by Arjay Lewis
“Maybe she put a spell on you, too.” Luis took another sip.
“No one believes in spells.” Eddie touched the button on his phone. “Berman.”
Luis watched his partner's expression grow hard.
“Where?” Eddie listened intently.
Luis exhaled heavily. Time to go to work, but he knew not to get his hopes up. Since he and Eddie had been transferred to the Central Park Precinct, they didn’t get any interesting cases.
“Probably a damn cat stuck in a tree,” muttered Luis. “Or a frickin’ pigeon swiped somebody’s wallet.”
“Got it,” Eddie said to the phone. “Give us five minutes.”
Luis moved to the passenger side of the vehicle as Eddie put away the phone and unlocked the doors. They got in, and Eddie pulled the car out from the illegal parking space which blocked a fire hydrant.
“What’s up?” Luis tried not to get his hopes up.
“A homicide.”
“A homicide?” Luis repeated, excited. “A full-blown murder? They goin’ to let us work the case?”
“I don’t know. Someone offed a homeless guy in the park, and we got the call.” Eddie drove carefully into traffic.
“Why would anyone want to kill one of them?” Luis said.
“Whoever did it wanted him very dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“His body was torn to pieces.”
“Madre de Dios,” Luis murmured as he quickly crossed himself.
Two
Traffic in Manhattan was light for an overcast day in the middle of June, and they were able to get from 86th Street to the 72nd Street entrance quickly.
They drove down Park Drive West and quickly pulled off the roadway and onto the gravel bridle path. Several uniformed officers were milling about, putting up yellow crime scene tape to keep the area free of the curious.
Eddie and Luis got out of the car and approached on foot.
They flashed their shields to a short, chunky, African-American policewoman just outside the tunnel. A youthful blond officer was sitting on a rock nearby, his hat in his hand. From his color, it looked as if he’d not only lost his breakfast, but all the food he’d consumed in the previous week.
“Hey, Taylor,” Eddie said to the woman. “I’m Lieutenant Berman, and this is Sergeant Vasquez.”
The policewoman nodded. “I’ve seen you around. This is Young. He found the body—Well, the pieces.”
“You all right, man?” Vasquez asked Young.
The blond boy—he couldn’t have been more than twenty-two—nodded and swallowed hard. He looked as if he might vomit again.
“Sorry, sir.” Young attempted to stand.
“Just stay where you are, Young.” Eddie put a hand on his shoulder to lower him to his rock seat. “No point in pushing your luck.”
“Or throwing up on us,” Luis added. “You didn’t mess up the crime scene, did you?”
“No, sir,” Young said. “I made it out here to the bushes.”
Eddie turned to Taylor. “What can you tell us?”
“Routine patrol,” Taylor said. “We go through here every morning. Young likes the tunnels. That’s where we found…” She gave a nod of her head in the direction of the archway. “Sir, it’s a mess—”
“The blood,” Young interjected. “All the blood…”
The youthful officer looked like he was about to pass out.
“Young, put your head between your legs.” Eddie placed his hand on the back of the blond’s neck. “Now push up against my hand. Keep pushing. Good.”
It was an old trick to keep the blood flowing to the brain. Young wouldn’t be of any help unconscious.
“Okay, now raise your head.” Eddie looked questioningly at the officer. “Better?”
Young nodded weakly.
Eddie returned his attention to Taylor. “You called this in? Forensics? The Medical Examiner?”
“Yes, sir,” Taylor stated. “They’re on their way. Uniforms got here first, then you.”
Eddie nodded. “Okay. Stick with your partner and help secure the scene. We’ll want full reports later.”
“Yes, sir,” Taylor said.
Eddie turned to Young. “Your first homicide?”
“Yes, sir,” Young sounded, at best, unenthusiastic.
Eddie nodded. “You do get used to it.”
“I could never get used to…that.” Young swallowed hard.
Eddie looked to Luis. “Let’s go, sergeant.”
Luis nodded, and they began to walk through the opening.
Eddie lowered his voice. “We need to show the rookies how a pair of experienced detectives handle a homicide.”
