Part 27 (1/2)
Anderson nodded. ”I'd like to confirm his print just the same.”
”Okay.”
”I saw you talking with Bexar County Homicide. What are they doing here?”
Levy walked on his tiptoes through the crime scene. He made it to the door held open by Julia Culpepper's left leg and turned back to Anderson.
”You know Dylan Hodges and Wayne Taliaferro?”
”I know Dylan.”
”Apparently, Dylan Hodges was dating this girl here.” He pointed at Julia with his toe.
”Oh man, that sucks.”
”Yeah.”
Anderson knelt down in front of David Everett and looked into the man's eyes. He was staring off into the nothingness beyond Anderson's right shoulder.
”What are you thinking?” Levy asked him.
”I'm thinking how badly we misjudged this one. Looking at him in the witness room, I never would have thought he could do this.”
”None of us did, Keith.”
”Yeah, but it still doesn't make it any easier, you know?”
Levy said, ”Yeah, I know.”
Anderson rubbed his chin, deep in thought.
After a long silence, he said, ”You played us, didn't you? That whole time you were sitting in the interview room, pretending to be all s.p.a.ced out, you were playing us. You were a part of this the whole time.”
Down in the autopsy room, there were three bodies on the waiting tables. The doors to the coolers were standing open. They were propped open with towels, just like every other door between here and the front lobby. Anderson stood in the middle of the autopsy room and looked around. From where he stood, he could see into the coolers. There were a few bodies in there as well.
”My guess is these bodies that are still here didn't come from the Morgan Rollins crime scene,” he said to Levy.
”Do you recognize any of these guys from there?”
”No,” Anderson said. ”We'll have to check it for sure, but I'm willing to bet that whoever took the bodies from here knew who they were looking for. I don't think we'll find any of our Morgan Rollins victims here.”
”Why would they take the bodies?” Levy said, and shuddered. ”That doesn't make any sense.”
”Maybe not to us.”
”But you think it makes sense to somebody?”
”It must. Why else would they do it?”
Anderson walked over to the coolers. The fluorescents in this place were cheap, or maybe just old, and they cast a sickly bluish light on the tiled floor. But even in the bad light, Anderson could see there was something there.
He knelt down next to the cooler door and stared at the floor.
”What is it?” Levy asked.
”Can you get one of the evidence technicians down here?” he said. ”It's more of that black soot we found on Everett's hands.”
Anderson watched an evidence technician dab the tiled floor with a cotton swab. He held the swab up so that Anderson could see and said, ”You think that's enough?”
”Yeah, I think so,” Anderson said.
”Okay.”
The technician, a young man with GUERRA written in bold white letters above the pocket of his utility uniform, dropped the swab into a clear plastic envelope, peeled off the self-adhesive strip, folded the flap over to seal it, then wrote his initials across the seal with a magic marker.
”Is there any more of it?” Guerra asked.
”No, I don't think so.”
Guerra walked towards the door that led to the upstairs, and Anderson watched him go, his mind starting to drift. He was thinking about his oldest son, Keith Jr., and the weekend he'd spent a few years ago helping the boy move into his first college dorm room. Keith Jr.'s room had been on the third floor of a shabby 1950s era building, and the weekend he'd moved in, the elevators had been out. They'd moved a pickup truck full of stuff up three flights of steps, back and forth, all day long, and by the time they were done, they'd worn a black trail into the carpet with all the dirt they'd dragged in.
”Stop!” he yelled. ”Hey, hold it a second.”
Levy gave him a look. ”What is it, Keith?”
”Hold on a second, Chuck.” Anderson went to the doorway. To Guerra, he said, ”Come back here a second, will you?”
”Sure,” Guerra answered. ”What is it?”
”Let me see one of your swabs, will you?”
He handed Anderson an extra swab from his kit and Anderson knelt down and rubbed it on the floor. It came away with the same black soot as the first swab.
”d.a.m.n it,” he said. ”Let me see your flashlight.”
Guerra took a Mini Stinger from his belt and handed it to Anderson. Anderson knelt down again and s.h.i.+ned the light at an oblique angle to the floor. In the beam, he could see more of the soot. He moved to the doorway and did the same thing down the hallway.
”What is it?” Levy asked.
”d.a.m.n it,” Anderson said. He hung his head and muttered, ”d.a.m.n it.” Then he stood up and handed the flashlight back to the evidence technician. ”Any idea how many people have been through here since this incident started?” he asked.
Guerra said, ”I don't know. Probably about fifteen.”
”d.a.m.n it,” he muttered.
”You mind telling me what the problem is?” Levy asked.