The Chilling Spree

by LS Sygnet

  “Do you feel guilty about his memory loss?”

  “Of course I do, but that’s not why… well, you know.”

  “I hope he doesn’t screw this up.”

  “It’ll be fine, Devlin.”

  “So.”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me how fucked up my case is without me steering the boat.”

  “You’re never gonna let that go, are you? OSI was determined to take that case, Devlin. And on a scale of one to ten, with ten being perfection and one being screwed up beyond repair, I’d say we’re sitting at a kind three right now. Not because of Johnny.”

  I brought him up to speed before his surgeon came in with the good news. Devlin was coming home today.

  Chapter 21

  Someone once said that without sorrow, mankind could never truly appreciate joy. I’ve always thought that was bullshit, personally. We could do without bad news. At least for a few hours. People, being the wretched sort that we are, however, seem to thrive on conflict. As I thought about my momentary lapse of reason, those few hours where I experienced optimism, Crevan’s sober voice echoed in my ears.

  “We need you in Downey. I realize it’s not convenient since you just got Devlin home from the hospital, but Tony and I are convinced this is related to the case.”

  Johnny was driving his OSI issue sedan. My foot pushed against the floorboard with impatience. The drizzle that appeared in late afternoon turned to freezing rain after sunset. The streets were coated with a layer of black ice.

  Devlin assured both of us that he was fine with being left alone for a few hours. I made him down two Percocet before agreeing that he didn’t need to have a nurse summoned.

  “Where is this place?”

  Johnny’s white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel didn’t relax. “Business district in Downey.”

  “And it’s a bar?”

  Johnny glanced quickly right. “Doc, didn’t Crevan explain why he knows this is related to Goddard’s case?”

  “No. He said we needed to meet them at a bar called The Cockpit, which I assume is some aviation themed –”

  “It isn’t, and it’s not merely a bar. It’s a night club.”

  “Oh.”

  “The same one where the protesters got out of hand in October.”

  “Oh.” The Cockpit took on a whole new meaning.

  “I’d imagine that Aidan’s outrage resulted in the great protest part two.”

  Crevan hadn’t been specific. Audibly shaken, yes, but he hadn’t offered more details beyond certainty that this was linked to the Goddard case.

  “This could be what propels the case forward, Johnny. Maybe the questions Crevan and Tony asked the protesters today prompted the guilty party to make a mistake.”

  “We can hope,” he said.

  “Is something other than the case bothering you?”

  “Not really.” One hand left the steering wheel and groped for mine. “I am okay with Mackenzie being at the house, Doc. Sometimes though, I catch him looking at you. It’s my problem.”

  “I can’t control how other people feel, Johnny, but I hope you know that I’ve made it very clear to him that all I have to offer is friendship.”

  “It helps,” he said.

  I observed while Johnny slowed the car and drove slowly into a packed parking lot. “Busy for the middle of the week.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s packed like this most nights.”

  “I don’t see any burning cars or protesters picketing.”

  “That’s what’s got me worried,” Johnny said.

  We gingerly picked our way across the icy parking lot toward the building. “Maybe the weather had a role in dispersing an angry mob. God knows, I’d rather be anywhere than out in this stuff. So much for no snow in Darkwater Bay.”

  “Technically, this isn’t snow,” Johnny grinned down at me. “And we need to have a serious conversation about sensible shoes. Whoever painted a rosy picture of mild winter lied.”

  “I believe that yarn came from the lips of the ever reliable Johnny Orion, while he was trying to convince me that this is a wonderful place to spend the rest of my life.”

  He swung the door to the night club open. “Well in that case, this beats the hell out of winter in D.C.”

  A thick somber atmosphere sucked the levity out of our conversation. Johnny’s eyes roved over a crowded room filled with silent men. “This is unexpected.”

  Crevan met us a moment later. “This way.”

  “Crevan, what’s going on?” I asked as we followed him down a corridor away from the patrons.

  “We’ve got another victim.”

