The captain had not said anything in response, so Darc inferred from his silence that the topic had concluded. He moved closer to the dryer. “Once again, it is imperative that I move the body.”
“So, let me get this straight. McGarren up and left yesterday at lunch. For New Mexico. For no reason?”
This process of communication was inefficient. Speaking more slowly had not seemed to help. Perhaps Darc had not taken the exercise far enough. Another attempt seemed to be in order. Using all of his articulators and resonators to their fullest effect, Darc continued at half the speed of the last time.
“McGarren had a reason. He said, ‘I can’t take this any more. I’m moving to New Mexico.’ Now, in regards to the body—”
“Where is he now?” The captain seemed to be fixated upon McGarren’s location. It might be that if Darc could clarify that with more detail, he could then remain focused on the important matter of Darc moving the body before the M.E. arrived.
The logic streams of information inside Darc’s mind glowed the blue-green that indicated near certainty. “It is 1,437 miles from Seattle to Albuquerque. Accounting for standard speed limits along Interstate 5, it would take 22.1 hours total. Readjusting for McGarren’s innate indolence, that would put him somewhere close to the border between Idaho and Utah.”
Captain Merle shook his head while rubbing his palm against his forehead. “McGarren gone. This is a nightmare. I’m having a nightmare.”
“With all due respect, Captain, McGarren was not of much help during the vast majority of our investigations. He was very skilled at ordering coffee, but had little to offer at a crime scene.” Seeing that the issue now finally seemed to be resolved, Darc made another attempt at redirecting the distracted captain back to the matter at hand. “Captain. I need to move the body.”
The captain waved his hand vaguely. “No. You can’t move the body until the M.E. gets here. You know that.”
That response was… troubling. “Captain, without moving the body, I cannot ascertain enough about this murder to proceed. Every moment that passes increases the percentage of possibility that the perpetrator will escape my reach.”
“Please, Darc. No perp is beyond your reach. You’ll just have to wait for the M.E. like everyone else does.” The captain moved closer to the foot that was sticking out of the dryer, apparently examining the shoe.
“The regulation stating that the body must not be moved until the medical examiner is present is outdated,” Darc explained. “It comes from a time when the local Sheriff was more than likely also the town butcher. I have the training and knowledge base to be able to move the body without tampering with or destroying any forensic evidence.”
“You do?” Captain Merle raised one thick eyebrow, an expression that could be interpreted as questioning, disdain or a nervous twitch. This was the gray area of non-logical emotions, and Darc had no frame of reference for this particular instance.
“I have memorized the manual.”
“Well, memorized or not, you aren’t touching the body.” The captain held up a finger as Darc began to protest. “Ah, ah! No. I said ‘no’.”
“Perhaps if I were to obtain permission from the M.E.?” At this juncture, the examiner should arrive within five-and-a-half minutes, so that, when combined with the captain’s clear intransigence, made the point largely moot for this particular crime scene. However, Darc wanted to assure himself that this never occurred again.
The captain stifled a laugh. “Fine. If you can convince Dr. Murray to give you permission, then go for it.”
Darc could see nothing amusing about this situation at all, but he now had a clear pathway toward his goal of better efficiency at a crime scene. That was the salient fact at this particular moment.
A disturbance at the entrance to the Laundromat pulled Darc’s attention away from the body for a moment. A scruffy-looking man in a hoodie ducked under the police tape and flashed a badge at the uniformed policeman manning the entrance. Interesting. The man did not look like a police officer. If Darc had to guess, he would have said drug dealer. Or pimp.
As the man approached, Captain Merle spoke to Darc in a low voice, “This is Officer Trey Keane from vice. I called him down to see if the victim was a prostitute and this was just a date gone bad. It’s the right area for it. Otherwise…”
Otherwise, the strong possibility was that this was one of Hairless Harry’s victims. Seattle had suffered a string of bizarre killings, all with the same M.O.—the hair of the bodies was completely shaved, with the Roman numeral “XIII” carved into their sternums.
