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Calmer now, I ripped the sheet from the pad, folded it, and shoved it into my pocket. Best case scenario was that I got my hands on those files to see for myself. Nothing else I could do now except make sure I didn’t miss the full mockumentary tomorrow—and track Judd’s worthless ass down as soon as possible to recover both Seeger’s flash drive and the penis drive copy.
Unfortunately, the list of files still didn’t prove Judd’s involvement in the murder. Seeger could have dropped the drive after he left the movie premiere, and Judd then picked it up completely innocently. I knew in my gut that was bullshit, especially when added to the other evidence from the crime scene—the American flag cigarette with the smear of camo makeup, the yellow lighter, and the zombie hunter kit. Top it off with the squirrelly way the guys were acting, and I had a really bad feeling that Randy, Coy, and Judd were in neck deep. Damn it. But I needed to be sure.
Next stop on my breaking and entering spree: Coy’s place.
Chapter 17
My phone vibrated seconds after I settled into my car. I slid it from my pocket and glanced at the screen.
V12
“Holy shit.” I blinked at the message on my alarm. Unfamiliar pride swelled within my chest. I’d made it. Even though I’d really fucking wanted a hit, I’d made it until it was time for my dose. A smile pulled at my mouth as I got out the syringe and vial. I still craved the V12 like no one’s business, but that wasn’t the point. Not yet, at least. I hadn’t caved, and that’s what mattered.
Warmth spread through me as I injected the half-dose. Stress melted away and the world brightened. I was an addict, and I’d always be an addict, but I was facing it now. For the first time ever, I was facing it.
I took one of the capsules Dr. Nikas gave me to counter withdrawal side effects, downed a packet of brains, and got on my way, body tingling delightfully. And, when my tires hummed on the bridge over Bayou Zaire, the water laughed with me.
• • •
Coy’s closest neighbor lived half a mile away from him, which meant I didn’t have to be as sneaky. All I had to do was park behind his house so no one could see my car from the road. Oh, and avoid setting the place on fire. That might draw a bit of attention.
Breaking into Coy’s house was even easier than Judd’s since I knew he kept a spare key taped to the top of the hummingbird feeder. After I pulled on fresh gloves and let myself in, I checked the place out. It was about half the size of my house, which meant it was damn tiny. Main room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen—all spotless. A nice change of pace after Judd’s trailer, and quick to search, too. With a sigh of relief, I finished my sweep and shoved the sofa back in place. Not a speck of blood or murder weapon to be found.
My next stop was the detached garage where Coy did his taxidermy. To my annoyance, it was locked tight, and no amount of searching under rocks and potted plants turned up a key. My lock pick experience was limited to the time I broke off a bobby pin in the outside door of an XpressMart bathroom. The clerk was being a major prick and wouldn’t give me the key to the crapper, so I’d tried to pick the lock. When that failed spectacularly, I made tracks before the clerk discovered the ruined lock or the surprise I left him. Hey, I really needed to go.
Breaking Coy’s lock—or taking a shit by his door—weren’t my first choices. I c
ircled the building and searched for a way in. Two small windows near a dryer vent in the back. A skylight on the roof. Nothing easy or open.
Crap. I was going to have to break in for real. But surely busting one little window wasn’t that much worse than sneaking through a trapdoor or letting myself in with a key. If Coy was guilty, it had to be done. If he wasn’t, I’d make it up to him. Later.
I found a rock the size of my fist, smashed the window then went still, listening. No alarm sounded. A dog barked twice in the distance. Doing my very best to not slice my hands to pieces, I unlocked the window and slid it open.
A variety of scents swirled around me as I clambered through the window and onto the washing machine. Epoxy and paint. Musk and blood. I scrambled down and panned the beam of my mini flashlight around. I’d never been in a taxidermy studio before, and I took a few seconds to gawk. It was obvious Coy was serious about his work. The space was orderly, with cabinets and shelves filling one wall, and printed labels organizing everything from glass eyes to glue. I grinned at a shelf of protective gloves, aprons, and filter masks. I had a shelf like that back at the morgue. A large chest freezer took up the wall by the door. Two broad wood tables filled the center of the garage, with a pole between them that held three unfinished deer heads. Several finished pieces perched on the far wall—squirrels, ducks, and even a wild boar head. Bare polyurethane animal forms hung from a rack along the ceiling.
“This is so cool,” I breathed then got my ass in gear.
Like the house, the neatness of Coy’s garage made it a snap to search for things that didn’t belong. I combed through shelves, storage bins, cabinets, and every nook and cranny. No murder weapons. No blood. Nothing suspicious.
But my heart dropped to my toes at the sight of a black garbage bag inside the washer.
Be cool, I told myself as I tugged the bag out. Maybe it was Coy’s dirty laundry. He could’ve been in a hurry and chucked the bag in the washer with plans to wash it later.
I untied the bag, gazed in dismay at the bloody shirt at the top. It was dirty all right. A brief inspection told me the bag held the same outfits Coy and Judd had worn on Friday. Shirts and pants were spattered with blood, and Coy’s was smeared with ground-in mud as if he’d decided to roll around in the muck.
Son of a bitch. Coy was smart enough not to wash the clothes in this washer and leave blood evidence behind. But not smart enough to stay out of the situation in the first place. The guys had gone to the Zombie Fest today to avoid raising suspicion. Stick to the routine and all that. That’s what Randy had said to Judd on the phone this morning. They probably intended to sink everything out in the swamp at the first opportunity.
I stomped down a brief and moronic urge to take the bag with me. With my luck I’d get stopped for a busted taillight or something equally stupid, and then I’d have to explain why I had a bag of bloody clothing in my car.
Doubt curdled in my stomach as I stuffed the bag back into the washer and closed the lid. What if I was wrong about Coy and Judd being murderers? Sure, the clues lined up, but what if I was too focused on the guys? For all I knew the blood was from an animal Coy had worked on. I didn’t have a DNA test in my back pocket. I didn’t want it to be them. Even though I barely tolerated Judd, I didn’t want him to be a murderer.
Finish searching. Now wasn’t the time to lose my nerve. If I found a murder weapon here, I’d know for sure whose blood it was. The chest freezer was the one place I hadn’t checked, but when I swung the lid up, the unmistakable scent of human brains swirled out with the chilly air.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the crashing wave of sadness and anger and frustration. Only one reason why I’d smell a brain in the freezer. An instant later my mouth began watering like that Pavlov dude’s dog when he heard a bell.
Pissed and hungry, I shoved aside frozen, plastic-wrapped skins of three deer, a squirrel, and a raccoon. There at the bottom of the freezer rested a garbage bag that held a basketball-sized object.
Jaw tight, I lifted the bag out and set it on a table, prayed that I was wrong and this was all a giant mistake. I opened the bag and tried to ignore the scent of brains that told me the truth.
