The Fiercest Enemy Read online

  “Who am I to say no to the FBI?” she said.

  Jack lifted Brandon’s upper lip and pushed the lower one down. There were two small cuts on the inside of the upper lip that looked like tooth marks. No teeth were missing or broken. He looked at the outside of the lip. No corresponding cuts or bruising. He wasn’t in a fight. He fell on his face.

  Brandon’s eyes were open. He spread the eyelids open wider. Petechiae was present around the corneas. He pushed on the skin on the neck with two fingers, lifted an arm and lowered it, bent the arm at the elbow. The muscles weren’t fixed, stiffened.

  “Was he face down in the water?” Jack asked.

  Joey said, “Yes sir. He was floating about six feet out in the water there. It’s about five feet deep there and then it drops off and gets plenty deep.”

  “Is livor mortis visible on the back of the body?” Jack asked. Livor mortis is the red coloring of the skin that occurs after death because the blood no longer circulates. Gravity causes the blood to pool into the parts of the body lowest to the ground.

  Shaunda again answered for Joey. “We didn’t see any signs of rigor, livor or algor mortis. It’s about forty degrees out here. The water is about thirty-five degrees”

  Rigor mortis means the joints had locked up and the body would be stiff. Algor mortis refers to the temperature of the body gradually lowering until it reached the ambient temperature. The cold water would slow all these processes down, just like heat would speed them up.

  “He’s got a bump on the back of his head like he hit it. I just saw him an hour or so ago. He couldn’t be dead any longer than two hours.”

  Jack nodded. He examined top and bottom of each hand and the fingers. The nails were intact, no scrapes on the skin or knuckles. Small particles of the black gritty soil from the bank coated the knees, thighs and tops of the toes from where the body was dragged onto shore. Joey would have had the victim under the arms, pulling the body out of the water. The chest was protected from contact with the ground.

  “He’s still wet,” Jack said.

  “That’s what happens when you get in water,” Shaunda said. “We just pulled him out five minutes ago.”

  “Can I turn him on his side?” Jack asked.

  “Why not?”

  Shaunda slipped gloves on and helped Jack roll the body onto its right side. Jack felt the back of the victim’s head. His glove came away with a trace amount of blood. He moved the right ear forward and found a sizable laceration.

  “He was hit and shoved in,” Jerrell said to Shaunda but she ignored him. “Murdered. Just like my boy.”

  They eased the body back down and Jack stood, thinking, while Liddell recorded everything in a notebook.

  “He hasn’t been in the water long, Shauny,” Jerrell said, barely controlling his anger.

  “He has a name. His name is Brandon. I talked to him a little over an hour ago,” she said. “He was supposed to be heading home. He was in his mother’s Jeep. A silver newer Jeep Cherokee Laredo four wheel drive. I didn’t see it around here when I came up. Did you see a Jeep?”

  They hadn’t.

  “Did you put an alert out on the Jeep?” Jerrell asked. Shaunda didn’t answer. She stripped the gloves off.

  “Sergeant, see if you can locate the Jeep?” Jerrell said. Sergeant Ditterline nodded and left to get the vehicle information and have dispatch broadcast a BOLO—be on the lookout.

  Shaunda asked the newcomers, “Seen everything you want?”

  Jack answered. “Do you have someone to take photos, collect evidence?”

  Jerrell answered for her. “Sullivan County Sheriff has a crime scene unit but I’ll have my guys come over. We want to keep control of this. The task force will want to keep control. Have you called Doc Bonner? If not, I’ll have my guys transport the body to the Greene County morgue.”

  Shaunda said, “Whatever you think, Troy.” She let out a deep breath and faced the lake, fingers shoved in behind her gun belt. “I’ll have to tell Claire.”

  Jerrell explained, “Doc Bonner is standing in for the old coroner that quit. He’s new to this. I’m going to have my guys transport the body to our coroner.”

  Jack said, “Our morgue at home is used by several counties for the autopsies. I don’t think it will be a problem.”

