Steele and Zerr glanced at their feet.
Sturgeon’s eyes narrowed. “I need your boots.”
“Sure,” Steele said. “We’ll go to the station and bag them.”
“No, I need them now.”
“But I don’t have a spare pair with me,” Zerr said.
“I don’t bloody well care.” Sturgeon took two evidence bags out of his kit. “In here, boys.”
They glanced at Brad for support. He held his hands high and stepped back.
“Where do you think you’re going, mister?” Sturgeon asked.
“I’m done in here. I’ll get your reports in the morning.”
“Not so fast. I need your boots, as well.”
Brad looked down at his feet. “But I didn’t step in the blood.”
“But you wandered around my crime scene.” He pulled out another evidence bag. “Now.”
“You can’t be serious?” Brad asked.
Sturgeon chuckled. “Not this time, boys. Next time, you’ll be walking in socks.”
Brad stood by the open car window and scratched Lobo’s head. A light snow was falling. The streetlights had hazy glow from the frosty air and snow. The street was blocked off to traffic.
“Your dog is a pig,” Steele said.
“Well, he is a police dog.” Brad zipped his parka, slid on gloves and a black beanie.
Zerr rolled his eyes.
Steele pointed to a line of frozen drool down the side of the car. “Your pretty Trans Am is an icy mess.”
“Are you done here?” Zerr stomped his feet and blew into his gloved hands.
Brad laughed. “Not likely. Why?”
“Let’s get a beer,” Zerr said. “We’ll change and meet you somewhere.”
Brad glanced at the tattoo parlor, the ring of police cruisers and the crowd gathering behind the yellow police line tape. “I should probably hang around here.”
“And do what?” Steele asked. “Stand out here and get covered in snow until you freeze? Sturgeon isn’t letting you near that crime scene until morning, at the earliest. You’ve got uniformed guys to keep gawkers away.”
Then they were blinded by a bright light.
“Detective Coulter, do you have a comment on this situation?”
“Ah, shit,” Brad said.
Steele and Zerr exchanged grins. “We’ll save you a seat.” They slipped away as the light focused on Brad.
“We understand there are multiple dead in the tattoo parlor. Can you confirm this?”
Brad held a hand over his eyes as he crossed the street. “Jeez. Shut that light off. What’s with the cameramen and the bright lights?”
Sadie nodded to the cameraman. “It’s okay.” She was wearing her knee-length white parka, white knit beanie with a pompom and leather boots. The light went out.
“How was your day?” Her bright smile was highlighted by dark pink lipstick.
Lobo was barking frantically and trying to get out the window.
Brad blinked, trying to focus, and turned to Lobo, then back to Sadie. “Lobo, quiet. Ms. Andrus, why do you do that at every scene?”
“Not every scene, just the last couple.” She leaned over the police tape and grinned. “It gets your attention.”
Brad held out his hands. “Next time, Ms. Andrus, try, hey, Detective Coulter.”
Her white-gloved hand touched her chest. “Oh, we’re being formal, are we, Detective Coulter?”
Brad clenched his jaw and sighed. “In this a professional setting, yes.”
“But if it’s not professional, then it’s Brad and Sadie.” Her eyes sparkled.
Brad dropped his head and his shoulders sagged. He stomped his feet as his toes tingled from the cold. “Ask your questions, Ms. Andrus.”
She nodded to her cameraman, and the lights were on again. Brad raised a hand to the light, then lowered it. He stared unseeing at the camera.
Sadie shoved a microphone at his mouth. “Detective Coulter, with you on the scene, I gather it is a murder investigation.”
“It is an investigation of multiple suspicious deaths.”
“For my viewers, a few years ago, the Gypsy Jokers Motorcycle Club owned this tattoo parlor—”
“Gang.”
“What?”
“They’re not a club.” Brad glared at the camera. “They are organized crime.”
“Right, a gang. But the bikers don’t own this place anymore. Do you think the Hells Angels want it back? Is this the start of another biker … gang war?”
