“Yes,” he said, tugging on the tip of his ear. “There was no number on the Caller ID, though; we’ll have to ensure that you didn’t leave it yourself.”
Clay ignored both Trent’s and McClure’s remarks. “Spill it, Palmer. All of it.”
Chapter 26
Trent spilled most of it, composing a careful and minimal tale that excluded his exhuming the body and stashing Anima at the Motel 6.
“ . . . and after Radcliff dropped you at the grocery store,” Clay said, “you walked home, right?”
“Yes,” Trent said, looking instinctively to Priest for support and finding none. “I was waiting on Priest when I got the call; I assumed it was the police because a man left a message that there had been a break in the Chloe Lee abduction case. He said I needed to hustle to the site of the park shooting.
“ So I’m jogging through the park toward Oak Hill, and all the sudden I’m hiding in the lake from some fucker who’s shooting at me with a high-powered rifle.”
They gave no sign of having heard him so Trent changed the subject. “Was Garcia’s information reliable? Did you find a body?”
“Yes,” Priest said. “McClure rounded up a team and drove out last night.” Then he looked at McClure. “How’d it go?”
“ With all the new snow yesterday, the stream water was over the bank; it took us half the night to get the corpse out of the mud,” McClure said, scratching the faint stubble on his square chin. “The body was several months decomposed so you can imagine it was not a pretty sight.”
“Any idea who it was?” Trent asked, feeling confident that his tracks had been covered.
“The murder victim had no ID,” Clay said. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
Trent looked perplexed. “I don ’t know.”
“Could you at least guess ?” Priest asked irritably.
“ For chrissake, I have no idea.”
Butler couldn’t let it go. He pointed a bony index finger at Trent and said, “You want us to believe that you waltzed into the Apostles bar unannounced, got the crap stomped out of you, and then Garcia tells you were to find a corpse?”
“Strange but true .”
Clay stared skeptically. “Why would Garcia tell you this? What’s his gain?”
Trent shrugged. “He offered to help because I killed Triple’s brother ; he said the victim’s identity might shed some light on who kidnapped Chloe.”
“Did Garcia know who the victim was?”
“If he did, he didn’t tell me.”
Clay stayed silent a moment. “Rikki’s working overtime to put a name to that person, and we’re combing our missing person files. We’ll know soon enough.”
The door opened and the ME, dressed in wrinkled surgical green medical scrubs, slid into the room. He gave Trent a wry behave-yourself look, dropped an autopsy in front of Clay, and exited as silently as he had entered.
Clay pulled on his bifocals and picked up the report. “Winston had been dead in the region of fifteen minutes when the ME got a thermometer up his ass; no rigor had set in.”
“Hey, Butler, how’d you get to my apartment so fast?” Trent asked, then watched his reaction.
Faint blotches of color appeared on Butler’s cheeks, and the skin tightened on his jaw. He glanced at his hands. “A neighbor heard the shots and called in a nine-one-one. Monroe is a cut through on my way to the station. I picked it off the scanner and ran the address.”
Clay was looking alternately at Trent and Butler when Priest cut in quietly. “The doctor pulled these splinters from Palmer’s neck,” he said, passing a plastic bag to Clay. “I’m no medical expert, but when Palmer showed up at the apartment , I’d say he was on the verge of hypothermia.”
Clay nodded but didn’t lift his eyes from the report. “With the length of time Palmer was in the water,” he said, “and the ME’s postmortem interval, there’s no way he could have shot Winston.”
“Palmer, are you withholding evidence?”
Trent lied straight to
Clay ignored both Trent’s and McClure’s remarks. “Spill it, Palmer. All of it.”
Chapter 26
Trent spilled most of it, composing a careful and minimal tale that excluded his exhuming the body and stashing Anima at the Motel 6.
“ . . . and after Radcliff dropped you at the grocery store,” Clay said, “you walked home, right?”
“Yes,” Trent said, looking instinctively to Priest for support and finding none. “I was waiting on Priest when I got the call; I assumed it was the police because a man left a message that there had been a break in the Chloe Lee abduction case. He said I needed to hustle to the site of the park shooting.
“ So I’m jogging through the park toward Oak Hill, and all the sudden I’m hiding in the lake from some fucker who’s shooting at me with a high-powered rifle.”
They gave no sign of having heard him so Trent changed the subject. “Was Garcia’s information reliable? Did you find a body?”
“Yes,” Priest said. “McClure rounded up a team and drove out last night.” Then he looked at McClure. “How’d it go?”
“ With all the new snow yesterday, the stream water was over the bank; it took us half the night to get the corpse out of the mud,” McClure said, scratching the faint stubble on his square chin. “The body was several months decomposed so you can imagine it was not a pretty sight.”
“Any idea who it was?” Trent asked, feeling confident that his tracks had been covered.
“The murder victim had no ID,” Clay said. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
Trent looked perplexed. “I don ’t know.”
“Could you at least guess ?” Priest asked irritably.
“ For chrissake, I have no idea.”
Butler couldn’t let it go. He pointed a bony index finger at Trent and said, “You want us to believe that you waltzed into the Apostles bar unannounced, got the crap stomped out of you, and then Garcia tells you were to find a corpse?”
“Strange but true .”
Clay stared skeptically. “Why would Garcia tell you this? What’s his gain?”
Trent shrugged. “He offered to help because I killed Triple’s brother ; he said the victim’s identity might shed some light on who kidnapped Chloe.”
“Did Garcia know who the victim was?”
“If he did, he didn’t tell me.”
Clay stayed silent a moment. “Rikki’s working overtime to put a name to that person, and we’re combing our missing person files. We’ll know soon enough.”
The door opened and the ME, dressed in wrinkled surgical green medical scrubs, slid into the room. He gave Trent a wry behave-yourself look, dropped an autopsy in front of Clay, and exited as silently as he had entered.
Clay pulled on his bifocals and picked up the report. “Winston had been dead in the region of fifteen minutes when the ME got a thermometer up his ass; no rigor had set in.”
“Hey, Butler, how’d you get to my apartment so fast?” Trent asked, then watched his reaction.
Faint blotches of color appeared on Butler’s cheeks, and the skin tightened on his jaw. He glanced at his hands. “A neighbor heard the shots and called in a nine-one-one. Monroe is a cut through on my way to the station. I picked it off the scanner and ran the address.”
Clay was looking alternately at Trent and Butler when Priest cut in quietly. “The doctor pulled these splinters from Palmer’s neck,” he said, passing a plastic bag to Clay. “I’m no medical expert, but when Palmer showed up at the apartment , I’d say he was on the verge of hypothermia.”
Clay nodded but didn’t lift his eyes from the report. “With the length of time Palmer was in the water,” he said, “and the ME’s postmortem interval, there’s no way he could have shot Winston.”
“Palmer, are you withholding evidence?”
Trent lied straight to
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