Bad Behavior(82)

"What's that?"

He checked the manifest. "Looks like a shirt that was found stuffed behind a chest of drawers at Rowan's apartment."

I shuddered. There was too much blood on the shirt for it to have come from a shaving mishap.

"Let's keep going."

We spent the better part of two hours looking at the items that told a story of a life lived poorly and violently. Knives, needles, a variety of drugs, snuff porn-if it was disgusting or creepy, Rowan had it. Two pieces of evidence were particularly troubling: a gun and a notebook full of twisted writings.

Rowan was something of an author, but as I flipped through the composition notebook, it became clear that his darkest fantasies were written on the pages. Rape, murder, dismemberment-all written in slashing blue ink. It read like the Bayou Butcher Manifesto. No wonder he'd been popped as soon as the cops got a line on him.

Other pieces of evidence weren't quite as obvious. A scribbled note with the name and number of a boardinghouse. A photo of Rowan with another man, Rowan's arm slung casually over the much shorter man's shoulders. It was old, taken back when Rowan's teeth weren't rotted out from the meth pipe.

Once we'd cataloged all of it and gotten a copy of the police manifest, it was nearing five o'clock. We headed back to the office as the sun played a game of hide-and-seek behind the downtown skyscrapers.

"Start a database with all the evidence we've seen so far. I want a memo tomorrow detailing what's in Matt's file. List each item as a bullet point, with a note below concerning its significance." He turned into the parking deck of our building. 

"Tomorrow?"

"Hearing problems, Ms. Montreat?"

"No, that's just"-I stole a glance at the sheaf of papers and the CD that could contain thousands more documents-"soon, is all."

"If you can't keep up, I'm sure Ms. Evans would be more than happy to help me."

"Really? Yvonne couldn't lawyer her way out of a paper bag." I crossed my arms over my chest.

"And you can?" He gave me a sidelong glance as we pulled into his parking spot.

"Yes."

"We'll see. Have it on my desk by noon." He didn't move, just waited for me to get out.

"Calling it an early night, Mr. Granade?" I twisted and reached between our seats to gather the documents.

Mr. Granade shifted in his seat at my intentional invasion of his personal space. Good.

"I have a prior appointment, which is why I'm trusting you to get this done for me."

I turned back around in my seat and opened the door. "I will. By noon."

"Good. After we get our feet under us with the documents, we'll start doing some real investigation."

I got out and was about to close the door when Mr. Granade spoke.

"And don't forget to schedule a visit to the morgue within the next few days. I want to see the bodies. Photos are good, but we need to take our expert, Dr. Snider, over for a look. Coordinate the trip."

My blood chilled at the thought of dead bodies. I bent over and met his eye. "Do we have to go?"

"Do you want to be a defense attorney?" His tone was mocking, though he did genuinely quirk an eyebrow.

I had never seen a body before, especially not one that had been carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, if the news reports were true. I fought my fear and tried to nod. Nothing happened. I swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered down to my throat but no lower before he caught my eyes again. "Well?"

I clutched the documents to my chest and let out a resigned sigh. "Yes."

"Then, yes, we have to go. Good night, Ms. Montreat."

"'Night." I straightened up and closed the car door. I expected him to back out and leave, but he waited until I'd made it to the elevator bank, and even until the doors were closing and blocking me from view, before he put his car in reverse.

Terrell was waiting for the elevator when I arrived on the third floor.

"You're going the wrong way. Turn around for home and wine."

"Can't." I held up the folder of documents. "Have to go through some evidence and make a log for Mr. Granade."

"We already back to Mr. Granade's log again?" He grinned.

I rolled my eyes and walked past him. "Don't wait up. I'm going to be here for a while."

Yvonne came around the corner, her hooker heels clacking. "Finally decided to do some work today, Caroline?"

I was not in the mood for her shit. "The only thing you know about working is how to shimmy your skinny ass up under a desk and work a dick like you're a bobblehead doll."

Terrell snorted and covered his mouth with his hand.

Yvonne narrowed her eyes. "You-"

"Ladies." Mr. Palmer walked past the reception desk, the expression on his face akin to sucking on a lemon . . . a rotten one. "Let's at least try to live up to the decorum required in our profession, shall we?"