Bang Switch Page 4

  “I’m going to need more than that. Cut at least a dozen.” He took the first piece. “And get at least as many pizza boxes.” Trevino looked at Zane like he was crazy. “The long flat evidence boxes. They look like pizza boxes. You’ll know them when you see them.”

  He continued to cut, and he placed the first piece of Mylar over the print on the stairs. Placing his ESDL (electrostatic dust lifter) with one of its nodes on the Mylar and two nodes on a grounding plate, he turned it on. As the dust lifted to the plastic, he used his rubber roller to help the process along. Turning the ESDL off and turning the Mylar over, Zane now used his flashlight. A perfect replica of the print. He photographed the illuminated print, happy with the results.

  Trevino handed him a pizza box. “You want me to fill out the information?”

  Zane put the print in the box and handed it back. “I’ll do it while you try the next print.”

  They worked their way up the stairs, until they were satisfied they had enough individual prints. The nice thing about footprints was that criminals forgot about them. They thought about fingerprints and wore gloves, but they always forgot about their feet. It was Zane’s favorite investigative tool, even if it hadn’t solved a case for him yet.

  At the top of the stairs, Trevino’s brown skin changed shades.

  “You gonna be okay?” Zane asked

  “Do all dead bodies smell this bad?” He wrinkled his nose.

  “It’s not the body. At least I’m pretty sure it’s not. Sousa was apparently taking a shit when he was attacked.” Zane shined his flashlight into the bathroom, illuminating the feces along the toilet and elsewhere.

  “Damn, that’s nasty. What a shitty way to die.”

  Zane coughed back a laugh.

  “I’m sorry, sir, no disrespect. No pun…”

  The thing about murder scenes was you never wanted the victim’s family around. That kind of trauma, day in and day out, was hard on the soul, so cops coped by distancing themselves. Humor was the usual method. In Peculiar, homicide had been rare until drugs became more common.

  Zane didn’t want Trevino to feel bad, but he didn’t want him to think it was okay, either, so he didn’t admonish him. “This is where the real work starts.”

  “He looks like he’s sleeping, but with his pants down. It’s more like he passed out.”

  Zane looked at Sousa. “But he’s dead.”

  As if the whole scene was surreal, Trevino whispered, “Yeah.”

  Zane pulled his turtleneck over his mouth and nose again. Trevino wasn’t wearing a turtleneck, so he yanked his T-shirt from under his uniform and did his best to keep it over his nose.

  “Gonzales will take fingerprints when we’re done, but I want to process the bathroom, and get what we can for pictures of Sousa before the deputy comes to have him removed.” He glanced at Trevino. “You hang out with Sousa much?”

  “Sure, we’d go out drinking once in a while,” Trevino said, distracted. “You’ve seen us in your dad’s place.”

  “Yeah, but I mean, I go drinking with people and I don’t really know them.”

  “You didn’t ask if I knew him; you asked if I hung out with him.”

  He did. “Did you know him well?”

  “We’d drink and play pool. He’d talk about his ex, and how he was glad to be rid of her. No more women for him for a while. Then he’d start spouting off about them being the root of all evil, and the next thing you know, he’s leaving the bar with some hot chick,” Trevino laughed.

  “Ever leave with the same chick?”

  Trevino looked at Zane. “Hell, I wasn’t his babysitter.”

  “Yeah.”

  They heard yelling from downstairs. “Sergeant Gwilly?”

  “Upstairs,” Zane yelled back.

  “Deputy Whitmeyer, El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department.”

  Good lord, he got there fast. “Okay, we can’t let him rush us. We need to do a thorough investigation.” Zane yelled back downstairs, “I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”

  “How long?”

  Zane wanted to say, “Hell if I know, when we’re done, we’re done, just chill, and I’ll call you,” but he said, “We just got started up here, so as soon as I can, I’ll release the body.”

  He swore he heard the deputy sigh from all the way upstairs. So sorry to ruin his night.

  Before he could continue processing the bathroom, he heard another voice, this time a female. “Hey, Sarge, okay if I get started downstairs?” Officer Gonzales had arrived to work her magic.

