Brooklyn Blue: A Madison Knox Mystery (Book 1)

by M. Z. Kelly

“Figures,” Amy said. “You got the perfect personality for working with dead bodies.”

  “I’ve never heard of Cromwell U,” Max told him.

  “It happens to be the most prestigious institution of its kind in Europe.”

  “It’s probably in Transylvania,” Amy said, chuckling.

  Thorndike put his hands on his hips and spat, “I don’t have to stand here and listen to your insults.”

  I’d had enough of his condescending attitude. “Just start walking and show us around the place before my friend calls your boss.”

  After a brief protest and a couple harrumphs, our reluctant host began the tour, leading us into the main cathedral and providing some commentary. “The memorial chapel was built in the late 1800s after the cemetery grounds were developed by the Balfour family. It’s my understanding that Mr. Funk’s relatives built it as a replica of a similar establishment in eastern Europe.”

  Amy looked at us. “Transylvania. I rest my case.”

  “I simply won’t stand for these continual insults,” Thorndike told her.

  “Then lay down,” Max said. “We’ll be happy to insult you in the prone position.” She and Amy did another fist bump. I got the impression they’d formed an instant bond.

  “Let’s continue the tour,” I said, before Thorndike could go on another meltdown.

  We were led through a series of small rooms adjacent to the main cathedral before our guide toddled down a stone covered hallway, lit only by sconces, with us following behind. He stopped at a large wooden door and turned to us. “This is the embalming and body preparation suite.” He grinned for the first time since we’d met him. “I hope none of you have a weak stomach.”

  “My friends are cops,” Amy said. “And I’m from Jersey, where dead bodies are one of the chief exports.”

  Thorndike rolled his eyes and the door creaked open. “Suit yourselves.”

  We followed him into the dim workroom, where the smell reminded me of all the morgues I’d ever been in, without the antiseptic smell to cover it up.

  Then my eyes adjusted to the lighting and I gasped. “What the hell?”

  “It looks like a butcher shop in my old neighborhood,” Amy said.

  “Or Frankenstein’s laboratory,” Max offered.

  “These are the Cumberlands,” Thorndike explained, referencing the body parts strewn around the area. “They were in an automobile accident. I was working on the reassembly when you rang the bell. It’s a bit like putting a puzzle together.”

  The place reminded me of a mass murderer’s basement I’d once been in. A stainless steel table was covered with saws, knives, a staple gun, and a tub of putty. Arms, legs, torsos, and some body parts I wasn’t able to identify, were stacked on a nearby shelf.

  “He really is Frankenstein,” Amy said. She looked at Thorndike. “Are you in the process of making a monster?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous…”

  Max interrupted, saying, “I’ll bet you got Jeffrey Dahmer somewhere in a back room, making a stew.”

  “I’ve had it with your outrageous comments,” Thorndike said.

  “Get over it,” Amy said, “or we’ll call Mr. Funk and let him see what’s going on here.”

  “Let’s move on, see the caretaker’s quarters,” I said, trying to take the edge off things.

  Thorndike huffed out several breaths, but finally led us out of his embalming station and down another hallway. He stopped at a large wooden door and said, “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?” Max said.

  Our reluctant host opened the door, which revealed a stairway leading to the basement. “The living quarters are quite luxurious.”

  We all tramped downstairs after him where we found the caretaker’s accommodations. There was a comfortable living room, with an adjacent kitchen, and three separate bedrooms, each with its own bath. After making a circuit of the space, we met up in the living room again, where a stone fireplace formed the centerpiece of the room. Despite it being around freezing outside, we found the area to be warm and cozy.

  “This place is awesome,” Amy said to Max and me. “And I was able to get Mr. Funk to cut us a deal on the rent—six hundred apiece.”

  “That works for me,” Max said.

  I’d agreed to the amount before Thorndike said, “Not so fast. You didn’t ask me about the bad news.”

  Amy stepped forward. “Alright, Igor. Lay it on us. What’s the bad news?”

  The odd little man smiled and walked over to a curtain that covered one wall. “If you decide to live here, I’m afraid you’re going to have several companions.” He pulled the drawstring, and the curtain opened, revealing several rows of freezers, like you’d see in a morgue. “These are unclaimed bodies. Each of them will be buried in the potter’s field section of the cemetery if they remain unclaimed for a period of one year. In the meantime, they’ll be your responsibility. If you decide to move in, you will be living with the dead.”

  SEVENTEEN

  We finished our tour of Funk’s Fields and said goodbye to our odd little host, who had slammed the door behind us. Amy then suggested that we go down the block to Elmer’s Diner for pie and coffee to discuss our potential living arrangements.

  Max said she was in the mood for ice cream and ordered a big bowl of strawberry, while Amy ordered cherry pie, and I had a muffin.

  My new partner then gave us her thoughts on our potential living quarters. “I got me a lot of vibes when we were in that place, some of ‘em not so good.”

  “I don’t think it was so bad for a place full of body parts and the creepiest little bastard in the known universe,” Amy said. She looked at me. “And it’s better than taking a shower with Mojo’s penis staring up at you.”

