Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4)

by Lawrence Kelter

  “Smoke pot? Do I have to worry about you as well? Your back is better, isn’t it? I hope this isn’t going to become a way of life with you. If I wanted a pothead, I would have gone after Tully.”

  “I just found it relaxing, that’s all. It’s not like I do it every day.”

  I gave Gus a look that said, tread lightly. I didn’t want him to become one of those fathers who sneak off to the bathroom to rock a joint while his kid is watching Sesame Street. “No more shit in your lungs, got it?” He nodded to confirm his understanding.

  We were back in Staten Island. As if things weren’t bad enough, we had just arrived at a funeral parlor. I mean that was depressing in any respect, right? An unexplained body had been found in the furnace of the Sclafani Funeral Home. The owner, Rocco Sclafani, had found the body himself. He also saw blood smeared on the stairwell wall that led to the basement crematorium.

  Richard Forzo, the Staten Island assistant chief, was waiting for us when we arrived. He was just outside the basement entrance speaking on his cell phone. We waited several minutes for him to end his call. “Where’s Nick?” he asked.

  “We gave him the day off,” I said. “He’s not feeling great. Toni called us and asked if we could give him a pass.”

  Forzo didn’t look very happy. In fact, he looked as if he would have strangled someone if he could have gotten dispensation to do so. “There are days when this job just plain sucks. Today’s one of those days.” He straightened his back. “Is he getting worse?”

  “I don’t like what’s happening to him,” Gus said. “He’s taking this Jacoby thing really hard. It’s cutting him down fast.”

  “Shit!” Forzo looked off into the distance for a moment before turning back to us. “A crazy amount of crime has come down the pike in the last few days, and it’s making me angry,” he explained. “I mean the Jacoby murders are at the top of the list, but we’ve had a break-in at a pharmaceuticals company, and now this half-incinerated man. It’s one thing on top of another. We usually get a lot of penny ante stuff, but crimes like these are pretty uncommon, and I don’t like it when so much goes down at once.”

  Forzo was feeling responsible for the sudden spike in Staten Island crime, but for the most part, all the police could do was fix something after it was already broken. As much as we’d like to pat ourselves on the back, almost all of what we did was reactive and not proactive. “So what’s going on here?” I asked. “A body was being incinerated?”

  “Yeah,” Forzo said. “The proprietor came in early this morning and noticed that the furnace was running, even though there were no bodies scheduled for cremation.”

  “Do you think someone was incinerating a body to dispose of evidence?” Gus asked.

  “That’s my guess,” Forzo said. “It’s pretty crowded down there, but I want the two of you to take a look. There’s something I know you’ll find of interest. Shall we?” He turned and entered the building.

  We followed him. He had broad shoulders. It almost looked as if they would touch the sides of the staircase as he descended. The smell of burnt flesh was just awful. The crime scene team had brought in fans to help move the air around. Even so, the odor was terrible. Dig down deep, girl. Tough it out.

  The basement was chaotic with police crime scene investigators hovering around a charred body. A civilian stood in the center of the crowd. I assumed he was the proprietor. He was ranting like a lunatic. I suppose I couldn’t blame the guy. Forzo made straight for him. Perhaps it was Forzo’s size that caused the man to quiet down, which he did as soon as we approached. “Mr. Sclafani, I’d like you to meet Detectives Chalice and Lido.”

  “More detectives?” Sclafani asked. “There’s only one burnt body. How many policemen do I need down here?”

  “As many as it takes,” Forzo said pointedly. “From the top, please tell these detectives everything that took place from the time you arrived this morning.”

  “Okay,” Sclafani said. “It’s just that this whole thing is driving me a little nuts.” He reached out and shook our hands. “Rocco Sclafani,” he said.

  “Just another day at the office, huh?” Gus said. “Tell us what you found.”