“So I shouldn’t throw up?” Luis asked.
Eddie smiled. “You’ll mess up our rep.”
“Okay, then I won’t.”
They had left the dim daylight and entered the shadow of the darkened, artificial cavern. The tunnel was as long as the roadway over it was wide, but dark inside, bathed in an artificial twilight.
The first thing to hit them was the smell of urine combined with the iron stink of blood and rotting meat.
“Man, what a smell.” Luis waved his hand in front of his face.
“Great, and after that coffee, I need to take a leak,” Eddie snapped.
“Just do it here. No one will notice.”
“Bad enough Young almost puked. I’ll pass.”
“Eventually, you will,” Luis smirked, “but not on the crime scene, LT.”
Eddie blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the gloom. He could see what looked like brown paint spattered efficaciously on the walls and floor.
“Blood,” Luis stated aloud, as he followed Eddie’s gaze.
“Did you bring that penlight of yours?”
“Oh, yeah, right here.” Luis flashed on a small light and moved from the walls to the floor in front of them.
“What’s that?” Eddie said.
Luis shifted the light back to where Eddie pointed. The beam rested on a bare leg.
They approached carefully.
Eddie crouched and looked at the detached limb. The bone stood out from it, and the flesh was unevenly sheared.
Luis pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. “What happened? We get the New York version of the ‘Texas Chain Saw Massacre’?”
“Can’t be sure without forensics, but I don’t think this was cut,” Eddie explained. “See the way the muscle is torn-and the ligaments—so uneven? I would say this leg was ripped.”
“Jeezus!” Luis pulled a glove on his other hand. “How would you do that?”
“Got me.” Eddie shook his head. He tried to stare into the shadowy gloom and saw a metallic glint. “Touch as little as you can.”
“Well, thank you, lieutenant,” Luis grumbled. “It’s been a few months since my last murder scene, but I do remember. Hey, you need to glove up.”
Eddie nodded and extracted latex gloves from his pocket. He started to put them on as he walked through the tunnel, his eyes fixed on the flicker of light.
“What do you see?” Luis shone the small light ahead of Eddie.
“I dunno, let me check it out.” Eddie snapped the glove on his left hand. The object was vaguely familiar, and there were wheels that pointed toward him. Then he saw the metal basket.
“It’s a shopping cart,” Eddie assured as he finally recognized it. It sat upside down, dented, and damaged.
He drew closer to see a small silver ball protruding from the back of the cart. It glowed, almost as if it generated its own luminescence.
Without thinking, Eddie reached out with his ungloved right hand and touched the silver ball.
There was a blinding flash of red light and a loud “Crack.”
Eddie fell back to the gravel path as fireworks went off in his line of vision.
Luis ran over and pulled Eddie upright. “Eddie, you okay?”
“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, dazed. “Damn.”
Eddie shook h
is head to clear it and struggled to get back on his feet. He felt wobbly, as if jolted by a Taser.
“What the hell was that!” Luis exclaimed.
“Got me. It happened when I touched that thing,” Eddie pointed at the silver ball.
Luis shifted his penlight and flashed it on the disfigured shopping cart. A whistle escaped his lips.
“Look at that!” Luis declared. “It’s beautiful.”
With his gloved hand, Luis slowly drew out the silver handle. A handsomely tapered stick came with it, made from a wood so dark it almost disappeared in the shadows of the tunnel. Luis shined the light the length of the walking stick.
“Is that a cane?” Eddie asked, his vision clearing a bit.
“It’s silver. And this wood, what is it? Mahogany?”
“I think it’s ebony.”
“Kinda weird, huh?” Luis looked from the cane to his partner’s face.
“What do you mean?”
“Where did a homeless guy get a cane like this?”
Eddie put the glove on his right hand and hesitantly took the stick from his partner’s grasp. No flash this time. It was only a piece of wood with a fancy top.
But it was exquisite. The silver was decorated and beautifully shaped with sweeping grace. The stick wore coat upon coat of wax or varnish, so it felt smooth, well-balanced, and not too heavy.