  “It’s all yours. Rambone wants you to print the banister and the wall up the stairs, too.”

  “Got it.”

  He could hear her fiddling with her tools, then he went back to concentrating on the task at hand. He really wanted to flush that toilet.

  The sun was coming up by the time they finished processing the upstairs. Deputy Whitmeyer had Sousa’s body loaded on a gurney and headed to the medical examiner’s office.

  Zane could barely keep his eyes open, but Rambone wanted him back at the station for a briefing and a possible press conference.

  “Trevino, finish up here for me. Get some outside photographs in the daylight, then write up the report, and I’ll look it over later today. I want all of the evidence we collected to be turned in to the state lab ASAP, so we can get information back quickly.”

  “What about witnesses?”

  “You can talk to the people outside, then we will come back after I update everyone on the evidence, and we’ll chat with these nice folks.”

  Zane started toward the door when a thought occurred to him. “Trevino, you see a cell phone anywhere?”

  Trevino had his left hand on his face and he shook his head.

  “Huh,” Zane said. “I’ll check his vehicle.” He went downstairs, then called back up. “Photograph his car before you leave, too. And bag any evidence.”

  Gonzales had been working on the wall, and it was now a dirty shade of gray, instead of the off-white it had been when Zane arrived.

  “You want me to print the car, too?” she asked.

  “We might as well. Not sure it will help, but it can’t hurt.”

  He walked outside to see there were still two patrol cars keeping the nosy neighbors and the media at bay. Since Deputy Whitmeyer had carted off the body, there wasn’t much left to see. He walked to Sousa’s vehicle and looked in the driver’s side, but there was no phone in sight. He opened the door and looked under the seat. Nothing. Then he did a more thorough search, which also turned up nada.

  Gonzales had stepped outside, so Zane walked over to her.

  “Gonzales, you know Sousa?”

  “Not really, why?”

  This was a small department, so he found it hard to believe. “Not at all?”

  “I mean, at work, sure, and we’d hang out at Code 7 once in a while. But I didn’t come over and watch football or nothing.” She looked at Zane like he was going to ask another question.

  “Okay.” Her answer seemed sincere, so he let it go. “I’m going to grab a Red Bull, and go check on Wally before heading back to the station. Keep an eye on Trevino for me, will you?” Gonzales was a senior officer, so he knew she’d be able to do her job and make sure Trevino did his.

  “Who’s writing the report?” Like she didn’t want it to be her.

  “Trevino.” Zane took off his CSU suit and got in his car.

  Gonzales grinned like a kid who just got her favorite toy at Christmas.

  Zane thought about the mountain of paperwork, eventual media coverage, and the shit storm on the horizon.

  Chapter 7

  DEA Agent Michael Ulenbacher sat in his car two blocks away, wondering what the hell went wrong. He watched the Peculiar police set up the perimeter around Chad Sousa’s house. Chad, who he knew in real life as Eric Zander, had been in regular contact for about three months.

  Eric Zander, AKA Chad Sousa, wasn’t a newbie, and wasn’t stupid, so how did this
happen? Michael thought.

  Only an hour ago, Michael watched their entire operation go to shit. Literally. “Chad” called him around seven o’clock to let him know he had something. Michael hadn’t been available, so he got the voicemail late. When he called back, no answer. The first few times it rang and rang, then finally it went straight to voicemail.

  He’d been in Dallas at the time, so he grabbed a junker from the carpool and drove to Peculiar. Maybe he’d have to meet with Chad in person this time. He wished Chad had elaborated on what he had, because now Michael wasn’t any closer to finding out who their dirty cop was.

  The murder of Geo Newton started the investigation rolling. Geo had been on the DEA payroll as an informant for three years, give or take. They’d moved him to Peculiar with the goal of finding out how drugs were being smuggled from Mexico, through Texas, and on to the Midwestern states. Two years into the investigation, Geo had his feet firmly on the ground, working as a high-end dealer (he’d been a low-end dealer in Dallas). He’d moved in with his aunt in Peculiar, and she was the only person who knew he wasn’t a big-time drug dealer. She knew he was really small-time, but he played the game well, and she played along. Even after his death, she believed he’d gotten in over his head dealing drugs. In a way, he had. He’d gotten on the radar of the wrong person or persons.

