“Wait right here,” Sampson said. He turned and marched determinedly into the condo.
“It will be all right. Take a deep breath, child. Try to calm down.” Batman still had his arm around Gabi. He looked up. He was fighting back tears just like her.
“I’m so worried about her,” Gabi said. “My God, what’s going on?”
Sampson returned. Batman and Gabi turned to him.
“Was it? Gabi asked. “Was it him?”
Sampson was holding a drivers license in his hand. He studied it for a minute and then nodded. “Lexa’s alleged rapist is dead.”
Thirty-three: The Crime Scene
Sampson allowed Gabi and Batman to go home; Batman under his own power and Gabi in the backseat of a police cruiser.
He dragged a bar stool to the corner of the living room near the open patio doors and perched himself there while the crime scene unit worked its magic. The smell of decomposing flesh was hard to tolerate, despite the fact that all of the windows and doors were open, and a continuous breeze was blowing through the condo. He watched as the crime scene was photographed and as the forensic evidence was bagged and catalogued.
He listened to the findings that Denby, the blood-spatter expert had to offer. “The shooter approached the first victim and fired a single round at extremely close range that entered the right temple.” Denby dramatized, using his hand in place of a gun and producing a vocal gunshot sound.
“You’re very entertaining,” Sampson quipped. “Did you minor in pantomime at John Jay?”
“It’s not pantomime when you use sound effects,” Denby said.
“No, what is it called?”
“A dramatization.”
“Oh. Anyway, you said extremely close range. How close?”
“Inches, maybe less. The gun barrel might have been pressed against the temple. The first victim was Cooper, right?”
“Yeah, that was Cooper.”
“He had muzzle burns on the side of the head where the bullet penetrated.”
“All right, so the shooter walks up to Cooper, puts the gun to his head, and pulls the trigger. So what happened next?”
“Then the second victim, Riley?”
“Correct.”
“Riley opens wide and puts one in his mouth.”
“So he killed Cooper and then killed himself?”
“That’s the way the crime scene reads. The gun was found on the floor. He took his life after shooting Cooper, and the gun fell out of his hand.”
“No doubt the gun will have Riley’s prints on it.”
“No doubt.”
“Tell me why?”
“Tell you why he killed himself?”
“Yeah, tell me why? First of all, what is Cooper doing here? This is a guy who was just accused of raping the woman who owns this condo.”
“He’s here for revenge.”
“Most likely . . . but who is this Riley? Why is he here? Why did he shoot Cooper and then kill himself?”
“That’s your job, man. You’re the detective.”
“There was a struggle here. We’ll have to wait until the coroner examines the bodies to see if these two went at it.”
A partially eaten apple had been placed in an evidence bag. It was still on the carpet where it had been found. Sampson picked it up. “Are you sure that Riley shot himself?”
“Why, what are you thinking?”
“One of these guys was munching on an apple. Let’s say it was Cooper for argument’s sake. Maybe these two attacked and subdued this Lexa woman, when all of a sudden someone comes in, picks off Cooper and then shoves the muzzle in Riley’s mouth.”
“The shooter would have had to move pretty fast.”
“Yes, he would have to move fast, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility. If these guys just fought with and subdued the homeowner, they were distracted at the very least. They may have been winded as well. Someone walks in and pops Cooper. Cooper goes down. Riley’s in a state of shock, standing there with his mouth open, and the shooter sees a way to make a double homicide look like a murder-suicide.”
“You’ve got one hell of an imagination, Sampson.”
“Well, is it possible?”
Denby scratched his chin. “You know what? Yeah, I could see it. You still haven’t got motive.”
“One step at a time, I’m just getting warmed up.”
A crime scene investigator walked up to Sampson. He held a metal canister, which was painted with an Oriental design. The canister was decorated in black, red, and gold. It was painted with a picture of an Oriental warrior.
“What do you have there?” Sampson asked.
“I found it in the bathroom,” the crime scene investigator said. He took the lid off the canister. It contained white, granular powder.
“Any idea what that is? It doesn’t look like heroin or cocaine.”
“Could be Oxy, but there’s no way to tell until we get it down to the lab.”
“Could be your motive,” Denby said. “Lots of drug activity out this way.”
“Could be,” Sampson said, “and maybe we’re just pissing in the wind. Either way, it’s time to get busy.”
Thirty-four: Stick ‘Em Up
It was Rosen’s early day. He was looking out of his office window and admiring the beautiful, summer-afternoon day. In better times, he would have been out on the golf course for a mid-afternoon round with his buddies. He shook his head woefully and wondered how things had gotten so bad. He stared at his cell phone to make sure he had not missed the call from Sparks that he was waiting for. There was no indication of any missed calls or recently received voicemail. He had been waiting for more than an hour.
The forty-eight-hour hold on Lexa Ameleon was up at 5:00 p.m. Rosen had less than two hours time to sign the release forms at East Pines. The poor girl, he thought. He opened a patient folder and read the MRI report. It was a clean spinal scan. There were no signs of herniation or stenosis. This one would get better with bed rest and therapy. He made a notation on the chart and closed it.
