Heather Graham - Picture Me Dead

“I’ll send it on over to the D.A. with my report. Seems Trena’s lawyer told him to plea-bargain after he saw the evidence against him.”

Jake looked at Marty, then paused to thank the officer who stopped by with the envelope that contained the information on the girl they were calling Cinderella. There was other business to finish up.

“Trena was smart to plea-bargain,” he said, unwinding the string securing the envelope. “His gun, his fingerprints, bullets charged on his credit card in his wife’s head—I think a plea bargain would be a hell of a lot better than a death sentence.”

Marty smiled without humor. “Well, remember the guy who put five bullets into his buddy’s stomach? His attorney got the jury to believe his gun just went off accidentally—five times.”

“True. I’m still glad to hear Trena is going with a plea bargain. Hopefully he’ll be locked up for a while.”

Marty started to collect papers and folders while Jake opened the envelope he’d been given. He scanned the information. Without looking up, he told Marty, “Let’s follow up on the rest of Bordon’s known followers, find out what they’re doing these days, check into their activities. We can work the door-to-door angle, as well, but I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere. We don’t have a lot to work with right now. If we can just get an I.D. on the victim, it will give us more to go on.” He paused, then said softly, “I think I’m going to take a ride up to the middle of the state this week.”

“You want company, or you think I should stay here?”

“I think one of us should be here.”

“You’d be happier if you were the one here, interviewing Bordon’s old people. You like to be hands-on, Jake, and you know it. Sure you don’t want me to be the one to take the drive up?”

Jake shook his head. “No, but thanks. I want to talk to Bordon myself.”

Marty shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “You’ve talked to Bordon before.”

He had. And if it hadn’t been for Marty, he might have blown his entire career. He had almost gone for the man’s throat. Marty and a uniformed officer had pulled him back. Marty knew how deep his feelings ran against Bordon, even if he didn’t personally believe that Nancy’s death had anything to do with the case. He felt the same pain. On duty with a fellow officer in the area, he had been one of the first people on the scene when Nancy’s car had been found.

“I’ll be all right.”

“If that kid hadn’t been a weight lifter, I might not have kept you from strangling the man.”

“Marty, I was wrong. I was overemotional, but I swear to you, I’m in control now. I can’t kill Bordon.”

“What do you mean, you can’t kill him? I’m willing to bet you can. He isn’t short, and he isn’t a skinny wimp, but you’ve got a few pounds on him—all muscle—and the adrenaline rush you had going that day was frightening. You sure as hell can kill him, and I’m not so sure you can control your temper.”

“I can and I will.”

“But—”

“I can’t kill him, Marty. I really can’t. I need him alive.”

“You need him alive? We both think he’s a killer, even if he never dirties his hands himself. So why is it that you need him alive?”

“Because we need to find out what really went on back then, and if it’s recurring now. We were missing something—I mean, it seemed obvious that Bordon was calling the shots, and that there were more people involved in the deaths. Hell, maybe Harry Tennant was in on the murders, but I don’t believe for a second that he committed them alone. Marty, we’ve got to find out the truth, or we’re never going to be free of this case.” He was silent for a minute; then he grimaced and spoke flatly, with an open honesty his partner could well understand. “I need the truth. Or I’ll never be free of this.”

After a moment, Marty nodded. “Yeah, I understand. But you’re sure you’ll be all right going up alone? Captain Blake will be setting up a task force again—reinvigorating it, since we never officially closed the inquiry down. There will be other officers down here getting moving on research, questioning, digging, legwork. I can come upstate with you if you want.”

“I want one of us here. Paying attention to everything, to little details that might slip by someone else. We need to get every piece of information we’ve got on file and to keep digging up everything new we can find on Bordon’s old followers, everything we’ve got on his hierarchy—the names of everyone involved in the cult, and a bio on what they’ve been doing since Bordon went to jail.”

Jake’s desk phone rang. He picked up.

It was Captain Blake, head of homicide, on the other end.

“I understand you’ve been busy this weekend.”

“I took Sunday off.”

“To read files all day?”

“I went to see my dad.”

“Good. All right. I’ve seen the forensic reports on the girl that jogger found Friday. And yes, it’s similar to the murders five years ago. And yes, we’ll reinvigorate the task force. And if you can swear you’ll keep a level head and unproven speculations to yourself, you’ll head it again, Detective.”

“I can keep a level head.” He hesitated. “Thanks.”

“No one knew what was going on back then the way you did. It’s always been your case, and it only makes sense to keep it that way. Of course, this whole thing could be some kind of a—”

“Copycat killing? Yes, sir, we all know that.”

“And you’re not the Lone Ranger, Jake. We solve things by being a team.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, then. Meeting at ten-thirty, my office.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Franklin will be in from the FBI. You have a problem with that?”

“No, sir.” He did, but he wasn’t about to tell that to Blake. And he was damned determined that he wasn’t going to tell Franklin, either.

“Belk, Rosario, MacDonald and Rizzo will round out the group. You can always call in whatever uniformed personnel you need.”

“Sounds like we’ve got a good team and good backup.”

“Ten-thirty,” Captain Blake repeated.

“Yes, sir, we’ll be there.”

He hung up, staring thoughtfully at the receiver.

“Well?” Marty said.

Jake shrugged. Marty was a big fan of Sir Conan Doyle.

“As your Victorian super sleuth liked to say, Marty, the game is afoot.” He added, “Ten-thirty, Captain Blake’s office. He’s called in the other shifts for a meeting. We’re reinvigorating the old task force, using the same crew. We’ve got Belk and Rosario, MacDonald and Rizzo. Oh, and Franklin from the FBI.”

“Franklin?” Marty said with dismay.

“You got a problem with that?” Jake said.

“Problem? Me? Hell, no,” Marty said, starting around from Jake’s desk to take a seat at his own.

“Yep, hell no, no problem,” Jake said.

“Fuck,” Marty moaned.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Fuck,” Marty repeated. He shook his head. “Franklin,” he said. He looked bleakly at Jake. “We got a problem.”

“We’ll get past it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Marty said. He punched information into his computer, ready to search the available records. He was still shaking his head.

“Fuck. Franklin,” he repeated.

“I hear you, Marty,” Jake assured him.

“We’ll get past it,” Marty aped.

“We’ll get past it, because nothing, nothing, is going to take us off this case. Nothing—and no one.”

“Right. Nothing and no one,” Marty agreed.

Later, after they’d both spent the early morning reviewing reports and researching the records, Jake rose to tell Marty it was time for the task force meeting.

He was still shaking his head. And when he rose, reached for his jacket, and joined Jake for the walk to the captain’s office, he said again, “Fuck. Franklin.”