Of course, if the captain would simply allow for the body’s removal, they would know immediately whether or not this was one of their serial killer’s victims. One more reason why logic should take precedence over regulations.
As the vice cop ambled his way down the aisle toward the row of dryers where Darc and Merle awaited, he checked each of the machines, seemingly checking for quarters. He waved at the two of them, a grin plastered on his face. Nodding at the corpse’s leg, Keane clapped his hands together and rubbed them in mock enthusiasm.
“So, we got a 187, extra fluffy?”
CHAPTER 2
Trey wasn’t normally up this early. One of the nice things about working vice was that the hours were a little more… flexible, shall we say? But if he had to be up at dawn, he was going to make the most of it. Like by attempting to get this crusty captain and his frowning sidekick to crack a grin.
It looked like a challenge, but Trey was pretty sure he was up for it—although his best smile hadn’t even made a dent in the serious faces he saw in front of him.
The detective at the captain’s side stepped forward, his eyes two diamond-tipped awls ready to punch holes in Trey’s leather. He was tall, with a shaved head and a close-cropped beard, his eyes heavily lidded but with an intensity to them that was off-putting.
“The code for homicide is 010 in Seattle. One-eighty-seven is for California.”
Okay, so maybe this was going to be a tougher nut to crack than Trey had originally thought. “Dude. Not cool.”
The detective’s face registered almost nothing, but his tone was quizzical. “Cool? What does correcting your error have to do with the temperature?”
“Wow.” Trey glanced at the captain, a large man with a heavy brow, who was currently rubbing with vigor at a spot on his forehead. “So that… that is a response.”
“Officer Keane.” The captain reached out a large hand to shake Trey’s. “Thank you for coming in.” He gestured to the bald detective at this side. “This is Officer Darcmel. You can call him Darc; everyone does. We wanted you to take a look at our vic to see if it was someone you recognized from your beat.”
“Oh, I can tell you right now that this one isn’t one of mine. She’s not a working girl. At least not one who works the streets. High-end escort, possibly.”
“That is impossible to tell without moving the body,” Darc replied, his tone flat. “All we can see is part of her leg and one shoe… a Jimmy Choo knock-off. That fits with what we might expect in terms of a prostitute’s typical attire.”
“Oh, those aren’t knock-offs,” Trey corrected the detective. As he spoke, he watched the man’s spine stiffen. Whatever this guy’s deal was, he didn’t like to be contradicted. “Check out the soles. It says JIMMY CHOO in all caps along the length of the sole, with “London” right underneath. It has “MADE IN ITALY” stamped right above the shoe size. Now, this sole looks like real leather. It should have the words “VERO CUOIO” stamped there, as well. Go ahead. Take a peek. If those are knock-offs, I’ll buy a round of drinks for everyone here.”
Both the captain and Darc perused the sole of the shoe. The captain was satisfied after mere moments, but the bald wonder continued his examination for much longer. Probably looking for something to trip Trey up with. What was Darc’s problem here? It seemed to go beyond simple professional competition. Maybe his blood sugar was low.
“
Dude,” Trey said, looking at Darc. “You had breakfast? Most important meal of the day.”
The detective didn’t turn from his examination of the shoe, but Captain Merle did.
“Thank you, Officer Keane,” The captain said, shaking Trey’s hand once more. “You’ve been a great help. We can now rule this out as a John losing it on a streetwalker.”
“So. This one of Harry’s?” Trey asked. When the captain showed some surprise, Trey continued. “Come on. You can’t turn on the TV without hearing about Seattle’s favorite serial killer. What is it, like five now?”
“Six and counting. If this one turns out to be another, the total will come to seven.” The captain rubbed the same spot on his forehead and turned back to face the dryer and the body within. “We should know pretty quickly once the M.E. shows up.”
“We would know right now if you would simply allow me to move the body,” Darc chimed in, his inspection of the shoe complete.
