Page 24

24

The day was growing late as Hagen and Ander pulled into the south side of Kerrick’s Alley from River Street in downtown Nashville. The long shadow cast by the tall buildings on either side dropped the narrow lane into cold dimness. Hagen parked the Ford Explorer about twenty yards into the alley, behind a flatbed that had stopped in front of a No Parking sign. He shivered as he slammed the door behind him.

Ander followed, zipping up his coat. “Getting chilly now.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to be out on the streets tonight. Not in weather like this.”

“Freeze to death.”

There was little wind in the alley, and Hagen’s breath hung in front of his face as he took in his surroundings. It was a good place for a body dump, with lots of ways in and out. Whoever chose this spot picked well.

The arcade itself, a popular shopping street open only to pedestrian traffic, was about ten yards away.

Whoever dropped Patrick Marrion’s body here could’ve escaped in either direction. Or they could continue down Kerrick’s Alley, cut across the arcade to the north side, and flee out where the alley stopped at Commerce Street.

Kerrick’s Alley was a narrow lane filled with dirty brickwork, graffiti, peeling plaster, broken tarmac, and a line of overflowing dumpsters. It was the back end of Commerce, the part that no one was supposed to see.

They certainly weren’t supposed to smell it. The acrid scent of rot and urine and garbage burned the back of Hagen’s throat.

Ander hunched his shoulders and walked up to the wall, just past the first set of dumpsters, four of them placed close together against the brickwork of the alley.

Hagen followed suit and took in the freshly painted cuneiform on the wall.

The ancient script looked much the same as it had on the walls of Otto Walker’s apartment, except that it was larger. Brownish paint, which Hagen suspected was actually blood, covered the space. To a casual observer, it looked like creative graffiti. The marks themselves were neater than those at Otto Walker’s apartment.

Here, the marks appeared colder, more calculated. Like their perpetrator had time.

“A message.”

“To us? Or to someone else?”

“I think to us.”

Ander crouched in front of the wall. “If this is the killer, what do you think he’s trying to say?”

“If it is him, then I don’t think he’s trying to say anything. He’s calling. Shouting for the FBI. He wants attention.”

Ander rose in one smooth movement. His hands remained in his coat pockets. “Then I guess his message did get through. We’re here, aren’t we?”

“We are.” Hagen took a deep breath and looked around him. “But why? I don’t see anything here. No footprints, no trail of paint or blood leading us to whoever did this. I think we’d better just tape this off until forensics arrives.”

“Works for me.”

“Let’s see if that Delafayette dude is around. Maybe we can still get something out of this trip.”

“The soup kitchen has alibied him. Slept there Friday night after dinner, never left until morning. But you never know.”

They kept moving down the alley past the first set of dumpsters. Hagen let Ander prod the piles of garbage placed directly on the concrete with his own shoes. For his part, he was in no mood to get his Oxfords filthy as well.

A mound of cardboard next to another line of dumpsters about halfway down the alley near where the arcade cut through Kerrick’s Alley looked promising. Something rustled as Hagen drew near, and he moved his hand toward the gun under his armpit.

He grabbed the top sheet of damp, unfolded box and pulled.

A rat screeched.

The creature leaped out, scampered across Hagen’s designer shoes, and raced across the arcade and down the alley toward Commerce Street.

“Dammit. That’s disgusting.” He checked his shoe. There was no sign of rat droppings or other filth on the upper. He searched his pockets for something to wipe his shoe and found nothing. There were tissues in the SUV, at least.

Ander rocked on his heels. “That’s good. It’s pretty. And it’s nice that you’re making friends. I should bring you here more often.”

“Let’s call the locals to secure the site until forensics arrives. I don’t think anyone’s here.” He headed back the way they’d come, past the first line of dumpsters, and toward the SUV.

Ander opened the passenger door. Hagen started to climb in, but something caught his eye.

Across the alley, past the arcade, a row of dumpsters lined the pavement. Beyond them, just visible over the rusted lids, sat a white vehicle. Tall. An SUV? No. More likely a truck.

He shut the door, eyes narrowing as he stepped away for a better look.

Hagen’s senses sharpened as a hood rose from behind the dumpster. Then a shoulder. An arm.

A gun.

“Ander, down!”

Hagen raced for cover behind the dumpster closest to their SUV and drew his weapon. A shot echoed through the alley. A short metallic screech told him the bullet had hit the top of the Ford.

Hagen aimed down the alley. The dumpster had been pushed sideways. It blocked the street and obscured his vision. He couldn’t see shit.

“Ander, you good?”

“Fine.” Ander’s voice came from the other side of the car. “Calling it in…shots fired. South side of Kerrick’s Alley. In pursuit of suspect.”

“Cover me.”

From the corner of his eye, Hagen saw Ander rise. He’d drawn his weapon and aimed in the direction of the shot.

Hagen advanced. He lined up the sights down the muzzle.

Nothing moved.

He crept forward. A car couldn’t drive through the arcade to the north side of the alley. He had to trust Ander had his back and would shoot if he saw anything Hagen missed.

It was likely they were out of danger. He’d heard the attacker’s vehicle drive off and couldn’t see the top of the white vehicle anymore.

Hagen reached the arcade. The commercial, pedestrian-only lane was empty. The shops were open. But the shoppers were either scarce at this time of day or the gunfire had scared them away.

Still, there was no movement behind the dumpster where he’d seen the hoodie.

Hagen moved on. He kept the gun trained on the dumpster’s black lid. His mouth was dry. He’d been in this situation far too many times, closing in on a shooter with an itchy trigger finger. The approach never got easier.

The dumpster was just five yards away now. He adjusted his grip. He’d give a warning, and if the shooter made a move—and was still there—he’d fire.

“FBI. Come out with your hands up.”

Nothing.

Hagen braced before taking off in a sprint, thumping toward Commerce Street, puddles splashing as he passed. Reaching the dumpster, he shoved it hard with a foot. The dumpster rolled out of the way and smacked into the wall.

No one was there. There was no sign of the white vehicle either.

Sirens approached, and soon, blue-and-red lights bounced off the storefronts and the alley walls. Police cars arrived. Two officers leaped out of a cruiser, guns drawn.

Hagen lifted his hands. “FBI. Don’t shoot.”

Slade arrived ten minutes later with Anja. While she stayed with the officers to search the area, Slade examined the damage to the roof of the Explorer. A long silver streak slashed through the paint.

“Bullet must’ve come in at a low angle and then bounced off. Lord knows where it went.” Slade pointed at the passenger door. “You were there?”

Ander nodded. His face was pale. “Just about to get in.”

“So the shooter missed you by what…ten inches? From thirty yards. Big guy like you. No pro, is he?”

Slade’s sarcastic comment helped calm Hagen down a bit. In spite of himself, he laughed. But Ander was still rather pale.

Hagen refused to show Slade his lingering worry. “We should put out a BOLO for a blind man with a gun. His service dog should give him away.”

“A man? You saw him?”

“No. A hood, an arm, a gun. The top of a white vehicle. That’s all. Must’ve fled as soon as he got a shot off. I mean, he’s probably more of a knife guy.”

That got a tiny smile out of Ander. His color was returning.

Anja joined them. She held an evidence bag. At the bottom of the bag lay a single brass shell.

“A three-eighty. It’s all we found.”

Slade rubbed his temple. “All right. Let’s get back to the office. See what we can scramble up from security footage.”