His cell phone rang. It was his wife. “Sam, dear God, Scott’s been arrested.”
“What?”
“He’s been arrested, Sam. He escaped from rehab and—”
Dear God, what did he do now? “Tell me what happened.”
He could hear her sobbing on the other end of the line. “He tried to rob a bank, Sam. He’s in jail.”
“In jail. Isn’t there an arraignment process?”
“How should I know? I got a call, and they said they’re holding him. Jesus, Sam, what do we do?”
Rosen was silent while he thought about the new catastrophe. “What to do? I don’t know what to do. I don’t know any lawyers in Pennsylvania. This kid is killing us.”
“I know.” He could hear the sadness in his wife’s voice. “I’m broken, Sam, I have nothing left. What do we do?”
“I have to think.” His cell phone buzzed again. It was Sparks. Oh dear God, I can’t deal with this now. It was a moment before he decided what to do. “I have to go,” he said to his wife. “I have an idea.”
“Call me right back, Sam.”
“I will. Bye.” He switched calls. “Hello, Sparks, we’re running out of time, I—”
Sparks’ voice was devoid of emotion. “Have them hold her until morning.”
“We can’t; the forty-eight hours are up tonight.”
“Have her readmitted. Do what you have to. I want her there one more night.”
“I am not going to do that. I’ve done too much already. What’s this girl done, anyway?”
“That’s none of your business, and you’ll do exactly as I ask. I have an associate on his way to the Tioga County Courthouse in Pennsylvania as we speak. Do I allow him to continue, or should I tell him to turn around and go home. Tell me doctor, how would you like me to proceed?”
“You’re such a bastard. How did you know about my son?”
“I’m a bastard? I’m surprised at you, Sam. I’m a
bout to do you a huge favor. Scott can be back in his warm bed at Seabrook House this evening, or he can spend the night in jail. So what do you think? Can you keep this woman in the psychiatric facility overnight? I mean really, doctor, what are we talking about? Give her a horse tranquilizer and have her sleep until morning. I’ll be there bright and early to pick her up. I promise.”
I only wish God would give me a choice. “Call me when Scott has been released.” He ended the call with Sparks and called his wife.
Thirty-five: Down to Business
Peter Sampson munched on a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin on his way to police headquarters on Old Willets Path in Hauppauge. As usual, the morning traffic was slow on the Long Island Expressway. It wasn’t grind-to-a-halt slow, it was just sluggish, and he opted to wait it out instead of going around the traffic with his lights and siren on. He was still easing into the morning, and the quiet car provided a perfect environment for him to think about the double-homicide investigation.
The previous day had flown by. After leaving the crime scene, he spent the balance of his shift questioning neighbors. No one had heard the two gunshots. I understand that they are seniors, but no one heard two gunshots? I wonder what I’ll be like when I’m that old. The neighbors knew surprisingly little about the homeowner. Many were unaware that Susan Martin had passed away. Some of them reported seeing young people coming and going from the condo but knew little more than that.
Sampson picked up his cell and called the forensics lab. It rang eight times. Sampson knew better than to hang up. The phone was answered on the tenth ring. “Yeah, hi, this is Detective Peter Sampson, who’s this?”
“Hi, Pete. It’s Tommy Drew. What can I do for you?”
“Hi, Tommy. Are you familiar with the firearm that was dropped off at the lab yesterday afternoon?”
“Familiar? We’re having a field day down here. We haven’t had a gun to play with in weeks. You’re a hero, Pete.”
Sampson laughed. “Don’t go shooting yourself in the foot or nothing, Tommy. It’s not a toy.”
Drew imitated a child’s voice, “It’s not? So what can I do you for?”
“Any reports back on it yet?”
“We pulled prints from it. I’m still waiting to see if the prints match either of the two victims.”
“How long for ballistics?”
“By the end of the day. Like I said, we’re like kids in a candy store with this thing. We’re all over it.”
“Can you check to see if the weapon had been silenced?”
“A silencer, really? I thought the crime scene report indicated murder-suicide?”
“Maybe, I’m not so sure.”
“Okay, I’ll check the barrel right away.”
“Thanks, Tommy. Can you give me a holler as soon as you know?”
“Sure, Pete. On your cell?”
“That’s your best bet.” A second call was coming in. “Got to go, Tommy. Thanks.” Sampson switched lines. “Detective Peter Sampson.”
“Pete, it’s Dick Aiello.”
Aiello had been the county’s special services officer for twenty years. “Richard, how’s it hanging, man?”
“Why are you letting people get shot on your watch, Sampson? I just left the coroner’s office with Cooper’s mother. It was not a pretty scene.”
“Am I to infer she made a positive ID?”
“Yeah, she knew her son immediately, even though half his head was blown off. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
“I know. The poor kid was a mess.”
“I mean what are you guys doing out there? I used to have a cushy job. Five kids have been murdered in the past twelve months; my job is getting tough. You think I like waking parents in the middle of the night to have them ID their children’s remains? I mean step up your game, man. This is getting out of control.”
“Heroin has become a big business out here. Addiction and fatality go hand in hand. Kids are getting hooked as early as middle school. The last homicide I investigated was a twelve-year-old girl.”
