck.
He and Sanger were to have met with Lawrence at nine, which time had come and gone an hour ago. He supposed that now not only would Sergeant Kelton be pissed, but the captain and Sanger as well; but there was no reason Mere couldn't advise Phil on her own about what they'd found in Medford, Oregon.
He had slept until the phone rang. It was Kelton who had made the wake-up call, saying that Dr. Sanger was worried about him when he didn't show up at nine, and that if it wasn't bothering Stonecoat too awfully, would he get his bloody arse up and onto his duties! The last phrase was delivered in an earsplitting, painful war cry.
“I'm on my way. I had a little medical emergency last night, Sarge,” he had replied.
Now he was stepping through the doors to face Kelton, Lawrence and Sanger together. He hoped none would see the fresh wounds on his neck.
Kelton immediately and silently, his anger rising off him like steam, escorted Lucas to Lawrence's door, announcing him as if he were the king of Siam, bowing loudly and exaggeratedly, making Stonecoat frown and blush at once.
'That's not necessary, Sergeant,” said Phil Lawrence, dismissing Kelton. Meredyth stood in one comer of the room. “I'm told by Dr. Sanger you had some sort of brush last night with Pardee and Amelford from the Twenty-second.
Is that right?”
“Yeah, a slight brush, sir.”
“Those boys can get rough.”
“So I've noticed, sir.”
“Have a seat, Lucas.
“ Lucas did as told.
“Dr. Sanger here's brought me up to speed on what you two found up in Medford. Damned strangebusiness… damned strange, wouldn't you say? Insane, really. What do you make of it?”
“Like you say, sir, insane.”
“Some kind of sociopath on the loose?”
“If so, there're more than one.”
He nodded. “Yes, Dr. Sanger told me about your theory. Well, there's no shortage of sociopaths who meet in prison, team up after they're released to work in tandem. The literature of crime is filled with team killers. What's next, you two?”
“We're not sure just yet, sir, what our next step will be,” Lucas quickly said, “but I think we'll start talking to some of the hunting goods outlets and maybe some of the hunt club types around Houston, if that meets with your approval, sir.”
“Hunt clubs? You know that involves some big muckety-muck types. No lowlife joins a Houston hunt club that I know of.”
“No, sir, I mean, yes, sir, I know. Have it in my head, sir, that we're not dealing with the usual criminal element, sir.”
“Really, now. Then what kind of criminal element are we dealing with, Lucas?”
“High rollers, sir. Timothy Little was a rich man, and so was Mootry. They traveled in different circles, sir, but one thing they had in common was a lot of money to leave behind. Dr. Sanger's promised to look into their wills and scour for who stood to gain the most on their parting. Captain. Meanwhile, I thought I'd ask around at the local hunting goods outlets and clubs about members who prefer the crossbow to, say, a Remington automatic, sir.”
“Sounds like a plan.
Okay, you two… keep on it, run with it, and keep me apprised every step of the way.
Do you understand that? I'll talk to the twenty-second guys.”
After the perfunctory yes, sirs, bowing, and scraping, Lucas and Meredyth emerged. Meredyth was wearing a lime-green suit that made her look more youthful and beautiful than ever, he thought. “What is our next move?” Lucas asked.
“Randy's got something for us,” she said, “on the goblets.”
“Oh, yeah? What'd he find out?”
The goblets were returned to him.”
“Returned to him?” Lucas was amazed, nonplussed.
“Whoever gave him the goblets thought he was Detective Pardee. “He joked, “Who could possibly make such a mistake?”
“In any case, there were trace elements of sedatives, nothing particularly potent, but alongside the brandy, enough to induce sleep.
And fingerprints?
“Just as you predicted, wiped completely clean.”
“And the paperwork, the bill from the lab?”
She fetched it from her purse. “It's all yours. Do with it what you like.”
He grimaced.
“Don't be silly. I'm just teasing. Randy's already put it into the electronic maze. No one will ever know.”
“So, where do we go from here?” Stonecoat asked.
“I'm going to see Covey. I've already arranged it with him. He's anxious for company.”
He darkened his gaze. “I'll bet he is. You weren't going to go see him alone this morning, without me, were you?”
“He sounded real nice over the phone,” she said defensively.
“I'll bet he did.”
“Come on, Lucas. He's incarcerated.”
“Exactly where is he being held?”
'The new state pen at Hempstead. It's an hour's drive west.”
