Dead Beat (Flynt and Steele Mystery Book 1)

by Micheal Maxwell

  “Someone killed him just to steal our gear? Geez, what a lowlife.”

  Flynt cleared his throat as if about to speak. Steele shot him a harsh look before he could give anything away.

  “How about tomorrow morning around nine?” Steele asked.

  “You think my guitar’s gone?” Mayhew asked.

  “That’s what we need to find out. You insured?”

  “No. Isn’t the storage place supposed to protect us? I mean ‘Secure Storage’, right?”

  “I think they should,” Flynt interjected. “It would just be good business, frankly. Then again, it doesn’t look like a trustworthy establishment. I guess this one’s a roll of the dice.”

  Before either Steele or Mayhew could comment on Flynt’s needlessly thoughtful analysis of proper business practices, the back door to Burger Island opened. A woman in her thirties stuck her head out and said: “Break’s over.”

  Steele was already moving away, not even giving the apparent manager a sideways glance. “We’ll see you tomorrow at nine.”

  “Sorry about your friend,” Flynt said in parting.

  “Whatever. He’s not my friend.” Mayhew put his cigarette out against the wall and hocked and spit on the spot of blackened ash.

  Both of the detectives were quiet until they heard the muted click of the back door closing.

  “Whaddaya think?” Flynt asked as they made their way back to the car.

  “He’s big enough to shove a drumstick through a wall,” Steele quipped.

  “I don’t think he’s our boy, though.”

  Noah was so stunned by the fact that Flynt made any assertion about the case at all, he barely managed to ask: “Why not?”

  Flynt shrugged. “Weak motive. He said he hated him, but that’s what they would call artistic differences. He’s leaving the band. What would be the point?”

  Steele agreed. He actually agreed. Flynt’s head was actually in the game. It was a shame none of the other miscreants back at the precinct were around to see it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The following day did not start the way Flynt hoped. On the one hand, he supposed it was smart to knock out something you were dreading first thing in the morning. On the other hand, well, it was something he just did not want to do.

  The hallway down to the morgue was longer than he remembered. Of course, he’d only been there twice in the last fifteen years, and one of those times was yesterday. He intentionally skipped the doughnuts and his coffee mixture at roll call. The knot on his tie was loosened and the top button of his largest shirt was unbuttoned. He even left an extra hole on his belt to expand it from its normal fit. Nothing constricting, nothing choking, empty stomach…and Flynt was ready for the second autopsy of his career.

  He watched Steele as they made their way to the examination room. He looked cool and collected like he’d done this a hundred times. For all Flynt knew, he had. Watching Steele move almost fluidly down the hall, Flynt felt a deep pang of sorrow. He missed Bill so much, he knew Bill would have found a way to keep Flynt from coming. Bill would have…

  Flynt shut the thoughts down. Bill was dead and he wasn’t here to bail him out anymore. Now there was Steele, a man that already sort of defended him in front of the jerks at the precinct.

  Flynt kept that thought in mind as they neared the examination room. Bill always pacified him, he knew this but was okay with it. Steele, on the other hand, was pushing him. Flynt supposed that was okay, too. It was good to get out of your comfort zone every now and then, right? He knew this was true, but it was hard to believe as they approached the door to the examination room.

  Steele glanced over at his partner sympathetically. Flynt seemed more reserved than he expected.

  “Nice way to start the day, huh?” Steele teased.

  “We all need to expand our knowledge.” Flynt showed a slight air of defiance.

  Reaching the door to the morgue, Steele opened it wide and waved his partner in. The sound of music filled the brightly lit space. The ME was listening to Indian music while he worked. The droning sound of a sitar seemed to whirl around the room.

  “Ah, my Musical Detectives!” Paru Sankaran beamed, laughing at his joke. The detectives didn’t.

  Flynt and Steele approached the stainless steel table and looked down at the ashen naked body of Mark Reagan. The smell of a multitude of chemicals, and what Flynt could only guess was death, filled the room.

