“Damn,” Sharon said, standing and tossing an empty pizza box into the trash can. “Don’t know what to tell you, honey. But if an addict wants something bad enough, they’ll find a way.”
Staff in a busy county hospital tend to eat on the go, and they were almost done eating. If I didn’t move the conversation along, I’d risk losing them. I pulled out a photo from Lydia’s autopsy and handed it off to be passed around. “Anyone see bruising like this on the back of a patient’s neck?”
Everyone took their turn studying the bruise before shaking their head. More staff shuffled into the room as the first group shuffled out. Thirty minutes later, I’d talked to everyone on shift, including the security guards and the janitor. I was cleaning up the breakroom when Erica popped her head back through the door.
“Still hungry? There’s two slices left,” I said as I washed the table.
“Goodness no,” she said, laughing. “I ate three, and that was after eating a sandwich an hour earlier.”
“My kind of girl.” I rinsed the dishrag in the sink. “What can I do for you?”
“That bruise in the autopsy photo,” she said, taking another step into the room. “I think I have seen it before.”
“Any details you can share?” I asked. Privacy laws would prevent her from giving me the full details, but the nurses were good at navigating the line and asking me to get a warrant if the line was too far into federal lawbreaking territory.
“I don’t remember all the details. The patient was a heart attack victim. After he was pronounced, I was prepping the body when we moved him and I saw the mark. It wasn’t a bruise, though. It looked more like a red welt.”
“Like a wound that hadn’t bruised yet?”
Erica shrugged. “Maybe. I just remember it was about three inches tall but ran straight across the back of his neck. It was an unusual marking. I noted it in the file.”
“Do you remember how long ago this was?”
She placed her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Maybe a year ago? Gosh—I’m not sure. It’s been a while. If it helps, he died before he got here. Paramedics tried to revive him, but he’d been down a while before he was wheeled in here.”
“Okay. I can work with that.”
Erica smiled. “Really?”
“I’ll task a grunt with searching death certificate records for heart attack victims.”
“Now there’s a horrible job. There’ll be thousands of death certificates. Talk about a needle in a haystack.”
“But if we find that one needle, it could hold all the answers.” Throwing my handbag over my shoulder, I tucked Lydia’s autopsy file under my arm. “And now, I’m off to see a man about sexual asphyxiation.”
“Ewe.”
“Agreed. Stay safe. And thanks for the info,” I said before leaving.
~*~*~
On the way to the Outer Layer, I called Quille and asked for a researcher. He assigned me the young and incompetent Detective Gibson. I knew Quille had assigned me Gibson as punishment for Danny Rickers’ missing fingertips which I.A. was now investigating. And the reason I knew was because Quille spent ten minutes screeching at me, telling me that was why I was getting stuck with Gibson. As much as I wanted to argue, I decided it was best to roll with it.
Next, I called Gibson, tasking him with three jobs: Find the heart attack victim, pull the files on Terri Weston’s murder, and pull any crime files in the last five years that involved morphine. The last one was triggered by the story of the kid trying to steal a morphine drip machine from the hospital. I wondered if the kid was just stupid or if he had other reasons for his failed adventure. It seemed an odd enough story that broadening the search seemed reasonable.
Then I told Gibson to bring everything he could gather on all three requests to Hibiscus park. He started choking when I told him he had forty-five minutes to meet me there. I disconnected before he could whine any complaints.
Entering the Outer Layer via the private entrance, I took the elevator to the third floor. Stepping into The Parlor, I spotted Evie sitting at the bar talking to Eddy, another bartender.
I looked next to the elevator, then upward. “Garth,” I said, nodding to him.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Harrison,” Garth replied with a slight grin. “Will you need any transportation changes today?”
“Do I still have any vehicles here?”
“Only the truck.”
I imagined the beat-up, rusty, short-bed truck parked outside the mansion, and my mood lightened. “I’ll have someone take the truck on the next visit. It might come in handy.”
Garth inclined his head but didn’t say anything.
“If I watch Evie, do you mind running upstairs and asking Baker to compile a list of sexual chokers?”
Garth flashed his teeth in his version of a smile. “You don’t want him to explain the intricate details of sexual asphyxiation?”
I scrunched my nose in disgust, but my nose was still bruised and I quickly regretted it as my eyes watered. “I was hoping to skip the educational speech. I just need names and phone numbers.”
“I understand. He can sometimes get carried away explaining the details. Stay with Evie until I return so Baker doesn’t have a meltdown.”
Garth left in the elevator as I walked across the room and sat next to Evie.
“Anything new?” she asked as Eddy set a mojito on a coaster in front of me.
“I need more details. That’s why I’m here. Anything you can share about your ex? Any scars, tattoos, names, dates, places?”
“No scars or tattoos. He was too secretive to mention any names, and he liked to stay inside.”
“Tell me about that. Where did you guys live? Your place? His place?”
“He owned a condo near downtown. It was swanky. I kept my apartment, but I practically lived at his place.”
I handed her a piece of paper and asked her to write down the address. “I have a photo, but it’s black and white and he’s wearing sunglasses. Is this him? Xander?”