  Oh dear God! I was now closer to the body than I wanted to be. I don’t mean to be callous, but did someone just barbecue an ox? The victim was a huge man. He was so charred that it was impossible to look at the carcass for more than a few seconds. He looked like the roast that had been forgotten in the oven. My mind wandered, and I visualized the body in the furnace being consumed by flames. It was an image I hoped I would not retain.

  “I got here early this morning,” Sclafani said. “I wanted to make up the daily work schedule for the crematory operator before he got in.”

  “How early were you?” I asked.

  “Almost an hour earlier than I usually get in,” Sclafani said. “The first thing I noticed was that the furnace was running. That was the wake-up call. Then I saw that blood on the stairwell over there.” He pointed to where a crime scene investigator was collecting a sample. The furnace is an older unit and the heat it throws off drives all the moisture out of the air. I could feel it in my nose and lungs as soon as I came in. There was no way that the furnace should have been running, but it was, so I knew something was wrong right away. I shut down the furnace as soon as I realized what was going on.”

  “How long does it take to cremate a body?”

  Sclafani shrugged. “A guy this size? At least three hours, maybe more. This unit runs at about 1600 degrees Fahrenheit, but all of the moisture has to be driven out of the body before it gets that hot. A guy this size holds a lot of moisture. Figure one hour per hundred pounds.” He looked down at the body. “This guy was a moose—three hours, easy.”

  “And how long do you think he was in there?”

  “About an hour. The cremation container is made of plywood and cardboard which burns off almost immediately.” He checked the victim again. “This body still contains some moisture. It’s charred on the outside, but the internal organs haven’t dried out sufficiently to combust.”

  “We found the charred remains of a wallet alongside the body,” Forzo said. “The contents are pretty much destroyed, but the forensics lab may be able to piece together some information. Anyway, take a look over here. This is what I really wanted you to see.” He motioned to a member of the crime scene unit. The investigator gently pulled down on the victim’s jaw exposing the oral cavity. “From what you’ve told me you’ve seen dental work like this before.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Gus said.

  I forced myself to look into the victim’s mouth. The incisors had been ripped out. I had already shared that aspect of our other investigation with Forzo. He’d put the pieces together immediately. I looked at the huge burnt body and knew that it was victim number three.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I had not planned to spend the entire day in Staten Island but now that my two cases had been tied together . . . The Office of the Chief Medical Examiner was located at the Seaview Hospital Center. Gus and I grabbed an unoccupied office. We were discussing the two homicide cases and the new tie-in. I phoned Ambler to apprise him of the development. He was on his way across the Verrazano to join us. In the meantime, the forensic odontologist was having a field day examining the mouth of our rotund, charbroiled victim.

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but all of a sudden, I’m dying for the crispy beef at the Peking Duck House.”

  “You’re a ghoul,” Gus said. “How can you even think about food after seeing that body?”

  “I’m not myself. Christ, I’m almost drooling.”

  “I think I’m going to become a vegetarian.”

  “Yeah, right, maybe for about ten minutes.” I laughed. “One whiff of smoked sausage, and you’ll be a goner.” Gus loves his meat. Still, I could see how the body at the crematorium would leave quite an impression. I looked up and saw Ambler’s broad profile filling the doorway. I smiled as he entered th
e office.

  “Unexpected turn of events,” Gus said.

  Ambler shook his head and then stared at me. “How in God’s name do you get involved in two completely separate, high-level investigations and tie them together?”

  “Luck?” I said sheepishly.

  “Luck my ass,” Ambler said, “You’re a witch, Chalice. How else can you explain it?”

  Ambler didn’t mean witch as in someone with warts and a pointy hat. He meant witch as in someone with supernatural powers, someone who knows things an ordinary person wouldn’t know. “That’s right, you nailed me, Herb. I looked into my cauldron this morning and foresaw the whole thing. By the way, that cauldron was filled with minestrone soup, and I’m getting hungry again.”

  “Dear God help me,” Gus blurted.