  “Ah, hell,” Johnny groaned.

  It was obvious why Crevan believed the cases were related. The depths of that relationship were about to be revealed. He swung open a door marked with a placard that read dressing room. Hanging from plumbing pipes that transected the ceiling was a very young man, a single silk scarf stretched taut by the weight of his limp body.

  Blood dripped from his toes. My eyes followed the red streaks northward to where his genitalia had been crudely removed. Prosthetic breasts were attached to his pectoral muscles, and a single word was carved superficially on his abdomen. Abomination.

  Crevan cleared his throat. “Coroner and CSD are on the way over.”

  “Do we know his identity?” Johnny asked.

  Briscoe appeared behind us. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Meet Bobbi-with-an-I Tippet.”

  “As in Robert Tippet, best friend and co-conspirator of Kyle Goddard?” I spun around and impaled Briscoe with the shock I felt.

  “One and the same. You see why we can’t operate under the delusion that this is a coincidence,” he said. “Ain’t no way, no how that this is some random thing.”

  Johnny inched closer to the body for a better look. “Not much blood. Whoever did this to him must’ve left the message after he was dead.”

  “Same for the other wound, Johnny,” Crevan said. “I don’t know how we could possibly think this isn’t about what happened in October. It’s got to be one of Dad’s nutty friends.”

  “We need evidence, Crevan. Off the record, I tend to agree. I’m sure your dad sounded the alert that they were being persecuted before you and Tony made a single phone call today.”

  “Did you talk to anybody that didn’t have an alibi?” I asked.

  “It appears that the fine folk from Foundation’s Baptist all congregate every New Year’s Eve for a prayer vigil that the end of days will begin soon, on account of their belief that they won’t be around to enjoy the apocalypse,” Tony said. “Seems they can’t wait for all of us heathens to bite the big one and go straight to hell.”

  “Unbelievable. They’re giving each other alibis.” I started pacing. “I’ll need more evidence than a bunch of hate mongers covering for each other’s whereabouts. Crevan, how familiar are you with this church?”

  “Twenty-two years of forced attendance. Why?”

  Better question. “Why on earth did you keep going after you turned eighteen and became a legal adult?”

  “Helen,” Johnny said gently, “not everyone grew up with a parent who let them decide what they wanted to believe or reject like you did.”

  My eyes widened. “Johnny?”

  His hand scrubbed over his goatee. “Wendell, right? Life sentence in Attica.”

  It was unclear which was the source of my chest pain – the sternum from being rammed so hard by my heart, or my heart, not being able to leap through solid bone for more room to dance its fearful staccato. “Not now, Johnny,” I rasped.

  “But he’s right, Helen. Dad held the purse strings, and as long as I lived under his roof…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Your dad isn’t ever gonna be someone I like, is he?”

  Crevan forced a weak smile. “The good news is, the similarities between us end with genetics. Think of me as the good twin.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Puppy, you didn’t t
ell Helen about your daddy’s main gripe in life?”

  “I don’t think it ever came up,” he said. Crevan shook his head. “Apparently I was the twin that survived childbirth that nearly ended my mother’s life. Dad was certain that the wrong child survived, or that God took the good son that would’ve embraced the guidance of our father as a test of his faith.”

  “Jesus,” I muttered. The more I learned about Aidan Conall, the less there was to redeem him even in some small way. “What a fool. I can’t imagine a God that would allow someone exactly like your father to live.”

  I noticed Tony’s conspicuous frown, but didn’t ask about it. My lingering irritation dug in deep, and I couldn’t bring myself to give a damn about his dislike of Crevan's father.

  “Uh, where’s this kid’s junk?” Johnny asked with a pointed stare at the mangled groin. He began a careful examination of the crime scene. “Have we talked to any of the patrons? Where’s the owner of the club?”

  “Duty first,” Briscoe grinned. “Nobody saw anything out of the ordinary all evening. The bartender came in and found the body ‘bout half an hour before we summoned the two of you over here. He brought the pre-show toddy back for the vic, and there he was.”