“Yeah.” She took the phone, studying it. “Did you get this from my old job?”
“Spence did. We can’t make out his features, though. Does he have any ethnic traits?”
“He does have light brown skin, but I couldn’t tell you anything about his family’s origin. He doesn’t speak with an accent.”
“Does he speak any foreign languages?”
Evie took a long moment to think. When she remembered something, her face lit up and she started bouncing in her chair. “Yes! He yelled at a parking valet once in Spanish!”
I didn’t tell her that I could also swear at someone in Spanish. “How often did he come to Georgia? Was there a pattern to his visits?”
“Once or twice a month, but I never knew when. And he’d only stay for a few days, then take off again. I seldom heard from him when he was away, but if I wasn’t at either work or the condo when he came to town, he’d get mad.”
“Mad, like how?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Not violent. Xander was more strategic than that. He’d somehow make me feel bad for disappointing him.”
“That’s helpful,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“How does that help?”
“When I find him, knowing he’s controlling, manipulative even, will help me figure out how to handle him.”
Garth returned and handed me a folded piece of paper. We exchanged smiles and I slid the paper into my handbag without reading. He wordlessly returned to his post next to the elevator as a waiter walked over and set plates in front of Evie and me. Baker must’ve ordered us lunch. Since I had only consumed two bites of my pizza earlier, throwing the rest away after it had gone cold, I didn’t complain.
Evie waited until the waiter left before speaking. “Since we don’t know Xander’s real name, how are you going to find him?”
“The condo address. It’s not easy hiding real estate. I should’ve asked you for the details long befo
re now, but I’ve been busy. Sorry.”
She unfolded the cloth napkin, placing it gracefully across her lap. “And when you find him? Will he be arrested?”
I glanced at my napkin but decided it wasn’t worth it as I picked up half of my sandwich. “For what? Even the recording of him talking about the dentist office doesn’t prove he’s involved in a crime.”
“But he’s talking about prostitutes,” she said as she used her fork to pick at her vegetables.
“I talked several times today about prostitutes. We are now talking about prostitutes. What does that prove?”
I took a huge bite of my sandwich and moaned. Double-decker BLT with cheese on thin-cut toast and dripping with real mayo. Mmm. It wasn’t on the menu, but the chef enjoyed spoiling me with all my favorites. As I swallowed, I looked back at Evie and saw she was grinning at me.
“I know you’re jealous,” I mumbled between bites.
Chapter Thirty-Five
CHARLIE
Tuesday, 1:26 p.m.
I devoured my lunch in record time before excusing myself and leaving. After picking Beast up from the morgue, I raced across town to Hibiscus park to meet Gibson. En route to the park, I called Tech and asked if he could spare time to run the condo address. He said he could probably get to it in a couple hours. He sounded frazzled. I called Spence instead. He took the address down and said he’d make it a priority. With any luck, we’d have Xander’s real name soon.
Forced to park near a hotdog vendor, I held my breath after getting a whiff of sauerkraut. I hurried to let Beast out of the back before we jogged into the park, me trying to distance myself from the vendor. The scent of sauerkraut on a steamy ninety-degree day was not something that appealed to me.
Once out of whiffing distance, I slowed and Beast trotted beside me. My knee was protesting the brief stint of exercise, warning me not to push my luck. We followed the jogging trail until I spotted Gibson. Stacked next to him were three archive boxes with a laptop sitting on the top box.
“I’m supposed to report back if your bodyguards aren’t with you,” Gibson said, looking behind me.
“Beast is with me,” I said, pointing to the dog. “He’s my security detail.”
“I’m not sure that’s what Sergeant Quille meant.”
“Let me explain how this works. If you tattle on me, then I tattle on you. Which one of us do you think will get fired first? The rookie detective already on the shit list? Or the detective who’s always on the shit list but closed the highest number of homicide cases for three years running?”
“Well, when you consider all the data,” Gibson said, looking down at Beast. “He does look like a trained bodyguard.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, what’s all this?” I asked, waving a hand at the boxes.
“They’re not all full, but I wanted to keep the information separate,” he said, pointing from top to bottom as he explained each box. “The top box has information on any crime that contained the word morphine. Natalie in the research unit ran that request. I can’t take the credit, and I didn’t have time to read anything.”
“So far I approve. Doling out tasks to get me the information within a limited time window and giving credit to others when deserved… Very good, Gibson. Maybe you’re not a jackass after all.”
“Uh, thanks?” He loosened his tie as he continued, “I worked on the second box, pulling the files on the murder case. The boyfriend is currently serving twenty years. The theory presented in court was that he proposed to her, she said no, and then he attacked her in the park, stabbing her in the leg.”
“Any explanation for the bruise on the back of her neck?”
“You already know the details?”
“Only the highlights and the autopsy report.”
“I saw the comment on the bruise and figured that was your angle,” he said nodding. “Told the other detective as much. He said—”
“Wait—” I said, holding up a hand to stop him. “What? You talked to the detectives assigned to the case?”
“Don’t worry. I gave you the credit. Said you were following a lead,” he said, proud of himself.