  “It’s a good thing that Forzo is such a sharp number. Because of him we’ve been able to tie two Manhattan murder victims to an incinerated man in Staten Island. That’s our first real break in this case.”

  “You call an unidentified incinerated man a break?” Gus said.

  “Something ties these cases together. Our perp didn’t select the Sclafani Funeral Home at random. He had to know the building. Not every funeral home offers cremation services. Our perp knew that, and he knew how to access the building and the furnace. I’m sure he also knew when Sclafani would arrive, and was in and out before he came to work. For all we know, victim number one may have been incinerated there as well and then the bones ground down to make the mortar for the tablet-shaped medallion.”

  “You’re assuming of course that the victim we found in Kowsky Plaza and the victim you saw today were both butchered and murdered by the same perp,” Ambler said. “We don’t know that for sure. However, victim number two was identified. His name was Stuart Meisel, and he worked nearby at the Museum of Jewish Heritage.”

  “So both victims were Jewish.”

  “That’s right. His parents reported him missing a couple of days ago.”

  “The MOs are completely different,” Gus said. “One body was frozen and left for the authorities to find while today’s victim was incinerated, presumably to dispose of the evidence.”

  “There’s still the teeth, Gus. The killer doesn’t need the body. All he needs is the teeth. He may be cementing them into a third medallion as we speak. I’ll lay odds that today’s victim will end up being number three.”

  “We should know something soon,” Ambler said. “I had Marjorie send the FBI forensic file on the second victim to Forzo’s forensic odontologist electronically so he’d have it to compare with today’s victim.”

  “Speaking of Marjorie, anything going on between you two?”

  “What is it with you, Chalice?” Ambler said. “Are you in perpetual ball-buster mode?”

  “Only when I’m hungry.” Ambler reached into his pocket and offered me his pack of gum. “What’s that puny offering going to do? You’ll have to do better than that.” I pretended to sniff the air. “I think there’s a pizzeria across the street.”

  “Oh dear God.” Ambler turned away from me. “Gus, would you please take care of her before I lose my mind.”

  “She’s always hungry,” Gus said. “Food’s not going to put an end to her incessant curiosity. So is there anything going on? Tell her before you and I are both forced to take our own lives.”

  “There’s nothing going on,” Ambler said emphatically.

  “So you say.” I winked at Ambler. “You’re off the hook—here comes Michaelson, the odontologist.”

  “Assistant Chief Forzo asked me to bring you up to date,” Michaelson said.” He reached over, shook hands, and introduced himself to Ambler. He sat down at the head of the table and opened a folder. “I don’t have a ton of information for you, but I can tell you that the same teeth were removed from both victims. The upper and lower gums were slit and the top and bottom incisors were ripped out, presumably with the use of pliers. Exactly eight teeth were removed from both victims, and they were all incisors.”

  “The perp has used teeth to form the numerals one and two. He inlays them into tablet-shaped medallions. I’m guessing that he uses the incisors because they’re flat and easier to work with than the molars.”

  “So this is the third victim?” Michaelson asked.

  “Presumably,” Ambler said. “Tell us what you found.”

  “The victim was burned alive,” Michaelson said. We all shuddered in unison. “You’ll have to wait for the ME to do a complete examination of course, but I can tell you with certainty that the victim was alive because the oral cavity and descending air passages were completely lined with soot and ash. The victim was breathing at the time of death.”

  “Christ, that’s awful.” I’d seen Vetrov right after he had been pulled out of the furnace. It was tough enough to look at his partially incinerated body but to know he was burned alive . . . the thought was just horrible.

  “Anything else?”

  “The victim had a gold crown on one of his molars,” Michaelson said. “Precious metals aren’t used much these days because gold is so expensive. The cap was either put in several years ago or the work may have been done in Europe, where precious metal prosthetics are still more popular than synthetics.” Michaelson closed his folder. “And that’s all she wrote.” He stood. “Anyone want to join me for lunch? There’s a great pizzeria across the street.”

