Beneath the Cracks

by LS Sygnet

  "And that's somethin' beyond our skills?" He stroked his goatee thoughtfully.

  I swallowed two more gulps of brew. "Not at all. I'm not a cop. These people have an innate sense for law enforcement officers sniffing around. When someone shows up who convincingly looks like one of them, the guard isn't thrown up automatically. Plus I'm a woman, and we're not perceived as a threat like men in suits with badges."

  "Yeah, but you are a cop, lest you've forgotten," he said. "With the stench of a fed hangin' on no less."

  Chapter 15

  I scrubbed the gray stage paint out of my hair in the shower in the women's locker room at Downey Division. Despite the fact that Briscoe kept the temperature in the van hot enough to make beads of sweat burst onto his forehead, I was still freezing. Hot water pelted my flesh in the shower until I was Maine-lobster-red.

  I patted my skin dry, quickly donned the cashmere turtleneck and my warmest wool suit and made my way back to the squad room with damp hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of my neck.

  "You're a regular whatchacallem, Eriksson."

  "Chameleon," Crevan supplied the verbiage and another cup of coffee.

  "Thanks. Any luck finding a record on Mr. Blake?"

  "If his name is Jason Blake, his record is nonexistent," Crevan said. "But we decided to take the digging in a different direction. When Belle and I were still married, she gave me access to her ID and password to login to the Sentinel's database. I figured if we can't find Blake our way, maybe he'll turn up in something the Sentinel has on file about the shelter."

  My eyes widened. "Good call, Crevan. I'd advise you never disclose that she let you access the Sentinel's files."

  "Ah, hell, Puppy's not findin' anything we wouldn't get through a trip to the local library branch, Helen. He's just savin' a little time."

  "Hmm. I'm not sure the press would feel that way about law enforcement gaining unauthorized access to anything they could claim as work product. But we won't quibble the fine points right now. If it comes down to evidence, we'll have to make that trip to the library later."

  "They beat it into your heads at Quantico, don't they?" Briscoe jabbed my ribs with a gentle elbow. "All that pristine evidence collection and whatnot."

  "I'd think they'd pound it into the heads at your police academy too, Tony. Maybe if cops didn't take short cuts, prosecutors wouldn't have such a hard time putting the bad guys in prison." I refocused on Crevan's search after verbally dancing too close to my guilty conscience. "How often do the shelters in Darkwater Bay get the attention of the press?"

  "Every time they raise money, which for most of them, is at least a quarterly occurrence. It's odd that the Sixth Avenue Shelter hasn't had a fundraiser in more than a year." Crevan scrolled through his search result. "See? June, last year, they held a gala out on Hennessey Island, some casino night at the casino, and all the proceeds went to the shelter."

  "Casino night in a casino. How freakin' original," Briscoe grunted softly.

  "Which casino, Crevan?"

  He clicked the link. "Uh, that would be…the Island Hotel Resort and Casino."

  "Owned by Danny Datello. No doubt, one of his efforts to polish his public image," I said.

  "What're you thinkin', Eriksson?"

  "Old habit," I said. "Any time someone from the Marcos family's name crops up in the news, we start wondering what's going on behind the scenes."

  "Like?" Crevan peered up at me from the computer screen.

  "Like maybe they haven't raised any money for so long because Datello laundered a shitload of it for Uncle Sully through a charitable organization."

  Briscoe scratched his head. "So by that logic, since we have our annual department bash in his enormous banquet room every Christmas, it makes Darkwater Bay dirty too?"

  I perched on the edge of Crevan's desk and looked from one detective to the other. Should I tell them what the police chief and commissioner told me when I arrived in Darkwater Bay? Maybe they needed a dose of my paranoia to hit close to home.

  "When I came here a few months ago, it was insinuated by pretty reliable people that Datello might have solved his legal woes in Darkwater Bay by writing a check." I sipped while they pondered. "To make matters even more interesting, I also learned that a blackmail situation exists with the very people who took me into their confidence about their suspicion of Danny Datello."

