“No, it’s not what you people call foul play, but it’s foul play in my book. My daughter doesn’t use drugs, she doesn’t hang around bad people, and she’s never been gone for more than one hour without checking in on me. I’m diabetic and sometimes have my spells; she would never leave me alone like this. She didn’t show up for work, neither, and she never missed a day of work in her life.” She looked indignant, confused, proud, and very much afraid.
I had to leave. I told Mrs. Dean I was investigating her daughter’s disappearance and that I would be in touch with her soon, and then apologized for my rushed visit. She just stood there looking confused as I quickly walked to my car.
I was already on the phone with Coop before I even backed out of the driveway. I had the detective bureau secretary go wake him up in the holding cell. He must’ve run because he was on the phone in seconds.
“You’re never going to believe this,” I immediately said when he answered, “but Andrea Dean’s mother reported her missing to our department two days ago; report filed and everything. How was that missed?” I don’t think I sounded pleased.
“Oh, my God, CeeCee! Did Andrea’s mother remember Boz coming over yesterday?”
“Evidently not. I never really asked, but she said I was the first officer that had contacted her since the initial report was taken. I’ll call records and have them pull the report. Coop, I really hope this girl is hiding somewhere because she’s scared. Unfortunately, my gut feeling tells me she’s hiding all right, but not by choice. She’s probably dead already. This has got to be about her telling everyone about what happened to Lizzie Johnston; someone ratted her out. She’s known as the neighborhood gossip, and this time she talked too much.”
“All right, keep on it. I’m going to tell Kincaid about this. Call me with something when you get it.” He hung up.
I called Andrea’s mother back and asked her exactly when she’d last seen Andrea.
“It was two days ago when I left for work. Y’see, Andrea leaves after I do, at around nine. Andrea was home, just getting ready, like normal, when I left for work.”
“Mrs. Dean, who drives that green truck I saw in your driveway this morning?”
“Andrea. I get a ride with this woman I work with every day. Now, when I got home from work the day Andrea disappeared, her truck was still in the driveway. There was also a bunch of messages on our answering machine from Ted Hughes at Hughes Fabrications, that’s the factory where she works, telling her to call in, and say why she wasn’t at work.”
I made a mental note to call her employer to see if she was having problems with anyone, even though I knew the answer would be no. When I asked Mrs. Dean that same question, she actually laughed.
“No-no-no,” she chuckled sadly, “Andrea gets along with everyone. She didn’t have any enemies. Hell, she hasn’t even had a boyfriend for six months, and she broke up with the last one in a real friendly way, y’know? No hard feelings? And, I mean, people are in and out of the house all the time whenever Andrea’s home, catching up on the gossip. Andrea likes to know everything. She’s just like that. Interested.”
“Was she friends with a girl named Lizzie Johnston?”
“Now, I know that name. She lives here in the neighborhood, don’t she? Can’t say I ever heard Andrea say her name, particularly, though. Why?”
“Have you noticed any changes in the way Andrea has been acting lately, or any changes at all in her personality?”
“No,” she said thoughtfully. “No personality changes. Andrea’s just been her usual bubbly self.”
I hung up with Mrs. Dean with a promise that I would be in touch, soon.
On my way back to the department, I realized I hadn’t checked in with Deondre Carter to see if he’d found anything. I headed for Ocie Hill looking for a miracle, thinking it was entirely too early for him to be awake, but miracles do happen. He was in his driveway.
Instead of signaling me to meet at our spot, he just waved me over. He had nothing for me, which didn’t surprise me in the least. I knew this had nothing to do with Ocie Hill. With a promise of another bottle of whiskey, I was off and driving.
The preliminary reports from the lab were back. Coop and Kincaid were looking at them when I walked into the bureau’s offices. The lab reports showed nothing. There was something promising from the coroner’s office though. His preliminary report stated that Boz’s neck appeared to have been severed from some type of double-bladed instrument, possibly a large pair of hedge clippers. There were two different lacerations, paralleling, then overlapping each other, something that happened when, according to the coroner, the suspect opened and shut the blades several times, slicing the neck as deep as possible until decapitation almost occurred.
