One of the deputies put a breaching tool to the front entrance and the frame splintered on the second strike. They went up the stairs fast, McKenzie first, Callie behind him, the deputies covering the rear. The stairwell was narrow and dim and smelled like the same chemicals Ruby had described.
The apartment was empty. Or it appeared to be. The main room was in disarray, the filing cabinet drawers pulled open, the desk cleared. The folders Ruby had described were gone from the floor. But the bottom drawer of the cabinet still had material in it. McKenzie crouched and began pulling folders.
"Callie," he said quietly. "Come look at this."
More photographs. Boudoir and beyond. Girls in various stages of undress, posed in the same bedroom, same lighting setup. Some looked eighteen or older. Others didn't. The further back in the drawer they went, the more explicit the content became and the younger the subjects appeared.
"This is enough," Callie said. "Bag it all."
McKenzie was reaching for an evidence bag when they heard it. A window opening in the living space. The scrape of a frame being forced up.
Callie moved through the doorway and saw Garrett halfway out the window that faced the rear of the building, one leg over the sill, his body twisting to fit through the gap. He had a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. He saw her and for a fraction of a second they locked eyes and she could see the calculation happening, the math of whether he could make it.
He couldn't.
Callie crossed the room in four steps and grabbed the laptop bag strap as he tried to swing his other leg through. The strap pulled taut and yanked him backward off the sill. He hit the floor hard, the bag skidding across the room, and rolled onto his side trying to get up. Callie put a knee on his back and had his wrist before he could plant a hand.
"Don't," she said.
He struggled anyway. Pushed up with his free arm, tried to twist out from under her. McKenzie was there in two seconds, taking the other arm, and between them they got the cuffs on while Garrett thrashed and swore and demanded to know what right they had.
"Garrett Finch," Callie said, breathing hard, her knee still on his back. "You're under arrest for assault, possession of exploitative material involving minors, and obstruction. We'll be adding to that list once we've finished with your files."
He went still. Not cooperative. Just still, the way an animal goes still when it realizes the trap has closed.
They pulled him to his feet. McKenzie walked him toward the stairs while Callie stood in the room and surveyed what was left. The filing cabinet. The bed visible through the doorway. The umbrella lights still set up from whatever he'd been shooting last. There were framed prints on the wall, pretty landscapes,mountain lakes, autumn foliage, work you'd see in a tourist gift shop.
She bagged the laptop. Bagged the folders. Called in the forensic team to process the rest.
By the time she got downstairs, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk across the street. McKenzie had Garrett in the back of the cruiser, his face turned away from the glass. One of the deputies was stringing tape across the front entrance.
Callie stood on the sidewalk and looked at the cruiser. Garrett Finch. Photographer. Charming. Well-groomed. Connected to both Brooke Danvers through the agency and now Fiona Spence through the scheduled shoot. A man who photographed underage girls.
They might have just caught their killer.
Or they might have just caught a predator who had nothing to do with the bodies in the bog. Callie had been doing this long enough to know the difference between wanting something to be true and having evidence that it was. Right now she had a man who hit women and photographed teenagers. That was enough for today.
The rest would come from the files, the laptop, and whatever Garrett Finch decided to say once the cuffs started feeling permanent.
12
Noah stood in the observation room with his phone pressed to his ear, watching Finch through the one-way glass. Finch sat at the table in the adjacent room with his hands folded in front of him, his posture relaxed in a way that was either genuine calm or an imitation of it. Callie was across from him. McKenzie leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed.
“No, I’m good, Savannah. I want this,” Noah said.
"I don't know, Noah. You need to be cleared before you come back."
“There are no issues. Listen. For the most part I'll follow Callie and McKenzie's lead. I was the one who found the bodies. If I hadn't followed that sketch, that might not have happened. Now you know State is going to get involved. Seven bodies. The link with my brothers working the Kara Ellison case brings this close to home. Let me take this."
Any other lieutenant might have gone by the book. But Noah's history with Savannah allowed him leeway that few others received. They'd worked narcotics together for three years before she moved into command, and she understood thatNoah's instincts had a track record that outweighed his tendency to color outside the lines.
"If there are any problems with you..."
The observation room door opened and Ray stepped in, catching the tail end of the conversation.
"There won't be," Noah said.
"Okay. Keep me informed. I'll handle the paperwork." The line went dead.
