Running Free (Woodland Creek)(7)
Nodding, I blink away the spots from the bright light and run my fingers through my hair. He zips the body into the bag, seemingly unfazed by his job. I’m not as unaffected. I hate it when kids get killed. Tonight, I set off looking for the lost teen. I hadn’t expected to end the night with me finding his gutted body.
“Keep me advised. Send DNA samples to the Chicago lab. They’re f*cking slow as hell but I want to know if this killer is in the system, even if it takes them six weeks to send the damn results. I want a full tox screen too.”
As he and his assistant carry the boy to the vehicle, I turn to regard Fitz. “Anything on the Aleen woman?”
“Frances Dawn Aleen is her full name according to the report. She’s had a rough past and only truly calmed since coming to Woodland Creek a few years back. She stays with old man Otis Brock out on the edge of town. Frankie doesn’t have a lot of friends and mostly keeps to herself. Hell, most guys in this town have tried to get with her but she’s a cold fish — might even be a lesbian for all we know.”
I glare at him. “Facts, Fitz, facts. Does she have a record? Tell me more about this rough past of hers — truth not opinions, man.”
This is one of the things I hate about this town. Back in Chicago, I was in one of the finest precincts. Aside from my dog of a captain, the cops there were good and f*cking smart as hell. We brought down all kinds of criminals because we used our damn heads. Out here, in Woodland Creek, Indiana, too many of these idiots are sister and brother love children. Half of them act like they’re inbred and the other half are doing the inbreeding.
“Right, yeah. Okay, so she was in and out of the foster system. Did a stint in juvie once for locking her foster mom in the basement for two days without food. She eventually ran away and evaded authorities until she aged out of the system. In the end, she wound up here. Not long after she moved in with Otis, she got hauled in for breaking ol’ Jared Thurston’s nose. Practically half the town was at the October carnival and witnessed her mauling the poor guy. Word on the street though, is that he was feeling her up, and she defended herself.”
“Fitz,” I warn, “facts.”
He frowns but nods. “Anyway, when they arrested and questioned her, she refused to talk and chose a night in jail instead. Brock bailed her out and she’s been under the radar ever since.”
I could tell by looking at the girl that she was a hard-ass. But I don’t think she, despite the mile long violent and criminal history, is capable of murder. Besides, she may have been muddy, but she wasn’t bloody.
“Right. Why don’t you finish here and I’m going to find Miss Aleen,” I say, taking the folded stack of papers on her from him. “She and I will have a little chat. Give me a ring if you’re able find out anything on the prints that were on his phone. Also, I want to know every Tom, Dick, and Harry he called in the last twenty-four hours. Get it all. There’s a murderer on the loose and I won’t settle until his ass is behind bars,” I grumble.
Leaving the scene, I truck back through the woods toward my Tahoe. When I emerge from the dense thicket, I’m startled to see three big-ass guys leaned against it, their motorcycles parked behind me.
“You found my nephew, huh?” the smaller of the three men questions.
I approach them and recognize the man, Pete Larson, from earlier when he made the missing person report. Chicago PD wanted us to wait forty-eight hours before moving forward with missing person’s cases. However, I always knew that the first twenty-four hours were the most critical and would always jump the gun on those cases. This case isn’t any different.
“Mr. Larson, I’m sorry but your nephew’s body was discovered not long ago near Woodland Pond,” I tell him with a sigh, making sure to leave out the gruesome details. “We have reason to believe it was homicide.”
Pete’s features morph into a murderous glare, his green eyes almost yellowing in the moonlight. “I’ll kill whichever motherf*cker did this to my nephew! Acey was a good kid.”
I nod in agreement. “I have no doubts. But let the police do their jobs. We already have a lead we’re investigating. Trust that we’ll bring justice to the killer.”
He kicks my tire and I shoot him a warning stare.
“Pete,” the biggest of the three men growls at him, “the detective will do his job. Come on, let’s roll.”
“I’m going to find him if he doesn’t, Luca,” Pete snaps but heeds the order to back off, storming back to his motorcycle. “And when I do, I will make him pay.”
Luca shakes his head at me. “He’s just pissed and upset. I’ll make sure he won’t do anything stupid.”
He and the other guy turn and join Pete. Soon, their bikes thunder past me, echoing through the trees. After several minutes, I can hear the cicadas in the woods and a few frogs scattered about.
Unease settles in my gut as I take note of how eerily similar these guys were to the wolves earlier. I know sparkly vampires and lovesick shifters don’t exist in real life, but I can’t help the wonder that plagues me.
Luca, with his wise, authoritative grey eyes.
His buddies who listen without argument.
A menacing trio coincidentally showing up at the crime scene of a murder.
Shaking my head at my childish imagination, I climb into the vehicle and head toward Otis Brock’s house.