  Jerrell said, “We have an old ambulance that we’ve converted into a crime scene wagon. We can use that.”

  Chief Lynch stared down at the body. “The last time I needed help the county and the state guys acted like I’d asked them to donate a kidney.” She motioned for Joey to cover the body again. He went back to his truck but this time came back with a clean folded white sheet.

  Jack saw Jerrell flinch but the scene was already contaminated. Crime Scene would have to collect everything, the sheet included, for elimination purposes. In the early 1900s Dr. Edmond Locard, a criminalist, developed a theory that for any crime the suspect would leave something behind and take something away from the scene. This came to be known as Locard’s Exchange Principle and the theory still held true today. The rain slicker would leave behind trace elements on the body from whomever wore it and it would take away trace elements from the body. The collection of evidence became complicated by the human need to show compassion.

  “What can we do to help, Chief Lynch?” Jack asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  Jerrell got on his phone and made a call. He disconnected and said, “My crime scene guys will be here in ten minutes.” He turned to Jack and Liddell. “We’re done here if you want to follow me back to the station. I’ll bring you up to speed.”

  Jack wanted to ask Chief Lynch more questions but she didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood. He’d bluffed and bullied his way thus far but he wasn’t sure he truly had jurisdiction regardless of what Director Toomey said. Toomey wasn’t here to make that decision. Jack gave the area a quick visual once over and he and Liddell followed Jerrell back to the road. Jerrell was far ahead of them on the path and out of earshot.

  Liddell said, “Underwear over the head, the Jeep is missing, struck in the back of the head and it happened about a week after the last one. I didn’t see any clothes either. This may be one of ours.”

  “We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to see if he was drowned and if there are drugs in his system,” Jack said. “We’ll have to read these files more closely. I want to attend the autopsy on this kid.”

  “Should we get divers out here and search the lake?” Liddell asked.

  “Not just yet,” Jack answered. “We’re thumbing our nose at Sullivan County as it is. Let’s see if the kid drowned and if we can find the Jeep.”

  “We spending the night?” Liddell asked.

  “Yep.”

  They caught up with Jerrell at the street. He didn’t say anything, just got in his truck, cranked the engine and made a U-turn. Jerrell pulled up even with the Crown Vic, his window powered down and he said, “I’ll drive slower so you won’t arrest me. You know what they do to cops in jail.” With that he sped away.

  By the time Jack and Liddell started the Crown Vic and turned around Jerrell’s truck was out of sight.

  Chapter 9

  Jack parked at the police station beside Jerrell’s empty Ford 250 King Cab 4X4.

  Liddell unbuckled his seat belt. “What do you think?”

  Jack thought Jerrell was a little intense, overbearing and controlling but that’s what made good investigators. It was understandable that Jerrell would want to catch his son’s killer, but he was violating police procedures, ignoring jurisdiction and chain of custody issues on top of pissing off everyone around him. From what Jack had gleaned watching the two chief’s interactions at the lake they had butted heads over jurisdiction in the past. It was obvious Jerrell didn’t think Chief Lynch was capable of catching the killer. Being emotionally involved worked for you sometim
es. Sometimes it got you or someone else killed.

  “I think this will be interesting. Let’s see what he’s got for us,” Jack said. They went to the side entrance and pressed an intercom button. Nothing. Liddell pressed it again and a voice came over the tiny speaker, saying, “Police personnel only. Come around to the front door.”

  “FBI,” Jack said.

  The voice said, “Let me see some ID.”

  Jack saw a camera mounted overhead. He and Liddell held their credentials up and heard a lock click.

  “Down the hall to your right. Wait in the front lobby,” the voice said.

  They entered a wide hallway with doors on either side and an intersecting hallway just ahead. Liddell nudged Jack and pointed to a camera mounted on the ceiling at the end of the hall. Jack turned around and saw another camera mounted above the door they had just entered.

  “Testing. Testing. One, two, three. One, two, three,” Liddell said.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sound check.”

  “Stop being a wiseass,” Jack cautioned. “We want them to take us seriously.”

  “I think they take everything seriously.”