  The official investigation, which Michael knew was bullshit, said Geo had been killed by a member of Bario Azteca. Michael knew the only members of that gang in Peculiar were ex-members who’d gotten out of the gang with permission. The only way out of the Bario Azteca family was to start a family of your own. Three former members lived in Peculiar; they each had a wife and kids and kept their noses clean. If they had ever killed anyone as members of the gang, it hadn’t been traced back to them, so as far as law enforcement was concerned, they were law-abiding citizens. More importantly, they were citizens of the United States, so there was no reason to fuck with them.

  The idea had been to give Geo clout. He drove a Range Rover and played like a high roller. “You can’t touch this,” he’d say, just joking around. When he finally started making connections, he’d passed along some great information. The night before he was killed, he told them about the attempted rape and attempted murder of a police officer.

  And now another Peculiar cop was dead, only this one was really DEA.

  When Michael arrived at Chad’s house earlier, he saw his patrol unit in the driveway, so he felt good about going up to the house. But before he got out of the car, he saw a man wearing a hoodie heading away from the back of the property. He wasn’t in a hurry; the guy just disappeared into the night. They were townhouses with back entrances, so the guy could have been leaving the townhouse next door.

  He didn’t feel quite so good when Chad didn’t answer the door. No one in the neighborhood would have recognized him, because he wore a fake beard, longish hair in a ponytail, and a hoodie. Even if someone on the street had surveillance cameras, he felt sure he wouldn’t be identified.

  As he approached Chad’s townhouse, he pulled the sleeves down on his hoodie and worked to put on latex gloves. By the time he knocked on the door, he had them firmly in place, so he didn’t hesitate to try the doorknob, which turned easily. Oh shit, he thought. No way would Chad leave his front door unlocked.

  Michael held his breath and checked for a pulse. The body wasn’t cool, so he hadn’t been dead long. The sight in the bathroom turned his stomach. Not like he hadn’t seen a dead body or a dead agent before, but he’d never seen one of his own dead. Much less the way Chad had been found.

  As much as he wanted to investigate, he had to leave. Chad was gone, and he couldn’t change that, so he backtracked and did his best to walk calmly from the house. “Nothing to see here, move along,” he said to himself. On the way back to his car, he checked Chad’s patrol vehicle. He must have planned to head inside and come right back out, because he’d left it unlocked. What an idiot. Not that it would have changed the situation.

  Michael reached out and opened the car door. Right there, on top of the car’s laptop, was a phone. He prayed it was Chad’s burner and he grabbed it, slipped it in his pocket, then strolled back down the street and around the corner to his car.

  As he watched the investigation unfold, he saw the bald cop open Chad’s car door. Michael didn’t believe in a sixth sense, but he did believe in intuition. His intuition told him to keep an eye on this cop. He knew this guy was Chad’s direct boss.

  He called into headquarters to let them know of Sousa’s demise, then made a few more calls to find out everything he could about Sergeant Zane Gwilly.

  Chapter 8

  Here’s the thing about dogs: no matter how bad the day was, no matter who pissed Zane off, or if his ex-wife still hadn’t called to let him know she was okay, or if he found his officer dead in his home, a dog greeted you at the door with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out. Wally, his red merle Australian shepherd, made the rest of the world disappear.

  Wally was a divorce gift from Kate, which should’ve made Zane hate him. But he was the best thing in Zane’s life at the moment. When she handed him the bundle of red and white fur with a huge blue bow, she said, “So you’ll have an excuse to go home every day.”

  At first, it was a pain in the ass, cleaning up puppy piss and poop every day. But then he figured out the whole crate training thing, Wally figured Zane out, and soon Zane looked forward to their time together. He looked forward to going home after every shift, since his house was no longer empty and quiet.

