Six Cut Kill

by David R Lewis

  “Would it be too intrusive if I were to ask you why you might need such a thing?”

  “I’m gonna have to deal with the KCMO cops and investigate a murder from around a month ago. They got nothing. A friend asked me to look into it.”

  “What’s my involvement in this crap shoot?”

  “You’re my CO. I report directly to you. If anybody gets curious, all you have to do is vouch for me.”

  “An’ risk my career an’ dig your white ass outa the fuckin’ dirt if necessary.”

  “That, too.”

  “What the fuck. I didn’t wanna make it to retirement anyway. Gimme your email address an’ I’ll get it to ya tomorrow. You can laminate the goddamn thing yourself.”

  “Despite your unfortunate racial background, you’re not a bad guy, Sarge.”

  “Drop the cotton-pickin’ slurs, gimme your address, an’ hang the fuck up, pale face.”

  Crockett did just that.

  After a cup of coffee and a Sherman, Crockett took to the phone again, this time to the Kansas City Missouri Police Department.

  “KCMO Police.”

  “Hi. I believe your department has a detective Ness on staff. I need to know how I might go about getting in contact with him.”

  “We have Detective Lieutenant Ness. May I direct your call to that division?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Just a moment, please.”

  Two minutes.

  “Investigation Division.”

  “Detective Lieutenant Ness, please.”

  “May I say whose calling?”

  Crockett thought a moment. “Yeah. Tell him Spiderman.”

  “Spiderman.”

  “Yep. He’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay. Spiderman it is. Just a minute.”

  It took Ness less than thirty seconds to get on the line.

  “Who the hell is this?” he asked.

  “Call me Crockett.”

  “Crockett? Uh…from that abduction thing a couple a years ago with all those big-assed spiders upstairs, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Jesus. I still think about that from time to time. I heard you got your lady friend, uh…”

  “Ruby LaCost.”

  “Yeah, LaCost. I heard you and your pal got her back.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I also heard that nobody ever saw the guy that took her again.”

  “Also true.”

  “Uh-huh. How’s she doing?”

  “Better than she’s ever been.”

  “You and her still livin’ in that old brownstone?”

  “No. I haven’t seen her in quite a while. She’s not around anymore.”

  “Things happen.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “What’s up, Crockett?”

  “I need a little of your time, face to face.”

  “I assume this is important.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I also assume its private.”

  “You’re an assuming kinda guy, huh?”

  Ness chuckled. “When?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow evening would be nice.”

  “You like pizza?”

  “More than life.”

  “My wife and kids are visiting her sister in Orlando for a few days. I don’t cook. You familiar with D’Bronx on Bell?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Tomorrow night around seven. Bring money. The pie is on you.”

  “Thanks, Ness.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m only in this for the pie.”

  Crockett walked onto the deck to see Satin down the slope by the water.

  “Hey!” she shouted, “Grab a jacket and c’mon down. I got a thermos of coffee and cups. Let’s go for a ride.”

  Crockett met her at the dock and joined her on his baby pontoon boat. Satin cast off, stepped on the trolling motor control, cruised down the lake and around the first point of land until she was out of sight of the cabin, and kicked the anchor overboard. She swiveled her seat to look at Crockett and smiled.

  “How ya been,” she asked, pouring coffee.

  “Purty good.”

  “How’s everybody down at the marina?”

  “Zebulon is still going strong. Hasn’t aged a day. That pup I got ‘em grew up. Must weigh a hundred and forty pounds and happy as a clam.”

  “How’s Mazy?” Satin asked, handing Crockett a cup.

  “Zeb says she’s got a gentleman caller.”

  Satin smiled. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “How are you?”

  “Over it.”

  “What’d she want?”

  “Me to look into a murder.”

  “A murder?”

  “Yeah. An old gal who used to work at the marina had her daughter killed a month or so ago in Kansas City. Stabbed to death or something. Cops have no leads. Mazy wanted to know if I could help.”

  “Can you?”

  “Who knows? I’ve been in touch with Pelmore, and I have a meeting tomorrow night with Ness.”

