by Frans Harmon
At the fifth-floor landing, I collapsed gasping for air, cursing my stupidity. Another life was at stake; I couldn’t wait for the snail pace flow of evidence to the forensic science lab. It was a small thing, a discarded bit of chewing gum. It was Jirair’s I was sure, found alongside the latest Vulcan victim. I jumped the chain, tried to get Brok to see it my way. But he was and still is a passionate FSD tech. He refused, and in the end, he was right. The evidence was inadmissible.
On that fifth-floor landing, I held my breath again. There was no sound of movement. For a moment, I believed I had lost him in some apartment, one out of the hundred above me. I got myself up and continued to climb.
“Jirair? Jirair Hussain?” I yelled, that sound echoing in my ears.
I was convinced, then, that Jirair anguished over a mind at odds with reality and mired in the rapture of a terrible fantasy. If I only could confront him, something would slip out in his denial, a ray of truth. That’s what I needed. After three more flights, I paused. Only faint steps below and the sound of my gasping breath. Where was he? What floor?
“Jirair, I just want to talk,” I yelled. Movement again, rapid footsteps, loud and moving higher. A door slammed, heavy metal. A surge of adrenalin and I roared up the final flights of bursting through the roof access door and falling to my knees.
Mace scanned the ground where he had fallen, and then to the next thing he saw. The roost. The roost doors were open, and the cameras were there. A detail that had stayed suppressed until now. The signboard, he remembered, was the only source of illumination.
I called Jirair’s name again, and at first, all he heard were the birds. But then…
“Why are you chasing me?” Jirair asked, his voice shrill and cracking, “What do you want?”
Mace stepped around the block walls of the stairwell and stared at the section of the low roof-perimeter wall where Jirair had stood.
I raised my hands, palm open, I didn’t want to spook him. “I want to help you, Jirair.”
“Help me? No, you don’t. It is I who help you. Did you enjoy finding my playthings? I pleasure them before I burn them, punishment for seducing me. You didn’t know that, did you?”
ME’s results were always inconclusive, something we couldn’t determine, impossible with the fire. It must have shown on my face. He laughed – something else I had forgotten. Yeah, he did. A long rolling laugh. I stepped closer. “I already picked out my next one,” he said, “she is right down there, only fifteen.”
The pigeons burst into flight from their cages. He yelled, “No, what are you doing?” I screamed a roar; my mind went black except for a nightmare image. Jirair raised over my head at the roof’s edge.
“Mace, Mace, don’t do it.” A voice shouted behind him.
Mace turned. Anstice grabbed his jacket and pulled him back off the wall.
“What are you doing? You all right?”
Under his jacket, Mace’s shirt was soaked in sweat. “What… yes, what is going on?”
Anstice guided Mace a few feet from the wall. “That’s what I was about to ask you. I thought you were going to jump.”
“No… no,” Mace said, forcing a laugh. “I just remembered something I thought happened here.”
“You mean Lew Tuller? You think he jumped?”
“They never reported a body,” Mace said, staring blankly across the roof.
Anstice jerked her head back, her face questioning what he just said. “No, they didn’t. That’s why they call it a missing person’s case.”
Chapter Twelve
Anstice guided Mace, looking confused, down the stairwell to the fourteenth floor. They turned to go down the next flight when Mace grabbed her arm.
“Lew’s apartment was on this floor, thirteen zero three.”
Anstice looked at Mace with a furrowed brow. Why would you want to do that after five years? It was probably emptied out years ago.
Mace read her face. “It’s a long shot, but I’m here to cross the T’s and dot the I’s.”
Anstice nodded, and they walk the length of the dark hall, an exit sign the only source of light. They stopped at an open door, thirteen oh three.
The apartment’s main room was L-shaped, a dining area forming the foot in the front, kitchen in the middle, and living room with windows overlooking Sproat. Bath and bedroom were to the right of the living area. A thick coating of dust covered everything, and the furniture seemed too numerous for the room size.
