“Believe Chief Hammer might like to see The Scoop in action.” Brazil smiled at him.
Brazil’s boots were quiet as he walked off.
CHAPTER Two.
Patrol was the largest division of the Charlotte Police Department, but investigations was the most treacherous, it was Virginia West’s belief. Citizens followed burglaries, rapes, and homicides with fearful eyes. They complained when violent offenders weren’t instantly snatched off the street, as if the Rapture had come. West’s phone had not stopped ringing all day.
The trouble started three weeks ago when Jay Rule, a businessman from Orlando, arrived in the Queen City for a textile meeting. Hours after Rule left the airport in a rental Maxima, the car was found abandoned in a dark, overgrown vacant lot off South College Street, in the heart of downtown. The interior bell was dinging its complaint that the driver’s door was open and headlights on. A briefcase and overnight bag had been gone through in the backseat. Cash, jewelry, portable phone, pager, and no one was quite sure what else, were gone.
Jay Rule, thirty-three, was shot five times in the head with a. 45 caliber pistol loaded with a high-velocity, extremely destructive hollowpoint ammunition called Silvertips. His body was dragged fifteen feet into kudzu, his pants and undershorts pulled down to his knees, his genital area spray-painted bright orange in the shape of a large hourglass. No one, including the FBI, had ever seen anything like this. Then the following week, it happened again.
The second homicide was less than two blocks from the first, just off West Trade Street, behind the Cadillac Grill, which wasn’t open at night, because of crime. Jeff Calley, forty-two, was a Baptist minister visiting Charlotte from Knoxville, Tennessee. His mission in the city was simple. He was moving his failing mother into a nursing home called The Pines, and staying in the Hyatt while he did so. He never checked in. Late that night, his rental Jetta was found, driver’s door open, bell dinging, same modus operand!
Week three, the nightmare repeated itself when fifty- two-year-old Gary Luby visited from Atlanta. West was discussing his case over the phone when Brazil appeared in her doorway. West did not notice him.
She was too busy shuffling through large, gory scene photographs as she continued arguing with an assistant district attorney.
“That’s not correct, I don’t know where you got that, okay? He was shot multiple times in the head, contact. A.45 loaded with Silvertips Yeah, yeah, exactly. All within several blocks of each other.”
She was beginning to get annoyed.
“Jesus Christ. Of course I’ve got people down there undercover, hookers, pimps, trolling, hanging out, whatever it takes. What do you think?”
She switched the phone to her other hand, wondering why she ever wore earrings, and irritated that anyone might question her ability to do her job. Checking her watch, she looked through more photographs, pausing at one that clearly showed the painted hourglass, which was rather much a solid orange figure eight. The base was over the genitals, the top over the belly. It was weird. The ADA continued asking questions about the crime scene, and West’s patience was deteriorating. So far, this day had been shit.
“Just like the others,” she told him emphatically.
“Every thing.
Wallet, watch, wedding band. ” She listened.
“No. No. Not credit cards, anything with the victim’s name… Why? Because the killer’s smart, that’s why.” She sighed, her head beginning to throb.
“Jesus friggin’ Christ. That’s my point, John. If we’re talking carjacking, then why wasn’t his” rental Thunderbird taken? Not a single car has been. ”
She swiveled around in her chair and almost dropped the phone when she saw the young male volunteer cop standing in her doorway, writing as fast as he could in a reporter’s notepad. The son of a bitch was looking around West’s office, taking down every confidential word being said about the most sensational, scariest murders the city had ever known. So far, sensitive details had been kept out of the press as political pressure gathered and darkened and swarmed.
“Gotta go,” West abruptly said.
She slammed down the receiver, hanging up on the ADA. She pinned Brazil with her eyes.