  He unlocked the front door and turned the knob, listening. All quiet. What had Wally gotten into? Usually he whined at the door when he heard Zane come home. But when he opened the door, Wally stood there with his head tilted, waiting. Zane walked in the house and looked past him at the living room. Today was no different than any other day. He had his toys spread strategically around the room. Zane shook his head. He didn’t have time to play the game, but couldn’t let Wally down.

  “Oh, Wally, what a mess,” Zane said as he chastised the dog in a friendly tone. “Put the chicken away.”

  Wally trotted over to his rubber chicken, shook it until it was good and dead, trotted to his toy box and deposited the “dead” chicken inside. Like a good boy, he came back over for his reward. Zane reached into the cookie jar he kept on the shelf of the antique secretary in the entry, and pulled out a liver treat the size of a pea. He gave Wally the tiny morsel and scrubbed him behind the ears at the same time.

  This could go on for twenty minutes, as Wally picked up each toy Zane named. He knew Wally was smart, because he’d trained him. But he didn’t have the time or the patience that morning, so he said, “It’s okay, Wally my man, they can hang out today.” Then he reached inside another cookie jar (all of these also purchased by Kate and given to him along with the dog, and all with doggy designs on them) and grabbed him a rawhide chew.

  Yup, this was as good as any squirrel for distracting him. He grabbed the chew bone from Zane’s fingers so lightly, you’d have thought it was a live baby that he didn’t want to injure. He dropped it in the middle of the living room, gathered all his toys around him, plopped down in the middle and began chewing, like he was bragging to his friends.

  Zane looked at his watch. Shower or a nap? He lifted his arms and smelled his pits. Decent. He could get away with a deodorant refresher and brushing his teeth. He opened the cover on the ottoman and pulled out a pillow and blanket. Fifteen minutes, he told himself, I just need fifteen minutes. His eyes were heavy, his heart was heavy, and his head was hazy.

  He dropped his duty belt on the coffee table, stretched out on the sectional couch, set the alarm on his phone, then pulled the blanket over himself. He always kept the air conditioning on for Wally, so the house felt chilly, even though the outdoor thermometer read eighty-five degrees.

  Pretty sure he’d barely closed his eyes, he grunted when he felt Wally licking his bare scalp. He rubbed at the slobber and push
ed him away. “Git.” Zane tried to roll over, forgetting where he was, and nearly fell off the couch. Grabbing for the hardwood floor to break his fall, he came fully awake in the blink of an eye and looked at the clock on the wall.

  Crap! He’d slept a full hour. Jumping up, he hustled to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and realized it was futile to try to put deodorant on with his undershirt, vest, and uniform shirt all on. When he was finished brushing, he took one more sniff and decided if the smell was too ripe, at least it’d keep people away from him.

  He headed back into the living room and grabbed his duty belt, putting it on as he left the house. “Behave while I’m gone, and I’d like spaghetti for dinner,” he said to Wally.

  Wally sat amongst his toys, his ears down, letting Zane see his disapproval at the abrupt departure.

  Zane’s heart sank at the sight of him, and then flipped over at the thought of going into the station. The shit was ready to hit the fan, but when, where, and how were the proverbial questions. And who’d be left standing? All he knew was that it was his job to find the murderer, so when the shit did hit, he’d be behind the fan, not in front of it.

  Chapter 9

  Kate sat on a hard, plastic chair in Dr. Winger’s waiting area, surprised to be the only patient, oops client, there. That was the word they used, client. What a farce. They all knew they were patients in a loony bin. A loony bin for LEOs, she laughed to herself.

  She thought about the other law enforcement officers at DPTC, the ones who had checked in after her, several of whom she’d had the privilege of introducing to the facility, and the ones who had left already. During her stay, two former military, now turned LEO, had committed suicide. Her heart broke for those families left behind. Suicide was an act she couldn’t understand. Before her time at DPTC, she condemned it as the final most selfish act a person could commit, but now she knew better. Yes, it was a selfish act, but not in the way she originally interpreted it. No longer did she pass judgment on those no longer with them. She couldn’t put into words how she felt, but she thought if there was a heaven, those people might get counseling in a different area before joining their dead loved ones.