Mace entered slowly, his head focused on a detailed scan of the floor. He stopped to examine gaping kitchen cupboards. Anstice moved into the living area and surveyed the jumble of plastic chairs covered in bright 70’s colors. “Al must have been storing leftover items in here.”
Mace moved into the room and nodded his head in agreement, his curls falling over his forehead. He reminded her of a crush she once had for a similar mop head in middle school. “Not much here. Any updates on the Vulcan case?”
“There’s nothing I can tell you?”
Anstice braced her hands on her waist. “What? What do you mean, MBI takes over and just locks me out.”
Mace raised his hands. “Not what I mean at all. I’m off the case, lieutenant governor sees me as a political liability.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Five years ago, a series of burned bodies started turning up. It caught the public’s attention and was dubbed the Vulcan killings by the press. I was the FBI lead, my first big case, but I got really sick.”
Anstice nodded knowingly. “You didn’t want to let go.”
“You’re right. Funny how clear things are looking back, I realize now I should have. Things went south. Killings stopped, but the case was never closed. My face linked to the fiasco, and the bureau threw me under the bus.”
“So why now, after five years, is he killing again?”
“It’s not him. It’s a copycat. I’m convinced of that. Someone read about him became obsessed, and finally acted.”
“Your conviction have something to do with climbing on the roof wall? I mean, thirteen stories above an alley?”
“What, no. Look, okay, I guess I do know a little. Gavin believes Sharlene was the third in a series of murders with a similar MO. A woman named Coria Brien was the first. She was found buried in snow in her burned-out car in Romulus.”
Mace continued explaining the position of Sharlene’s hands, the lack of teeth, and the use of a high-intensity accelerant. Admitting they were all part of the Vulcan MO.
“Copycat or no sounds like Sharlene was another victim of the Vulcan.”
“Look, I don’t want to argue with you on this, but the Vulcan would have never done anything so public. Serial killers stay in their comfort zone, and this was way out of it. And there is something else.”
Anstice folded her arms across her chest. “So, you going to tell me or what?”
“The body in that car was not Sharlene.”
“And you know this, how?”
“I don’t really. Just my gut feel.”
“For not being able to tell me anything, you have sure said a lot.”
Mace grimaced. “Hmm, yeah, probably too much. Let's check the bedroom. Mo’ll be expecting me back soon.”
The bedroom had a bare striped mattress on the floor, a pine nightstand, and four drawer dresser, but no personal items on either. Mace pulled some drawers open, they seemed shallow but attributed it to shoddy workmanship. Anstice checked the closet. Everything had been emptied out.
Anstice pivoted in the closet back toward the bedroom when her foot struck something. It was a picture frame face down on the barren floor.
“This is something,” she said after flipping it over. “Joan Tuller, Lew’s sister. I remember her, I had just made detective. They found her murdered the same day Lew went missing. We always thought that was why he was in the wind.”
“And you didn’t say this earlier.”
“You’re the one with the case file, Mace. Wanted to s
ee why you were going through the motions. Something else brings you here, and it’s got you scared.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Detective, remember, is what I do.”
Mace sat on the bed. “Jirair Houssain was here. I tracked him the same night Lew disappeared. I thought it was too much of a coincidence.”
“I take it you thought he was the Vulcan.”
“Yes, but I lost him that night. Along with my job and my marriage. Took me four years to get my life straight again.”
Anstice nodded, but she sensed that it was too easy, there had to be more. “Sorry to hear. That explains the stargazing, but next time don’t go out on a roof ledge when you do it, okay.”
Mace was staring across the bedroom. “You flipping out on me again, Mace? What are you staring at?”
“The pine dresser, a pretty cheap piece of furniture for the grandson of a hotel baron.”
Anstice was closer to the furniture. “Mace, it’s hinged to the wall.”
Mace stepped over and took hold of the face and pivoted the chest of drawers away from the wall. Behind was a matrix of slots projecting into the wall. Some were labeled with the month and the year, some missing parts of each. All were empty. The last label was for the month Jirair and Tuller went missing. “VCR tapes were stored here. Tuller had cameras on the roof to watch his pigeons.”
