“The shower’s great!” Geri informed him as he hung up a wet towel. “There’s an adjustable showerhead and there’s a lot of white fluffy towels and another robe hanging on a hook. You better go on and wash yourself. You’re starting to stink!”
Toby threw a pillow at him and got off the bed. “I do not stink.”
Geri sniffed the air. “Something does.”
Toby gathered up a few things and went into the bathroom. The room was still steamy so he left the door open a crack. “Geri was right,” he thought as he stepped under the spray, “this shower is great.” He finished up quickly and brushed his teeth. He knotted his own robe and walked into the bedroom toweling his hair.
“Hey, Toby, what are we going to do tomorrow?”
“We’re going to see the sights and maybe look for a place for us to live. That’s what we decided.”
“Hmmm…okay.” Geri reached up and turned off his light.
Toby caught the reflective quality in his friend’s voice “What?” he asked as he tied the sting of his drawstring sleeping shorts.
“I was just wondering…”
”What were you wondering?”
“If we’re going to be any good at this. I know we have plans and all, but what if we’re not good enough?”
“We’re going to be great! Between the two of us we’ll figure it out. Stop worrying about it and go to sleep.” Toby settled into his own bed a few feet away.
They hunkered down on their beds, one young man on his back and one on his side. Geri lay facing the ceiling, thinking about the future and how he was going to pull his weight. Toby hugged his pillow and thought about the glimpse of Geri’s bare body he’d seen in the mirror and the tiny goosebumps which had played down his arms at the sight. He wondered if he’d ever work up the nerve to make a move. He should’ve left the condoms at home after all.
Light from the outside streetlamps filtered through a gap in the drapes, washing them with a gentle glow. As they each thought their own thoughts, they closed their eyes, and eventually, slept.
CHAPTER SEVEN
REIGHTMAN PICKED UP the phone on her desk and dialed Tom’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Reightman, you’d better come on over ASAP.”
“Okay, can do. But, why?
“You’ll see when you get here.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
“He must have found something on the phone.” A couple of minutes later she rounded the corner to his cube and knocked on the side by the opening to his workspace. He was hunched over the phone, connecting to some sort of cable. He looked up briefly, grunted something she didn’t make out, and went back to what he was doing. “Tom? How’s your son?”
“Puking,” he said, still focused on his work.
“I’m sorry, is he going –?”
“Hold on one second,” he interrupted. He fiddled with the cable some more and then performed what looked like intricate maneuvers on his computer, watching the screen. After a few seconds, he sat back in his chair and swiveled it to face her, a grim expression on his face.
“I take it from your expression you’ve found something.”
“Yep, I did.”
“Care to share?”
“You’re either going to really hate it, or really, really like it.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you found and then I can figure out which one it will be?”
“First, I let me say I did find a couple of prints; one on the phone screen and one on the case. The print from the screen is pretty clean. The print on the case is not as good, because the finish doesn’t hold a very good impression.”
“Alright. Have you identified who each belongs to?”
“No. I’ve loaded them into the database though and hopefully it’ll spit something out soon. Sometimes it’s quick – sometimes it’s not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“When do we get to the good part?”
“Right about now.” Tom glanced over to check his computer monitor. “I’ve verified this phone did belong to Gerald Guzman. I also found some…stuff on it.”
“What kind of stuff, Tom?”
“The usual apps and a contact list of names and numbers. Some of the numbers were not tied to a contact. Either they were unknown to Mr. Guzman when the calls came in and he never associated a contact name with them, or they came from burner phones.”
“Why would he be getting calls from a burned phone, Tom?”
“It’s burner phones, Detective. There are a few numbers on it which indicate this is indeed a burner phone.”
“Is this the part I might like, or might hate?”
“Neither. We’re not to that part yet.”
“When do we get there?”
He glanced up at the computer monitor and made a few more clicks. He leaned forward expectantly. “Now, that’s more like it!” A set of files was populating the small box in the center of his screen.
“What’s it doing?”
“Reconstructing files. If we are lucky and I’m good, we’ll get a look at what else was on Mr. Guzman’s phone.”
“Can’t we just see the stuff directly from his phone?” asked Reightman, mystified by what Tom doing.
“No. You know why?”
“No, Tom, I have no idea why.” She finally gave in and asked, “Why?”
“Because, someone tried to delete the files. In most cases, it would have worked, but they didn’t count on me getting my grubby little hands on this baby. I’m very good at pulling secrets out of things like phones and laptops.”
“Is this why you sent me that note?”
“What note?” he asked as he finished typing in more garble-de-gook.
“The note you sent me through interdepartmental mail this morning.”
Tom turned around in his chair, confusion written plainly on his face. “I didn’t send you any note, Detective Reightman.”
“Tom, you can quit kidding around. I knew the note was from you the minute I opened it.”
“I repeat, I did not send you a note this morning through interoffice mail, or any other time.” He caught himself. “Except for one, a couple of years ago. Now that was a good one!”
