freaking weird.”
No one argued.
“Want me to run him through MindReader?” asked Top.
“Yeah,” I said. “I know him from somewhere.”
“Cop thing?” asked Bunny. “You do a shared-jurisdiction gig with Pine Deep?”
“No.”
“Something social? FOP weenie roast.”
“Cute. But no. I don’t think I’ve met him, but there’s something banging around in the back of my brain about him. Crow. Could be a martial arts thing.”
“He train?” asked Bunny.
“Yes,” Top and I said together.
Top added, “Not karate, though. No calluses on his knuckles.”
“Has them on his hands, though,” I said, touching the webbing around my thumb and index finger. I had a ring of callus there, too. “Kenjutsu, or something similar.”
“Kid uses his knuckles, though,” Top said. “Hard-looking son of a bitch. Looks like he could go a round or two.”
A few fat raindrops splatted on the windshield, and the glass was starting to fog. I hit defrost and waited while Bunny called the request in to Bug, our computer guru at the Warehouse. Bug did a search through MindReader and got back to us before we’d driven two blocks.
“Plenty of stuff here,” he said. “Malcolm Crow grew up in Pine Deep. Medical records from when he was a kid show a lot of injuries. Broken arms, facial injuries…stuff consistent with physical abuse.”
“Anyone charged for that?”
“No. His mother died when he was little. He and his brother were raised by his father, who has a loooong record of arrests for public drunkenness, DUI, couple of barroom brawls. Sounds like he was the hitter. Wow…get this. His brother was murdered by a serial killer thirty-five years ago. Your boy was the only witness. Couple dozen victims total before the killer went off the radar. Possibly lynched by the townies, and the local police may have been involved in that.”
“Lovely little town,” Top said under his breath.
“Chief Crow was a cop for a while,” Bug continued. “Then was a drunk for a long time. He sobered up and opened up a craft and novelty store, and helped design a haunted hayride for a Halloween theme park. All of this was before that trouble they had there. Crow was deputized by the mayor about a month before the Trouble, and—here’s another cool bit—the deputation was because another serial killer was in town killing people. Thirty years to the day from when Crow’s brother was killed. Freaky.”
“Damn,” I said. “What else you got?”
“He’s married. Wife is Val Guthrie-Crow. Hyphenates her last name. And they have two kids. One natural—Sara—and one adopted, Mike.”
“Mike? What was his birth name?”
“Same as he’s using now. Michael Sweeney. Never changed it.”
“What else?”
“Crow, his wife, and Mike Sweeney were all hospitalized after the trouble. Various injuries. Their statements say that they don’t remember what happened and they claimed everything was a blur,” Bug said. “That more or less fits because the town water supply was supposed to be spiked with LSD and other party favors.”
“Do we have anything linking Crow to the Trouble itself? Any involvement with white supremacist movements, anything at all?”
“No. Couple other guys on the Pine Deep police force might have been involved, though, including the chief at that time.”
“But nothing that would connect Crow to it?”
“Nothing.”
“What are his politics?”
“Moderate with a tilt to the left. Same for the missus.”
“And Sweeney?”
“Registered independent but has never voted. Oh…hold on. Got a red flag here. Looks like Sweeney’s adopted father—another asshole who liked to hit kids if I’m reading this right—was one of the men suspected of orchestrating the attack on the town.”
“What about the kid?”
“I hacked the Pine Deep P.D. files and it looks like the stepfather filed a report for assault. The kid decked him and ran away.”
I glanced at Top. “You read the kid as a bad
No one argued.
“Want me to run him through MindReader?” asked Top.
“Yeah,” I said. “I know him from somewhere.”
“Cop thing?” asked Bunny. “You do a shared-jurisdiction gig with Pine Deep?”
“No.”
“Something social? FOP weenie roast.”
“Cute. But no. I don’t think I’ve met him, but there’s something banging around in the back of my brain about him. Crow. Could be a martial arts thing.”
“He train?” asked Bunny.
“Yes,” Top and I said together.
Top added, “Not karate, though. No calluses on his knuckles.”
“Has them on his hands, though,” I said, touching the webbing around my thumb and index finger. I had a ring of callus there, too. “Kenjutsu, or something similar.”
“Kid uses his knuckles, though,” Top said. “Hard-looking son of a bitch. Looks like he could go a round or two.”
A few fat raindrops splatted on the windshield, and the glass was starting to fog. I hit defrost and waited while Bunny called the request in to Bug, our computer guru at the Warehouse. Bug did a search through MindReader and got back to us before we’d driven two blocks.
“Plenty of stuff here,” he said. “Malcolm Crow grew up in Pine Deep. Medical records from when he was a kid show a lot of injuries. Broken arms, facial injuries…stuff consistent with physical abuse.”
“Anyone charged for that?”
“No. His mother died when he was little. He and his brother were raised by his father, who has a loooong record of arrests for public drunkenness, DUI, couple of barroom brawls. Sounds like he was the hitter. Wow…get this. His brother was murdered by a serial killer thirty-five years ago. Your boy was the only witness. Couple dozen victims total before the killer went off the radar. Possibly lynched by the townies, and the local police may have been involved in that.”
“Lovely little town,” Top said under his breath.
“Chief Crow was a cop for a while,” Bug continued. “Then was a drunk for a long time. He sobered up and opened up a craft and novelty store, and helped design a haunted hayride for a Halloween theme park. All of this was before that trouble they had there. Crow was deputized by the mayor about a month before the Trouble, and—here’s another cool bit—the deputation was because another serial killer was in town killing people. Thirty years to the day from when Crow’s brother was killed. Freaky.”
“Damn,” I said. “What else you got?”
“He’s married. Wife is Val Guthrie-Crow. Hyphenates her last name. And they have two kids. One natural—Sara—and one adopted, Mike.”
“Mike? What was his birth name?”
“Same as he’s using now. Michael Sweeney. Never changed it.”
“What else?”
“Crow, his wife, and Mike Sweeney were all hospitalized after the trouble. Various injuries. Their statements say that they don’t remember what happened and they claimed everything was a blur,” Bug said. “That more or less fits because the town water supply was supposed to be spiked with LSD and other party favors.”
“Do we have anything linking Crow to the Trouble itself? Any involvement with white supremacist movements, anything at all?”
“No. Couple other guys on the Pine Deep police force might have been involved, though, including the chief at that time.”
“But nothing that would connect Crow to it?”
“Nothing.”
“What are his politics?”
“Moderate with a tilt to the left. Same for the missus.”
“And Sweeney?”
“Registered independent but has never voted. Oh…hold on. Got a red flag here. Looks like Sweeney’s adopted father—another asshole who liked to hit kids if I’m reading this right—was one of the men suspected of orchestrating the attack on the town.”
“What about the kid?”
“I hacked the Pine Deep P.D. files and it looks like the stepfather filed a report for assault. The kid decked him and ran away.”
I glanced at Top. “You read the kid as a bad
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