“Hempstead, really? I thought he'd be in Huntsville. Damn, I was planning to introduce you to my folks out at the res.”
“Huntsville's become too overcrowded. They opened a new state facility in Hempstead, much to the displeasure of the locals there.”
“You driving?”
“I know the way.”
“Let's go see Mr. Covey, then.”
“I got to thinking over what you said about Covey and Felipe, and it makes sense to see what we can shake loose from the man.”
“Damn it, you were planning to go see him without me, weren't you?”
“I wasn't going to wait around all morning for you, no.” She frowned and relented somewhat, adding, “Just where've you been, anyway? I telephoned your place this morning, but there was no answer.”
Apparently, he had slept through the ringing phone, or else she had called while he was out having his neck wounds cosmetically covered at the barber's. “Let's just say I was out…”
“Lucas, you wearing makeup? You don't have a secret life I don't know about, do you? What're those marks on your throat?” she asked.
“God, you can be so nosy.” He grimaced and swore again. He'd paid the barber well, but apparently it was for naught.
“I thought we were just getting to the point where we could be open and honest with one another, partner,” she complained.
“I'll tell you about it on the way to Hempstead.
“Deal”.
As they were about to leave, Sergeant Kelton stopped Stonecoat in his tracks. “We got some settling up to do, mister.”
“Sergeant,” began Dr. Sanger.
“Ma'am, this is between Officer Stonecoat and me, ma'am.”
“It's Doctor, Sergeant,” she countered, “and at the moment, Officer Stonecoat and I are working on special assignment for Captain Lawrence. If you've got a beef, take it up with Lawrence.”
He just stared at her, chewing on his next move. Then he stepped aside and watched them, his intent narrow eyes never leaving them as they disappeared out the door.
Damn it, thought Kelton, this means I gotta find someone else to hold the keys to the Cold Room today. I wonder if Lawrence has a clue to the workload that goes by the wayside when he does shit like this. I wonder if Commander Bryce has any idea what goes on. Wonder if I should call Bryce on such petty matters. Maybe he'd give it some thought over a cup of coffee.
But the coffee didn't help Kelton's disposition any. Soon after, he stalked off to see if he could shake anything loose from Captain Lawrence as to what gives with letting the Indian run in and out as freely as if he were a full-blown detective. Besides, he didn't like things going on in the precinct he knew nothing about.
For one, it wasn't fair-not if he was responsible for the duty logs.
Hempstead in Waller County was a picture-perfect, quiet little town with white picket fences, red mailboxes, lovely farms, schools and churches, not a one of which was in ill repair or need of painting. It was as if the town provided the paint. There were no overturned trash cans, discarded sofas, abandoned bikes, or a scrap of paper out of place, and this without a single warning sign about littering. The grass was greener, the sky bluer, the paint on the homes newer than any place Lucas Stonecoat had ever seen. There were no broken-down hovels, no ramshackle shacks, no ancient automobile relics or appliances on people's lawns or porches. It was as if those who'd dared these transgressions in the past were immediately run out of town. The main roads were narrow and the lines freshly painted.
Only the state penitentiary on the outskirts of town detracted from the Disney appearance of the place.
“You'd never know the place was once called Six-shooter Junction, would you?” she asked.
“No, but I've heard that it once was. That it was a wild and woolly place for decades after the Civil War.”
The rolling hills south of Hempstead were settled as early as 1821, but today only scattered historical markers, many hidden by time, told the story. In 1857 it became the terminus for the Houston amp; Texas Central Railroad, an early small-gauge train line that tooted across much of Waller County before expanding north to Bryan-College Station. During the Civil War, the railroad made Hempstead a major supply and troop depot for Confederate brigades, and at the cessation of hostilities, Confederate soldiers made their long walk home from Hempstead. Hempstead had also been the geographical turning point in Texas's war for independence from Mexico. Sam Houston's retreating forces camped and regrouped here from March 31 to April 14, 1836, before beginning their final aggressive march on San Jacinto and ultimate victory over Santa Ana and the Mexican army.
Hempstead had obviously awakened to its past, all the historical houses, buildings, and the old railroad station having been refurbished and freshly decked out, some now open to the public, some soon to be.
As they found Junction T-6 at US 290, they saw the old railroad hotel, the Hempstead Inn, originally built in 1901, now fully restored and open for business and serving lunch and dinner. The old place beckoned as they passed by.