  “Point taken.”

  They turned right and stepped into the front lobby. The lobby was spartan, outfitted with a set of business style chrome and Naugahyde sofas, two chairs, and chrome and wood end tables. All were bolted to the floor. Canister lighting surrounded the room. Surveillance cameras were in opposing corners, one pointed toward the entrance door, the other toward a heavy wooden desk, also bolted to the floor.

  The top of the desk was unadorned except for a clay flowerpot with fake petunia’s and a plaque that simply read ‘RECEPTION”. Framed photos hung on the wall behind the lone desk. One of Chief of Police Troy Jerrell, the other of a dour looking woman with a beehive hairdo, bright red lipstick, and glasses too big for her narrow face. The caption read “Mayor of Linton Mabeline Dibney.” Mabeline was the exact reverse of Jerrell in size, but the one thing they had in common was the forced smile on their faces. She reminded Jack of ‘The Church Lady’ on the old Saturday Night Live comedy show.

  Liddell pointed to the stern looking faces in the photos and said in a deadpan voice, “You’ll like Linton—but they don’t.”

  They heard Chief Jerrell’s raised voice come from somewhere down the hallway. The words weren’t clear, but the angry tone was unmistakable.

  There was a buzzer on the desk. Jack pushed the button several times and a uniformed sergeant came into the lobby from the hall.

  “I’m Sergeant Crocker,” the man said and motioned for them to take seats. Jack and Liddell remained standing. Sergeant Crocker sat down behind the desk and busied himself arranging the flowerpot, then opening and closing desk drawers. Satisfied with the desk he asked, “Now. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  Jack said, “Chief Jerrell is expecting us.”

  “He’ll be with you shortly. He’s talking to our coroner.”

  “More like ‘talking at’ him,” Liddell said.

  Crocker chuckled and said, “Yeah, like that. He’s a good chief. A good cop. He takes care of us, and we take care of him.”

  To put the sergeant at ease Jack pulled out his EPD and FBI credentials and put them open on the desk. “We’re detectives with the Evansville Police Department in real life, but we also work on a federal task force. We don’t like getting into your business any more than any other ‘real cop’ would.” He stressed ‘real cop’ to let Crocker know they were the same. Just a couple of cops doing a job.

  Crocker got up from the desk. “Well hell. You should’ve told me right off. The chief didn’t tell me you were cops. I mean…well, you know what I mean. Can I get you guys some coffee?”

  Liddell said, “I wouldn’t say no. If you have a vending machine I could use a candy bar or something.”

  Crocker grinned. “Hell, I can do better than that. Come on back to the break room. My missus made some scones that’ll make your tongue think it’s gone to heaven.”

  They followed Crocker down the hall to a door marked ‘Employees Only’. The hallway was lined with photos of police officer’s and K-9’s. One section of the wall held a display case with awards and trophies and snapshots of officer’s playing basketball with kids and officer’s in Santa beards passing out toys to little ones and the like. Jack knew that police departments were trying to forge a newer, kinder image but it was sad that the public still distrusted and disliked police. An officer’s word was only as good as the video captured on their mandated body cams.

  A little further down the hall was a glass fronted ‘Remembrance’ display with plaques for officer’s and K-9’s killed in the line of duty. As Crocker passed the Remembrance display he made the sign of the cross.

  Crocker opened the door and a delicious smell hit them. The room they entered was a combination break room/roll call room. On one side was a podium and two huge whiteboards facing a dozen metal folding chairs. On the other side was a cafeteria style table and behind it was a complete kitchen with a counter, cabinets, sink, refrigerator and an electric oven. A petite thirtyish blond haired woman wearing a frilly white apron over a red dress was taking a tray of scones from the oven. Her clothes were right out of the 60s. She was wearing bright red lipstick. When she smiled, she reminded Jack of someone from his past.

  “My wife, Betty Crocker,” the Sergeant said.

  That’s it.