“Where are they now?” Anstice mused.
“DPD initially covered the case. They in a DPD evidence locker?”
“I’ll check the Fourth’s. Central may have them.”
Mace’s phone rang, he had a text message from Helyn. He turned the screen toward Anstice. Maybe wait on that. You have time for a ride to Lansing?”
Chapter Thirteen
A large black SUV pulled behind a gray pickup on old Detroit’s Henry Street. Special Agent Emmitt Loveland chose this spot carefully. Mace had just pulled his blue BMW into the Henry W. parking garage. Emmitt was parked diagonally across the Park-Henry intersection from it with a clear view of all the exits.
Hugging the steering wheel, Emmitt’s attention locked on the garage’s Park street exit. Question rolling through his mind, why was this the first place Mace traveled to from Lansing after getting blocked from the Vulcan investigation. You did more than screw up forensics, Mr. Franklyn. Left me holding the bag, tampering with evidence, your tampering, my name. I know you did more than that, and by God, I going to prove it.
Gavin, sitting next to him, shifted nervously and stroked his beard. He was staring blankly down Henry Street. “Fel rhech mewn pot jam.”
Emmitt jerked back into his seat. “What?”
“What my Welsh father used to say. Useless as a goat fart in a jam jar, that’s what this is, not closing on the Vulcan or whoever is behind these murders.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Sergeant McIlrath.”
“Yeah, well explain if for a thick-headed Welshman. Better keep the words short.”
“I know Mace, he’s stubborn.” Emmitt said, “when he latches on to a scenario, that explains the crime, he never lets go. If he doesn’t like your theory, he won’t stop there either until he proves otherwise.”
Gavin glanced over and shook his head. “Not right tailing a mate, even if he is just contract, not right. Probably following up on a cold case, doing his job.”
Emmitt chuckled. “Cancelling his contract with the MBI is not going to stop him. First thing he did was latch onto another way in; that is why he is here.”
“Could just ask.”
Emmitt broke his lock on the parking garage “If you asked your wife, ‘are you cheating?’ what would she say?”
“I’m not married, left that in Ireland.”
Emmitt turned his attention back to the garage. “Hmm, wouldn’t be the truth, though, would it. She’d deny it. Give you some bullshit answer next. Same with Franklyn.”
“You two billies butting over some doe?” Gavin asked.
“No dame involved goes back to his time in the FBI. I fired him, then got stung with an evidence tampering rap. Mace tried to leapfrog the evidence chain, only my name was on the package. Almost cost me my career. I’m not letting that go this time.”
“FSD is done now, we should be talking with them. We’ve got nothing from the ME, and now she says she found some discrepancies, doing more checking. Won’t release her findings until Monday, earliest.”
“Forensic science isn’t going to find crap from a burned-out car. What did they find from the previous three?”
Gavin grimaced as if experiencing sharp pain.
“Right, you see, Mace doesn’t waste moves. He is on to something. He solves this case for us, and in the process, we’ll figure out what he did five years ago besides screw up an evidence chain.”
“Oh shit.” Emmitt slouched down.
Gavin looked down Park Street. “What?”
“He’s looking this way. I think he spotted us.”
Gavin slid low in his seat and then grabbed a pair of binoculars from the floor. He focused on Mace and followed the path of his stare. “Too long of a look, he didn’t make us. I think he is staring at the Bookies’ Hideaway.”
“The what?”
“Bar across the street.”
“Bookies, yeah, that makes sense and proves my point. He found another way in.”
Mace started walking.
Emmitt started his vehicle. He turned onto Park and crawled his Yukon SUV up the street. “Moving north, would have been pawnshops and boarded up stores on this block back then.”
Emmitt kept a football field’s distance until Mace reached Sproat Street and turned right. Accelerating his Yukon, he lurched into an alley access a car length short of Sproat. He tossed an ‘FBI’ placard from under his seat onto the dash. Emmitt and Gavin exited the vehicle and sprinted to the edge of the corner.
