Play To Kill m-5

by P. J. Tracy

  Magozzi paged through the file Chelsea had given them on her way out, pulled out a piece of paper and frowned. You remember that guy up in Ely, ten, fifteen years ago…?'

  'I was a mere child fifteen years ago.'

  Magozzi snorted. 'He was the prime suspect in that kiddy kidnap and abuse case that turned the state on its ear for months…'

  Gino slapped a hand to his forehead. 'Jesus, yes I remember. That slimebag perv was guilty as sin, and one stinkin' juror voted to let him walk. After O.J., worst miscarriage of justice on the planet.'

  What was his name?'

  Gino scratched his chin. 'Something weird. Elmer? No, Elmore. Elmore Sweet, may he rot in hell.'

  Magozzi nodded. 'Elmore Sweet was the Cleveland vic's name. Wonder if it's the same guy.'

  Gino's eyebrows lifted to happy-face position. 'Oh, man, if it's true, I'm sending a copy of the Cleveland film to that kid's parents. Tommy'll find out for us.'

  Magozzi noticed a neonorange Post-it note on Gino's desk with 'Judge Jim' scrawled in huge letters. 'What's with Judge Jim?'

  'Oh, shit! I forgot about that.'

  'What?'

  'We need to pay him a visit sometime today.'

  Magozzi frowned. 'Why?'

  'After I hung up with Ole, an Officer Rondestvedt gave me a call. Turns out our friend was drunk down by the river again last night with a gun and a scope.'

  'Was it loaded?'

  Gino shook his head. 'Nah. But he told Rondestvedt that he was working with us on the river killing, and we sent him down there. We need to tell him to can the name-dropping, and I have a feeling a phone call just ain't gonna cut it with that guy. Hey, you free for dinner?'

  Magozzi was hopeful - usually any mention of dinner from Gino meant an invitation to join his family and eat some wickedly delicious concoction from Angela's family recipe stash. 'Absolutely I'm free for dinner. I'd stand up my own mother for Angela's home cooking'

  'Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a big, fat hunk of cow at that place on Washington.'

  Magozzi frowned. You're not going home for dinner?'

  Gino scowled. 'Hell, no. I'm not going anywhere near my house until ten-oh-five tonight.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because Angela's throwing a bridal shower for her niece, and it ends at ten. And you know what she's serving? Cucumbers. Cucumbers on little pieces of bread with the crusts cut off. And, worse yet, she got a case of wine and a big bag of "novelty" gifts, and you and I both know what that means.'

  'We do?'

  "Yeah. It's gonna be ugly. So I figure we go over some of this paper on these cases, punch out for an early steak, then hit the judge on our way home.'

  'Okay. But it ain't Angela's lasagna.'

  'No, indeed. But a cowboy ribeye and a martini runs a close second in my book.'

  Chapter Eighteen

  Magozzi and Gino stepped into the impressive lobby of Wild Jim's condo complex and checked in with the receptionist. She maintained her white, Chiclet-toothed smile up until the moment they showed her their shields and stated their business, at which point her lacquered lips closed like a stage curtain over the blinding veneers.

  'The judge is up in the penthouse. I'll call and let him know you're on the way up.' She hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, 'He isn't in trouble again, is he?'

  'No trouble,' Magozzi reassured her, even though he wasn't in the mood to assuage the anxiety of some drunk's groupie. There was just something so earnest about her concern. In fact, Wild Jim seemed to have groupies everywhere, and a lot of them were apparently on the force, continually cutting him slack that just wasn't acceptable in his opinion. Drunk or not, the guy obviously had charisma.

  Once they were inside the posh, mahogany-paneled elevator, Gino crossed his arms over his chest and took in the limited scenery. 'Huh. The penthouse. So, the judge is still doing okay, considering he's been unemployed for a while. From what I hear, an average, one-bedroom schlep unit in this joint goes for almost a mil, and he's living large in the clouds.'

  'Maybe he's a financial genius.'

  Yeah. Or maybe he was on the take, and that's really what got him kicked off the bench.'