  "So…I'll write you a check, and if you don't take it and look the other way, I'll expose something you really don't want the world to see?" The Adam's apple bobbed in Crevan's throat.

  "That was the gist of it. I suspected that Lowe might be the blackmailer, since the primary purpose of what was being held over some pretty high heads seemed attached to strings that nothing at Central Division would ever change. But nothing was ever found linking Jerry Lowe to…the victims of the silent crime."

  "Maybe we should see if Danny boy's business interests have branched out into another area," Crevan said. "Like farming for instance."

  "I doubt they would," I said. "Even though his logging interests are located outside Bay County, he was careful to incorporate the business here, in Darkwater Bay, making it fall in central's jurisdiction should anything criminal ever be investigated. From what you two told me about Dupree Farm, it's self contained, and Johnny said it's outside Bay County, let alone any Darkwater Bay jurisdiction."

  Briscoe's eyes widened. "You've been doing research on Datello?"

  "Old saying, Tony. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I don't trust anyone on the Marcos family tree, no matter how far removed and transplanted that branch might be."

  "You know more about him than you've let on," Crevan said. "Have you told Johnny? Has he told you about the case he's been trying to build against –"

  "What I know has nothing to do with Danny Datello. His uncle on the other hand is a different story. The FBI knows what I do. That doesn't mean I'm willing to dismiss the notion that Datello's part of Sully's organization or running his very own out here. It's simply a matter of prudence, Crevan. I can't help Johnny's case. If I could, I'd do it in a New York minute."

  I dropped the empty cup into the trash beside Crevan's desk and reached for my coat. "I've got stuff to do tonight, guys. Give me a call if you pull up any names from the shelter. I'm particularly interested in knowing who runs the charitable foundation and who's in charge of the day to day operation on Sixth Avenue. I should be home by nine or so. If I haven't heard from you by then, I'll call. We need to hammer out a time for the trip to Dupree Farm tomorrow."

  "We're here at seven every day," Crevan said. "Whenever you get here, we can head out."

  "Sure could've used this today out on the street," I cinched the belt on the cashmere and wool trench coat. "Remind me to wear long-johns if we need Nancy undercover again."

  On the way to MSUH to see Maya, I listened to the weather forecast on a local radio station. A low front was pushing it's way up from the Pacific, and rain was expected for the rest of the week, along with low temperatures in the mid-forties. Our highs would be a dismal ten degrees higher.

  My heart ached for the changing colors of the east coast, the warm days and chilly nights, the contrast of summer and fall in the trees and the sky. Darkwater Bay was clouds and fog and rain wrapped in a cocoon of perpetual gloom. Mist rolled through the city streets as dusk fell. A blasting heater in the Expedition only heated the damp air but did little to alleviate the chilly ambiance.

  By the time I worked my way through the inching rush hour traffic (a misnomer if ever there was one), it was only a couple of minutes before six. The lights of the modern high rise hospital rose like a beacon of hope shining through the haze. I found a spot in the lower level of the parking building and made my way to the lobby elevators.

  Hopefully, Maya remembered that I promised to visit. Even more, I silently wished that she would be kind enough not to grill me about what she thought happened with Orion when she called. It hadn't. Yet. I wasn't ashamed of it
, but at the same time, Briscoe's not-so-subtle digs about it all day had left me in a prickly mood.

  I knocked lightly on the door to her room and pushed it open. Maya was sitting up, looking far more lucid, not to mention human, with the anesthesia completely out of her system. On one side of her bed sat Ken Forsythe. On the other was Orion. I forced a smile and resisted the urge to run out of the room.

  "You came! I was wondering what time you'd finally drag in here tonight." Maya patted the side of her bed. "Come over here and say hello."

  I inched around the side of the bed where Forsythe sat, hoping for security in distance. The last thing I needed was Johnny mauling me at the hospital too. I bent over and gave Maya a peck on the forehead before sitting down carefully. "You look like you're feeling a lot better today."

  "They pulled my drain a couple of hours ago," Maya launched into the territory of too much information and explained that something called a Jackson-Pratt drain had been removing excess lymph and blood from the surgical site, but that the doctors were amazed at her body's quick bounce back from such a drastic procedure.