“Then who did?” asked Reightman, rubbing her temples
“Don’t know.” The computer made a series of chiming sounds and Tom quickly turned around to face the monitor and scrolled down the files that had finished populating the window. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said with satisfaction. “Told you I was good! Hmmm, these look like pictures of some sort. Some of the files are damaged, but a few appear to be in good enough shape to view. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He double clicked on a file and they both leaned into the monitor, waiting for it to open. “Holy shit!” Tom exclaimed, sitting back quickly. “What the hell?”
It took a minute for Reightman to recover her aplomb. “It looks like… a penis, Tom. A somewhat large, uncircumcised, and very erect penis. Can you make the picture smaller? Not that I mind it that size, but it might be intimidating to you, it being so big and all…”
Tom shrank the window and moved it to one side of the screen. “Just so you know,” he grinned over his shoulder, “I’m not intimidated. Not…At…All.”
“I don’t need to know, Tom. Not…At…All.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Are you going to sit there comparing yourself, or are you going to open the next one?”
He hovered his mouse over the next icon. “Ready or not – here it comes.” He double clicked the icon.
“Now, that’s more like it!” he whistled appreciatively at the next picture. It depicted a generously endowed woman of a certain age laying on her back in nude, full spread glory. The woman’s identity was hidden by an arm thrown over her face, but there was a single identifying mark; a tattoo of a flower in full bloom near the junction of her thighs. Her other arm was positioned across her left side with her hand reaching down toward her lady parts.
“Looks like she is getting ready to
take a walk through her just trimmed summer meadow,” observed Tom, in a dreamy voice. Reightman felt her face flush.
“Minimize the picture and move it over by the other one,” she directed, hoping that he didn’t pick up on her discomfort. “You can enjoy that one later – when you’re alone.”
He clicked on a couple more pictures, revealing other bodies in various stages of undress, a variety of shapes, colors and degrees of physical fitness, and engaged in a wide range of activities with another body. There seemed to be a fairly equal distribution across genders. In most of the photos, the faces were unidentifiable, although there was always at least one prominent marking such as a mole, birthmark, or in two cases, accentuating hardware in the form of piercings. One body of an in-shape male was turned slightly away from the camera, and had a small tattoo of the word, Alias, in dark blue cursive script on the back of one shoulder.
“Most of the rest are too damaged to view, but this one looks okay.” Tom opened the final electronic file.
They both sat in their chairs silently as they contemplated the final photo. They both recognized the subject
Eventually, Reightman spoke, in a grim voice, “Better print me a copy of that one, Tom.”
Tom hit his print icon, and selected the nearest departmental printer. Reightman studied the image on the monitor. Doctor Benjamin Lieberman was caught in a reflective mirror in all of his naked, heavily fleshed glory.
“He’s sure a big guy,” observed Tom. “Except for his little soldier there, standing up and saluting. The little man sure looks perky though.”
Reightman was silent, thinking back over the last few days, beginning to understand Lieberman’s odd behavior, his absences from the morgue and the lack of progress in finishing the autopsy. Some of Riley’s observations suddenly became much more meaningful. She shook herself out of her mental review, and snapped impatiently, “Where’s the printer, Tom?”
“Just down the hall. Come on, I’ll take you.” As they made their way through the cubicles to the hallway, he lamented, “We used to have printers in our area, the next cube over. But with all the budget cuts, the bean counters reduced the number of small printers and centralized into a few central print stations.”
Reightman didn’t comment. Her mind was occupied with what she needed to do next. When they reached the big printer that served this side of the building, the expected print job wasn’t there.
“What the hell? Where’s the copy, Tom?”
He checked to make sure there was nothing wrong with the printer and shrugged. “Happens all the time and it chaps my butt, but what can you do? Must be some kind of bug in the system. Come on, we’ll print it again.”
They returned to Tom’s desk and she watched him hit the print icon again. “It’ll just take a minute. Should be out by time we get there.”
“Tom, you go get the damned thing. I need to let the Chief know what we’ve found.” As Tom headed off to retrieve the incriminating photo, she reached over and picked up his desk phone, dialing the extension she knew by heart.
“Hey, Tom. What’s up? Nancy asked, in a sultry voice Reightman had never heard from her before.
“Nancy, it’s Reightman, I’m calling from Tom’s desk.” She chose not to acknowledge Nancy’s disappointed sigh. “Is the Chief back?”
“No, Melba. Did you try his cell?”
“No, Nancy, I didn’t. My phone is back at my desk. I’m going to need you to track him down.”
“But, Melba, I was just getting ready to leave to make myself spiffy for my big night out. Can’t it wait?”
“No, Nancy, I’m sorry, but it can’t. Find the Chief and then have me paged. I’ll call in from wherever I am as soon as I hear it.”
“I’m gonna’ miss Bingo and my night out with the girls, aren’t I?” Nancy asked in a forlorn voice and without even a single pop of gum.
“I’m afraid so, Nancy. Sorry.”
“Let me find the Chief,” Nancy snapped and hung up abruptly just as Tom rounded the corner.