  “Forgive me,” Sankaran said. “I forgot the music was so loud.” He turned and hit the pause button on the CD player.

  “Ravi Shankar?” Flynt asked.

  Steele looked at his partner first, then turned to the surprised ME.

  “You know Shankar?”

  “Way back when I bought a couple of albums,” Flynt said. “East Meets West and of course, everybody had the Concert For Bangladesh.”

  “You like Indian classical music Lieutenant?” Sankaran asked Noah.

  Steele shook his head, almost defiantly.

  “That’s what is called a morning raga,” Sankaran instructed. “It is to set the tone of your day. Help you center and put away any negative thoughts of feeling from the day before. A way to start afresh. There are evening ragas that serve to calm and relax you from the stress of the day. Very nice, very nice.”

  “I certainly could use that.” Steele glanced over at Flynt. His partner was currently staring down at deep Y shaped cuts in Mark’s chest that ran down to the abdomen of the body on the table. “Shall we get started?” Steele asked, taken aback at Flynt’s bravery.

  “As you can see I have done a bit of preliminary work. I will be starting the recording where I left off last evening.”

  “Flynt, you OK?” Steele asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Just checking.” Steele looked at Sankaran, who was secretly anticipating Flynt’s reaction to what was about to happen and winked.

  “Continuation of Medical Examiner Paru Sankaran’s report,” Sankaran announced. “Subject, Mark Reagan. Present are Detectives Lieutenant Noah Steele and Sergeant Comrade Flynt, both of the Puta Gorda PD.”

  Sankaran snapped the wrist band of his latex gloves, in much the same way baseball players kiss their crucifix, before taking the batter’s box. He took the large flaps of tissue covering the abdomen of the body and folded them back exposing the internal organs.

  The smell of blood was nothing new to either detective, but the combination of the first stages of decay and dead blood was oppressive. Flynt peered into the cavity, his eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and wonder. An earthy, muddy scent rose from the body. After a moment, Steele noticed that Flynt was holding his breath. He took a step back from the table in search of better air but there was none there. Steele noticed he was holding his breath as well. He, too, stepped away. Sankaran was saying something, but it wasn’t registering. As he tried to focus and shake off his lightheadedness he stepped back toward the table.

  “What is that smell?” Flynt asked, his face in a distorted grimace.

  “Which one?” Sankaran said with a chuckle.

  “Kind of an acidy, vinegary, sour, kind of.” Flynt waved an open hand in front of his nose. “God it’s awful.”

  “You’re lucky this young man is very clean,” Sankaran said with a merry laugh. “That smell is bile from the gallbladder. It is not very pleasant. At least he is fresh. Bodies found in rivers and canals, those are the ones that smell the worst.”

  The combination of the smell of bile and the mental picture of a bloated decomposing body being pulled from a river turned Steele’s stomach. He panicked. He’d never reacted like this before. as it weighed heavier and heavier on him, he became certain he was going to throw up.

  “Be right back,” Steele said, nearly retching.

  As quickly as he could move without breathing, Steele headed for the door. Several times he was forced to clench his teeth to keep from throwing up. He hit the door and kept going, mouth open and gasping for air, his
body convulsed. He didn’t actually vomit, but he came so close he felt the burning of stomach acid in his throat. Try as he may, he couldn’t get those smells out of his nose. Turning, he put his arm on the wall, rested his head there, and gasped for air.

  “Hey there buddy, you OK?”

  Steele turned to face the pretty smiling face of Kerrie Luna. She must have come from one of the doors along the hall.

  “Yeah,” he said, a little embarrassed. “Not sure what happened there.”

  “You look a little peaked. Maybe you should sit down.”

  Noah put his back to the wall and slid down until he was seated on the cool tile floor. Kerrie sat down, legs crossed at the ankles, across the hall.

  “OK, that’s one way.” Kerrie smiled. “How did you get down here?”

  Steele gestured toward the morgue with his thumb.