  “I can’t disagree with that,” I said. I then looked at Max. “What kind of vibes did you get?”

  “I think some of them bodies in the freezer mighta died under suspicious circumstances. I sometimes hear voices, along with the vibrations I get, and they were telling me some bad shit went down.”

  I sighed. “So, what you’re saying is that if we decide to move in together, we’ll be living with a bunch of murder victims?”

  “I don’t think all of ‘em was whacked. Maybe just a couple.”

  “I say we go for it,” Amy said. “If we solve a murder or two along the way, we might even end up heroes.”

  We took a few minutes, weighing the pros and cons of moving in, before deciding we didn’t really have any other options. Both Max and Amy would be homeless if they didn’t move in, and I’d forever be suffering from post penis shower trauma and fending off a rapist if I continued living with my aunt and uncle.

  My gaze moved between my two friends as they chatted about dead bodies and murders for a couple minutes. I decided that if we were all going to live together, we’d need to be upfront about everything—that included Max and me looking into the kidnapped girls, and me assisting Amy regarding the disappearance of Billy Cornelius.

  I took a couple minutes, telling them about my thoughts. They both agreed that we should put all our cards on the table. We spent the next half hour going over both investigations in detail until everyone was up to speed.

  Max savored a spoonful of ice cream, then offered, “Maybe all three of us can work together on some of this stuff. ‘Course, our work needs to be off the record. We’re gonna have to swear an oath to keep everything a secret and watch each other’s backs.”

  “You mean like a women’s secret crime fighting club?” I said.

  “Exactly,” Amy offered. “She held out her little finger. “And, just to make it official, we gotta do a fuck swear.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s the Jersey version of a pinky swear. You both need to lock your pinkies with mine and repeat after me.”

  We all interlaced fingers, repeated what Amy said, and laughed as we pledged our allegiance to one another. “We hereby fuckswear dat whudev
er happens, we won’t tawk ‘bout nothin’, and support one another. If we rat, we will forever be considered the world’s biggest douchebags.”

  It was official. The three of us were now forever bound together in solemn solidarity. We were friends and soulmates for life.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Nooo! Please, stop!”

  Maria woke up with a start and sat up in bed. Christina had been gone several hours, but she was sure she was hearing her voice. She was crying, pleading with Peter and Danny to stop hitting her.

  “Let her go!” Maria screamed, after going over and standing beneath the room where she heard their voices. “She doesn’t mean you any harm.”

  The crying and screaming went on for several minutes, but then abruptly stopped. Maria wondered if Christina was dead. A depression settled over her when she thought about being in the house without her friend.

  Several minutes passed before the door to the basement swung open and Christina was pushed down the stairway. She tumbled into a heap at the bottom of the stairs, moaning. Maria rushed over to her, seeing there was blood trickling from her mouth.

  “What happened?” Maria asked, pushing the dark hair out of Christina’s eyes.

  It took her friend almost a full minute to respond. “I got down…the street…a man in a store let me use his phone, but…” Her voice trailed off as she broke down crying.

  “Did you call the police?” Maria whispered, hearing Peter’s voice somewhere upstairs.

  “I tried…but Danny found me. He brought me back…before I could make the call…I’m sorry.” She broke down again.

  “It’s not your fault.” Maria considered what might have happened. “Maybe the man who let you use his phone called the police.”

  Maria tried to sit up, but groaned, clutching her ribs. “You don’t understand. They’re going…”

  The door to the basement swung open again. Seconds later, Peter was there with a roll of tape. Christina screamed as he roughly bound her hands, before placing a gag in her mouth.

  “Please don’t do this,” Maria pleaded when Peter went to work on her, now tying her hands. “Let us go. I promise we won’t say anything.”

  Peter laughed as he faced her. “You and your little friend are going to get something extra special. I’ll see to it personally.”

  A gag was jammed into her mouth. Danny then came into the basement, telling Peter, “The others are ready.” He then tossed Peter a couple pillowcases. Seconds later, Maria’s world turned black as the coverings were placed, first over Christina’s head, then over her own.

  The next few minutes were a combination of pain, terror, and disorientation. She and Christina were forced up the stairway from the basement. Maria heard her friend’s muffled cries as they were marched out of the house with the other girls. Moments later, they were all in the back of the van, being tossed from side to side as it made its way down the street.

  Maria had no idea where Peter and Danny were taking them. All she did know for sure was that Peter would make good on his word. If she and Christina survived whatever he had planned for them, she knew that when the men were finished punishing them, they would wish they were dead.

  NINETEEN

  The next day, Amy made official arrangements with Alex Funk for us all to rent the caretaker’s basement at his cemetery. She even managed to talk him down to each of us paying only five hundred a month in rent, provided we agreed to do occasional security work at the cemetery.

  When Amy mentioned our encounter with Thorndike, Funk had agreed that his mortician was a bit eccentric, but said we’d just have to find a way to all get along. She’d made arrangements for us to move in over the weekend.