“Dude. I’m vice, and even I know not to touch the body.” Once again, the bald detective completely ignored what he had to say. Trey was more than a tad surprised by Darc’s statement. For someone who seemed like such a tight-ass, moving a vic without the examiner present seemed like it was way outside standard procedure.
Maybe there was more to this guy than was evident at first glance. But whatever that “more” might be, Trey just couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. He’d done his job here. Time to get back to bed.
“All right, guys.” Trey nodded to the two in front of him. “I’m out. Let me know if there’s ever anything more vice can do for you gents.” He tipped an imaginary hat at the captain, whose lips twitched slightly in an upward direction. Okay, so one out of two wasn’t so bad.
Although the thoughtful look the captain was giving Trey as he turned on his heel to leave was more than a little disconcerting.
* * *
The annoying vice cop was gone. The manner in which Officer Keane had ascertained the veracity of the brand of shoe had been mildly impressive, but upon further reflection, Darc assessed that the possibility of needing that kind of expertise in a future homicide was less than 1%. Statistically, not of extreme importance.
Darc turned to the captain, ready to press his case on the merits of early body removal, when more noise came from the front of the Laundromat. It was the C.S.I. team, including the M.E., making their way through the glass door with all of their equipment. The examiner’s assistant, Billy, was looking around the area, a large grin plastered on his face. The medical examiner himself had surpassed Darc’s estimate by two full minutes, which indicated that Dr. Murray had more than likely exceeded the posted speed limit. By quite a large margin.
Considering the nature of the request Darc was about to make of him, it might be advisable not to bring that bit of intelligence to bear in his conversation with the examiner. This was another of those murky gray areas for Darc, but it seemed that one of his previous partners had mentioned something along those lines. If only Darc could get a codified system of rules for social interaction, the whole process could be streamlined.
“What have we got?” Dr. Murray called out as he moved toward the back of the Laundromat. Darc started to respond that they had no idea what they had because they had, as yet, been unable to move the body, when the captain spoke in his stead.
“Looks like it may be one of our Hairless Harry vics.”
“Well, let’s get in there and see, shall we?”
Darc assumed that Dr. Murray’s use of the plural pronoun was not literal, as he had already been blocked once from touching the body, or even the door to the dryer. The C.S.I. team swarmed over the area, snapping pictures, taking swabs, lifting fingerprints. This was the other difficulty with having to wait for the M.E. There were always delays above and beyond the simple wait for the man to arrive.
While he was waiting, Darc pulled one of the investigators aside and put in a request for the team to pull video footage from all the traffic cameras in the area. While not probable, they might be able to track the killer by his license plate number.
The captain spoke to Dr. Murray, his tone respectful. “Doctor, if the body shows the other markers, make sure to take samples from under the fingernails. The one DNA sample we have so far showed the perp to be male, but was too badly degraded for any further analysis. I’m hoping we can get something useable here.”
The examiner nodded, his attention fully riveted to the body now emerging from its mechanical cocoon. Moving toward the body, the doctor pulled on his latex gloves, prepping for his initial inspection. His assistant was jabbering away at the doctor’s side.
“I hope this is one of Harry’s. That would be awesome. Have you noticed the consistency of the size of the Roman numerals? Almost like it was stenciled on before he made the cuts. And how he managed to shave them down while they were still alive, get their clothes back on them and still escape? This guy’s the real deal.”
“Billy, please,” the M.E. muttered. “Could you maybe ratchet the enthusiasm down a notch? It’s a little creepy.”
The assistant did seem to know quite a lot about the case. Darc wondered if perhaps Billy had been assisting on the other autopsies. If not, the amount of detail indicated some intensive research on the part of the young man. Curious. The M.E. and his assistant arrived next to the dryer and prepared to extract the corpse of the young lady.