“That was the drug overdose, correct?”
“Yeah, they found her at home. She had been dead for hours when her mother came home from work. The needle was still in her arm.”
“I’d ask you what DEA and narcotics are doing about it, but I already know the answer. You think it’s time for me to put in my papers?”
“No. I’d miss you too much.”
“You big sap. Got any advice?”
“Buckle up.”
“Great, I’ll book two sessions a week with the department shrink.”
“Sorry, my friend, I only get involved after someone bleeds. Shawn Riley wasn’t any better. What’s the deal with him?”
“I’m still trying to locate his next of kin.”
“Really, no parents?”
“None that I can locate. Shitty way to go—your head gets blown off and there’s no one around for you. That’s really awful. Maybe I’ll head over to Mulrooney’s Pub. It’s not too early is it?”
“It’s never too early. Just don’t drink and drive.”
“You bet. Okay, take it easy, Pete. I’ll let you know when I find Riley’s parents.”
“Later, man. Thanks.”
His Egg McMuffin had grown cold in his hand. He warmed it up in his mouth with hot coffee. He smiled as he chewed and swallowed the mush. Now this is living.
He was thinking about the case and growing impatient. The traffic had now ground to a dead stop. “Enough is enough,” he said. He switched on his lights and siren, maneuvered over to the shoulder, and made a beeline for Exit 56.
Detective Sampson walked into police headquarters holding a McDonald’s bag filled with sandwich wrappers and his empty coffee cup. He disposed of the bag and refilled his cup with coffee from the lunchroom before settling down at his desk. He logged into his computer and began his background checks on the parties involved in the double murder.
Keith Cooper’s recent arrest popped up immediately and corroborated the information he had received from Gabrielle Andersen at the crime scene. He had no other prior records. Sampson would move on to doing a complete background check on Cooper after he searched for criminal records on the other victim.
Shawn Riley had a tight little list of misdemeanor drug arrests going back about three years. There was nothing that screamed “major offense” about Riley. Sampson’s instincts told him there was more to this pair than he was seeing on their rap sheets.
“How’s it going?” Lieutenant Steven Janik said as he put his hand on Sampson’s shoulder. Janik was sipping coffee from a Suffolk County Police Department mug. He leaned over to review the information on the computer screen.
Sampson turned toward Janik. “Just getting started, boss. One of the victim’s has a recent list of drug arrests. The other was recently arrested for the attempted rape of the homeowner.”
“So there’s motive.”
“Sure, I guess the revenge angle looks pretty convincing, but why two dead bodies? Alexandra Ameleon, the homeowner, is described as a woman in her early twenties, a college student. How did she get away?”
“How do you know she was home at the time of the altercation?” Janik raised his eyebrows. “The two perps could have come looking for her only to find the house empty. They get into an argument, toss it up, and then Riley pulls out his gun and shoots Cooper.”
Sampson made a face that said, I doubt it. “I will concede that possibility but only because I respect you so much.”
Janik chuckled. “Brown nose.”
“Riley shoots Cooper and then kills himself? I don’t see it.”
Janik pointed at the screen. “Like you said, Riley has several drug arrests.”
“All misdemeanor charges.”
“That doesn’t mean anything; where there’s smoke there’s fire.”
“Still, it’s one thing to pull a gun and shoot someone in the heat of rage. It’s another to punch your own ticket.”
“How are
these two tied to each other?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I would run this by narcotics. See if they’ve had eyes on either of these two. I like the drug angle.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“What about the homeowner?”
“She’s MIA. So far all I know is that she’s a student at SUNY Stony Brook. I found her registration receipts in the house. I don’t think she’s been living there all that long. Neighbors say they think she may have inherited the place from her aunt earlier in the year. It doesn’t look like she has too many ties to the community. I was just about to pull her records.”
Janik nodded in the direction of the computer screen. “Pull her up. Let’s see if she’s got any priors.”
Sampson put his fingers on the keyboard. “Okay,” he said aloud as he began to punch in her name. “She’s in the system.”
Janik leaned in for a closer look. “Yes, but not for an offense. She was admitted to East Pines Psychiatric on a Physician’s Emergency Certificate.” He read the date. “Just a few days ago.”
“At least now we know where she is.”
“Maybe,” Janik said. “A PEC’s only good for a forty-eight-hour hold. You better get on the horn.”
“Got it,” Sampson said. He had already picked up the phone.
Thirty-six: Freedom
I was still groggy from the sedative I had been given the evening before. I was not sure what Rosen had injected me with, but it seemed to be taking a long time to filter out of my body. I had been given the sedative instead of being released, along with a story about a delay in the paperwork. Rosen said I was agitated and that nothing could be done until the next morning. He said that I needed a good night’s sleep.
It felt good to be dressed in my own clothes, but hope fled the minute I saw the smiling face of Thomas Sparks. He was standing at the reception counter when Evelyn wheeled me past the security guard.
“You’re signed out.” Sparks said. “The car is right outside.” He literally peeled Evelyn’s hands off the wheelchair. “I’ve got it, thanks.”
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