  “Who’s Ness?”

  “Kaycee dick.”

  “A cop named Ness?”

  Crockett grinned. “Yeah. His first name is not, however, Elliot. I asked him. He was the local law I dealt with when Ruby got kidnapped by the late Boog Jeter.”

  “Jesus, Crockett. This thing is really draggin’ up the past for you.”

  “A lesser man would crumble from the strain,” he said.

  “So when are you going back to the marina?”

  “I’m not. The girl’s mother is a flinty old broad. Scared of life. Wanted to know if I was a Christian before she’d consent to allow me to get involved.”

  “What?”

  “No shit.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I asked her if she took showers or baths.”

  “Ha!

  “She knows even less about the situation that she does about her daughter. Served us instant coffee for chrissakes.”

  “Bitch,” Satin said.

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “And Mazy?”

  “History. Fleeting foggy memories from the distant past.”

  “Okay.”

  Crockett looked at her for a moment. “You need to understand something, wife,” he said. “Of all the women I have known in my long and fruitful life, you are the one for whom I have been searching.”

  Satin grinned at him. “Aw, shucks,” she said.

  Satin pulled Crockett’s State Police commission off the computer around three the next afternoon. With it was an email from Pelmore:

  Dear Hero,

  This ain’t worth the paper it’s printed on. Anybody wanna check on it, send them to

  me. Depending on my mood, I may lie for you. Watch your ass, whitebread.

  Pelmore

  Crockett arrived at D’Bronx on Bell a little before seven that evening, just as the rush was clearing out. He carried his crème soda to a two-spot near the front door and had barely settled in when Ness entered the building. He’d added a little weight since days gone by, but still wore blue jeans, a sport coat, and a predominant Adam’s apple. Crockett stood up and extended a hand. Ness took it.

  “Thanks for coming, Ell-Tee,” Crockett said. “I appreciate it.”

  Ness smiled. “I told you my wife was outa town with the kids. This is a big deal for me. Free food, dubious company. What do we do after we eat? Bowling? Window peeping at the Tri-Delt house? I’m on strange ground here.”

  Crockett chuckled. “I was sorta figuring on miniature golf and go-carts, myself,” he said. “Maybe we could pick up some chicks.”

  “I knew I shoulda worn my gold plated neck chains,” Ness said as he sat down. “Do I have time to go home?”

  “You’re just a wild man, aren’t ya, Ness?”

  “That’s me. What are you drinking?”

  “Crème soda.”

  “Sounds good. I hate anchovies. Anything else is fine.
You go order while I figure out how to ask you what the fuck you want.”

  When Crockett returned to the table, Ness peered at him. “What the fuck you want?” he said.

  “Around a month ago, a young woman named Carol Ann Presley was found dead in the parking garage under Barney Allis Plaza.”

  “Yeah. One a my sergeants had lead on the DB. Got nothing.”

  “I’m looking into it.”

  “And?”

  “And I need everything you have on the case, the girl, her background, interviews, forensics, autopsy, notes, photos, CS data, everything.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yep. Plus, I need to be allowed to talk with any of the parties involved in the investigation, should I choose to, and free access to any other information that might come to light.”

  “And you want me to smooth the way for you to do all that shit?”

  “I’m buying you pizza and a crème soda for chrissakes!”

  “Almost good enough,” Ness said. “What else you got?”

  “A Hart County police commission, a Missouri State Cop commission, and a goddamn United States Department of Justice commission, but I’d rather not use that one.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s issued to an alias.”

  “How the hell did you get all that stuff?”

  “Important friends with connections.”

  Ness leaned back in his chair and took a long pull on his crème soda. “I knew when I met you, and the fuckin’ sidekick a yours, that you two were spooks or something,” he said. “What happens if I say no? I lose my pension? The wife and kidneys disappear?” I wind up being waterboarded at Git Mo?”

  “Worse than that,” Crockett said. “Your TV cable goes out.”