“It’s too early to assume anything.” Brad brushed snow off his shoulders. “Until the Crime Scene Unit has done their work, the victims are autopsied, witnesses interviewed, and evidence analyzed, it’s impossible to make any predictions or assess blame.”
“Detective. Are you assuring Calgarians this is not another gang war?”
“That’s not what I said. It’s too early to come to any conclusions.”
“Is this an attack on the sex trade? With the murder of a pimp—”
Brad smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Andrus.” He spun, headed to his car, opened the door, and started the engine.
The camera light went out. As his eyes adjusted again, and before he could pull away, Sadie was tapping at his window. Lobo barked as Brad lowered the window.
Sadie leaned on the car door. “That went well, don’t you think? You’re getting comfortable with TV interviews.”
“Of the many things I would like to perfect, that’s not one of them. Have a safe night.” He put the car in gear.
Sadie leaned farther into the car. Lobo jumped over Brad and licked her face. She jumped back, wiping her arm across her cheek.
“I guess he likes you.”
Sadie regained her composure. “I interview you because you know what you’re talking about. You don’t give me the complete story, but you don’t blow sunshine up my ass either. Besides, the public loves a hero.”
“And you get excellent ratings.”
“That I do.” Sadie’s grin grew wide. “Breakfast tomorrow?”
Brad pulled into the strip mall and parked in front of the pizza restaurant in Bowness. The restaurant’s name was, The Place. Brad discovered the restaurant when it opened while he was in police training. It was close to where he lived, had great food, and was small enough you could hear yourself talk. Eight vinyl booths lined the walls with a half-dozen tables in the middle. On a late Monday night, there were only two other customers.
He stacked his parka on top of Steele’s and Zerr’s and slid into the vinyl booth across from Sam Steele and Charlie Zerr. Steele slid a beer over. Brad snatched it off the table and drained half the bottle.
“Tough interview?” Zerr asked. “Ms. Andrus has found the new poster boy for the service.”
“We want you.” Steele saluted. “For the Calgary Police Service.”
Zerr clinked bottles with Steele.
“Abbott and Costello not available tonight? I get you two clowns?” Brad picked up a menu. “Did you order yet?”
“He’s deflecting again,” Zerr said.
“I noticed,” Steele replied.
“I’m hungry.”
“We ordered a pizza.”
Brad glanced over the menu. “Charlie. How’s your leg?”
Zerr punched Steele. “What the heck was that for?”
“For your big mouth,” Zerr said.
“Nope. Sorry, buddy. I didn’t say a word.”
Brad nodded. “True story. Sam didn’t say a thing to me.”
Zerr rolled his eyes. “Right. What did Emma say?”
Brad gulped his beer. “Your leg is giving you some issues.”
Zerr crossed his arms. “Nothing to worry about. It takes time to heal. But this shitty weather doesn’t help.”
“Helps me,” Steele said. “I always know when it’s going to get cold because you bitch about your leg.”
Brad laughed and set the menu down. “Did you get spaghetti and meatballs for Lobo?”
&nb
sp; “Are you serious?” Zerr asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Steele said. “He’s serious. Lobo loves spaghetti and meatballs. Spaghetti and steak are the only things Brad knows how to cook, so that’s all Lobo eats.”
“Not true,” Brad said. “I do a mean eggs benedict.”
Steele choked on his beer. “He and Lobo survived on steak and spaghetti for weeks until Annie caught on and started making meals for him and putting them in the fridge.”
Brad tossed the menu on the table. “Carbs and protein. Perfect for an active lifestyle.”
“And beer,” Steele said.
“And beer. Electrolyte replacement.” Brad waved to the waitress, ordered another round of beer, and spaghetti with extra meatballs for Lobo.
“That crime scene was a frickin’ mess,” Zerr said.
“More than one assailant?” Steele asked.
Brad shrugged and chewed his lip. “Or one extremely talented person.”
“Are you thinking military?” Zerr asked.