  Ambler’s head spun toward me. He wore an expression of disbelief, which quickly became a smile. “Sure,” he said. “The witch is buying.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Rocco Sclafani turned out to be an all-right guy. I asked him to meet me at the police station, and he agreed to come right down. He was much calmer than he had been that morning. He obviously found perspective in the hours since we’d first met. He had changed his clothes and now wore a suit and tie. He looked like a completely different person.

  “Hi, detective,” he said as he sat down. “Just the two of us? Where’s your partner and the commish?”

  I shook hands with Sclafani. “My partner’s at the crime lab and the commish, as you call him, is a busy man. BTW, he’s the assistant chief of detectives, not a commissioner.”

  “I call every high-ranking cop ‘the commish.’ I used to watch that TV series with Michael Chiklis.”

  I noticed that Sclafani looked a little like Michael Chiklis. He was bald with a thick neck and broad cheekbones. “I saw it a few times. I liked his character.” Almost every civilian believes that cops look and behave analogously with the characters they see week in and week out on their favorite TV shows—if they only knew the truth. “So you look different. Is this how you dress for work?”

  “I’m a funeral director, Detective Chalice. I can’t wear my jeans all the time. So tell me, Cha-lee-see, you’re a paesano?”

  “I am, brought up with a cross over my bed. I was baptized and went to catechism . . . the whole nine yards.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I’m a city girl. My father worked midtown north, like me.”

  “And now?”

  “He’s gone,” I said, fighting the urge to get misty while I discussed the case with Sclafani. “God rest his soul.”

  Sclafani made the sign of the cross. “I’m so sorry. I lost my father too. Not long ago.”

  “Always lived on Staten Island?”

  “Yeah, I was brought up around embalming fluid and caskets. Some childhood, huh?”

  “You look like you turned out okay. Say, was that your Shelby Mustang I saw in the parking lot?”

  Sclafani’s eyes lit up. “That’s my baby. It’s the last one produced while Carroll Shelby was still alive—over six hundred and fifty ponies and a top speed of two hundred miles per hour.”

  “It’s a gorgeous car.”

  “I take it out to the track—the car is an absolute beast.”

  “I assumed that you raced it. I saw a tow hook on your front bumper.”

  “Yeah, they make you do that
so that they can drag you off the track if the car breaks down.”

  “Do you mind talking a little shop?”

  Sclafani settled back in his chair. “No. Go ahead.”

  “So tell me what it takes to operate a cremation furnace?”

  Sclafani smiled. “Can you roast a turkey?”

  “So it’s not hard?”

  “No. My furnace is hardly state of the art, but the controls are completely electronic. It’s no harder to incinerate a human body than it is to bake a casserole. The controls are computerized and pre-programmed. All you have to do is prepare the body and slide it in. The furnace monitors the temperature and shuts down automatically when finished.”

  “You’re telling me that anyone could have done it? You don’t have to be specially trained to operate the furnace?”

  “No. Don’t get me wrong, detective, a crematory operator has to go through extensive training before he can be licensed, but most of the training has to do with the preparation of the body. The body has to be thoroughly examined before cremation. If the deceased has a pacemaker or other type of medical device, it has to be removed to prevent an explosion from occurring during the cremation process. After the remains are removed from the furnace, a powerful, hand-held magnet is run through the ash to pick up metal parts that might be left behind, such as fillings, plates, and prosthetic replacement joints, which can interfere with the grinding process.”

  “Grinding process?”

  “The bones aren’t reduced to ash. They have to be ground up.”

  “That’s absolutely gruesome.”

  Sclafani shrugged. “What can I say? It paid for the Mustang.”

  “All right, so I’ll need a list of all your current and former employees—not just the crematory operators, but anyone who worked for you and might have been able to operate the furnace.”

  Sclafani rubbed his eyes. “That will be a long list; my father opened the funeral parlor in 1965. A lot of the employees have come and gone—it takes a certain type of individual, if you know what I mean.”