  Ness looked puzzled. “Wait a minute,” he said, his brow furrowed. “Crockett in Hart County. Jesus Christ! You’re him! You’re that fuckin’ deputy that got shot after all those drug busts at that club. Killed the fucker that clipped ya. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Ta-da,” Crockett said.

  “You got a rep, man. Killed a kid that shot into that hillbilly club, too. You were all over the grapevine two or three times. Latrine-o-grams everywhere. That was you! Shit. And now our friendly neighborhood Spiderman is stickin’ his nose into something else.”

  “More or less. Favor for a friend.”

  Ness looked over Crockett’s shoulder. “Here comes the pizza. Tell you what I’m gonna do, Spidey. I’m gonna eat half a this pie and then I’m gonna leave. Tomorrow, I’ll be back here around one for lunch. Usually a corned beef on white with kraut, bar-b-que chips, and a chocolate milk. In my possession I will have a box of copied files and such. Should you be on hand and buy my lunch, I will release that box of information into your custody. While we eat, I will advise you of certain conditions I will place on our arrangement, none of them overly drastic. Most of them designed to make me look good. How’s that sound?”

  Crockett grinned. “Sounds like you’re easy.”

  “That’s what you think. At the lunch you’re buying tomorrow, I’m having dessert. A big one.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The file box Ness delivered to Crockett was only about a third full. He put it on the coffee table in the living room and was going through what little information it contained when Satin entered through the side door with grocery bags in hand. He patted her on the bottom and went outside to the Jeep to retrieve more of her swag. When he came back, draped with bags, she stood peering down at some photos scattered on the couch.

  “My God,” she whispered.

  Quickly Crockett put down his burdens and moved between her and the couch, cutting off her field of vision and taking her by the shoulders.

  “Don’t look at that,” he said.

  “You do,” Satin said, her voice a monotone.

  “You have a choice. I don’t.”

  “My God,” she said again and leaned into him for support.

  Crockett put an arm around her and eased Satin into the kitchen and onto a stool at the snack bar. Leaving her for a moment, he put the materials back in the box, closed the lid, returned to the kitchen, poured Satin a cup of coffee and placed it on the counter. She stared at it, head down.

  “My God,” she said again.

  “I’m sorry,” Crockett said. “I should never have had that stuff out where you could see it.”

  Satin took a sip of her coffee and looked at him. Her eyes regained focus. “Protecting the little woman, Crockett?”

  “What?”

  Satin’s reply was brittle. “We womenfolk too delicate to see something like that? Is that it?”

  A quick shot of anger flashed behind Crockett’s eyes. He controlled it. “Nobody should have to see something like that,” he said. “Not you, not me, not anybody.”

  Satin returned her gaze to the coffee for a moment before she spoke. “Jesus, Crockett,” she said, “I’m sorry. It had to go somewhere, and I aimed it at you.”

  Crockett smiled. “Let’s go check and see if the lake is still where we left it. Get a jacket while I put the cold stuff away.”

  She went upstairs. He shoved two sacks into the fridge and went out to wait for her on the deck. He was just lighting a Sherman when Satin exited the house, slipping into a lightweight farm coat.

  “Not cool enough for this jacket,” she said.

  “Just trying to protect the womenfolk,” Crockett replied.

  About a half hour later Crockett was sequestered with his box of info in the far corner of the living room while Satin fussed in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. “You gonna want Stitch over tonight?” she asked.

  “Sure. What’s for supper?”

  “He likes salmon, doesn’t he?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll call him. Salmon on the grill with sweet peppers and onions and stuff on skewers sound okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll even fix it so the two of you can confer on the contents of that box. You know, women tend to the cooking while you menfolk take care of the important stuff.”

  Crockett grinned. “I’m sure glad we finally got this all worked out, honey,” he said. “Mind if I use your computer?”

  “Think you can handle it?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Okay. If you get in trouble, I’ll be right here in the kitchen.”

  Smiling, Crockett went back to her office. Fifteen minutes later he was on the deck with Dundee and on the phone with Cletus Marshal.

  “What’s up, pard?” Clete asked. “You steppin’ in some more shit?”

