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“Outstanding. We’ll see you soon.”
***
Five police vehicles remained on the scene when Faith finally allowed the groaning truck to rest. The engine sighed with relief when its crazy driver finally turned it off and stopped insisting on treating it like a racecar. Faith, Michael, and Turk hopped off and joined Wanda in front of her own cruiser. Inside the car, a tall, muscular man with chiseled features and hard green eyes sat with his arms and legs bound. The uniform he wore wasn't military, but to the uninformed eye from a distance, animal control khakis might look military.
The man alternated between shouting and grousing at the officers.“Damn it, you have to tell me what I did!”
“We told you already,” a uniform replied. “You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder. Not to mention resisting arrest with violence, six counts of battery on a police officer and assault with a deadly weapon.”
“It’s a damned dog whistle!” the man snapped. “How the hell is that deadly?”
“You jabbed it into my sergeant’s neck. She had to be rushed to the hospital. Fortunately for you, you missed the carotid this time, so she’ll make a full recovery. Not that one more murder will make things that much worse for you.”
“What do you mean, one more? I haven’t killed anyone since the Marine Corps paid me to!”
Turk growled at the man, and he growled back at Turk. “Thank doggy-Jesus I’m tied up right now, buddy, or I’d wreck your shit.” Faith’s eyes narrowed at him, and he turned to her. “I’d wreck your shit too, bitch.” A leer spread across his face. “You’d probably like it.”
Faith's lip curled up in contempt. She turned to Wanda, who wore a wry smile. "That lovely bundle of joy is Adrian Clarke. I took the liberty of running his ID while we waited for you guys. Turns out Mr. Clarke has quite the record. Dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corps due to unauthorized use of force against enemy prisoners. Six counts of assault in the ten years he's been out, four aggravated. One attempted murder when he beat a guy badly enough the gentleman had to spend eight weeks in the hospital."
“Sounds like a peach,” Michael said. “Any weapons on his person?”
Wanda shrugged. “Well, you heard my officer. He put three inches of a dog whistle into a police sergeant’s neck.”
“No knives?” Faith asked.
"No knives, no guns. A can of bear spray, which he says he uses when he's hunting a particularly dangerous animal."
Faith frowned. All four of their victims were stabbed with a double-edged knife. The absence of such a weapon on Clarke’s person didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t their killer, but it did suggest that he wasn’t out killing today, and it shed some doubt on whether he was their guy at all.
“What did he say when you arrested him?” she asked Wanda.
“Well, the arrest was mostly over when I got here,” she replied. “According to Officer Birch, most of what he said was a variation of ‘fuck you,’ with the occasional, ‘you asshole’ thrown in.”
Faith’s frown deepened. “Wanda, this is serious. We can’t just assume he’s our guy because he happened to be outside with a dog whistle.”
Irritation flashed across the detective’s face. “I make it my business to never make assumptions, Special Agent. What I’ve done is arrested a suspected serial killer who fits the profile you created and who has a record of violent assault, including a very spirited attempt to resist arrest. He might get attempted murder for the whistle-stabbing of my sergeant."
“That’s outstanding, Wanda, but…” Faith sighed. It wasn’t worth arguing with her. “Officer Birch.”
Wanda glared. “Excuse me? I can talk to you. You don’t have—”
“Talk to me,” Michael said, stepping in between the two women. “Trust me, this will save time. We’ll want to hear from both of you anyway.”
While Michael pacified/debriefed Wanda, Faith asked Birch, “Did Mr. Clarke give a reason for being out here.”
Birch hooked a thumb to a parked Animal Control van a few dozen yards down. "Says he's out here hunting a Rottweiler that was reported missing by its owner yesterday. The dog's trained to be a guard dog, and the owner's afraid that it might hurt someone. According to Clarke, anyway. Between you and me, I'd rather face a Rottweiler than fight that dude again. I was five seconds away from shooting him."
Faith nodded. She looked uneasily back at the truck. Clarke’s story made sense. It was a legitimate reason to have a dog whistle, and he wasn’t carrying a knife.
But he did have a history of violence, and she had seen enough former Marines with untreated PTSD lose their cool that she couldn’t rule out the possibility that he might be their killer.
“All right,” she said. “Go ahead and take him.”
Birch nodded and got into his cruiser. Faith approached Wanda and Michael as Turk joined her.
“Give me your keys,” she told Wanda.
“Excuse me?” Wanda snapped.
