“We are making some strides, sir.”
“ ‘We’? Don’t tell me you’ve got Pence talked into helping you on your off-hours. He wouldn’t help his grandmother across the street.”
Mark smiled. “No, I haven’t bothered Pence beyond using him as a sounding board. I’ve got one of the support group members doing some computer research on the case — kid named Levi Mills.”
Suddenly the back-and-forth stopped and silence took the line — Mark thought perhaps they’d been cut off.
Then Kelley’s voice returned, his voice soft: “What was that name, again?”
“Whose name?”
“The, uh, the computer kid.”
“Levi Mills. Why?”
“You have an address on him?”
“Sure.” Mark gave it to him, worry prickling his neck.
“Same Levi Mills,” Kelley said, still soft. “Friendly with this kid?”
“Somewhat. Nice young man.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but your nice young man was murdered last night.”
“...Shit.”
“Call came in a couple of hours ago. An early morning dog walker found the body.”
Mark practically swallowed the phone. “I want to go to that crime scene. And don’t say I’m not homicide, Captain, because—”
“I want you over there. Damnit! This is the son in that Mills double homicide over in Ashtabula?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You stay away from the media. Once they know that the only surviving member of a massacred family was murdered himself, this is going to blow up. You may get a lot of company looking into this thing. Multi-city task force, the works. But for now?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get your ass over to that crime scene, and pitch in as needed. Grant and Lynch are over there. I’ll let them know you’re on the way.”
Kelley gave him the location. Mark threw on one of his cheap, dark work suits and made tracks.
Driving over, thoughts fought for attention in his mind. Had they somehow attracted the serial killer’s notice? Had Levi stumbled onto something and exposed himself? Were Jordan and the others in danger, too? Or was this all just a coincidence? A mugging gone wrong or something?
He used hands-free dialing to get Jordan on her cell.
“Morning,” she said.
“You home?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I need you to stay there until you hear from me again. Don’t let anybody in but me, and find something to defend yourself with.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
“...Levi’s been murdered.”
“What?”
“I don’t know the details. I’m on my way to the crime scene. When I know more, you’ll know more.”
“Pick me up. Take me with you.”
“No. Call David, Phillip, and Kay and tell them to stay inside and not let anybody in. Please don’t tell them about Levi yet. I’ll tell them myself, when I have more to share. Got that?”
“Take me with you!”
“No.”
He ended the call.
He made it quickly across town to the Shaker Square RTA station. Traffic in the westbound lanes was being swept over to the curb lane while patrol cars, Grant’s Crown Vic, a crime scene van, and an ambulance were all parked in the lane closest to the station, which sat on an island between the east and westbound lanes of Shaker Boulevard.
Pulling in behind the others, Mark threw it into park, turned on the Equinox’s flashers, and got out. The sun was high and a faint breeze announced the irony of a beautiful spring day.
A crowd of onlookers strained at the crime scene tape with patrolmen just beyond. Mark stretched to see over the small crowd — although the yellow tape line had been positioned near the station, the cops were grouped near a grove of trees a good twenty-five yards west, near the sidewalk.
With some effort, Mark edged through the crowd — he understood the mob mentality, but what did they hope to see at a murder scene, exactly? He showed his badge to the nearest patrolman, who raised the tape for him to crawl under.
Grant saw him coming and broke away from the rest of the cops to meet him halfway.
“Captain Kelley said you’d be joining us,” the tall African-American cop said in that deep, commanding voice.
“You’re okay with this?” Mark asked. He was well aware that homicide detectives, the rock stars of the force, did not like being encroached upon.
“I’ll take all the damn help I can get. Cap says you knew this kid, and that he was working with you and some other civilians about the possibility these family homicides are related.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m going to want you to fill me in about all of that, in detail. But for now? The Mills kid is over there.”
The big detective pointed to a shady cluster of six trees, maybe ten or so yards west.
As they walked, Grant said, “Ask your questions, son.”
“Anybody see anything?”
“No.”
“Time of death?”
“No coroner yet, but from my experience and the amount of blood that’s already dried? He got it sometime last night.”
“Who found the body?”
“Old boy named Otto Stein. Dog walker. ID’d the kid, said they lived in the same building.” Grant pointed to a seven-story brick apartment house a block west or so from their position.
“Mr. Stein say anything else?”
Grant said, “Mr. Stein got spooked pretty good. He never saw anything like this. Said that with the shadows, he might not even have noticed the body, but his schnauzer was licking at something. Turned out to be a pool of blood. That sent Mr. Stein running faster than I’d guess he has in some damn time. He went over to the train station and used his cell to call 911. That’s where he waited for us.”
“Where is he now?”
“A couple officers accompanied him home. Thought about impounding the mutt.”
“Why’s that?”
“Blood on its face. But, as you’ll see, we got no shortage of that.”
With the crime scene just up ahead, Mark took in the surroundings. At night this would be a quiet neighborhood — maybe the occasional walker, like Mr. Stein, or if it wasn’t too late, workers from the strip mall and cinemas in the square, catching the train home. The Shaker Boulevard traffic would lighten and that dark patch of trees would be the perfect place for a mugger to lie in wait for a potential victim.
Reaching the shady grove, Mark and Grant put on plastic booties over their shoes. As he was snugging his on, Mark finally saw Levi. The young man was facedown, deep in the shadows, his battered Chuck Taylors pointed toward the detectives. His right leg and right arm were straight out from his torso, the left leg bent slightly, his left arm near his body.
Standing over the body now, the coppery aroma of blood in the air, Mark said to Grant, “He always carried his backpack, laptop in it.”
“If he was just out for a walk, maybe not.”
“If the bag’s not in his apartment, then he had it with him, and somebody stole it.” Mark shook his head. “This might just be a mugging gone wrong.”
Grant shook his head. “No. Too many coincidences. A kid who was looking into his parents’ murders, and a bunch of other homicides that might be related? This is who happens to be the rare mugging victim who buys it? I don’t think so.”
Away from direct sunshine, Mark waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the much dimmer light. The crime scene team was already taking casts of the prints, and there were a lot of them in the soft earth — Levi’s Chuck Taylors, another, heavier set about the same size... boots, maybe even combat boots. Nearer the sidewalk, Mark also noticed the paw prints of the schnauzer. Nobody was casting those.