The only blot on the entire area was the dull red-bricked, looming fortress and guard towers of the newly constructed penitentiary, which came into sight on the horizon after acres upon acres of fenced-in land that the state had bought up as a kind of buffer zone between Hempstead and its new neighbor.
It was to the gates of the medieval-looking yet modern brick facility that they drove. They were stopped at the guard station, where a display of their credentials got them waved through.
On the inside, they waited impatiently, anxiously for John “Jack” T. Covey, former Houston cop now serving time for abduction, lewd and lascivious acts with a minor, pornography, and child abuse. The man had been close to retirement, a life-crisis period for all cops, Meredyth told Lucas in a feeble attempt to explain his reckless lifestyle when he was apprehended. A good pension and clean record, all lost, everything having blown up in his face due to his sexual addiction and proclivities, or so it went. Lucas wasn't so sure that justice had been served in the case, finding Covey's partner's death, atop all else, rather a strange coincidence, both men conveniently out of the way, perhaps so that someone, somewhere could sleep better at night.
The moment Covey stepped into the interrogation room, he went on the defensive. A big bull of a man, he looked like King Rat here, his muscles bulging so that his prison shirt pulled and tugged with each movement he made. He obviously took great care of his physical health, and for a man his age, he seemed incredibly fit. His eyes were an icy gray steel, and they bored into Lucas as he asked Meredyth,
“What's he for? I thought you wanted to talk cozy-like, just the two of us. Jack don't fancy talking to no one else. Get 'im outta here, or Jack don't talk.” He referred to himself in the third person.
“We're partners,” she countered. 'This is Detective Lucas Stonecoat.”
“HPD? I don't deal with HPD, no, never.”
“Dallas,” lied Lucas, quickly showing his gold shield from Dallas.
“DPD, HPD… where's the difference? You're all scum.”
“Hold on, there.” Lucas's voice rose an octave, but Meredyth stood and stepped between the two men.
“Now look here, Mr. Covey.”
“Jack, he likes to be called Jack,” Covey replied, “sweetheart. What's wrong, you afraid to be in a room alone with Jack?”
“No, Jack, but my partner has to know what I know. You've got to remember how it was with you and Felipe.”
“Felipe got himself killed knowing what I know. You want me killed?”
“You help us, Jack,” she countered, “and we'll see your sentence is reduced, and you'll be out of here a great deal sooner than you could ever hope for through any other avenue.”
“I'd be out by now if Jack hadn't made that stupid getaway attempt.” He grinned at her, searching for some sign of understanding.
She tried to assure him that she was on his side. “I know that, but this is no stupid getaway attempt. Work with us.”
He again suspiciously eyed Stonecoat.
“Sit down,” she suggested.
“I could be murdered in my sleep just for talking to you people,” he muttered. “I told everyone inside that Jack was talking to a shrink about his problem. Jack even showed around a picture of you, darling.”
“A picture of me?” She was surprised, and Stonecoat was equally surprised.
“I still get the Police Gazette, sweetheart, and Jack can read. Read it from cover to cover. Guys in the joint think he's screwy, but we all know better, don't we, Doctor? Jack tells 'em on the inside that there's a lot to learn from the Gazette, and I particularly enjoyed your article on-”
“ 'The Psychology of Pedophiles and Interrogation Techniques,' yes.”
“Yeah, gave him a thrill, a whole new insight.”
“Insight into himself, or how better to behave during an inquiry, you mean?”
Covey gave a broken-toothed, tobacco-stained, loose-lipped laugh as his response. He appeared to have disgusting habits, despite an otherwise solid, masterful physique. He looked as if he'd had his nose broken on more than one occasion. Stonecoat sensed it was best to keep silent, to let Meredyth work her unique magic with this cretin.
'The article gave Jack plenty of insight-insight into you, Meredyth.” He looked up at Stonecoat, glaring, still feeling he'd been cheated of his private moment with this celebrity, Meredyth Sanger. “You show guys like Jack a great deal of… of genuine… compassion. Jack likes a girl with compassion, understanding, you know?”
'That article was about cop psychology and how foolishly some cops treat pedophiles, that in treating them as untouchable monsters, they easily lose the upper hand in interrogating the pedophile. It was about a cop's need to distance him self from the emotional constraints of a crime that involves children, not about-”
“It spoke volumes to Jack,” he countered, his hand having almost imperceptibly slithered across the table toward her.