The report sickened all of us. My question as to whether or not Boz was conscious when his throat was slit was answered in the next paragraph of the coroner’s report. Boz didn’t have any head wounds, so he was probably awake. The toxicology reports weren’t in yet to determine if he’d been drugged or chloroformed, but we all knew they would be negative. My stomach turned upside down and then I realized something.
“They held him,” I announced.
“What?” Kincaid and Coop said in unison, looking up at me from their copies of the report.
“Someone held his arms behind him, someone very strong. I think there were two killers, one that held him and the other that did the cutting. That’s the only logical explanation.”
“That would explain the lack of drag marks to the car,” Coop added. “When we decided he was carried to the car, I did think that would have to be one hell of big guy, as big as Boz was. Now it makes more sense if there were two people to do it.”
Kincaid sat down and started rubbing her eyes, taking deep breaths. I knew exactly what the both of them were thinking, and they were trying to figure out how to say it without making me feel guilty about Boz.
I saved them the grief and said it myself.
“Right now I’m convinced,” I told them calmly, “without any doubt at all, that Boz’s death is directly linked to my case. That being so, I will take full responsibility for it, and would like to be named lead investigator, and yes, I screwed up by not telling anyone what I already knew.”
“It’s yours,” Captain Kincaid stopped me in my tracks. “Now go.”
Chapter Five
Over the next week, everyone pitched in on the investigation and worked hard, but we continued to hit dead ends. I knew that somewhere there had to be a witness who just wasn’t coming forward. Bill and Sean continuously investigated anonymous tips that came in and Coop and I paired up doing door-to-door knocks. We all came up with zilch, and it was frustrating. All the other detectives were covering the active cases we couldn’t work, so they weren’t able to help much, either.
The following Wednesday I was sitting in my office deciding what to do next when my phone rang. I heard the deep, gruff, West Virginia voice of Captain John VanScoy on the other end.
“Detective Gallagher?” he asked.
“Yes, Captain,” I responded alertly, immediately remembering the videotape he’d said he was sending, and now wondering why I hadn’t received it.
“I was calling about that videotape you wanted,” he said in answer to my unasked question.
“Right. It just dawned on me that I haven’t received it yet. I’ve been tied up on another case, so I haven’t really thought about it. Did you mail it?” I was wondering if maybe the bureau’s secretary had just forgotten to give it to me.
“Well, no, ma’am. That’s what I’m callin’ about. The tape was blank.” His voice sounded genuinely apologetic.
“Blank? Why?” This I hadn’t expected.
“I don’t know,” he said, sounding puzzled. “Maybe there was a defect in the tape and it didn’t record or somethin’. I gave Annie the dates and times, like you asked, and when we looked at it, there wasn’t nothing there.”
Why did he watch the tape? I wondered
. If another agency had asked me to do the same thing, I would’ve just grabbed it and thrown it in the mailbox as requested. I could’ve cared less what was on it. This bothered me.
“You watched it?” I kept my voice even.
“Sure. Just wanted to make sure I had the right gal. How are ya comin’ along on this missing gal?”
How would he know if he had the “right one?” I wondered. I never sent him a photo of Lizzie Johnston, nor did I even give him a description of her or her car. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore, and the longer I did, the more uneasy I felt.
“We’ve gone nowhere on the case,” I told him truthfully, adding silently, until now. “Actually, I’ll probably just inactivate it this week. I’ve got more important things going on than some missing girl,” I lied smoothly, “but thanks, Captain, for your effort. I need to be going now. If you ever need anything up here, feel free to call.”