“Aren’t you?” Brad stared at Zerr. “If you hadn’t been on the scene, you’d be my first suspect.”
“Ah, but we were on scene,” Steele said. “You weren’t.”
Brad stopped his beer halfway to his mouth. “Are you kidding me?”
Steele laughed. “All three of us could have done that.”
“So could any TSU member,” Brad said.
Zerr pointed his beer at Brad. “You got there awfully quick. You couldn’t have been at home.”
“Come to think of it, Ms. Andrus arrived at about the same time,” Steele said.
“Are you starting this shit again?”
“They had breakfast the other morning,” Steele said.
Zerr flashed his eyes at Steele. “Would you like to meet for breakfast, or can I just roll out of bed and make it.”
“Christ.” Brad’s head dropped to his chest. “Are we in grade nine?”
The waitress set three beers on the table.
“Pleasant lady,” Steele said.
“Great legs,” Zerr said.
Brad glanced out the window toward his car and gulped his beer. His friends were messing with him. But, maybe, still too soon after Maggie. He swung back to them, twirled the beer bottle in his hand, then absently peeled the label.
“Jeez. Sorry, boss,” Zerr said. “That got away from us.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Steele said. “This is like old times. For us, anyway. We didn’t think about you.”
“You guys are so wrong about Sadie.” Brad leaned over the table and grinned. “Because her ass is her best feature.”
Zerr spewed a mouthful of beer on his shirt.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brad swung off Memorial Drive, parked in front of Gerry’s, and grabbed two coffees. As he exited the store, Jackson was leaning against the driver’s door. Was this guy going to hang out at Brad’s favorite stores and restaurants, hoping to see him every morning?
Brad sighed. “Morning, Sarge.”
“Coulter.”
Brad extended a hand.
Jackson shook his hand and slid a toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
Brad glanced at cuts on the back of Jackson’s hand. “Get in a fight with a cat?”
Jackson withdrew his hand. “Barbed wire at the farm. It doesn’t cooperate at the best of times but worse in the winter.”
Brad nodded. “Coffee?”
“What the hell happened last night?”
Brad set one coffee on the roof of the car and sipped the other. “There was a quadruple homicide.”
“For Christ’s sake. I know that. Why were you there?”
“Simple. I was paged.”
Jackson slowly nodded his head. “By Briscoe, not dispatch.”
“I was close, so I took the call. No sense getting anyone out of bed. I’m heading to the autopsies now.”
“At what point were you going to call me?”
Brad scratched his head. “I figured I’d tell you this morning after the autopsies when I had additional information.”
Jackson frowned, and the toothpick slid across his teeth. “But enough information to do a mini press conference last night.”
“The press ambushed me.”
Jackson rubbed his temples. “Sadie Andrus from CFCN News ambushed you.”
“Correct.” Brad sipped the coffee.
“Coulter, I’m not stupid. Archer told me about your relationship with Andrus.”
Brad held up a hand. “Stop right there, Sarge. There is no relationship—never has been. Sadie likes to play games she thinks are funny.”
Jackson waved his hand. “I don’t care about your off-duty time.”
“Am I off the case?”
“Archer thinks you should be off the street. I convinced him to let you handle these murders. That it was better to keep you busy. He agreed, for now. You need to keep me informed. I don’t care how late or how early you call, but make the call. I need every detail. Leads, suspects, forensic evidence.” Jackson’s gray eyes bored into Brad. “Am I clear?”
“Yes.”
“What?” Jackson bellowed.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better.” Jackson slapped Brad’s back and grabbed the coffee off the car roof. “Glad we understand each other.”
Brad drove to the drab building of the Medical Examiner’s Office. He parked in visitors’ parking close to the front door.
He smiled at the receptionist and headed down the white hall to the autopsy suites. With four new bodies, he didn’t need to know who was where. There would be a backup of postmortems all morning.
Sturgeon, dressed in green surgical scrubs, was sitting outside an autopsy suite reading the paper. Brad handed him a coffee. “The city paying you to read the paper?”