Except for the bad teeth and scars, Covey was not unattractive for a man his age, and she could see how he might easily lure a young person, boy or girl, into his warped world of sexual deviancy. His size, his stature, his badge. His eyes and his firm features and granite build could mesmerize, never mind the fact that he was a “Blue
Centurion,” with all the trappings of authority. It wasn't hard to understand how young people might find him charismatic. His allure had surely tarnished by now, but apparently Jack didn't think so.
“Jack likes you, Meredyth, very much,” he cooed, his hand closer now.
She backed her seat away, the chair screeching in response. She was glad Stonecoat was nearby, but she wondered if Lucas were any match for the huge man, despite the age difference, should Covey come over the table at her.
“You told 'em,” he said, “you told 'em all that it was an uncontrollable sickness, what people like Jack have. You told 'em it wasn't some habit like smoking or drinking, that it ran deeper than a conditioned habit. You told 'em that Jack's brain, his genetic makeup, was as much to blame as his upbringing, didn't you? You told the world that Jack was not responsible for the stripes God put on his back.”
She hadn't exactly exonerated him as much as he had exonerated himself, but for the sake of keeping on Covey's good side, she nodded. “Yeah, Jack, that's what I said.”
She heard Lucas groan, as if to say, Oh, brother. But fortunately he kept his feelings to himself.
“Jack likes your savvy, Meredyth. The way you called him up, the way you come to see him. Now, ain't it funny, Jack already knew who you were when you told him who you were on the phone. Jack thinks it's like that kismet thing, you know, fate. You think you could learn to like Jack? Maybe come to visit him on a routine basis, without a reason and without your friend here?” Covey sneered up at Lucas, who kept his stony Indian features set.
The man made her skin crawl. She knew now he was put away for exactly what he was, and that she was experiencing the same emotions she had preached against in her article in the Gazette about interrogating a child molester.
Covey smiled a rotten-toothed smile at her, his wrinkles causing his jaw to sag. “Jack's quite taken with you. Jack knows you understand him completely. No woman's ever done that for Jack before…” The man's hand snaked forward quickly now, taking hers in his.
Stonecoat came off the wall, shouting, “Take your hand off Dr. Sanger!”
Meredyth shouted, “Shut up, Lucas! If Jack wants to hold my hand, then Jack holds my damned hand!”
Covey growled a bear like sound at Stonecoat and held firm to Meredyth's hand. “God… been so long since Jack's touched a woman…”
He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her hand as it throbbed in his.
“We're here to talk to you about the Palmer investigation, Jack. When you were a cop, doing a job, remember? Remember Dr. Wesley Palmer?”
“'Course I do. Got me in here, it did, and my name's John. Jack's the bastard controls my dick, but I'm the brains here.” He dashed her hand down as if it burned his.
She wondered if the man was play-acting for them or if he'd ever been diagnosed as having a split personality.
“Palmer case got Felipe killed and got me shut up like a goddamned animal, in more ways than one.” He guffawed until he coughed and spit.
“Tell us about that, John,” she suggested.
“Felipe was knifed, assassinated really. He was coming from a neighborhood grocery story with two bags, one in each arm, when they jumped him. Felipe wasn't a bad guy; made a good partner. Stayed out of my business.”
“Go on, tell us how he was killed.”
“Three, maybe four thugs dressed in black, according to witnesses. They took his wallet to make it look like a street mugging, but there were four puncture wounds direct to the man's heart, six to the lungs, twelve in all in the space of seconds. I'm telling you, they descended on him like locusts.”
“Who were they?”
“I don't know. I never got the chance to find out. Next thing I know, they got me on trumped-up charges, things Jack was into. They set Jack up, suckered him right in. You find that girl they gave Jack to play with, and maybe she can tell you who they were. They musta paid her plenty.”
“Did you rape this girl?”
He reluctantly answered. “Ask Jack.”
“I see.”
“Sounds like they played you like a fiddle,” replied Lucas.
He glared up at Lucas. “That they did. That they did. Played on my weakness for little blond ones.” Covey gave Meredyth another of his crooked, leering grins.
“Who… who do you suspect?”
“Who do you suspect?” Covey countered.
“This is a waste of time. Dr. Sanger,” Lucas sullenly replied. “Let's go have lunch at that nice inn down the road, shall we?”
