Gray Tones: The Case of the Elevator Slaying (Gray Gaynes Book 1)

by R. L. Akers

  Table of Contents

  Rating

  Also by R.L. Akers

  Dedication

  Gray Tones: The Case of the Elevator Slaying

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Preview of Gray Area: The Case of the Hellhound Homicide

  Acknowledgments

  Also by R.L. Akers: Atlantis

  Also by R.L. Akers: The Gryphens Saga

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Also by R.L. Akers

  LEGACY of ATLANTIS

  Atlantis: Twilight of Mankind

  Demigods of Atlantis*

  (short story collection)

  The GRYPHENS SAGA

  Prometheus Rebound

  Prometheus Revealed

  Prometheus Rising

  (short story collection)

  From the Files of

  GRAY GAYNES

  Gray Tones

  Gray Area*

  *forthcoming

  For those brave individuals

  who serve and protect

  ... though I dare say they're probably

  sick of murder mysteries by now,

  and wishing 90% of cop stories weren't

  set in New York City

  Monday, May 11th

  New York City

  The blood spatter glinted colorlessly on the faux wood paneling, distinguishable only by the way it reflected the elevator's flickering fluorescent light.

  Grayson Gaynes, NYPD detective third grade, hiked up the legs of his suit pants and sat carefully on his heels. He stared at the grisly scene, trying in vain to picture how it should look, how it would have looked to him just one short month before. Blood was supposed to be red, dammit! The most vibrant stripe of the rainbow, the color of life and death. But these days, he couldn't see red even in his mind's eye, much less splattered all over this elevator car in which he crouched. The crime scene was devoid of all color. It was... drab.

  Everything had been drab since that day in the park. The day that—

  A figure appeared in the hallway outside, and Gray shook off the too-fresh emotional avalanche; now was not the time. "Mack," he acknowledged, not looking up. The two men had been partners for more than a year, and Patrick McMurphy's casual gait and baggy suit were familiar to Gray, even out of the corner of his eye.

  Mack released a sound of queasy distress from deep within, the noise equal parts emotional and gastrointestinal. "Helluva thing to see right after breakfast." He shifted his gaze to Gray, lowering his voice slightly. "Not to mention your first day back on the job. Didn't expect you to beat me here."

  Gray shrugged, eyes never wavering from his inspection of the elevator. The sergeant on duty had called him well before dawn this morning, which Gray chose to feel amused about. Today was to be his first day back after a month-long absence—combination medical leave and bereavement—and the sergeant was obviously as ready for Gray to come back as Gray himself was. Fortunately, as a result of the timing, he'd been able to make the entire trip to the crime scene in predawn light, arriving about ten minutes before Mack.

  "You okay?" his partner asked quietly.

  Gray nodded, eyes tracing the pattern of spatter back down the wall to its source... or rather, sources—two bodies, a man and a woman. Judging by what was visible of their hands, they were older, possibly elderly. Judging anything from their faces was impossible; those faces had been so badly beaten they were no longer recognizable as human.

  It was indeed a horrific scene, yet... drab as it was, Gray felt almost disconnected, like this was a scene out of some old movie, not real. He certainly didn't find himself as affected as Mack clearly did.

  His partner was speaking again. "Landlord here says the victims are Ellis and Kathryn Howell—age 89 and 83 according to the DMV. They lived in unit 603." He jerked his head in the direction of the apartment door just behind him, though Gray's eyes were still focused on the bodies.

  Gray nodded again. "And we have a suspect?" He had always preferred to inspect the scene of a murder for himself before hearing theories as to who was responsible; preconceived notions inevitably colored one's viewing of the evidence.

  Mack flipped a page in his pocket notebook. "Suspect's name is Barton Chan, age 55—he's the tenant in 602. Witness saw him exit the elevator on this floor, covered in blood. She discovered the bodies, pushed the alarm button and made the 911 call. Uniforms found Chan on the floor of his unit, fetal position." Mack released another uneasy sound. "Sounds like a class-A nut job to me. Open and shut case, yeah?"

  Lips pursed in dissatisfaction, Gray rose finally and backed out of the claustrophobic space. "Maybe."

  "Maybe?" Mack repeated.

  Gray sighed. "Okay, probably." Glancing past his partner, Gray saw a civilian pushing forward to peer into the elevator, eyes widening in horror; from Mack's mention of the landlord just now, Gray assumed this was the man. Beyond the landlord, three more men crowded into the narrow hallway: one of the uniformed cops who'd been first on the scene, then a medical examiner and a forensics tech, both waiting their turn to squeeze out of the hallway and into the elevator.

  "Probably?" Mack repeated with a familiar groan. "Gray, we caught this guy red-handed." The older detective stopped abruptly, a wolfish smile crossing his face. "Literally. We literally caught him with the victims' blood all over his hands."

  "That doesn't mean he killed them. We don't know what happened here, not yet," Gray persisted doggedly, though even he doubted this Barton Chan was innocent. The victims had clearly been bludgeoned to death, and the suspect was covered in blood; in this case, the obvious, simplest explanation was probably the correct one.