Luis flashed the light a few feet ahead.
“Lieutenant?”
“Yeah?” Eddie replied, finding it hard to take his eyes off the walking stick.
“I think I found the head.”
Eddie pulled himself away to follow the beam of the penlight. He expected to see a head lying sideways on the ground. But it sat upright on the stub of its neck, as if the owner was buried in the dirt and might at any moment rise up out of the ground.
Eddie stepped closer and used the cane for support as he crouched down. The head—obviously male—wore long hair and a dirty, gray beard. The eyes were closed, and the head was leaning back on the neck with the mouth agape enough to show strong, white teeth with a flicker of gold.
Luis gawked. “It’s like it was posed for us.”
“May have been,” Eddie agreed. “Look at the teeth. You ever see a homeless guy with such good dental care?”
Luis flashed the light into the mouth. “Looks like he got them bleached, like me.”
“And there!” Eddie pointed at a tooth that shined brightly. “He’s got a gold crown.”
“Go figure,” Luis said.
“Lieutenant?” a female voice echoed in the manmade cave.
“Yes, officer,” Eddie acknowledged, and took the penlight to shine it on the head from different angles.
“The coroner and crime scene unit are here,” Taylor said from the mouth of the tunnel.
“I’ll bring them in, Eddie,” Luis volunteered as he rose and stepped away.
“Thanks.” Eddie leaned closer to the head.
Unexpectedly, the cane quivered in his hand. He turned his head to peer at the stick. The silver orb grew warm as it jiggled from its own internal tremor.
Then it stopped.
Eddie returned his attention to the head.
The eyes were open, and it watched Eddie as he moved.
With a shriek, Eddie fell back and tumbled into a puddle. He wanted to run, to crawl away, but was frozen in terror as the cane vibrated in his hand, and the disembodied head’s eyes bore into him.
The mouth began to move, and a voice whispered hoarsely, “You are summoned!”
Eddie shrieked again as he lost control of his bladder.
Three
Outside in the open air, Eddie shivered as he sat next to Officer Young. He was wet, smelled bad, and held the ebony shaft in his gloved hand with a death grip.
Crime scene investigators were all over the hillside and tunnel like a small army of ants. The click of cameras and the flashes of strobes brightened the tunnel as if it were distant lightning.
Young looked better now, but he watched Eddie with a combination of pity and understanding.
“You all right, sir?” Young asked tentatively.
“I’m f-fine, officer,” Eddie stammered, his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering.
Young rose. “I’ll help secure the scene, sir.”
“You d-do that, officer,” Eddie said.
Young nodded and walked away. Luis walked over with Eddie’s cup of now-cold coffee.
“Drink this,” Luis suggested.
Eddie accepted the drink and took a trembling sip.
“Guess you don’t need a bathroom anymore.”
“Oh, you f-funny, man,” Eddie responded.
Luis glanced over at Taylor and Young, who chatted with the other uniformed officers.
“So much for impressing the rookies. They think you are mucho loco.”
“It t-talked. I saw it. I heard it,” Eddie protested.
Luis crouched and kept his tone low. “Look, Eddie, maybe it did. Maybe it jumped up and did the lambada. Nobody but you saw it. Now, you’re the lieutenant, and I’m just some wetback sergeant. But, partner to partner, it might be a good idea not to mention this on your report.”
“Yeah.” Eddie inhaled deeply and nodded.
Luis relaxed. “We just say you slipped and fell into a puddle—a smelly puddle. It happens.”
Eddie regarded his partner. “T-thanks, Luis.”
“For what?”
“For not calling Bellevue,” Eddie confessed.
“It isn’t the cool, calm approach you suggested,” Luis mused.
“I have a change of clothes at the precinct.”
The Twenty-Second Precinct building was located on the access road that linked East Side to West Side on 86th Street. It served as the center for all park police activity from 59th Street all the way up to 110th Street, making it the largest precinct in Manhattan.