“Here it is. It printed this time.” He handed her the copy of the photo at the same time the computer made a little chiming sound. Tom turned to the computer and checked the monitor. “We’ve got a hit on one of the prints, Detective. That was pretty fast.” He clicked on the indicator box and the screen changed to provide name, last known address, occupation and picture of the owner of the finger print, along with a match probability score. The score indicated the system was certain of the match. The name and picture of the owner was of one Dr. Benjamin Lieberman, City Coroner.”
“Shit!” Reightman swore under her breath. Things were falling into place very quickly. “Any status on the other print?”
“No. Sometimes it takes a while, and sometime we never get a match.”
She started to respond, but heard her name being announced over the out-of-date paging system. She picked up the phone and dialed Nancy’s number.
The admin picked up immediately. “Melba, I’ve got the Chief – let me connect you.” After a brief thread of hold music, the Chief’s voice boomed in here ear.
“Reightman, this better be important.”
“It is, Chief.” She filled him in on the photos and the fingerprint found on the phone.
After he unleashed a string of four-letter words, he gave one command. “Take Jackson and go pick him up, Reightman.”
“Jackson’s tracking down some other info, Chief. I’ll pull someone else from the building. I know better than to try and do this on my own.” She hesitated. “Chief, we might need a warrant if Lieberman’s not in the building. Can you get a hold of a judge?”
“Old Judge McLarity’s probably still in. He hangs around later than most of the others. If he’s not, I’ll shake someone loose. I’ll check back with you after I have it handled. Try to collar Lieberman before he leaves.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said, hanging up the phone and immediately dialing Nancy. “Nancy, can you try and dial either Detective Jones, or… Officer Mitchell?” she quickly decided as she went through the roster of who might be in the building.
“Sure, Melba, since I don’t have anything better to do than be your personal secretary!” The admin snapped into the phone.
Reightman sighed and prayed from some patience. “Nancy, I’m sorry. I’d do it myself if I was at my desk. I’ll owe you one, Nancy.”
“You sure will, Melba. Hold on.” Once again music played in her ear, this time, a hit from the seventies.
Less than a minute later, Officer Mitchell spoke into her ear. “Officer Mitchell here, Detective.” She’d hoped for Jones, but she’d take what she could get.
“Mitchell, I need you to meet me by the elevator bank. We’re going to try and pick up a person of interest in the Guzman case.” She heard him swallow hard. “Look, Mitchell, I know this is out of your usual bailiwick, but Jackson’s out and I need back-up. I won’t lie and say it’s not dangerous, but I think it’ll be pretty cut and dried.”
She only had to wait a split-second for his reply. “I’ll meet you at the elevators, Detective. I should be there in a couple of minutes. See you there.”
Reightman put down the phone and turned to Tom. “Keep that file handy, Tom. We’re going to need it. Can you track down Jackson and fill him in? I hate to ask, but I need to head over to the elevators to meet Mitchell.”
“Sure thing, Detective. Be careful.”
She checked her weapon and took a breath. “Hey, Tom?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I think you can probably call me Melba – at least when we’re alone. After all, we just watched the equivalent of porn together. I think that qualifies as being on a first name basis.” Sometimes it was good to laugh before heading into a possibly dangerous situation. While he was laughing at her characterization of the last hour, Reightman hurried to the elevator. Mitchell was there, waiting. “Officer Mitchell, I appreciate this.” She punched the elevator button.
“Not a problem, Detective
.” He replied as they stepped into the elevator. “Where we headed?”
She passed the basement button. “To the morgue, Mitchell.” As the door opened, she filled him in, sharing only the basics. “I don’t think there’ll be a problem, but it’s best to be ready.” They prepared themselves for trouble as they entered the doors to the morgue. “Where’s Lieberman?” she asked as they entered the room.
Dr. Riley stood from his chair at the small desk just inside the doors. He looked wide-eyed from her to Mitchell. “He….he just left,” he croaked.
”He what?”
“He’s gone. He ran out of here a few minutes ago. He just grabbed his stuff and left.” Riley was looking a little shaky.
“Did he say anything, Riley?”
“Not to me, but he did shout at the other officer.”
“What other officer?” She didn’t like what she was beginning to suspect.
“The officer who brought in a photocopy of something a couple of minutes ago. I‘m sorry, I didn’t see it. “
“Did you recognize the officer?”
“Yes, it was the one who’s always strutting around acting cool. His name is Haller, or Herman, or something like that.”
“Helliman?” Reightman asked with a sinking feeling in her stomach.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Reightman wanted to punch something, badly. “Anything else, Riley?”
Before he could answer, Tom came racing through the doors. “Detective Reightman, the ID on the other print just came through.”
As she watched the assistant coroner’s face, somehow she just knew. “Who does it belong to, Tom?”
“To him, Detective. The print belongs to Assistant City Coroner, Peter Riley. His print was in the City employee database.”
She watched dispassionately as Riley sunk down into his chair and covered his face with his hands.
“Help Dr. Riley to his feet, Officer Mitchell, and then escort him upstairs. Do you need backup?”
“No, ma’am,” Mitchell replied as he helped the shaken man to his feet. “I can handle it.”
As they walked to the doors, Riley turned and asked, “Detective, do I need a lawyer?”
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