  Still, best to wait on forensics—or a confession—before passing judgment. On the chance Barton Chan was not the killer, it was important that the detectives get statements from everyone else in the building while memories were still fresh. Other tenants might have seen something unusual without realizing its import, something that suggested an alternate theory as to how the Howells met their end.

  Mack threw his hands up—characteristically overplaying his frustration for effect—but Gray ignored him, focusing his attention on the pale-faced man staring into the elevator. "You're the landlord?" Gray asked the man.

  Tearing his eyes away from the bodies, the balding man met Gray's gaze. "Um, yes."

  "Name?"

  "Robert—Robert Saunders." The man swallowed, took a deep breath. "I bought the Harkley Building... I don't know, ten or eleven years ago?"

  Gray nodded, now scribbling in his own notebook. "Any idea why Mr. Chan might have attacked the Howells?" He put just the slightest emphasis on the word "might," punctuating it with a glance at Mack, who rolled his eyes, though he was turned such that the landlord wouldn't see it.

  The landlord—Saunders—shook his head slowly, at a momentary loss for words. "I... no. Not really." He shrugged, then seemed to find his tongue. "They often rode the elevator together, and they'd been neighbors for years. As far as I know, they were always friendly." He shrugged again.

  "And you know of no benefit which Chan might gain as a result of the Howells' death?"

  The other shook his head helplessly.

  "What about anyone else? Do you know of anyone who might have motive to kill the Howells?"

  "No."

  The hitch in Saunde
rs' response was so minute that Gray wondered if he'd imagined it. He glanced at Mack, but the older detective had gone distant, mind clearly elsewhere. Gray sighed, considering how he might phrase his next question to the landlord. Though Mack was technically the senior detective here, he wasn't exactly renowned for taking initiative, and he obviously didn't feel motivated to do so in this case.

  "Oh, I almost forgot," the landlord spoke up suddenly. "There's a security camera in the elevator. Would it help to see the video?"

  Gray blinked in surprise, leaning back into the elevator. Sure enough, there it was, tucked unobtrusively in the corner of the ceiling. He felt instantly stupid for missing it, though of course his inspection had been focused on the bodies.

  "Well, do you want to see it?" Saunders prompted.

  Mack was now staring at the landlord in disbelief. "Um, yeah. What do you think?"

  The elevator security cam footage indeed proved helpful... though the defense attorney who ultimately took Barton Chan's case would probably feel differently.

  Gray, Mack, and Saunders stood in the landlord's second floor office—Harkley 201—which appeared to be laid out like a residential unit. While Saunders tried to find the appropriate point in the security footage to watch the murder play out a second time, Mack asked, "You live here?"

  "No," Saunders replied, finding the spot and pausing the video, then turning to face him. He seemed somewhat relieved to have his attention momentarily diverted from this morning's grisly event. "I use this unit as both my office and a storage space for supplies—the building doesn't have much in the way of utility closets. It also serves as a nice model unit for prospective tenants."

  "It is nice," Mack said genuinely. "Are all the units hardwood?"

  "It's actually laminate flooring, not real wood. Looks real, though, doesn't it?" The landlord smiled. "All the units were carpet when I bought the place. As folks move out, I take the opportunity to update—you know, fresh paint, new flooring, new fixtures and appliances. Probably half the units have been updated."

  Mack sidled up to a window for a view outside. "What do they rent for?"

  "Depends on the unit, obviously. Usually around $2,500."

  "I've actually been looking for a new place," Mack said. "Do you..." He trailed off as he caught Gray's look.

  Gray cleared his throat to capture the landlord's attention, then nodded at the computer screen. With a grimace, the landlord clicked play and then stepped away, unwilling to watch it a second time himself.

  Onscreen, the elevator was currently empty, but judging by the way the picture shuddered, the car seemed to be moving. Then the doors opened and a man entered, stepping into the opposite corner from the door. The security cam perspective was top-down, but it had a distorted, fish-eye view that ensured the man's face was mostly visible. Both the landlord and Mack had confirmed on the first viewing that this was Barton Chan. Even if Gray had seen Chan's DMV photo for himself, he still would have needed to take their word for it.

  To say that Chan was relaxed as he rode would have been a stretch, but his stance suggested this was nevertheless routine. Then the doors opened again, and an elderly couple stepped in to join him. Chan reacted as though the newcomers had pulled a gun on him—his whole body tensing, his fingers finding and clasping the handrail as if it were a lifeline.

  Gray paused playback. "Mr. Saunders," he asked musingly, "under what scenario would the Howells be getting on the elevator on a different floor from Chan? They lived on the same floor... wouldn't both the Howells and Chan usually be traveling between the ground and sixth floors?"

  The landlord turned from the window. "Usually, yes. But there's a small laundry room in the basement." He shrugged. "Maybe Barton had just dropped off his laundry and was coming back up, then Ellis and Kathy got on at the first floor."

  Gray nodded; that made sense. He resumed playback.

  Onscreen, it seemed clear that Chan wanted desperately to escape the elevator, but that would require brushing past the Howells, who clustered near the door of the small conveyance. After a moment, the door closed and he missed his chance.