  “First autopsy?” Kerrie asked.

  “No. That’s the crazy thing. I’ve been to dozens.” He eyed her curiously and then asked: “What brings you here?”

  “A body down the hall. I needed to sign off on some stuff. Ah, the glories of the job, am I right?”

  Steele shook his head and shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Where’s your partner?” Kerrie asked.

  “He’s still in there. He’s like a kid at the Exploratorium.”

  She chuckled at this. She leveled her gaze at him. “You know, you cost me five bucks.”

  “How’s that?” He was grateful for her being there. Speaking to her was helping get his senses back under control. His stomach was already starting to settle.

  “I was in the department pool,” she replied. “I picked two days until you either quit or killed him.”

  They both laughed. Steele was careful in doing so, though. He didn’t want to jostle his stomach too much.

  “I have to admit I’ve had my moments,” he said. “But, it’s OK. He has his moments too.”

  Kerrie gave Noah a long admiring look. “There is more to you than meets the eye, Lieutenant.”

  “How so?”

  “We all had you pegged for some kind of hatchet man sent in to get rid of the Leprechaun. You aren’t that at all, are you?”

  “Nope. Just a guy looking for a way to work a few less hours. My last precinct was killing me, and making home life impossible.”

  The look on her face told Steele that this was not the sort of answer she was looking for.

  “Kids?”

  “No, no kids. My wife is…she’s a quadriplegic.”

  Steele was shocked he put it out there all at once. It made him feel far too vulnerable. He may as well have pulled down his pants and exposed himself to her right there in the hallway. Still, though, he sensed he crossed a line, he couldn’t seem to shut himself up. “I can only afford a live-in caregiver so many hours a month. I need to be there for the rest of the time.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Kerrie was clearly pained by his situation. Her eyes quickly darted to the left and then to the right, as if she was looking for a way out.

  “Look, if you could keep that to yourself I’d appreciate it,” Steele said. “I don’t even know why I went there…why I told you.”

  “No worries. Our secret.”

  “People get kind of weird when they find out about my wife.” Steele gave a sad lift of his eyebrows. “I’m really sorry; I didn’t mean to even tell you. It just came out.”

  “We all need somebody to, you know…know the path we’re going down,” Kerrie offered. “You have my word. I’ll keep it to myself.”

  Noah stood to his feet. He was embarrassed by his wimping out at the autopsy and was ashamed he made Jacki sound like a burden. Why did he even tell this woman? He realized he was staring at the patterns in the tile, and didn’t notice Kerrie was on her feet as well.

  “Thanks for checking on me.” Steele put his hand out. “I’m Noah Steele.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve actually been properly introduced. I’m Kerrie.”

  “Well, we were…but you were angry with everyone, I think.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

  “Are you a detective?”

  “Oh, heavens, no!” She laughed nervously. “I’m a civilian. The resident tech geek. I do research. Database searches, compiling background info, and unlocking password-protected stuff.”

  “Sounds sort of like a detective to me,” Steele said. “Just without a badge.”

  Kerrie giggled and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “Well, nice to meet you,” Steele said. “Even if it was kind of an embarrassing way to start.”

  “My lips are sealed. Don’t worry about the jackals in the squad room getting word of it. You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I guess I better give another run at it. Steele gave her a smile and a nod before turning back toward the morgue.

  “See you around,” Kerrie called and she continued down the hallway back to her desk.

  Before heading back into the exam room, Steele turned and watched her long ponytail sway as she moved down the hall. She took about ten spritely paces then turned and caught him looking. She smiled warmly and went along her way.

  As he reached for the door of the morgue, Steele’s face felt like it was on fire. What was that all about?

  Before he would allow himself to even dwell on a possible answer, he opened the door and stepped back inside the examination room.

  “Where’d you disappear to?” Flynt asked.

  “I had to pee. What’d I miss?”

  “I don’t know what I was so afraid of,” Flynt beamed. “This is really interesting.”

