“Might be,” Cooper offered, “what kept Satan occupied while the perp prepared Banks for dinner.”
Braddock shook his head. “That’s a sick thought, Cooper.”
“Well, yeah.” She sniffed the meat, touched it with her gloved hands. “But this is pretty fresh. It hasn’t been hanging here long.”
As if on cue, the meat wagon rolled up to the curb. The street was already crowded with onlookers. Two additional officers had been called in to protect the perimeter.
“One of the neighbors said,” Metcalf put in, “that Banks didn’t feed that dog regularly. Helped keep him mean.”
“It’s hard to feel bad for a guy like that,” Cooper commented as she stared back at the house.
Guess this was the end of Braddock’s deal with the poor bastard.
He and Cooper walked back to the house. “You think this is Nash’s work?”
Braddock shrugged. “He may have gotten wind that I was leaning on Banks for information.”
“Were you?” She stopped at the door and looked him in the eye. “I mean, did you push that last interview too far?”
“Yeah.” No point lying. “Maybe.”
Cooper shook her head, then searched his eyes. “Did this interview include anything either of us might regret?”
“Just the usual carefully worded warnings.”
Cooper didn’t look convinced, but she let it go at that.
Back inside the house they went room by room, mindful of the evidence techs’ work, looking for anything that might reveal any appointment Banks had last night. Anything at all with possible relevance to his murder or that of Shelley Patterson.
In the front right pocket of the victim’s jeans, Braddock found his little black book. It contained names of the girls working for him, their cell numbers, and their addresses. He bagged the black book. The Glock they’d found on the kitchen floor would be tested. A number of unsolved robberies and homicides might just be cleared up with that one.
By the time Braddock had finished a walk-through of the house, Cooper was in the backyard again. In the tree, no less. He walked out to where Officer Metcalf stood by watching.
“Looking for anything in particular?” Braddock inquired. He had an idea.
“Looking for a signature.”
E. Noon. He’d figured as much.
She slid down the branch to the trunk of the tree, then jumped down. “Nothing there.”
“Did you check the pork shoulder?”
“Funny.” She hitched her head toward the house. “I’m gonna have a look for that signature.”
Braddock couldn’t argue her logic. “There is some fairly complicated staging to the scene.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Cooper said, excitement building, playing out on her face. “The way he was laid out. Like he was being crucified or something. And the way his weapon was on the floor just out of reach.”
“Braddock, Cooper, you might want to see this.”
Candice Dobbins was on her knees next to the body. The vic’s hands and feet had been freed and he’d been rolled onto his side. Dobbins was directing an evidence tech in the taking of additional photos.
“Take a look.” Dobbins pointed a gloved finger to the vic’s back, directly between his shoulder blades.
A silver cross had been secured there, the top of the cross pointing downward.
“Glued, I believe,” Dobbins offered.