  Magozzi shrugged. 'His rep was always pristine, even drunk as a skunk for all those years. He was a good judge when he had his house in order… and even when he didn't.'

  'Yeah, I guess you're right. So maybe he is a financial genius.'

  The elevator drifted to a gentle, silent halt, and the doors slid open onto a beaming Wild Jim. He had a lowball in one hand and a half-smoked cigar in the other. 'Detectives! Let me welcome you as the first guests ever to my modest riverside aerie. Please, come in.'

  They took a few, tentative steps inside and let their eyes wander around the big, mostly empty space. There was no art on the walls, the furniture was sparse and nondescript, and the open gourmet kitchen sparkled as if it had never been used. It was utterly lacking in the owner's personality, with the single exception of a sofa table that served as an easel for a long row of framed pictures. Every one of them featured the judge and a smiling, handsome young man.

  'Nice place you got here, Judge, and not so modest,' Gino said politely.

  'It's a considerable step down from my former domiciles, and most of the furniture is from IKEA and Target, but it serves me for the moment. Can I interest either of you in a libation? I'm drinking what they call a handcrafted bourbon, which would imply something a toothless hill denizen would concoct in a bathtub in the Ozarks, but it's actually quite smooth.'

  'No thanks,' Magozzi said, his eyes still fixed on the table full of photos. 'By the way, thanks for the fruit basket.'

  'You're very welcome.' The judge noticed the direction of Magozzi's gaze and gestured to the display with his glass. 'My son. I suppose it's a bit trite, having such a blatant memorial, but when you lose a child, your only child, all your sensibilities, both design-wise and otherwise, cease to matter.'

  Magozzi and Gino both cringed inwardly, remembering the relentless media coverage of his son's suicide, and all the speculations surrounding it. He hadn't left much to chance by overdosing or wrist-slashing - he'd gone for the sure thing, which in this case had been a.44 slug with a Magnum load.

  We're really sorry about that, sir,' Gino finally said with the genuine empathy of a fellow father. 'Really sorry.'

  'Yes, so am I. There's no getting over such a thing. Obviously.' He gave them a thin, sad smile, then raised his glass with forced bravado and drained it. 'After it happened, people always wanted a reason for why such a kind, intelligent young man with a promising future ahead of him would do such a thing. Hell, I wanted a reason myself, although I don't know why. There just isn't ever a justifiable explanation for such an act, and even if there were, it wouldn't change the impact of the aftermath.'

  Magozzi shook his head. 'No, I'm sure it wouldn't.'

  The judge refilled his glass. You know, I have recently come to realize that people who carry a great burden of guilt ravenously seek saviors anywhere they can, in all shapes, colors, and forms. Intellectually, I find the need for redemption frivolous; but emotionally, I fear I may have succumbed. The difference between me and the delusional masses is that I prefer my personal Jesus to be of the liquid sort, and a warm amber in color.'

  'You ever think about going to spin-dry, Judge?' Gino asked him.

  He looked amused. 'Not once, Detective Rolseth. You can't drink in rehab.'

  'That's kind of the point. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, you know. You already lived through that.'

  'You're correct about that. However, I don't believe alcoholism is a disease; I believe it is a choice, and I am thrilled with my choice. Not very progressive of me, but it's the truth. At least it's my truth.'

  He wandered over to a seating area that faced a stunning vista of the Mississippi. 'I'm going to sit now, and I invite you to do the same.'

  Magozzi and Gino followed suit and settled into hard- seated, modern chairs
that were so uncomfortable, it almost seemed as if they had been deliberately designed to be that way.

  'Can I at least cut some cigars for you gentlemen, since you're not drinking? They're the best Cuba has to offer - utter contraband a diplomat friend smuggles in for me on a biannual basis, but being that such legal transgressions don't fall under your purview, I think you could indulge without ethical conflict.'

  Magozzi shook his head. 'We've just got a quick request for you, and then we'll leave you to it.' He noticed a flash of disappointment in the judge's eyes, and perhaps a little desperation, and in that brief moment, he saw the essence of what Judge Jim Bukowski truly was, or at least what he'd become - a hollow man, gutted by tragedy, who didn't want to be alone with his demons at the moment.

