Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(91)

Eve worked the maps, focused on trying to narrow the target area foot by foot.

The first interruption, a ’link tag from Special Agent Zweck, pulled her out of the groove. But by the end of it she kicked back in her chair, feet on the desk.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she told him. “You’ll let me know how you want to proceed on your end.”

She picked up her coffee, and though it had gone cold during the conversation, drank it anyway.

“The feds won’t sign off on Little and Fastbinder as vics of the spree killers they still refer to as unsubs.”

Banner’s head came up in one fast jerk. “What?”

“Someone’s dick’s in a knot over DeWinter’s report – which apparently fried asses, many of which she named, specifically, before she sliced them up for the pan.”

Yeah, she definitely owed DeWinter that drink.

“The remains ‘in question’ will be transferred to a federal facility in the morning where federal forensic specialists will examine and test.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s bureaucracy. DeWinter’s on a rampage and stomping on other dicks to get the remains of Noah Paston in her house. The boy’s next of kin has signed off on it, and my money’s on DeWinter. Oh yeah, I forgot.”

Eve circled a finger in the air. “Same thing. While the feds will investigate James and Parsens, thoroughly review our reports and findings, they will not, at this time, name them as suspects. They are, officially, ‘persons of interest’ only.”

“We’ve tracked them,” Peabody began.

“We’ve verified James and Parsens met in Oklahoma in ’57. There is reasonable evidence James stole a ’52 pickup matching the description of one towed away, illegally, by the Dorrans. Federal investigations will track whatever’s left of that vehicle to verify or disprove it was the one James allegedly stole. We’ve determined Parsens bore a female child, but until DNA can be tested, the child’s paternity remains a question mark for the feds.”

“Assholes,” Banner muttered.

“A sentiment I believe Zweck shares but was careful not to voice. We can’t, at this time, prove without a doubt Parsens and James killed anyone or, indeed, took the route we’ve determined through our investigation. We haven’t to their satisfaction proven either Parsens or James is, indeed, in New York. They will examine the loading dock feed, and Zweck will follow up with the hardware store, pawnshop, restaurants in the morning.”

“Stepping in our footprints,” Peabody said. “Wasting time and resources.”

“Dicks,” Eve returned and made a tying motion with her hands. “Here’s what that means for us. We won’t have the full weight of the federal resources on the investigation. We also won’t have them in the way. Zweck, if I’m any judge, is going to do a lot of pushback on this. He, apparently, isn’t a moron.

“It also means we’ve got a breather on the FBI releasing James’s and Parsens’s names and faces to the media. A breather, because someone may unknot his dick long enough to throw them out as POIs.”

Banner considered. “So, nothing much changes.”

“Nothing much. Zweck’s going to raise some hell – that’s my take. But somebody higher on the food chain doesn’t like being told they’re wrong – and the mistake might, eventually in the media, make them look bad. The feds didn’t listen to you, Banner, and you were right. That makes them wrong. A small-town deputy – no offense.”

“None taken.”

“Was right, and the FBI was wrong. That’ll knot a lot of dicks.”

Eve nodded toward the board from where she sat. “And if they’d done what you did, if they’d backtracked from Little Mel, tied into Jansen, maybe they’d have caught these f*ckers sooner. Maybe some people would still be alive.”

“They’ve gotta live with that,” Banner said.

The kind of badge whose dick knotted over being wrong, Eve knew, could and did live with it. They just shifted the blame down the food chain.

“That’s the maybes,” she continued, “and that kind of maybe doesn’t look good in PR and political terms. And it doesn’t change a thing for us. So give me some more on James.”

Banner shoved his hand through his hair, shifted in his chair.

“He wasn’t much for school, skimmed through, did some repeating, worked with a state-sponsored tutor a time or three. No extra activities, nothing over mandatory requirements. That includes sports, and that’s the exception rather than the rule in small towns back where I come from.”

“Not a team player,” Eve concluded, “not an academic.”

“Not even close. Got a weak spot for sex and women.”

“Details.”

“I got a bunch of articles here on how he had an affair with one of his teachers. He was fifteen – she was twenty-six. She did time for it.”

Eve straightened in her chair. “Was he coerced?”

“Doesn’t read that way. I’ll send them to you, but it reads pretty clear he wasn’t coerced, forced or pressured. Doesn’t excuse the teacher, not one bit, and it’s statutory rape however you slice it, but he was willing and eager. Romanced her.”