  Steele looked at Paru Sankaran and raised his eyebrows. “I was thinking more along the lines of our victim here.”

  Steele closed his eyes for a long moment before stepping up to the table. Sankaran discreetly moved closer to Steele and passed him a small plastic inhaler. The spray in the small tube masked the smells of the tasks at hand. Steele used one once before and recognized it immediately. He turned as if to examine something on the table behind them and inhaled deeply before turning back to the table. Flynt didn’t notice; he was leaning over the body and stretching his neck to get a better look at something he found intriguing.

  Sankaran chuckled as he took back the inhaler. “Sergeant Flynt has the makings of an excellent ME’s assistant. He saw almost immediately the darkened liver of our friend here.” Sankaran reached into the stainless steel bowl on the table. “You see the discoloration here and here. He was well on the way to complete liver failure. I will be taking tissue samples, but my guess is the medication he was taking for his bone disease was having an adverse effect on his organs. Not uncommon.”

  “Bone disease?” Steele asked.

  “Yes. It was in his medical records. It was mostly under control, thanks to top medical care and medicine.” Sankaran paused to set the diseased liver back in the bowl, “But all that aside, this is what should be of significance. Because of the acne scarring and what must be a recent flare-up, I missed these.”

  Sankaran lifted and turned Mark Reagan’s head and shoulders slightly to the right. Hidden in the welts and scars of severe acne were two small round circles. The tissue was raw and much the same color of the open sores where Mark squeezed the large lumps. Steele had seen similar red circles before, only not bordered by acne.

  “Taser?” he asked.

  “It certainly looks like it,” Sankaran said. “I took measurements. They are different than our department issue units. However, three different cheap gun show models have the exact measurements.”

  “So, the killer knocked him out or at least immobilized him before shoving the sticks into him.”

  “It would certainly seem so,” Dr. Sankaran said, nodding in agreement.

  “Is this going to last a while?” Flynt asked. “I’d love a cup of coffee. I’m buyin’.” He was like a kid at the movies who wants popcorn but doesn’t want to go get it for fear he’ll miss someth
ing.

  “I would think at least an hour to complete taking tissue samples, and additional measurements,” Sankaran said. “Then I have to stitch him back up.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Flynt said. “Cream and sugar?”

  “None for me.” Noah waved off the offer. The mere thought of putting coffee on his stomach nearly made Steele retch again.

  “Black for me,” Sankaran said cheerfully. It was apparent that he was enjoying having someone who appreciated his work.

  Once Flynt was out of the room, Steele took a step closer to Sankaran and in a lowered voice he said, “Thanks for helping me out.”

  “Don’t feel bad. There are times I can’t make it to the bin over there. The right combination of sights, sounds, and smells can get to even the most jaded of us. Besides, do you think I would let you lose face in front of the Leprechaun?”

  Both men laughed. It was a morbid sound that seemed to flutter over the entire exam room. In the midst of their laughter, Steele’s phone rang.

  He stepped away from the table, turned his back and answered the call. It was quick and to the point, wrapped up in less than twenty seconds. When he turned back to Dr. Sarankan. “I’m afraid I’ll be leaving the party. You don’t mind babysitting my partner for a few minutes, do you?”

  “Not at all. He is actually a pretty apt student.”

  Noah didn’t respond to the ME’s comment. “Any other thoughts on our drummer before I leave?”

  “Two things seem quite apparent. One, he was living on borrowed time or at least was a really good candidate for a liver transplant. I doubt if he would have been approved. He would either be in a wheelchair due to his bone disease or quickly kill a second liver.”

  “So would this bone disease have caused him to drop his drumsticks repeatedly while playing?”

  The ME took the wrist of the dead drummer and lifted his hand. “Look at these,” he said. “His fingers were already becoming deformed. The pounding on the drums must have been very painful. This kind of deterioration would also cause a loss of feeling. So, yes, hanging onto his drumsticks could have been a problem.”