Chapter Thirty Four

“We know he did this! Let’s just go arrest the bastard and shut this case down,” Rene said in a frustrated tone.

Her partner looked over and smiled. They were parked outside the suspect’s home in an unmarked police car. “You know it doesn’t work like that. If we go in too soon the guy’s going to get away with murder. Is that what you want—for him to get away on a technicality?”

Rene rolled her eyes even though she knew he was right and she’d never hear the end of it if things played out like that. It would be an ‘I told you so’ nightmare. “I see why he does it and I see why you give the guy so much leniency. But following the rules sucks.”

He smiled at the petulance in her voice. The partners were in sync enough for him to know she was referring to the vigilante Black Rose, a.k.a. Charles Wentworth III. It was true: year by year, he did give Charles more latitude. It was a secret he and Rene shared. He figured, it was the two of them against the world. Anything else was politics and promotion. Rene was right: following the rules was frustrating. But he gave Black Rose as much space as he could.

“We should retire, David. Just disappear.” She looked at him with a pleading expression. If the FBI ever found out David and Black Rose were friends, it wouldn’t just be the end of his career. It would mean hard time in federal prison. He would never last in prison surrounded by the killers he’d helped to put away.

He smiled again at her calling him by his first name. She rarely did, unless he had his head between her legs as she screamed his name. The thought made his smile widen and his cock stir to life.

“You know how it is. Every time I get close to retiring, another case comes up.” The statement was his best defense against leaving the only way of life he had ever known. What the hell was he supposed to do with himself if he retired? He didn’t know how to live a normal life. He’d be miserable.

“Well, you’re not leaving me here by myself. When you retire, I’m taking early retirement.” She jerked her head around to glare at him. “Sometimes I think you won’t retire because you’re protecting Black Rose.”

“I won’t deny it. I have no desire to slow down and the man needs someone looking out for him.”

His admission and the fact that he was being honest with her about a difficult subject softened her heart toward him. She of all people understood the compulsion to protect someone you loved. It was how she felt about him. Her head jerked up and she nudged him as she pointed. “Look, he’s leaving. Why aren’t we following him?” She nodded toward Brian Reed, the man they believed to be the infamous Mummy Man.

“Because we have more important things to do. We’re breaking into his house. He’s not going to be triggered again this soon. I’m counting on him letting the need to hunt build up over the next few days,” he replied. She knew he was right. It would take a few days if not more for the craving to conquer and kill to reach the boiling point. So they waited until he was gone and pulled up behind some trees that would provide cover until they were ready to leave.

“How are we…”

At the back door the question wasn’t halfway out of her mouth before her partner bent down and lifted a flowerpot. With a grin, he held up the key that was hidden there. His mischievous smile made him look ten years younger.

Rene rolled her eyes but couldn’t stifle the smile that curved her lips. How could you love somebody more with each passing day? Even serial killers could be so predictable, hiding the keys that protected everything they held dear beneath flowerpots.

When they entered, they were shocked to find that the place didn’t look like a dump at all. The house was old, probably something left to him by a mother who never suspected her son was a psycho, or who turned a blind eye out of love for her only child.

“If you move anything, for God’s sake put it back,” Rene said.

“You took the words right out of my mouth. This guy doesn’t live like a typical bachelor. He’s so tidy, he’d be sure to notice anything out of place.” The house wasn’t just tidy; it was impeccable, unlike the outside that looked aged and in need of repair.

Rene followed her partner into the living room. “Shit. He must not entertain much. Look at that. He doesn’t even bother to hide it.” She pointed at the coffee table; more specifically, at the intricate display beneath the glass top.

“Here, put these on,” he said absently, his gaze fixed on the table as he handed her a pair of the disposable gloves he always kept on hand in his suit pocket.

Photographs. One woman’s eyes held terror as she looked at the camera. Another was defiant while another wept. “Shit. That’s Evie,” Turner muttered. Evie was the only one who looked like she was so high that she had no idea of her plight.

Turner marveled at the intricate display hiding in plain sight. Rene was right, he probably had no friends with all of the dark secrets he held. People with secrets like his couldn’t afford to be social butterflies.

“Let’s check his bedroom. That’s where he’ll keep the most intimate of his trophies. I think we’ve got enough to put out an APB on this guy and haul him in. He’ll be rotting in jail before the sun comes up.”

Turner went completely still. Only the ticking of his clenched jaw betrayed the emotions churning inside the hardened lawman. He raised empty eyes to hers. “Are you really willing to trust that the justice system will do what needs to be done here?”

Rene frowned and stepped toward him, then stopped short. “David. What do you mean? This is what we do.”

“It won’t be enough, Rene. You know it and I know it. We’re sitting on a treasure trove of evidence, and it still won’t be enough. We could catch the guy with his arm raised in the air bringing down a knife and it wouldn’t be enough. There's always that one juror, that one moment of rookie stupidity at a crime scene, that one technicality that will let this guy walk so he can go out and kill some more.”

He put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor as she shook his head. When he looked up, his eyes gleamed with hardened resolve. “No. When it comes to this guy? It’s got to be a sure thing. The only way to get rid of this scum is to…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t finish the sentence. They both knew the fucker needed to die.

Rene said nothing but headed straight for the large antique dresser, opening drawers in quick succession, and carefully looking under the perfectly folded clothing. When she didn’t find anything there, she headed for the matching chest of drawers against the opposite wall. The third drawer down, she hit pay dirt. “Well, hell. Look at this.”

The drawer was compartmentalized in sections, and in each section were his trophies from each of his victims. “Don’t touch anything,” he said, although he knew she knew not to disturb the evidence.

“It’s Evie’s necklace,” was her only reply, spoken in hushed tones.

“And a Zippo lighter.”

“He has everything so organized. He’s proud of it.”

“He is. And he seems to think he’s too clever to ever get caught,” Turner said with a nod of his head, then carefully closed the drawer and stepped away, his mind racing with thoughts of the things to be done. One phone call would be all it took to bring the wrath of God raining down on Brian Reed. But then what? “Time to go.”