I try not to let the instant disappointment show on my face.
“Okay. I’ll try not to be too long.”
Back in my office I focus on the victim’s autopsy report, making sure I make note of each and every bruise we uncovered. Paul already put her clothes into evidence bags, ready to be handed over to the crime techs, and is dropping off the tissue samples at the lab on his way home. Apparently, Pat is working late as well.
I attach the report and all accompanying documentation to an email for Ramirez and send it off. Then I dial his number to let him know it’s on its way.
“Ramirez.”
“It’s Doc Carter, I just sent you the autopsy report on Dorothy Zalinski, but I wanted to give you a heads-up that I’m ruling it a homicide.”
“Good. We have the grandson in custody but he’s denying any involvement. Did you get nail scrapings?”
“Yes. Samples are heading for the CBI lab as we speak.”
“Great. I’ll give Pat a call.”
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Nail this guy. The poor woman presented as a classic abuse victim. She was covered in bruises upon bruises, X-rays showed a couple of poorly healed fractures, and she was severely malnourished.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I know.” It’s going to be hard for the daughter to hear, but even harder when she realizes this has likely been going on under her nose for quite some time. “Are you gonna be talking to the family?”
“Guess I’ll have to. Not looking forward to that though.”
“I could tag along in case they have questions.”
I’m not sure what motivates me to offer—it’s not like it’s a particularly enjoyable thing to do, telling families their loved ones suffered—but it’ll give me something better to do than go home and think about Jay.
“You sure? I was going to go right now, get it done since our other case is heating up.”
“Yeah, I heard you guys are working late.”
“Trying to find McCarty. The other guys are out there knocking on doors. It’ll be a long night, so I’d like to get this out of the way.”
“All I have to do is lock up.”
“All right, I’ll pick you up.”
I shut down my computer, turn off the lights, and find Collier sitting in a chair in the lobby.
“I’m going to head out with Detective Ramirez for a family notification. Why don’t you go grab some dinner in the meantime? It may be a long night.”
He ends up checking with Ramirez first when his vehicle pulls up in front of the building. Tony seconds my suggestion and sends the officer off as I get in the passenger seat.
“I called ahead,” he says, pulling away from the curb. “Carolyn, the oldest daughter,” he explains, “is calling in the rest of the family. Including her sister. Be prepared, this might get messy.”
He’s not kidding.
We end up waiting for twenty minutes before the rest of the family arrives. I know right away who the mother of that sadistic bastard is from the glare she throws in our direction when she walks in. I’m not a mother, but I’m not surprised when the woman jumps to her son’s defense and tries to explain away her mother’s injuries. Her siblings aren’t interested in hearing it and in the family brawl that ensues, we discover there may have been signs her boy had issues before.
Ramirez has his hands full trying to keep the very loud, and so far, vocal argument from becoming violent, while I try to comfort the older sister, who is on the verge of losing it.
We wait around until Carolyn’s last sibling leaves before we head out.
“Jesus,” Tony mumbles, getting behind the wheel. “I could use a stiff drink right about now.”
“I hear you.”
As an only child I always wished I was part of a larger family, would’ve liked siblings, but after witnessing that dysfunctional mess, I’m not so sure.
“Got brothers or sisters, Doc?”
“No. Only child. What about you?”
“One brother and we get along like a house on fire. Thank fuck.”
I nod in agreement.
We’re barely out of the street when the radio crackles to life.
“…10-999. I repeat 10-999 at the Old Homestead Trailer Park on US-550. All units respond. Suspect is armed and dangerous…”
I have to grab on to the door handle when the vehicle swerves around a truck in front of us and speeds down the road. I glance at Tony’s profile, which looks carved in stone.
“What’s happening?”
His eyes flick my way before returning to the road ahead.
“Officer down.”
His voice is dull and cold starts seeping into my veins.
Chapter 25
Jay
It’s empty.
We had to wait for a search warrant to be able to gain access to the dingy apartment near the college. It’s the address the crematorium supplied and a quick word with the manager told us it’s still in Billy McCarty’s name. He was also able to tell us McCarty hasn’t been late on his rent in the past year and was a quiet tenant he never had trouble with.
We suspected he might not be home when the parking lot, where the fairly new Dodge Charger listed in his name should’ve been parked, was empty. It wasn’t exactly a surprise when there was no answer to our knocks, and despite the manager’s offer to let us in, we called Joe to get us a warrant. He managed to get one signed in record speed, but it was still a frustrating forty-five-minute wait.
But what is even more frustrating is finding that at some point McCarty had packed up all his clothes, grabbed his TV—the outline is still visible in the dust on the armoire—and took off. It wasn’t that long ago either, a box with a few slices of pizza left in the fridge still had a receipt dated three days ago stuck to it.
“I’ve got something,” Keith calls from the single bedroom.
He has the bed moved aside, revealing a few magazines and some other odds and ends that were stuck behind the headboard and is holding up a bullet and what looks like a Polaroid picture.
“Looks like we may have to be careful.”
Blackfoot hands me the items and I roll the bullet on the palm of my hand.
“He’s armed.”
“We’ll have to assume that,” Keith agrees.
Then I examine the picture a little closer.
“That’s Tom Ward.” I recognize one of the individuals in the picture with our suspect. It’s a younger Tom Ward and the suspect looks to be barely out of his teens. The second man I’ve never seen before. “I don’t know who the other guy is.”
“Another one of the infamous Ward clan,” Keith clarifies. “Jeff. Worked off and on at the Sonoco station. Heard he passed away not that long ago.”
“So how does that help us?”
I hand the photograph back but Blackfoot holds it up, tapping something in the background.
“That’s the sign for the Old Homestead Trailer Park. Jeff lived there. We got called out to his trailer plenty of times over the years for disturbances. Those guys liked to party.” He gets to his feet and wipes his hands on his jeans. “As far as I know, that old trailer still sits there tucked into the trees at the back of the park.”