“You relax for a minute, and I’ll talk to the coroner and CSU, then we’ll go.” Luis walked back toward the tunnel.
“Relax,” Eddie moaned to himself. “After all, I’m only losing my mind.”
“You okay, lieutenant?” a voice spoke.
Eddie started and looked up at a black man standing over him. He had a kinky, gray beard that clung to his face like lamb’s wool. The hair surrounded his head like a cloud. He wore military fatigues and carried a dented, aluminum broom handle.
“Sorry, you startled me.” Eddie recognized the newcomer as one of the homeless who called the park home. Eddie had often seen him, as he walked about and held conversations with the empty air. The only downside was the stink of stale body odor he wore. “You’re Troy, right?”
“Trey, folks call me Trey,” the man explained, as he leaned casually against his broom handle. “Bad things happening, lieutenant?”
“Very bad things. Looks like one of your own was taken out,” Eddie warned.
“One of my own?” A look of suspicion touched Trey’s face.
“Yeah, a homeless guy,” Eddie said.
Trey looked at the tunnel sadly. “You don’t say.”
“You should move into a shelter until we catch who did it,” Eddie suggested. “For your own safety.”
A grim smile crossed Trey’s face. “A shelter won’t protect me from what did this. You’re a good man, lieutenant. I hope you can rise to the occasion.”
Without another word, he walked off toward a grove of trees using the broom handle to help him along.
That was odd, Eddie thought. I wonder what he was talking about?
“Ready to go?” Luis stepped in front of Eddie and pulled him to his feet. “I’ll drive. There’s some trash bags in the trunk. I don’t want you making the seat wet. After all, that’s where I sit.”
“You’re all heart, Vasquez.”
“Hey, you can’t bring this.” Luis took hold of the cane in Eddie’s hand.
Eddie looked down at the foreign object. “Forgot I had it…”
“It’s evidence! I’ll
put it back where we found it. You go up to the car.”
Eddie nodded wearily. He glanced at his watch. It was only eleven AM, but he felt exhausted. That head looked at him—those eyes, that voice—and then Luis pulled him out of the tunnel as he screamed like a crazy man.
“Having fun, Berman?” a familiar voice sneered.
Eddie looked up to see Agent Jason Wilcox as he glared down at him.
“You are not what I need today, Wilcox,” Eddie said, and felt grounded by having to confront the bigger man. “In fact, I can’t think of any day I need you.”
“I’m devastated, Berman.” Wilcox ran a hand though his brown hair and flexed his huge biceps.
Eddie sighed. Wilcox was a part of the FBI Urban Crime Task Force in the New York branch, and often found ways to push his authority over the NYPD.
In the business of policing New York, homicides in the park automatically fell under the auspices of the Manhattan North Precinct’s homicide division. However, the task force could insert itself, whether NYPD liked it or not. Eddie felt that in Wilcox’s instance, that was usually any crime that would promote his personal career.
It’s about numbers, Eddie thought. He solves cases. Ultimately, that’s all anyone is interested in.
“I thought you weren’t pursuing homicides since your transfer,” Wilcox went on. “Disciplinary situation, if memory serves me.”
“You’re the one who made the big stink, Wilcox,” Eddie said, stone-faced.
Luis was suddenly at Eddie’s side. “Everything okay, lieutenant?”
”Hey, now the United Nations is complete,” Wilcox smirked with a glance to his own partner, a thin, white-haired man named Sam. Sam wasn’t as nasty, but he gave Wilcox free rein. Sam smiled and sucked on the cigarette that smoldered in his mouth.
“Graçias, Wilcox. I love to start my day listening to your racist diatribes,” Luis said.
“Just a joke, Vasquez. Get a sense of humor,” Wilcox advised.
“Word from the expert,” Eddie muttered sardonically.
Wilcox returned his gaze to Eddie. “And I love your look. I hear wet and rumpled is very chic. Not to mention your cologne. What is it, Eau de Toilet?”
Sam broke into loud guffaws, and Luis glared daggers.
“Don’t mess up my crime scene, Wilcox,” Eddie warned.