After I ended my call with Captain VanScoy, I just stared at my phone. I wasn’t being paranoid; he was entirely too eager to ask where I was on the case, and it was pretty convenient that the tape was blank. I made a note to call Annie in a couple days to ask her about the tape, giving the captain those few days to let him forget about me and the case.
The tone of the conversation had definitely bothered me. It had carried an undercurrent of tension that hadn’t seemed consistent with his words. I had known all along that the majority of Matt Hensley’s story was true, but it wasn’t until just then that I knew that all of it was true. Knowing this, I also knew it was time to talk to Bobby Delphy.
I had to prepare myself mentally to see him, and to make the phone call that had to be made. I called the County Prosecutor’s Office to make a request that I knew would have them in a complete uproar. I explained to them what I was going to do, what I needed, and why, and they reluctantly agreed. Then I called the jail and told them to have Bobby Delphy brought down to the interview room.
Eric called while I was on my way to the jail. I didn’t tell him what I was going to do because I knew he would get angry about it.
When I pulled into the jail parking lot, I saw that the inmates were in “the playpen,” a term for an outdoor cage. It’s a recreation area where they are allowed to be for one hour a day, playing basketball and volleyball, and smoking cigarettes. I hated walking into the jail when they were out because they always ran to the side of the cage yelling and whistling at me, which I was particularly not in the mood for on that trip. Right on cue, they started as soon as I opened my car door. Most of the trash they yelled didn’t bother me that much.
When I walked by the reception window, I saw Greg Miller, a corrections officer who was a friend of Eric’s and mine, seated there.
“Delphy down here yet?”
“He’s in Room One. He’s been bitching since we brought him down, wanting to know who wants to talk to him and why. He got his ass kicked the other day on the D cell, and he’s been running his mouth ever since.”
“Who got him?”
“Dunno. I think it was a group of the Ocie Hill boys. We don’t know what brought it on. They just walked over to him and started pounding his face in,” he shrugged.
I smiled. I owed Deondre Carter a case of booze for that. Although I would never tell anyone, I knew he’d had his boys kick the shit out of Delphy because of what he’d done to me.
I wouldn’t even bother asking Deondre about it because I knew he’d just deny it. I’d just leave the booze on his porch as a token of my appreciation.
I was pretty calm when I entered Bobby Delphy’s room. He was in his orange jump suit and his face was pulverized. Deondre’s friends had done quite a job. I was sure he’d still had some bruising left on his face from the deputies before he’d got it again.
He started yelling the minute he saw me, although no one could hear him. “Hey! I got a lawyer! She ain’t allowed to be in here talkin’ to me! Hey! Anybody hear me!”
“Be quiet!” I ordered him. “I’m not here to talk about what you did to me.”
“I don’t care! I got a fuckin’ lawyer! I ain’t talkin’ to you without my fuckin’ lawyer!”
“Is that right?” I smiled, wickedly, I hoped.
“That’s right!” He wasn’t smiling.
“Then you call your lawyer and tell him to get down here right now,” I snapped at him, “because if you ever want to get out of this hell-hole, and if you ever want to get rid of the attempted murder charge, you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do.”
I paused to let him think about it. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was mulling over what I’d said. He asked for the phone to call his lawyer. I slammed it down on the desk in front of him. I knew a lot of people would be upset about what I was doing, but not half as upset as I was. I was angry. I was angry that it had come to this, to getting rid of the attempted murder charge in exchange for a statement in the Lizzie Johnston case, but I knew Bobby could crack the entire case, which would include providing a solid lead in Boz’s murder. Finding Boz’s killer was more important than this shit-bag serving time for kicking my ass, especially since I felt responsible for Boz’s death in the first place.
Even though I needed his statement, I wasn’t going to be nice. I didn’t have to be with what I was offering, and I have pride.
While Bobby called his lawyer, I went outside and smoked two cigarettes in about thirty seconds. I needed a break in this case, and even after all this, there’d be no guarantee I would get one. Still, I was hoping.