  "Apparently, she comes from a long line of robust women." Forsythe petted her hand fondly. "I knew nothing would keep her down for long."

  "How's the pain?" I wasn't completely ignorant of the medical realm, and saw the fatigue in her eyes, the dark circles that seemed to deepen by the minute.

  "Oh, about eight on a scale of one to ten. Where'd we put that button, Ken?"

  He handed her the device that sent an additional bolus of pain medication pulsing through the IV tubing to her vein.

  "Still on the fentanyl?"

  "Hmm," Maya nodded. "They're talking about switching over to something by mouth for breakthrough pain tomorrow, provided I can keep down the wide variety of Jell-O they keep throwing at me under the guise of food." She squeezed my hand. "How was your day?"

  "Busy. Chilly. Same old same old."

  She grinned. "Not quite. You spent more time out of the house today than I bet you have since you moved into that place."

  "True enough."

  "So what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

  "I'd rather not bore you with the details of my day," I dodged the question. "What did the doctor say about your discharge? Will you be heading home soon?"

  "Probably by the end of the week, barring any complications of course," Maya said. "I talked to the county supervisor today. They're planning to make do with the medical examiners we've got on staff for the next six weeks, and then when the chemo starts, we'll play it by ear about how much time I can spend on the job. I was pretty encouraged."

  "See?" Forsythe said. "I told you they weren't going to jump at the chance to bring back Riley Storm."

  "He's still around here?" I'm not sure why the news surprised me, but it did.

  "Riley chose to retire when we replaced him with Maya," Johnny finally spoke. "He's usually found at the Bay View Country Club plotting his strategy to sue the county for his wrongful dismissal over martinis with cocktail onions."

  "Lovely. So he's a drunkard and an incompetent medical examiner."

  Maya giggled and immediately braced her left side. "Oh, oh. Don't make me laugh, Helen. It's too soon."

  I cringed. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to be funny."

  "It's all right. Laughter is the best medicine, but maybe not when you've been used for Ginsu training by an aspiring sushi chef." She squeezed my hand again, glanced at Johnny, back at me for an intense gaze. "Aren't you going to tell Johnny hello?"

  I took a sidelong peek. "I guess I was a little surprised to see him here."

  "He told me that you asked him to keep this quiet, Helen, but since technically, Johnny was the person most responsible for bringing me to Darkwater Bay, I was glad that you told him and that he stopped by to see me. Did you see the flowers he brought?"

  An audacious bouquet of daisies and sunflowers looked ready to break out into Broadway song and dance on the over bed table. "They're lovely. Very anti-Darkwater Bay."

  Maya laughed again, still braced from the first jarring motion. "Helen, you are funny. Sometimes I think it's the fact that you're not trying that makes it so amusing." She jerked her head in Johnny's direction. "Go ahead and give the man a proper greeting."

  I rolled my eyes, huffed an exaggerated sigh and said, "Hi Johnny."

  "All that humor and a smart ass too," she demurred.

  Orion was staring at the floor.

  Jesus. Do these people ever stop being so damned manipulative? I walked to the other side of the bed and nudged his leg with my knee. Johnny looked up at me, regret for some reason, filled his eyes. I draped myself in his lap and put an arm around his shoulders.

  "Thanks for the coffee this morning."

  He leaned in but hesitated. Johnny's eyes glanced in Maya's direction and he looked down again. "Did you remember to eat?"

  "I had breakfast. With jam."

  A grin quivered at the corners of his mouth.

  I looked at Maya. "Happy now?"

  "Euphoric."

  "Yeah, that's the fentanyl. I hope you don't get too used to the feeling. They're gonna drag you back down to earth sooner or later."

  A nurse came in and moved Johnny's flowers and replaced the bouquet with another tray of Jell-O and clear juice. Maya rolled her eyes and groaned. "See what I'm talking about? When do I get real food?" she whined.

  "If you keep this down, we can try some pudding tomorrow."

  "Didn't cut up my guts," Maya grumbled. "I don't understand why you've got to be such a stickler for the rules, Ginny."