“Isn’t she your ex?” Gavin asked.
In front of the Eddystone Hotel, Mace was talking to a slender woman wearing a black leather jacket and her hair arranged in a ponytail.
“Anstice, yes, it is,” Emmitt responded.
They pulled back from the corner for a few feet. “Now what?” Gavin asked.
A black SUV pulled away from the curb on Sproat. “Stay here,” Emmitt said, “Sheriff’s deputy just left. There’s a bunch here. I’ll take that spot, we’ll blend in, and wait.”
Minutes later, Gavin entered the relocated Yukon. “They went into the hotel.”
Emmitt nodded. “Good, now we wait.”
“Vulcan is not accelerating.”
“What?”
“The case,” Gavin said, “you do remember, the one we are jointly working?”
“Oh, Christ, can we just focus here.”
“I think it is significant. It has been exactly 176 days between the murders. Five years ago, the timing between murders accelerated. Six months between the first and second, three months for the third. We expected another in six weeks, but that is when everything stopped.”
“Been five years, he’s older, maybe the rush lasts longer, he’s methodical, long-distance hauler, or whatever. Lots of reasons for the cycle. Could be the moon, for God’s sake.”
“The moon, hmmm, I hadn’t thought of that.”
Emmitt rolled his eyes. “Go back to the hideaway and see if you can get us a couple of coffees. This may take a while.”
Gavin cracked open his door, and then quickly slid down in his seat. Two vehicles in front of them, Mace and Anstice entered her unmarked sedan and drove off.
Emmitt sat upright and watched the departing vehicle.
“Aren’t we going to follow?”
“Naw, I can get everything from Anstice later.” Then Emmitt’s eyes locked onto a portly man carrying a box to a moving truck parked in front. “Let’s see if they talked to anyone.”
They approached the man as he shoved his box across the floor of the truck. “Pardon me, “Emmitt said, flashing his shield, “FBI. Could you point us to the
super?”
The man turned and studied their faces while hitching up his trousers. “Hmph, more cops. I’m the super, or was, hmmm, this is my last day. What you got, FBI?”
“You talk to Mr. Franklyn and Sergeant Behrenhardt?”
“Yup said he was following up on the disappearance of Lewis Tuller. If that is what you're after, I tell you the same I told him. Don’t remember much, that far back.”
“If you don’t mind,” Gavin said, “what did you remember?”
“That Tuller had pigeons on the roof. Took Franklyn up there. Opened Lewis’ old apartment, ‘spec he went there also.”
“Could you show us?” Emmitt asked.
“Do I look young to you? It’s thirteen flights, elevator’s broke going on a year now. Did that once today, not doing it again. But hey, knock yourselves out.”
Emmitt looked at Gavin, who rolled his eyes and turned on his heels toward the Yukon. “Fuckin goat fuck, just like I said. Mace was doing a cold case as directed. You want to go up, do it, get your fill. I’m napping in your truck.”
Chapter Fourteen
Retrieving his car from the Henry W. parking garage, Mace drove ahead of Anstice to the Lansing Government Complex. While waiting at the building three security desk, Mace mulled the meaning of Helyn’s rigid stance yesterday, not letting him into the lab. It wasn’t like her. Was she pushing away? Why?
Anstice arrived, breaking his thought train. Exchanging nods, they deposited their weapons into lockboxes and proceeded down the stairs to the basement.
The burn lab was a short walk down a dark gray-tiled corridor drenched in the blue-white glow of neon littered with supplies and equipment.
“Familiar scene,” Anstice said, pointing out the hall clutter. “Detroit morgue is trashier, I’ve had to go there a lot lately.”
“Hmmm,” Mace said reflexively, staring ahead, “a lot of leg work in policing.”
Anstice tilted her head toward Mace. “Right… yeah, you know there’s been a rash of suspicious elderly deaths, and I keep getting tagged to check things out. Forensics isn’t telling me anything, any ideas?”