  'Suit yourselves. You are without a doubt consummate professionals, and I appreciate that, especially given my current disposition as a shamed, previously elected official who will never again have the honor of paying Bar Association dues. So, what's this request?'

  'We got a call this morning from a beat cop who covers this area. An Officer Rondestvedt.'

  'Ah, yes. The nice young man with that rather unwieldy but regionally appropriate ethnic name. He was kind enough to escort me back to my condo last night.'

  'Did you tell him you were working with us on the drowning?'

  'Absolutely not. I imagine he merely inferred that from our conversation, but I never actually used the word work!

  Gino, who had little patience for subterfuge, just sighed. 'Listen, Judge, you can't be doing that, okay? No more name-dropping or inferences or golden lines of bull to the guys down there, you got it? If you do something illegal, weasel out of it some other way. You use our names out of school, it makes extra work for us, and we've got a full plate already.'

  The judge nodded sternly. 'I understand. And I will honor your request because I like and respect you both very much. I'm also sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you. But in all honesty, justice has defined my entire life, and I don't have skin in the game anymore. So if I can be of service…' he let the sentence trail off.

  Gino tore his gaze away from the river view that was making him rethink his career choice. "You could help us out a lot if you could remember anything else from that night.'

  'I don't even remember that night anymore.' He narrowed his eyes and looked at both of them. 'I've tried to follow the case in the news, of course. And obviously you know that the story barely made it above the fold in either the St. Paul or Minneapolis papers.' He paused to give them a knowing smile. 'Have we offered the press an edited police report, perhaps?'

  Magozzi pretended nonchalance. 'What makes you ask that?'

  The judge chuckled, raspy and deep. 'There were no details of any import in either paper or on any local news channel. No photos, except for the body bag going into the bus. Not even a mention of the victim's gender. You did an excellent job blocking the media from the scene, and that's the truly intriguing part. Coupled, of course, with the fact that Homicide is working what appears on the surface to be an accidental drowning.'

  Magozzi looked down at his lap and almost wished he'd accepted the offer of a drink. So far the river drowning had been sidebar news. People were always drowning in Minnesota, and the Mississippi had taken more than her share over the past few years. Locals usually assumed it was an immigrant from some place or other who saw any body of water as a free fish shop, and never bothered to learn to swim, so it raised no eyebrows when the story got a sympathetic reading and little else. 'We're obligated to investigate every death until a cause has been determined. You know that.'

  'Indeed I do. But I also suspect that the cause of death has already been established by the very efficient Dr. Rambachan, and that your continued interest in my memory of that night indicates that the death was homicide, not accident.'

  Gino actually smiled. 'You know what, Judge? You need a hobby. Bowling, maybe. Or bingo.'

  The judge smiled. 'Was your victim murdered before he ended up in the water?'

  Magozzi and Gino exchanged a long glance that only the two of them could read. 'No,' Magozzi finally said. 'He drowned all right. Somebody held him under the water and watched him die.'

  'How do you know that?'

  'We saw it.'

  "What do you mean, you saw it?'

  'Whoever did it took video footage of the murder and posted it on the Web.'

  The judge looked skeptical. 'Detectives, I spend a lot of time on the computer for lack of anything better to do, and I've seen some pretty disturbing things. But I doubt that any of them are real.'

  'Trust us, it's real,' Gino said.

  'How can you be sure?'

  Magozzi and Gino shared a look, and the judge chuckled. 'Ah, yes, never share details of an ongoing case with civilians, and especially not with suspects. Officially, I am both, but in actuality, I am neither. I'm also bored, I miss the law, and you have piqued my curiosity. I can assure you that anything you tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence. I wasn't disbarred because I was unethical, I was disbarred because I got one too many DUIs.'

  Gino shrugged at Magozzi. 'This stuff is basically all public knowledge anyhow. Hell, it's all over the Web. Doesn't get much more public than that.'

  'Come on, Detectives. Give a bored, worthless old drunk a puzzle to work on. It might even bring me back from the dead.'

  Magozzi blew out a sigh. 'Well, it turns out our drowning is part of a bigger case.'