  Amy also managed to get a lead on Billy Cornelius’s cousin, Asia, and I agreed to try to help find her after work. Max and I then spent our morning listening to Lieutenant Dimwit’s lecture on the fundamentals of arrest, search, and seizure. Carmine O’Brien suffered his own kind of seizure during the talk, falling asleep and snoring loud enough so that the lieutenant took notice and issued him a written reprimand. Max and I decided there was justice in the world, after all.

  We were excited when we were told our afternoon assignment involved going back to John Jay Park to look for our indecent exposure suspect. The afternoon was warmer than our previous visit and, as we walked through the park, we saw there was a scattering of kids on the play equipment. Our patrol was uneventful until late in the day when we heard someone screaming.

  “He’s got his pants down!” a woman yelled, pointing in the direction of a muscular man standing near a swing set where a couple kids were playing.

  Max and I quickly covered the distance to our suspect as he fumbled with his pants, trying to pull them back up.

  “Police,” Max said, holding her badge up with one hand and finding her service weapon with the other. I found my own weapon as she said, “Raise your hands.”

  Unfortunately, our perp complied, causing his pants to fall down around his ankles. He then panicked and tried to run, but tripped over his trousers. We both went over to him, held him down, and managed to get him in cuffs.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you showing off your privates?” Max said, after rolling him back over, so he was face up. “And that’s the sorriest lookin’ little pecker I ever seen.”

  She was right. Even though our suspect was muscle-bound from probably constant workouts, his most important muscle was miniscule.

  “You don’t…un…understand,” the man, who we recognized as Rod “The Bod” Walker from his mug shot, stammered. “I’ve got a...a mm…medical condition.”

  “Yeah,” Max agreed. “It’s called having a miniature wiener. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Rod began crying. “It’s be…because of my mm…medication.”

  “Steroids,” I said, getting up and brushing off my pants.

  While he confirmed what I’d said, Max also got on her feet and looked at me. “How the hell we gonna get his pants up with him handcuffed? There’s kids on the playground. They’ll probably be traumatized for life if we march him out of here and they see his tiny pecker.”

  “Please…don’t arrest me,” our perp pleaded.

  “Shut up,” I said, irritated at the prospect of having to deal with him. I said to Max, “Let me glove up, and I’ll see if I can get his pants up.”

  While I found a pair of latex gloves in my pocket and put them on, Max brought out a photograph she’d obtained of Maria Ramirez from her friend in the records bureau and showed it to him. “You ever seen this girl?”

  Rod shook his head, but didn’t verbally respond.

  “You sure?” Max said. “’Cause she was taken from this park about a week ago, probably by a pervert like you.”

  “I…I didn’t do it…but I saw something.”

  Max bent closer to him. “Don’t lie to me.”

  He continued to snivel. “I’m not lying. Cut me a d…deal, let me gg…go and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “Start talking,” Max demanded.

  “The girl…I saw the guy who took her.”

  Max looked at me, raised a brow, and then said to our suspect, “Let’s hear everything you know.”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “Depends on what you tell us.”

  “The guy was hanging around the park all day. I could tell right away he was looking for a girl. He grabbed her when she was tying her shoes, and put her in his van.”

  “What’d this guy look like?”

  “About forty, longish gray-brown hair.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” I said, snapping one of my latex gloves against my wrist. “Unless you’ve got something more…”

  “Wait. I wrote down the license plate. It’s in my front pocket, right side.”

  I took a breath, ignored his tiny member, and reached down. I found the plate number written on the back of an envelope. I showed it to Max. “Do you think your friend Rosie can run it?”
/>   “Give me five.”

  While she was gone, I pumped our suspect for additional details about Maria Ramirez’s kidnapping, but didn’t get much. It still seemed likely to me that whoever took her was either someone working in the sex trade or an independent operator who was taking girls for the trade. None of that bode well for our victim.

  Max called me over to her a couple minutes later. “The plate comes back to a guy named Peter Baylor who lives in Queens. And I got some bad news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Rosie found out another girl was just taken from a street a few blocks over from that address a couple of days ago. We gotta act quick if we got any chance of saving her.”

  Max and I huddled, discussing what we now knew. We decided we had no choice but to inform Lieutenant Dennert of the situation. To his credit, Dennert made several calls and arranged for us to meet with some detectives at the address where Baylor lived in Queens. We managed to get Rod’s pants up, and him in the car, before making our way to Queens.

  “You guys hang back,” a detective named Johnny Drake told us after we met up with him on the street. We left Rod in our car. “We’ll check the house.”

  We waited on the street as Drake and his partner knocked on the door, not getting a response. One of the detectives found a side door open and went in, making a cursory check of the house. A few minutes later, they all came back over to Max and me.

  “House is vacant,” Drake said. He jutted his chin toward Rod, who was handcuffed in the back of our car. “What makes you think he’s telling the truth?”

  Max and I took a few minutes, going over what we knew about the disappearance of Maria Ramirez, the other girls who had gone missing, and what Rod the Bod had said about the man who had taken her.

  Max then summed up our suspicions. “It could be there’s a sex ring operating, and they’ve taken the girls for their circuit, including the girl taken two streets over from here.”

  Drake had a smirk on his face. “It could also be that you’re jumping to conclusions. You can go book your wiener waver. We’ll take things from here.”