Newbies. They frustrated the crap out of me. “Who exactly did you speak with?”
“Just Detective Chambers. His partner transferred to another unit.”
I heard footsteps approaching and pivoted, pulling my weapon as I blocked Gibson with my body. A man in a worn suit, bags under his eyes, and a lopsided grin, raised his hands as he continued forward.
“That’s him,” Gibson said.
My irritation was escalating at a very fast pace. “That’s who, Gibson?”
“Detective Chambers. Why are you aiming a gun at him?”
“A sniper tried to kill her yesterday, Gibson,” Detective Chambers said, slowly pulling his suit jacket back to show me his badge. “Next time, warn her when you invite someone else to your meeting in a desolate park.”
“I was getting to that part.”
“Talk faster next time,” I said as I holstered my weapon. I looked over at Chambers. “Wanna take him off our hands? I’m sure my boss wouldn’t miss him if he were transferred.”
“No thanks. We’ve got one of our own already. But Gibson’s got potential. He somehow convinced me to drop what I was working on, help him gather copies of everything I had on the case, and meet you here.”
“And how did a newbie manage all that?”
“It helped that this case never settled right with me. I walked into the middle of it when I came back from vacation. My partner had already worked the scene, questioned the boyfriend, and was talking to the DA’s office. I only met the boyfriend once, but he seemed solid. I don’t know. Takes all kinds I guess.”
“What’s the story on your partner?”
“Took a bullet to the leg six months ago. He’s pushing paper until he hits the early retirement target. Still works in our unit, just works research.”
“Good detective?”
“Solid, honest guy. I consider him a friend. We were partnered together for eight years.”
“But?”
He glanced at Gibson. I glanced at Gibson. Gibson’s head swiveled back and forth. He was eagerly observing every word.
“Take a walk, Gibson,” I said.
“Now?”
“Yes, and take Beast with you,” I said, digging out a plastic bag and handing it to him. “He hasn’t had a bathroom break in a while.”
Gibson took the bag and started down the path to the main grass area. I looked at Beast, then pointed at Gibson. “Go with the newbie.” Beast trotted off in that direction.
I looked back at Chambers and waited.
“Off the record?” he asked.
I tipped my head in a slight nod.
“Pete Watkins is a good cop. I just want to make that clear first. But as a detective, he cut corners, moved too fast. He missed a lot of details.”
“Better follower, than leader.”
“Exactly. He’d work a case beside me with the energy of an English terrier, but he always needed someone pointing him in the right direction.”
While thinking, I glanced down the path and saw Beast hunched over, already doing his business. Gibson’s face was scrunched in disgust. I felt just as squeamish at the thought of picking up dog poo with one of those plastic bags, so I turned my attention back to Chambers. What he was saying made sense. Gibson had also tried closing a double homicide case using a rushed theory. That didn’t mean he was a bad person. It just meant he wasn’t ready to run a case solo. “Okay, if Watkins had been overenthusiastic when he arrested the boyfriend, why didn’t the DA toss the case back to PD?”
“The murder hit the media. The DA’s office was in a hurry to pin a face to the crime. It was an election year.”
“Isn’t it always an election year?” I looked skyward, trying to let my emotions settle. Most cops had felt the pressure to close a case too early because of the media. “You weren’t on the case directly then,
but you went through the files?”
“I reviewed a very thin file, but yes, when I returned from my trip I went through the report.”
Gibson and Beast returned, Gibson carrying the plastic bag out in front of him.
“It’s not evidence, Gibson. You don’t have to keep it,” I said, pointing to the trash bin.
“Right,” he said, jogging over to throw the bag away. “Did I miss anything?”
“No,” I said before turning back to Chambers.
Chambers walked to the edge of the path, near the park bench. “She was found over here,” he said as he pointed to a section of grass about ten feet away. “There were signs of a struggle. She had bruising on her hands and neck, but the deep gash on her leg is what killed her.”
“He cut an artery. The injury itself is weird, though.” I opened the file I’d brought with me and flipped to the autopsy photos. “See here,” I said, showing him the photo with the notations. “The wound angle indicates she was facing away from her attacker and was somehow stabbed upward into her thigh?”
“I never noticed that,” he said, taking the file and reading the details. “How does that even work?”
“We need bean-bag Bert,” I mumbled.
“I love that guy,” Chambers said, chuckling. “Tasha’s not too bad either.”
“Gibson, I need you to play the role of Terri Weston.”
“You want me to walk down the path, then jog toward you?” Gibson asked.
“No, just come over here,” I said, having him follow me into the grass. “Now turn your back to me.”
I held an invisible knife in my hands, but as I tested out several fake stabbings, they didn’t add up to the injury in the victim.
“Gibson,” Chambers said. “Lie on your stomach with your arms and legs slightly separated as if you were knocked down, and you’re trying to climb up that incline.”
Gibson flattened himself on the grass and in slow motion, inched his way up the small hill.
“Terri was small,” I said, starting to understand. “Her attacker was likely a man. They fought while still on the path.” I walked over to the path. “He grabs her, trying to pull her toward the brush.”
Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Page 22