  “Possibly. Doing Mazy a favor.”

  “Mazy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That l’il ol’ gal from down at the lake?”

  “That’s her.”

  “The one that didn’t like me?”

  “Fine judge of character, that Mazy,” Crockett said.

  “All hell, son, how’d you git tangled up with her again?”

  “Long story. I’m looking into a murder.”

  “A course ya are.”

  “I’ve already been in contact with Ness.”

  “Ness? That ol’ boy we met when Ruby got grabbed?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Didn’t seem like a bad feller.”

  “He’s okay. His guys got nothing on the killing, but he’s given me copies of all his stuff. I sent you an email about the vic. Carol Ann Presley. DOB, social, and such. I need to find out everything you can about the girl. Personal history, education, work history, medical records, anything and everything. This is a bad one, Clete. Stabbed to death in the downtown Kaycee underground parking facility.”

  “Stabbed to death?”

  “Yeah. A lot.”

  “Sweet Jesus. Okay. I’ll git on it.”

  “Miracle worker.”

  “Hell, son, miracles is easy. Gittin’ medical records is hard. I’ll be in touch. Say hi to Satin an’ them.”

  Crockett sp
ent the next hour or so, pouring through the box, amazed that so much paperwork could reveal so little. He was examining the crime scene photos when Stitch entered from the deck, Nudge in his wake.

  “Hey, dude. Ol’ Satin’s firin’ up the grill. Said we’re havin’ salmon an’ shit. Far out. Whatcha doin?”

  Crockett handed him a photo of Carol Ann Presley, lying on her back on a dirty cement floor, her torso soaked in blood from neck to upper thighs.

  “Oh, wow, man. This chick didn’t stand a chance. This is some bad shit, Crockett.”

  “Yeah,” Crockett agreed, handing him another photo. The girl was nude on her back atop an autopsy table. The body had been washed. Stitch studied it for a moment.

  “Stabbed to death,” Crockett said.

  Stitch shook his head. “Naw,” he said. “She wasn’t stabbed, man. Stabbin’ takes too long for the desired outcome, ya know? This chick was cut, Crockett. Six times. Took the guy four seconds or less, dude. Probably less. The cat that did this is one nasty sumbitch. One highly trained, severely twisted, heavy-duty, motherfucker. Jesus!” Stitch continued to look at the photo. He seemed pale. “Aw, man,” he said, flopping onto the couch and letting the photo slip from his hand, “this cat is a ghost, Crockett.”

  “A ghost?”

  “Yeah. A flicker in the corner of your eye, man. The squeak of a bedroom window. The rustle of a leaf. That’s all ya get, dude, an’ then your ass is over. Not a damn thing you can do about it either. Your ass is grass, Crockett. They send your saddle home, man.”

  “An assassin?”

  “A ghost, man! Make sappers look like choirboys. Baddest sumbitch in any valley, Crockett.”

  “What, like a ninja or something?”

  “Fuck ninjas, man!” Stitch blurted, launching to his feet and beginning to pace. “This cat is serious!”

  “Take it easy, Stitch.”

  “I heard a these dudes, man. I even seen one of ‘em once. In the ‘Nam. Cat had thirty-seven left ears on a thong, man. Thirty-seven dried up left ears strung together on a piece a rawhide.”

  “Jesus!”

  “I flew a bird Colonel out to a firebase. Got there about dusk. I was sittin’ around outside this gunny’s hooch, tellin’ lies an’ shit about twenty yards inside the wire, man. Concertina razor shit. Extra sentries on duty, whole thing squared boo-coo away, man. Got a full bird in camp, ya know? The place is buttoned-fucking-down. This cat just comes walkin’ in outa the dark, Crockett. Sentries don’t see his ass, wire don’t stop his ass. Strolls in like he owns the place, walks over to the gunny, drops this mess a ears on the ground, and laughs. ‘Thirty-seven this time,’ he says and heads back into the dark. In fifteen seconds, he just ain’t there no more, ya know? Fuckin’ freaked me out, man!”