bedroom windows, the garage, and even a portion of the backyard. It was a perfect spot for surveillance.
Andrew bent down and examined a spot on the floor. “Look at these scratches. Could be from the legs of a tripod.”
Marcus noticed another spot near where Andrew was pointing. The dust had been disturbed, and a circular object had left a ring. It was maybe a foot in diameter. Andrew noticed it too. “Wonder what was sitting there?” he said.
“A bucket,” Marcus replied, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Why would he have a bucket?”
“When I was a kid, my dad …” Marcus hesitated. Thinking of the New York city cop who had raised him brought back thoughts about how he had always thought of himself as being a second-generation police officer. The realization still stung as he thought of his true heritage. “John Williams, my adopted father, liked to go camping. We’d get away from the city and spend a weekend out in the woods. Just the two of us. He would take a bucket along to use as a mobile toilet.”
“So you think Ackerman Sr. didn’t even take time off from his surveillance to use the bathroom? That’s some pretty serious dedication. Robots aren’t that committed.”
“You know the word ‘robot’ comes from the Czech word ‘robotnik,’ which means ‘slave,’ and that description might not be far from the truth. I don’t think my father took them.”
“We know he did.”
“We know he’s involved. I’m starting to think that he has an apprentice. Which also means that the FBI’s profile is going to be all wrong. They’re looking for one killer and building their assessment from that. Two killers means a totally different profile. And we can’t tell them a thing.”
Chapter Fifteen
aleb stepped out through the front door of the Dunham house and examined the faces of the people in the crowd of onlookers standing behind the police caution tape. A crime scene always drew a crowd. And criminals often liked to stand in the crowd and bask in the aftermath of their deeds. He knew that officers would be discreetly taking pictures of the crowd and comparing them with photos from past scenes, but a part of him hoped that he would be the one to notice that person who was enjoying himself just a bit too much.
His encounter with the governor’s reps had been relatively painless, and he had even had a chance to discuss the case with one of the FBI agents assigned to the task force. Kaleb had invited the agent to dinner with the hope of picking his brain about applying to the FBI academy. The sooner he could get out from beneath his mother’s command the better.
As he surveyed the crowd, his gaze strayed across the street to two old men sitting on a blacktop driveway in a pair of rusty lawn chairs. They were both white-haired. One in a sweater, even though it wasn’t sweater weather. The other in a tan and white striped shirt and blue polyester pants. They each had a beer in their hand and a cigar in their mouth.
Kaleb stepped beneath the police tape and approached the two men. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Have any of the officers talked to you?”
The man in the polyester pants puffed his cigar and said, “They came by earlier. I’m glad to tell you what I told them. Which was pretty much nothing. We’d love to help, but we didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual folks leaving for work, mailmen, deliveries and such.”
“Deliveries? What kind of deliveries?”
“Hell, I don’t know. The usual. That big brown truck.”
“UPS,” the other man added in a soft and frail voice.
Kaleb’s pulsed quickened. His father had liked to take him deer hunting before he died. Kaleb recognized the same sensation now as when he had sat in the tree-stand, heard the breaking of branches, and seen a twelve-point buck poke its head through the foliage. “Did this truck deliver to the Dunham house?”
The two men exchanged glances. Polyester pants
Andrew bent down and examined a spot on the floor. “Look at these scratches. Could be from the legs of a tripod.”
Marcus noticed another spot near where Andrew was pointing. The dust had been disturbed, and a circular object had left a ring. It was maybe a foot in diameter. Andrew noticed it too. “Wonder what was sitting there?” he said.
“A bucket,” Marcus replied, sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Why would he have a bucket?”
“When I was a kid, my dad …” Marcus hesitated. Thinking of the New York city cop who had raised him brought back thoughts about how he had always thought of himself as being a second-generation police officer. The realization still stung as he thought of his true heritage. “John Williams, my adopted father, liked to go camping. We’d get away from the city and spend a weekend out in the woods. Just the two of us. He would take a bucket along to use as a mobile toilet.”
“So you think Ackerman Sr. didn’t even take time off from his surveillance to use the bathroom? That’s some pretty serious dedication. Robots aren’t that committed.”
“You know the word ‘robot’ comes from the Czech word ‘robotnik,’ which means ‘slave,’ and that description might not be far from the truth. I don’t think my father took them.”
“We know he did.”
“We know he’s involved. I’m starting to think that he has an apprentice. Which also means that the FBI’s profile is going to be all wrong. They’re looking for one killer and building their assessment from that. Two killers means a totally different profile. And we can’t tell them a thing.”
Chapter Fifteen
aleb stepped out through the front door of the Dunham house and examined the faces of the people in the crowd of onlookers standing behind the police caution tape. A crime scene always drew a crowd. And criminals often liked to stand in the crowd and bask in the aftermath of their deeds. He knew that officers would be discreetly taking pictures of the crowd and comparing them with photos from past scenes, but a part of him hoped that he would be the one to notice that person who was enjoying himself just a bit too much.
His encounter with the governor’s reps had been relatively painless, and he had even had a chance to discuss the case with one of the FBI agents assigned to the task force. Kaleb had invited the agent to dinner with the hope of picking his brain about applying to the FBI academy. The sooner he could get out from beneath his mother’s command the better.
As he surveyed the crowd, his gaze strayed across the street to two old men sitting on a blacktop driveway in a pair of rusty lawn chairs. They were both white-haired. One in a sweater, even though it wasn’t sweater weather. The other in a tan and white striped shirt and blue polyester pants. They each had a beer in their hand and a cigar in their mouth.
Kaleb stepped beneath the police tape and approached the two men. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Have any of the officers talked to you?”
The man in the polyester pants puffed his cigar and said, “They came by earlier. I’m glad to tell you what I told them. Which was pretty much nothing. We’d love to help, but we didn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual folks leaving for work, mailmen, deliveries and such.”
“Deliveries? What kind of deliveries?”
“Hell, I don’t know. The usual. That big brown truck.”
“UPS,” the other man added in a soft and frail voice.
Kaleb’s pulsed quickened. His father had liked to take him deer hunting before he died. Kaleb recognized the same sensation now as when he had sat in the tree-stand, heard the breaking of branches, and seen a twelve-point buck poke its head through the foliage. “Did this truck deliver to the Dunham house?”
The two men exchanged glances. Polyester pants
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