“No. The city is paying me overtime. I’m at nine hours so far. Likely be sixteen or eighteen before I head home.” Sturgeon sipped his coffee. “Where the heck did you go last night?”
Brad yawned. “I figured you were mad at me, and there was no way you’d let me back into the crime scene until today, so I went home.”
“And slept?”
“Like a baby.” Brad rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Pleasant, long, hot shower this morning. I’m refreshed and ready to go.”
“Asshole.”
“Tell me a story about last night.”
“While you were getting your beauty sleep, and I don’t mind saying you need more, we were doing your work for you.”
“How so?”
“We videoed the scene and took about thirty rolls of film.” Sturgeon sipped his coffee. “The techs will process them this morning. We pulled a couple hundred different fingerprints off the walls and the objects in the room.” He held up his hands. “Don’t even ask about the objects. The room lit up like blue sky under the black light.”
Brad clenched his jaw. “Disgusting.”
“The autopsy is completed for victim number one at the front door. Zinovy Frolov. Perhaps you should have been here for that?”
“It’s barely eight-fifteen.”
“The ME came in early because of the lengthy list of customers, to get an early start.”
“I guess you’ll have to testify on the first. What did the ME find?”
“Knife inserted under the xiphoid, then up and into the heart. The blade was rotated, destroying the inside of the heart.”
Brad nodded. “Extremely sharp knife.”
“Sharp and skillfully used,” Sturgeon said. “Just like the two drug dealers in Victoria Park.”
“What about the knife?” Brad asked.
“At least an eight-inch blade,” Sturgeon said. “Either a hunting knife or a tactical blade.”
“Steele, Zerr and I were talking last night. Either military or tactical experience.”
Sturgeon tapped his finger to his cheek. “Who do I know who fits that?”
“We decided all three of us. And Sergeant Jackson.”
“Bingo. There’s more.” Sturgeon sipped his coffee and stared across the hall. “He killed two others with single shots to the head, and the last guy had a double-tap to the chest. Tight grouping.”
“Did you find any slugs?”
“Yeah. One in the wall behind the bed and another in the wall beside the camera. We’re examining them this morning. I’d say 9mm.”
“Same as the pimp and his bodyguard shooting.” Brad sipped his coffee and stared at the wall. “Maybe same gun?”
“I’ll know later today.” Sturgeon twisted as the door to the autopsy room opened.
“Sergeant Sturgeon,” the ME assistant said. “We’re starting the second autopsy. Nico Yudin.”
Sturgeon stood and grinned at Brad. “Just in time.”
“One Russian and I couldn’t care,” Brad said. “Two Russians, now I’m interested.” Brad headed to the change room. He hung his leather jacket, gray button-down shirt, and black dress pants in a locker and left his hiking boots on the floor. He changed into green surgical scrubs and entered the autopsy room.
It was the smell that got to him. He could handle the cutting and ripping out of organs. It had taken time, but that was okay. The mix of blood, stomach contents, and bowels fighting with disinfectant made a concoction not meant for a human to endure.
He grabbed a stool and slid it close, but not too close, to the autopsy table. The asshat on the table was the rapist. Brad thought of volunteering to do the cutting. He would start with the suspect’s dick, except the killer had already done that.
The attendant grabbed a scalpel and started the Y-cut—shoulders to high on the chest, then down past the belly button. The ME peeled the skin back, revealing the sternum and ribs. The attendant used bolt cutters to snip the ribs. When he was done, they lifted the ribs and sternum off as one piece. Brad glanced away. After he attended his first autopsy, it was years before he could eat ribs.
Brad took a few deep breaths of the foul air. Well, that didn’t help.
The medical examiner came in, removed and weighed organs, and visually inspected the stomach contents.
This asshat was shot in the head, so there would be nothing of interest in the chest and stomach as far as the homicide was concerned. Maybe what he had for a last meal. Forty minutes later, they were ready to examine the head.
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