  The bleary eyes sharpened instantly. 'How very intriguing. And what is this bigger case?'

  'Suddenly, murder films are turning up all over the Internet, from all over the country. And the reason we know they're real is because every single murder was advertised in advance, in detail, right in chat room postings for anybody to see, and there's a body to match every post.'

  'Including your drowning.'

  'That's the first one we found.'

  The judge's ruddy, booze-hound complexion turned pale. 'Good Lord. How many?'

  'Eight. That we know of.'

  'Eight?'

  'Well, actually seven dead. The eighth one happened last night in Medford, Oregon, but the woman survived. She's in ICU now.'

  The judge shook his head, then looked down into his glass and was quiet for such a long time, Magozzi and Gino started to wonder if he'd passed out sitting up. 'My God. The world has lost its collective mind,' he finally said.

  'I'd say so.'

  'You've got a true maniac on your hands, Detectives.'

  'Actually, we think there's more than one killer.'

  He blinked. 'This is simply overwhelming, even to me, and I lost faith in humanity long ago. How on earth did you go from a simple drowning two nights ago to a nationwide murder conspiracy?'

  'The Feds are involved, and they brought in Monkeewrench. They're the ones who found the pre-posts that match with the victims - they all follow the same format. They seem harmless out of context, but the pattern suggests these guys are communicating. Showing off their trophies.'

  The judge was thinking hard, and he seemed truly present for the first time since they'd met him. He'd even forgotten about his drink. 'But surely, either Cyber Crimes or Monkeewrench will ultimately be able to trace these posts or these films, and then you'll have your perpetrator. Or perpetrators.'

  'Whoever's doing this is good. They know how to hide. So far, everything's been untraceable. So there you go, Judge. Is that enough of a puzzle for you?'

  The judge cocked a brow. 'I don't know much about computers, but I do know quite a bit about human nature. Our species is reliable in one way and one way only - eventually, we all make mistakes. I would guess your killers are living on borrowed time.'

  Magozzi's cell phone started playing AC/DC, and he excused himself and picked up. 'Grace.' He listened for a few moments, then pulled a notebook and pen out of his pocket and started scrawling.

  'What is it?' Gino asked when he hung up, not at all liking the expression his
partner was wearing.

  'Monkeewrench just found a ninth pre-post. "City of Big Cheese, pink polyester, near steer," and they think Wisconsin's a possibility. They want us to call Sheriff Halloran over there and see if he can't help pinpoint a location, because they're running out of time to maybe prevent the murder.'

  The judge dropped his glass and it shattered on the floor, spilling amber liquid over white marble. 'I used to have a cabin in Door County,' he said, his voice and expression numb. 'Interstate 94 to Wisconsin Highway 10. There's a diner just before that turnoff called the Litde Steer, and thirty miles north of that is the glass semi-trailer that holds what was then the largest block of cheese in the world, exhibited at the World's Fair.'

  Chapter Nineteen

  Harley was pacing the office like a manic gorilla, pounding a beefy fist into his palm, boots banging the wooden floor. 'Okay. City of Big Cheese. That's in Wisconsin for sure, right?'

  'Absolutely positively,' Annie agreed.

  Agent John Smith had his elbows braced on the table, his hands pushing through his nowhere FBI haircut. 'California produces more cheese per year than Wisconsin.'

  Annie dismissed that silly notion with a fluff of her black bob. 'That is not true. I have been to Wisconsin, that place is practically made of cheese, and they produce more than any other state. I read that on a placemat in a diner over there.'

  Smith shrugged. 'Point of pride for the Dairyland. California passed them in tonnage some time ago, but they're still in denial.'

  'Crap,' Roadrunner grumbled from his station. 'I have almost three million sites on the search for Big Cheese. Give me some more parameters.'

  'Add California and Wisconsin,' Harley said. 'Otherwise all we've got in the post is "pink polyester" and "near steer."

  Annie snapped her fingers. 'What did I tell you, Agent Smith? Near steer. Who has more cows than Wisconsin?'

  'California. And Texas. And probably Oklahoma.'