  "So strange, his behavior towards them," Gray said. "He's obviously terrified of them." He called over his shoulder to the landlord. "And you have no idea why?"

  "No. I really thought they were friendly."

  The Howells were talking now—Gray could see their mouths moving, though there was no sound. It was like watching a silent black-and-white movie; he felt a small jolt as it occurred to him... Mack saw the same thing on this screen that Gray saw: a drab, colorless presentation of this morning's murder.

  With no warning, Chan suddenly launched himself at the Howells.

  Gray rewound the recording a few seconds, carefully inspecting the picture, trying to see what might have triggered the reaction. Right before Chan moved, Mr. Howell had raised a hand to his chest; it looked like he was fumbling with the top button of his trench coat. As provocations went, it was weak. More likely, something the Howells said had triggered Chan's reaction, and Gray found himself wishing the security footage included audio.

  What followed was truly one of the most disturbing things Gray had ever seen, and it was no easier to watch a second time. The poor couple, so advanced in years, stood no chance of defending themselves from the younger man. Chan beat them mercilessly with his bare hands—the rickety old elevator giving him more than enough time to finish his grim task—and the beating continued long after the victims had fallen and stopped moving.

  At long last, the elevator door opened, and Chan stumbled over the bodies and out into the hall. Eventually the door closed again, only to reopen a moment later, admitting a young woman who threw her hands to her mouth and screamed silently.

  Gray paused playback once more and minimized that window on the landlord's computer. In its place, he now saw what appeared to be a composite of more security feeds—a three-by-three grid of live pictures from throughout the building, most of them showing empty hallways, though a few people moved about here and there. Gray beckoned the landlord back over as Mack's phone began ringing; Mack answered, stepping out into the hallway.

  "I see you have quite a few cameras in the building," Gray said.

  Saunders nodded. "The Harkley Building boasts a camera covering the hallway on each floor, including the basement, plus one each in the elevator and the first floor lobby."

  "That seems... a little excessive."

  The landlord shrugged. "Cameras are cheap. I bought the whole kit for under a thousand dollars."

  "And your tenants don't mind the surveillance?"

  The other man blinked. "Are you kidding? It makes them feel safer. The cameras are only in public areas, after all."

  "How long since you installed them?"

  Saunders pursed his lips thoughtfully. "It's been less than a year. I was having an issue with some kids spraying graffiti in the lobby. Turned out it was one of my own tenants' kids."

  Gray cracked a smile. "I assume you got rid of them?"

  The other shook his head. "Nah. Kids are kids. His mom and I put the fear of God in him, and that was the last of it. They're good tenants."

  Gray looked at the landlord with a smidgeon of newfound respect. "So how much footage do you keep?" he asked, moving on.

  "Just 24 hours. It takes up a lot of hard drive space, 24 hours times ten cameras. The software that came with the kit saves the footage in one hour increments, deleting old files automatically unless I say otherwise."

  "And do you review it frequently?"

  "No, actually—I almost never look at it unless there's a problem. You know, vandalism obviously, or a reported break-in..." He trailed off, suddenly looking stricken.

  "Or a murder," Gray said quietly. "I know, you never expected to capture footage of something like that."

  "No," Saunders agreed, his voice equally quiet.

  Something occurred to Gray. "How exactly did you go about installing a camera in the elevator?"

 
Saunders looked at him in confusion for a moment before his expression cleared. "Oh. You realize these cameras are entirely wireless, right? Battery-powered. They stream footage to this computer via the building's wi-fi network."

  Gray nodded. "Ah, that makes sense."

  "Yeah, these cameras really aren't anything special. I bought them all online. They actually come with a peel-and-stick adhesive, though I mounted them with screws and drywall anchors."

  The detective checked his watch, then fished in his pocket, withdrawing the USB thumb drive he always kept on his keychain. "Tell you what. If you don't mind, compress your security footage and copy as much of it onto this drive as you can. It's 128 gig, so hopefully you can get most of it, but if not, make sure I get all 24 hours of the elevator."

  The landlord stared at him. "I don't understand. Other than the file which shows the... what Barton did... why do you need the rest of it?"

  "Just being thorough," Gray reassured him. "We probably won't even look at it all, but as you said, footage gets deleted from your history every hour; this way we have it later if we need it."

  "But... Barton obviously... you know... He killed them."

  Gray nodded slowly. "It appears that way, yes, but video footage is often inadmissible in court—we still need to collect physical evidence to prove Chan's guilt, and if need be, analysis of your footage may suggest places to look for that evidence." He studied the landlord for a moment, then shrugged. "Mr. Saunders, let me make this clear: You are not required to share your security footage with the NYPD, not unless I have a warrant, which I don't. But you're not a suspect, so I don't see any reason why you'd want to withhold it." He paused, smiling slyly. "Unless there's something else on one of these recordings you don't want us to see?"

  Saunders smiled back at him. "No, that's fine. Here—" He took the USB drive from Gray and seated himself at the computer.

  The landlord was finished copying files and had just returned Gray's thumb drive when Mack reentered the unit. "I think we're done here," the older detective announced. "That was the precinct—Barton Chan confessed to the murder of Ellis and Kathryn Howell."