Bobby’s lawyer, Anthony Krepenzski, arrived at the jail in fifteen minutes. Law enforcement people around here called him “Slithery Tony” because he was a slimy grease ball, a real snake. I was not surprised in the least that he’d taken Delphy’s case. He was as dirty and crooked as the people he represented, and he got most of his cases through being court-appointed—no sane person would actually pay money to have him as their lawyer. I knew Tony would tell Delphy to take my deal, not because it was a good one, but because Tony couldn’t argue a case in court if he tried, and courtrooms intimidated him. He just took plea bargains and collected his money.
“Detective Gallagher, how are you?” Tony asked pleasantly. Why shouldn’t he be pleasant?
“I’m fine, Tony. How have you been?”
“Can’t complain.”
“I can’t say I’m shocked to see that you’re representing this piece of garbage. What did you do? Read about him in the newspaper and run to the jail with your business card out?”
He laughed, “Would you expect any less? Now, do you mind if I speak with my client for five minutes?”
“No problem. Just holler when you’re ready,” I said as I walked out of the room.
Every time I see Tony, I always do my best to get in one good dig. He always laughs at what he considers a joke. It has yet to dawn on him that I’m being serious. I stepped outside and smoked another cigarette while I waited. A new corrections officer that I had only seen once before yelled out to me that they were ready.
“We’re ready to hear this deal you’re talking about, detective,” Tony announced.
Tony and Bobby were seated at the table in the interview room. I leaned across the table, still standing, and said, “Here’s the deal, Robert. You will tell me everything you know about Lizzie Johnston and the people you are involved with from West Virginia. You will also tell me what happened to Karen Cummings and Lisa Grendle. And, most importantly, you will tell me anything you know about the murder of Detective Christopher Boscerelli. When you give me a taped statement on all of the above, the charge of attempted murder will be dropped to a misdemeanor assault, with no jail time. That’s the deal. No compromises. Take it or leave it.” I looked at him hard as I sat down.
I noticed Bobby’s face go completely white at the mention of Lizzie Johnston and West Virginia. Tony, on the other hand, looked completely clueless, and rightly so, since he had no idea what I was talking about.
“How do you know about West Virgi
nia?” Bobby asked with cold eyes and a flat voice.
“It’s not important how I found out about West Virginia!” I said, standing up and raising my voice. “I’m not here to tell you how I found out about anything! I have a dead cop, and I know you know who is involved in it! I am not leaving here until I get some answers from you!”
“Now, just hold on a minute ...” Tony started.
“Tony!” I snapped, holding up my hand at him, “Don’t even start! You have no clue what this about, so you can’t possibly say anything that’s relevant right now.”
“As a matter of fact, I do, detective. You don’t need to be so harsh. Quite frankly, you’re getting a little out of line,” he intoned pompously.
“Screw him,” I said. “He’s getting a hell of deal today. He ought to be thankful, not worried if I’m out of line!”
“I understand that,” Tony said. “All I’m asking is that you try to be somewhat cordial. I mean, my God, the deputies kicked the crap out of my client and put him in the hospital. What more do you want?”
“Oh, please. He fell down on his face because he was so drunk. That’s what the report said; that is what happened,” I said sincerely, then shot him a wide but most insincere grin.
I turned to look at Bobby. “This is your last chance to start talking, then the deal is off and you go on the attempted murder of a police officer charge. You tell me what I want to know, or you go to jail for the rest of your life.”
Bobby looked at Tony, then at me. I had him. He was going to start talking. I knew it. What came out of his mouth next, however, couldn’t have shocked me any more than if he’d told me my pants had fallen around my ankles and I was standing there in nothing but a thong.
“Well, detective,” he began, “why don’t you just go fuck yourself!” he screamed. “I would rather spend the rest of my life in prison than tell you a fucking thing. I’d be dead within a week anyway, so what difference does it make? I’ll stay in jail, you worthless, stinking bitch!”
Murder Mountain Page 9