Page 40 of Shrapnel

Elijah had filled him in on some of the information, but the case was all over the place. Different jurisdictions, investigators that were too afraid of White Sand Mesa to truly investigate, and a woeful lack of…anything.

“I called around to the different precincts.” Noah dug through a pile of papers on his desk and withdrew a glossy photo. He stuck it up on the wall next to the other four victims.

“Our fifth victim: Alex Hughes. He wasn’t pegged as Mesa because he didn’t have the knife on him. His wife reported him missing three weeks ago.”

Jamie looked at the picture—it was an enlarged driver’s license photo. Mr. Hughes looked about as average as they come.

“You didn’t know one of your members was missing?” Jamie asked, trying to keep his tone light because he promised Elijah he wouldn’t start shit.

Noah caught the underlying accusation anyway. “I was aware she reported him missing. I was also aware of the fact that he had two different mistresses in a different county. It was a safe bet he was with one of them and I didn’t think I should be the one to tell his wife.”

Jamie wondered if Grant would be so blasé. If a Weaver member went missing, Grant would have been front and center. He had to be, not only to be successful but because he cared about his people.

It was obvious to Jamie that Noah was struggling. Perhaps it wasn’t a lack of ability or desire, but simply ignorance. In most gangs the younger heir would have been brought up alongside the previous leader, spent years in their shadow establishing themselves and learning the ropes. Earning respect. But Noah didn’t have that luxury. Plucked from the nest, he had been thrust into a position he had no business being in. Were it not for his bloodline, he would have been assassinated long ago.

That, and Harvey. Noah’s second was beyond dedicated. He kept Elijah in the loop and together they eliminated half the threats to Noah before he was even aware of them.

“We have no suspects,” Elijah stated with an attempt at professionalism. “So we need to focus on what we do have.”

The victim's autopsy photos were just beneath the driver's license photos. Their faces were gruesome—swollen and seeping pus, bloodshot eyes red with burst vessels. Jamie knew death, and these had not been pleasant.

“What do we know about causality?” he asked Elijah.

“Not a lot. We know they were all killed the same way, and we know it was a new type of chemical or drug. We’re still waiting for the chemists to get back to us on its makeup. Once we know what it’s made of we can figure out how it was manufactured and trace it back.”

Jamie stared at the victims. Death should be easy. But this wasn’t. This was science, manufactured death. And for what reason? There were a million easier, untraceable ways to kill someone. Why go jump through all the hoops?

“What’s with the Legos?”

Noah scowled. He was leaning against his desk and staring at the bored in a way that told Jamie he had been staring at it for too long.

“Each victim had one in their mouth.”

“Was there traces of chemical on the Legos?”

Elijah shook his head. “Autopsy report says there was no trace of the chemical on the Lego and it was most likely placed after death.”

“Do you like Legos?”

Noah glowered at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, that whoever is doing this is trying to send a message.” Jamie walked to the board and looked closer at the victims. “Besides being Mesa members, they had nothing in common. Men, women, all working in different areas of the gang. The only consistent is how they were killed.”

Elijah paled. “And their relationship to Noah.”

“Give that kid a sticker,” Jamie waved toward Elijah. “The Legos and the way they were killed—it’s all pageantry. He’s trying to send a message.”

“A message to me?” Noah asked, the scowl off his face as he approached the board. He rested his shoulder against Elijah.

“Has to be,” Jamie confirmed. “Unless there’s some sort of connection between the victims we’re not seeing.”

“There isn’t. They all worked and lived in different areas. Most of them had jobs outside White Sand Mesa and were just contracted in. All except Hughes, our second-to-last victim. He was full-time and pretty close to Luther.”

Jamie looked back at Hughes’ photo. It was Hughes’ knife that the homeless men had used to try and rob the gas station with. Presumably, he dropped it in the struggle, but that was just an educated guess.

“How close?”

Noah sighed. “Inner circle. Harvey is getting me his info now, but as of now I know what he did for Luther was pretty hush hush.”