“Look!” Covey exploded, standing, dropping his guard, “Just check out the facts. One day Felipe and me, we put it together. We struck a nerve with somebody high up! I mean, just a few days after we drew some simple conclusions about the similarities in the Palmer and Whitaker cases, whammo! they came for us.”
“Who?” persisted Lucas. “Who came for you?”
“Street thugs for Felipe, the State of Texas for me. The whole story on Jack was given to the D.A. by someone, someone who hired that girl to wear a wire which I only found when I tore her clothes off. That's when they stormed in, cops-cops I'd thought were my buddies. But they all knew I was into child porn for years before and nothing, nothing ever happened to me before then, before Felipe and me got involved in the Palmer case. So now, talking about it all these years later, I could still get myself killed.”
“Nobody has to know what we're here for,” she assured him.
“You can't be that naive, lady. Somebody knows why you're here, and that means anybody could know. If I cooperate, I want protection, a private cell, a TV like O.J. got, double meals, stuff like that, and if you ever get this thing together so there's a trial, I'll want amnesty, witness relocation, a new life, the whole damned nine yards.”
“So far you've given us crap, Covey,” countered Lucas. “So don't count on any help from us. Come on. Dr. Sanger. Let's get out of here.”
“But I'm telling you, a whole damned tactical unit came busting into my place that night they took me. They had warrants to search everything, my house, my car. Busted down my front door. Scared hell out of my-Jack's harem, poor kids. This the same night as Felipe got his. Now, if that ain't goddamned coincidence, then I don't know what is.”
“We'll keep you posted, Mr. Covey,” Meredyth began.
“Jack, you… you can call me Jack.”
She nodded, “We'll be in touch.”
“In touch… that's all I want.”
Stonecoat buzzed the waiting guard, who came in and removed Covey, leaving Lucas and Meredyth to stare at one another.
“Whataya think?” she asked.
“The guy's all creepoid, that's what I think.”
“But if what he says is true…”
“Big if, First, and secondly, he was a cop who used his position to get lost and homeless kids into his little sexual fantasyland! He disgusts me. Doesn't he disgust you?”
“Whether he does or not, that's not the point,” she replied. “The point is, if he and Felipe were onto something, and they were both silenced, then we are dealing with some heavy hitters here, some truly influential killers. I keep coming back to how Felipe was killed, and when it happened, as they were on the verge of connecting up the two cases.”
“Who was conducting the Whitaker investigation?”
“Pardee and Amelford, remember? They were there from the beginning Coincidence?”
He recalled the records he'd read, and she was right. “Those two bastards have got to see the similarities in the Mootry killing. Maybe it's time we paid them a little visit.”
“And what do you expect to get from such a visit, after the two played chopping block with your throat last night, Lucas? They're not going to share what they've turned up with either of us.”
“Why weren't they silenced ten years ago along with Felipe and Covey?”
'They didn't make the connection between Palmer and Whitaker, Felipe and Covey did.”
“Either that or think the unthinkable.”
“What? That Pardee and Amelford were part of Felipe's and Covey's downfall? That they were interested in some sort of cover-up in the Palmer and Whitaker deaths?”
“Well, you saw how scant the file information was.”
“Wheeew, that's quite a stretch.”
“It might explain why they were so testy with me.”
“They could have killed you last night, and if they are as deeply involved in some sort of conspiracy as you say, maybe they would have.”
“One of them wanted to finish me off; Pardee, I think. Said as much.”
“What precisely did he say?”
“I don't know. I was half unconscious from the blow he'd delivered.”
“They knocked you unconscious? You didn't say that before.”
“I didn't want to worry you.”
“Goddamn your stubborn, prideful hide.”
“I got the distinct impression they felt more than a little threatened by my having stepped into the Mootry crime scene.”
“What else did they say?”
“I was in a hell of a daze when they started conversing with one another. Hell, they thought I was completely out.”
“I think we could refresh your memory with a bit of regression therapy. Would you sit still long enough for me to hypnotize you?”
His eyes widened. “You can do that?”
“I can. I'm fully trained. We might get some interesting bits of… insight.”
“All right, but I don't want you digging around for anything but last night,” he commanded.
“What do you think I am? Some sort of psychic vamp? I'm only interested in helping your recall of the isolated event.”
He nodded. “Good… good, then we'll do it.”
They left the prison, going down its stark corridors, past the rattling bars and the whistles, finally out into the courtyard and the parking lot. The place seemed like some sort of hell on earth, like one of the rungs in Dante's Inferno, she thought.