  Mrs. Crocker turned and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Don’t tell them that’s my name.” She pulled off the oven mitts, wiped her hands on her white apron and gave both detectives a delicate handshake. “Hi, I’m Tina. Not Betty. I’m this one’s better half. I like to bake so they all call me Betty Crocker.” She playfully punched Crocker in the arm.

  Jack and Liddell introduced themselves to her.

  Sergeant Crocker said, “They’re with the FBI, hon. They’ve come up here to show us farmers how it’s done.”

  Liddell responded, “We’re really here to show you how to ‘com-bine’ your investigations.”

  “Combine. I get it.” Crocker laughed.

  “At least someone gets your stupid jokes, Bigfoot.”

  “Have a seat. I just baked some scones. Coffee?”

  “We’d be crazy if we said no,” Liddell answered and the three men took seats at the table.

  Tina brought over a platter with several small plates, mugs, butter and a large plate filled with freshly baked scones. “Should I set more places?”

  Sergeant Crocker said, “I’m not sure who’s doing what, hon. I’ll get the coffee.”

  “You stay sitting,” Tina said and retrieved a platter the size of a baking sheet with creamer, sugar, honey, and a carafe of coffee. She then hovered nearby and said, “Well. Dig in. Tell me what you think.”

  Liddell put several scones on his plate and devoured one. The expression on his face was pure ecstasy. Jack tried one and it was as good as Sergeant Crocker claimed.

  “Oh my God!” Crocker said with his eyes closed and his mouth half full. He said something else that Jack interpreted as “what did I tell you?” or maybe “wah-dee-doo-doo”.

  Liddell lifted his coffee cup in a salute just as Chief Jerrell came into the room looking like the bull that won the bullfight. He took the empty seat at the head of the table, picked up a scone and ate fastidiously for such a large man. Jerrell sat quietly. The only activity was chewing, sipping, and refilling coffee. Jack and Liddell ignored the chief’s silent treatment knowing a pecking order was establishing itself.

  Crocker seemed uneasy with the silence and said, “Ditty hasn’t had any luck finding that Jeep, Chief. He put a BOLO out.”

  Jerrell put his cup down. “Shauny said she talked to Brandon an hour before she got the call about the body. Whoever killed him and stole his Jeep had a couple hours head start.” He to
ok his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and punched in a number. “Did Ditty put that BOLO out local or did he…?” He listened and said, “Add Ohio, Kentucky and Illinois. The Jeep has a two hour lead on us. Thanks Cassie.” Jerrell put the phone back in his pocket. “Cassie’s our dispatcher. I’m gonna have Ditty’s balls if this guy gets away. Excuse my language Tina.”

  Jerrell blew across the top of the cup and took a sip of the scalding hot coffee. “That’s some fine coffee, Betty.”

  “I told you all to stop calling me that,” Tina chastened him, but she smiled at the compliment and went back to cleaning up the kitchen.

  “I guess we should wait for Chief Lynch and the others,” Jack said and saw an unspoken message pass between Sergeant Crocker and Chief Jerrell.

  “Am I missing something, Chief?” Jack asked.

  “No. It’s just that you got here earlier than I expected. I was kind of hoping your computer girl was coming with you. When will she be here?”

  “Angelina Garcia isn’t coming at all, Chief Jerrell. She briefed us this morning and we have her files,” Jack said. “Is there a problem?”

  Jerrell said, “It appears this is going to a small task force. We’ve got what you see here, Shaunda, and of course, Crime Scene and whatever of my department we need. Greene County and Sullivan County Sheriff’s Departments and Indiana State Police aren’t sending anyone.”

  “No one else is on the task force?” Liddell asked.

  Jerrell said, “I’m not sure if they are planning to get involved later on. I called to get their case files on the murders and when I told them the FBI was sending agents they said they would have to get back to me. They cited manpower issues.”

  Mentally, Jack cursed Toomey for buckling because of his friend with DOJ and sticking them in this circle jerk. There were two reasons he didn’t head back home. They were already here and these people needed help. He was interested.

  “To tell you the truth,” Jerrell said, making Jack guess that he was about to lie his ass off.