Realizing that once the M.E. was fully engaged with the body he might not get another chance, Darc moved in closer to the doctor. When it was necessary to gain someone’s attention, there was a protocol. The mechanics of that protocol seemed straightforward, so far as Darc could ascertain, although this was moving into gray territory. It involved making a noise that could be interpreted as involuntary but that would elicit a response to the auditory stimulus.
Darc sneezed.
Dr. Murray started, spinning around on his heel to face Darc. The protocol had been successful.
“Detective Darcmel. Are you getting sick?” the examiner asked.
“No. It was a ruse performed to gain your focus momentarily.” As Darc replied, the doctor’s expression changed. His lips tightened into a straight line and his jaw clenched. Irritation or nausea. Nausea was a not-uncommon response to dead bodies, although a medical examiner should be well beyond such kneejerk reactions at this stage.
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
“I need your permission to be able to move bodies before you arrive.”
The examiner snorted, a smile pulling his lips upward. Once again, Darc was left baffled by the gray world of emotional responses. First the captain, and now this doctor. What about his request had been amusing? Dr. Murray dug around in his equipment, looking for some sort of tool to help him in his examination. He spoke over his shoulder.
“Hey, there are days where I feel like I could use all the help I can get.”
Finally, a response that made some logical sense. Darc turned to see if Captain Merle had been listening in on their conversation, when his attention was drawn to the front entrance.
Officer Keane was back, carrying a brown paper sack and a drink holder in one hand, and holding the door open with the other. He was leaning against the doorframe, chatting with an attractive woman in a sharp suit and a turtleneck. Something about her attire, combined with the precision of her hairstyling and speech, caused several glowing lines of logic to separate themselves from the conversation and wind their way inside of Darc’s mind. As the lines began to coalesce, Darc saw the pattern just as Captain Merle moved toward the entrance.
“Is that Officer Keane over there chatting with a reporter?” he growled.
The gleaming lines confirmed the fact that the woman with whom Keane was speaking was, in all probability, a reporter. Darc followed the captain up to the front of the Laundromat.
The reporter had long, flowing dark hair, and blue eyes that had been accentuated by makeup with an expert’s touch. She appeared to be wearing false e
yelashes, as well. Her figure was full through her torso, slim through the hips and legs. Calculating the circumference of her chest, Darc assessed that she wore a size 36D bra. The woman was an almost exaggerated version of the feminine ideal. It was no wonder the vice cop seemed entranced by her.
Something about the way the captain approached must have alerted the woman, as she smoothly detached herself from the conversation and turned her attention to the new threat. The reporter extended her hand in greeting.
“You look like you’re in charge here,” the reporter oozed, turning up the wattage on her smile. The captain ignored the hand, but the smile only flickered for a moment. “My name’s Tracy Hendricks. I was just about to ask this gentleman if he knew whether or not we have a confirmed Hairless Harry attack here.”
“You’ll have to wait for that information, just like we will. I hope you can understand that discussing the details of a case can keep us from closing it. I trust that keeping the citizens of Seattle safe is as much a priority for you as it is for us.” The coolness of the captain’s tone belied the meaning of his words.
“Certainly,” Tracy demurred. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your investigation.”
“Then if you wouldn’t mind staying back from the entrance to the crime scene…” the captain tossed over his shoulder as he turned to walk back into the Laundromat. “Keane, I need to talk with you.”
“Uh, sure,” the vice cop gave the reporter a half smile and slid the card she offered him into the pocket of his hoodie before joining the captain at the back. “Oh, hey,” Keane said, holding out the bag in his hand towards Darc. “This is for you.”
Darc took the bag and opened it up. Inside the bag was something wrapped up in brown paper. “What’s this?”
“Breakfast, dude. Remember, most important meal of the day? You’re looking a little low on blood sugar, so I got you a bagel with cream cheese and lox. I’m personally more of a breakfast meat kinda guy, but it was a kosher deli, so… no delicious pork, ya know? Oh, and a beverage to wash it down with.” He held out a plastic cup filled with what looked like fresh squeezed orange juice.
Down & Dirty: A McCray Crime Collection Page 31