  "You understand it perfectly," the nurse chided. "Just because your patients don't live to complain about your bedside manner doesn't mean I aim to have mine in the same condition. Bon appétit."

  Maya started picking at her tray, offering the first bite to Forsythe.

  "No, no. That's all for you, Maya."

  She waved the jiggling mass on the spoon at me. "No thanks."

  Johnny's hand crept over my thigh and settled into a light rhythm. "Besides, if she eats one bite of Jell-O now, I'll never talk her into having dinner with me later."

  "I have work to do tonight, Johnny."

  Maya snorted. "One day back on the job and she's already up to her usual tricks. You should've seen her on the case when we first met, Johnny. I'm no slacker in the morgue, but this woman wouldn't rest until she had the final autopsy report in hand to back up her theory of the perp's motive."

  "Was she right?"

  "Of course she was," Maya slurped the Jell-O off the spoon. "Helen's always right. We were fast friends from that day forward, and let me add, that I started tearing pages from the Helen Eriksson playbook from then on. My peers hated me, but we didn't have to call the FBI in to rescue as many cases."

  "That's a lie," I chuckled. "At least about who insisted on working 'round the clock. As I recall, you were the one who insisted that the unusual ritual before death had to play a role in the perp's psychopathy, and I drew the short straw on the team and got to spend the night in the morgue waiting for you to finish your report."

  "No, no," Maya said. "You were the one who suggested that I look for saliva in strange places on her body."

  "Do we really want to know where you found it?" Johnny asked.

  "Her toes, of all places. Helen was convinced that because of the way the victims were left posed, that the guy suffered from some sort of weird fetish thing. There wasn't a natural hair or a fiber to be found on any of the victims. Believe me. We looked. Ten times. Each."

  "And you thought it would be a foot fetish?" Johnny's hand crept a little higher on my thigh.

  "I didn't have a specific one in mind, but it made sense that there had to be something. He wasn't keeping their hair after he shaved it all off. What cued me in on the last body was her toes."

  "Yeah," Maya snorted. "Helen thought she saw evidence of stubble on this poor shaven girl's toes. So she suggests that I swab the toes for saliva and skin cells that weren'
t the victim's, and wouldn't you know it? There it was. Hell, we found his DNA under her toenails. Who would've thought this guy would think to shave a woman's toes? Who knew women had hairy toes?"

  "You're the medical doctor," I said. "You should know that just like the fingers, fine, nearly invisible hairs aren't uncommon on toes. If he hadn't shaved all their body hair off, I wouldn't have noticed the slight irritation on the toes."

  "All their body hair?" Forsythe shuddered.

  "Head, arms, pits, pubes, legs and yes, even their toes," Maya said. "It was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen. Of course, the cops in Baltimore County didn't realize the first vic had been shaved. He put them all in wigs, you see. Always the same shoulder length, strawberry blonde wigs. Expensive too. They had these suction things that attached the hair to the scalp so the wig wouldn't fall off."

  "That should've made him easier to track," Johnny said.

  "You'd think. We were stunned at how many of the damn things were sold. Apparently, they were made of real human hair and could be dyed different colors in lieu of buying the rainbow," I said. "This guy bought a bunch of different lighter shades and dyed them all strawberry blonde. It didn't look like one person ordered eight or ten of the same color."

  "Different names and addresses?" he asked.

  "It was a store, a physical address locally that sold them," Maya said. "He went in on behalf of some charitable organization that leased wigs to women going through chemotherapy." She fell silent.

  "Hey," I moved from Johnny's lap back to the bed. "Not all women lose their hair during chemo. And those who do, usually get the thickest, most luxurious mane when it grows back."

  A single tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm gonna be some sickly hag in a turban for three months before my hair starts growing back."

  Forsythe perched on the other side of the bed and gathered her in his arms and let her weep. "Come back tomorrow," he said. "She'll be fine. She just needs a good cry."

  Chapter 16

  Johnny waited until we were in the elevator before he slipped one arm around my waist and tugged me close to his side. "Forsythe's right; she needs time, Helen. This was a horrible blow from out of nowhere."