Page 18 of So Smitten

At the hotel, Faith and Michael compared notes. Garvey gave them the coroner’s report and the police report when she dropped them off, promising to keep them posted if she found anything else.

The report offered little information other than what they already knew. It provided some details such as the fact that the fence was cut with a pair of standard wire cutters and that the shock collar delivered its current via blunt metallic spikes, but the only somewhat useful piece of information was the coroner’s belief that the killer was a fairly large and strong man, six-foot-three or -four and over two-hundred-twenty pounds. That made sense since Harris was fairly tall and muscular himself, and the killer had overpowered him.

Of greater interest was the gang connection. They would need to look into that first thing in the morning. Faith wasn’t sure anymore that this was a simple hit. The injuries to the two men, especially to Mariano, were unnecessarily harsh, and the revelation that the killer had continued to shock Mariano’s dead corpse was sobering. Whoever was doing this hated his victims. This stood in contrast to most of the cases Faith had worked, not because it was more brutal, but because the nature of the brutality didn’t suggest insanity but simple hatred. The one case that came closest was the case in Arizona, ironically a case that also involved dogs.

“You think we have another white knight defending dogs?” Faith asked.

Michael shook his head. “I’m not sure. We don’t really have a lot of hard evidence on the dog angle. The killer used a shock collar, and Farmer's dog was sedated, but we don't know if the killer sedated the dog or if Mariano did. And Harris didn’t even have a dog. I think it might just be tangential.”

Faith nodded. “You’re probably right, but why sedate a dog that wasn’t barking and wasn’t even remotely capable of harming him? It doesn’t make sense.”

“The killer wouldn’t know that Macy wouldn’t bark.”

“True, but how would he have managed to sedate the dog without Mariano noticing? He would have had to know that Mariano was going to be there ahead of time, sedate Macy, then wait for Mariano to arrive to kill him.”

Michael sighed. “That would make Farmer the primary suspect except for his alibi. And it still doesn’t explain why Mariano cut his way through the back fence or how the killer would have known he was going to be there.”

“Maybe we’re overthinking this,” Faith suggested. “It could be that Mariano was going to steal Macy. So he sedates her, tries to steal her, the killer shows up and protects her.”

“By putting a shock collar on him and frying him for dinner?” Michael countered. “No, you were right the first time. This is personal.”

“So it’s someone who’s been hurt by the gang,” Faith deduced.

“That’s my guess. Someone wanted revenge, and this is how they got it.”

“Well, that narrows our suspect pool down to anyone who’s used cocaine in the American South in the past ten years along with all of their friends and families.”

“Both victims were found in lower income neighborhoods in Atlanta,” Michael said, “I think it’s a safe bet our killer’s from the same area. Probably a member of the gang or a former member or a family member of one. These aren’t indiscriminate killings. He selected these two men. We don’t know why, but he wanted these two gang members specifically. Harris was leadership, or at least middle management, but Vinny was just a contractor, not a part of the chain of command at all, and he was hurt worse than Harris.”

“So how do we find out who wanted them dead?” Faith asked.

“Well, we can start by asking.”

“You actually think they’ll talk?”

“Probably not,” Michael replied, “but we might be able to pick something up anyway.”

***

As Michael predicted, the gang members wouldn’t talk to them. Most of the known affiliates that Garvey rounded up for the agents in the morning simply said the word “lawyer” and clammed up. Even Turk’s menacing growls didn’t move them.

A few offered the opinion that it was none of the FBI’s business. “H-Bomb was blood,” a heavily tattooed man with a stout face told the agents. “When our blood is spilled, we’re the ones who spill blood back.”

“Are you threatening to retaliate?”

The tattooed man grinned. “I’m not threatening anything, agent. I’m just saying, you don’t need to worry about this. We’ll handle it.”

“Actually, we do need to handle this,” Michael said. “Two men are dead, brutally dead, and if you know anything, it will go a lot better for you and your friends if you just tell us.”

“You want to know what I know?” the man replied. “I know that as soon as you find the asshole who did this to H-Bomb, you’re going to ship him off to prison, then you’re going to pack up your shit and go home. And life here is going to go on. People die all the time on the streets, agents. You're not going to save anyone by poking your nose in where it doesn't belong."

“All the same,” Faith said, “we’re here, and like you said, we’re going to find the killer, and we’re going to send him to prison. The best thing you can do is cooperate with us.”

The man scoffed. "Cooperate? That's why you brought me to jail and sat me in an interrogation room with your dog growling at me every time I scratch my ass? You’re not here to cooperate with anyone, agent. Don’t try to play me like that.”

Faith and Michael shared an exasperated look. “All right, mister…”

“Snake Fist.”

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