  “Pre-show toddy?” My eyes wandered toward the empty vanity. “Where is this beverage now?”

  “I reckon he took it out. At least the guy knew better than to come in and tamper with the crime scene. For the record, Tippet’s beverage of choice was hot chocolate, not alcohol. As for the owner, he took the night off. Apparently, he really over indulged for the holiday and hasn’t been able to shake the hangover.”

  “He’s on his way down here,” Crevan said. He flipped open his notebook. “Alex Waters.”

  “Dr. Alexander Waters?” I couldn’t conceive of such a thing.

  “Do we want to know how you know the owner of the night club, Helen?”

  “Johnny, Dr. Alexander Waters is the chief of vascular surgery at Metro State University Hospital,” I said. At his blank stare, I continued. “When Journey Ireland’s throat was slit, he’s the doctor that saved her life. He’s a very well respected surgeon, renowned even. I can’t imagine that he’d –”

  “I don’t think that’s who I talked to,” Crevan said. “If you think about it, the name Waters isn’t particularly unusual, nor is the name Alex.”

  “Still, what’re the odds, speaking of bizarre coincidence. How long before he arrives?”

  “He should be here any minute, Helen,” Crevan said. “The uniforms are keeping an eye out for him. Obviously we don’t want anyone else seeing what happened in here.”

  “Do we know who Tippet’s next of kin is?”

  “Not specifically,” Briscoe said. “Damnedest thing, John. The bartender didn’t offer up any names, but was real clear that his folks are gonna freak when they find out Bobbi is dead. Apparently they weren’t supportive of their son’s lifestyle.”

  “Not supportive as in, we wish he wasn’t performing in drag, or not supportive as in the message scrawled on this boy’s abdomen?” I asked.

  “No clue,” Briscoe said. “I don’t suppose these guys see much of a difference.”

  Crevan bristled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Hate’s hate, Puppy,” Tony said. “Don’t matter much what the cause is.”

  I tiptoed away from our truce, but didn’t stray far before Johnny jumped in and prevented me from planting both feet in my mouth.

  “Which I’m sure you mean to say that it doesn’t matter who our victims are, we go about the investigation the same way every time, right Tony?” he said.

  “Sure thing,” Briscoe squinted at Johnny like he’d lost his mind. “Pretty much what I said. Don’t matter why folks hate, it’s all the same to the guy on the receiving end of the deal.”

  “Doc, what do you make of this?” Johnny gestured toward the victim and the absolute absence of signs of struggle.

  I drifted into the room and started to absorb the environment with a calm sense of detachment. “The first thing that jumps out at me is that it seems unlikely that our victim attaches his prostheses with glue.”

  My index finger traced the air around one of the breasts. “It looks like there isn’t any irritation to the skin.”

  “Meaning?” Johnny prompted an explanation.

  “Histamine is the body’s natural response to an irritant. Believe it or not, the skin on even a man’s chest is a lot more sensitive than say the fingers, which might normally be exposed to something like adhesive. If Tippet was in the habit of gluing these on before every show, I’m thinking that we’d see evidence of a rash, that histamine response to either the glue or the solvent that would be required to remove the glue. If he was dead when they were applied, there would be no histamine response.”

  “Sounds logical,” Johnny said. “What else?”

  “His makeup is perfect,” I said. “Damn. I bet if you met this guy on the street, you wouldn’t know he was a female impersonator unless he had a deep voice. Even his Adam’s apple seems less pronounced than our first victim’s.”

  I moved to the vanity. “If he sat here to get ready for the show, the mirrors would’ve given him a clear view of someone approaching from behind or coming through the door.”

  “You think he knew his attacker?” Crevan asked.

  “I see no signs of a struggle,” I said. “Yet, if our theory that one of the protesters is responsible for both murders, I doubt he’d sit here calmly while someone attacked him.”

