“We don’t change the crime scene in any way. Don’t touch the thermostat, use the john, smoke, eat, drink, or chew tobacco. Our stuff gets mingled with what’s here it makes things more complicated.”
She put the smoke away and folded her arms over her chest. “Okay,” she said grudgingly.
“Media?” he said again.
“We only have one weekly newspaper. The nearest TV and radio stations are a ways away. So no, not much in the way of media, and I won’t be holding a press conference, just in case you’re wondering. We’re hard to get to. You have to really want to get to Drake. And right now, no one in the media seems to want to.”
“Good.” He paused, looked at her.
“What?” she finally said under his scrutiny.
“You related to somebody named Randy Cole?”
“My younger brother. Why?”
“Ran into him earlier.”
“Ran into him where?” she asked sharply.
“Place I’m staying.”
She assumed an uninterested air that Puller saw right through. “And how was he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean drunk or drunker?”
“He was sober.”
“What a shock.”
“But he said he gets headaches.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said in a more worried tone. “For the last year or so.”
“Told him to get that checked out.”
“I told him the same thing. Doesn’t mean he’s going to do it. In fact, it means he probably won’t.”
“I’m going to grab my gear and get to it.”
“You need any help?”
“You’re in charge. That’s lackey work, isn’t it?”
“Not much around here is lackey work. We all pitch in. And even if it were, Larry getting killed changes things. At least for me. Never lost a man on my watch. Now I have. Changes things,” she said again.
“I can see that. I’ll let you know if I need a hand.”
“You lose many of your guys over in the Middle East?”
“Even one was too many,” replied Puller.
CHAPTER
13
PULLER HAD SKETCHED preliminary drawings of the main floor and the basement. He had put together his loose-leaf notebook with his name, rank, and the date, weather, and lighting conditions on each page, as well as compass north designated. Measurements had been done to all relevant landmarks and other objects in the rooms.
Cole, who was watching him finish the drawing, asked, “Army taught you that?”
“Army taught me a lot of things.”
“Why do you think they came back, Puller?”
“To get something. Or leave something. I just don’t know which one.”
Cole let out a long breath filled with frustration. “Never thought that could happen. Coming back and killing the cop guarding the crime scene.”
He put the sketchpad aside and drew from his rucksack a 35-millimeter camera, tripod, flash, and flash extension cord. He also stuck a device that looked like a flashlight into a holder on his belt.
“My guy already took pictures,” Cole said.
“I like to take my own. Procedures we have to follow, like I said.”
“Okay. But he’s good and you’re welcome to what we have.”
“I appreciate that. Where is he, by the way? Shouldn’t have taken him that long to scrub the car.”
Cole went to the window. “Speak of the devil,” she said.
“Landry Monroe,” said Puller.
“How’d you know?”
“Saw his name on the log.”
“We call him Lan.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Twenty-four years old. WVU grad. Criminal Justice. Certified in CS processing. Been with the department for two years.”
“Where’d he get his certification?”
“State runs a program.”
“Okay.”
“It’s a damn good program, Puller.”
“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“I could tell by the look on your face.”
“What’s your goal here?”
“What?”
“Your goal.”
“To catch whoever did this,” she said grimly.
“Mine too. And if we work together and follow each of our protocols the odds are a lot better that we’ll find the people responsible.”
They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long few moments.
Cole turned, went to the door, and called out to the man, who had his head buried in his car’s trunk. “Lan, get your stuff and get in here. Got somebody who’s really looking forward to working with you.”
She turned back to Puller and pointed a finger at him. “Let’s get one thing straight. He’s a kid. You can rough him up some, show him stuff that’ll make him better, but you are not to crush his confidence. You’ll be leaving West Virginia after this, but not me. I have to work with him and he’s all I’ve got. Understood?”
Puller nodded. “Understood.”
Lan Monroe came in about thirty seconds later juggling bags and knapsacks. He was black and wearing green scrubs. He stopped at the front door and dropped his gear to put on booties and latex gloves. He signed the on-site log held by one of the officers on perimeter security and stepped inside.
Monroe was not much taller than Cole, with narrow shoulders and the bulk of his weight carried in his gut, hips, and butt. His legs were thick and short. His head was shaven and he wore wire-rimmed glasses that had slid halfway down his nose.
Cole said, “Lan, meet CID special agent John Puller.”
Monroe smiled and looked up at Puller, who was nearly a foot taller than he was. He put out his hand. They shook.