  “We don’t know if hanging is the cause of death,” Johnny said. “He could’ve been drugged prior to the approach of the attacker.”

  “Highly doubtful,” Tony said. “Bartender says this guy is downright ritualistic about his pre-show routine. Nobody allowed in here, absolute solitude while he prepares, and only one interruption is allowed. That cup o’ Swiss Miss fifteen minutes before he’s on stage.”

  I scratched between my eyebrows. “That doesn’t preclude the possibility that he took something voluntarily. We’ll need toxicology to confirm or refute that theory. Let’s move on. For whatever reason, he’s not startled by the approach of his attacker. Look around this room. Everything is in a place that is logical for a dressing room. Wigs are all aligned in a row except for the one he chose to wear but hadn’t gotten around to donning prior to the attack.”

  “I think the dismemberment and message rule out the possibility of suicide,” Johnny said. “Otherwise, that could be a plausible explanation. The guy’s best friend was murdered.”

  “But we haven’t released that information yet,” I said, “so how would he know that Kyle Goddard didn’t simply disappear for a few days?”

  “True,” Johnny said, “But I don’t think suicide is an option.”

  “Agreed. Where’s the penis?”

  Briscoe snorted. “I was wonderin’ when you might ask that.”

  Crevan’s face was nearly ashen, and Johnny looked like he wanted to guard the aforementioned body part.

  I grunted softly. “For heaven’s sake. Have we looked for it?”

  Briscoe said, “I did a once over, but saw no sign of it here nor there.”

  “Ew. That’s just gross. We’ll leave that mystery for CSD to solve,” I said.

  “Helen, what do you think about all of this? Beyond the general observations you made.”

  “I need more information. My gut says he might’ve recognized the person who attacked him and didn’t feel threatened at all. Like I said, we’ll need to know if he’s got any substances in his system that might’ve made him easy prey. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to make sure someone got tainted drugs than it would be to slip in here and defy a ritual without causing a scene. Since nobody claims to have seen anything out of the ordinary, I’d start looking at how the perp got in without being noticed. I need to talk to people who know Mr. Tippet’s friends, what his life was like, if he was in a relationship with –”

  “Gotcha, Eriksson,�
�� Briscoe stood at attention and saluted. “I expect the owner any minute, so I think I’ll make sure we steer him to wherever you need to chat right away.”

  “Crevan, did you talk to Mr. Waters?”

  He nodded.

  “Is he aware of the reason you called?”

  “Not the specifics,” he said. “He knows that it relates somehow to Tippet. Based on his response, I think he’s expecting that there was another altercation with protesters.”

  “All right.”

  “In the meantime,” Johnny said, “there’s no way in the world that we can possibly take full statements from everybody in this bar tonight. We need names and contact information for everybody and to instruct them to come over to OSI to give formal statements. Start scheduling them for tomorrow. We’ll only break for Ned’s funeral.”

  “Johnny, do you think we should send them out to OSI?” Briscoe asked. “I mean, if we wanna keep the link to the murder at that concert under wraps, it might be better if we funnel these hooligans through Downey instead. Plus, we got a lot more manpower over there to conduct the interviews and run them through a script of questions we need answered.”

  Johnny gritted his teeth.

  It was my turn to intervene on his behalf. “Let’s start with getting the contact information, and before anybody leaves, Johnny can let them know where the interviews will take place.”

  “Right,” Johnny rasped. “Doc and I need to have a moment alone to discuss this script for questioning potential witnesses. We’ll be out in a minute, if you wouldn’t mind closing the door on your way out.”

  Chapter 22

  Johnny was prowling his agitation before Crevan pulled the dressing room door shut. “I should’ve thought of that,” he muttered.

  “Hey,” one brave step blocked his path. I laid my hand on his chest. “I didn’t stop to think about keeping these cases specifically unlinked in the press either, Johnny. Tony may never be my favorite person in the world again, but he proved his worth to me by considering something that I hadn’t thought of first.”