Too Dark To Sleep

by Dianne Gallagher

  “Going somewhere?” Maggie asked.

  “No, I just… I’m sorry. I was distracted.” He smiled, a real Nick Dublowski smile.

  Maggie knew now why her father told her to watch her ass and it wasn’t just Dublowski’s rabbi. It was that smile. It let him get away with a lot.

  “Detective... Miss Quinn, it’s going to be good to work with you. I mean, everyone knows how good you were.” Nick cringed.

  Maggie smiled at the comment, then turned away.

  “Sorry, I just… Look, I’m just, just… glad to be here.” He might as well cut his losses while he still could. “So, the chief sent all this over? Wow. I didn’t realize we collected so much stuff.”

  “You didn’t.” Maggie was reshuffling the stacks again, moving the pieces of the puzzle. “I found this at the warehouse.”

  “You… You were at the warehouse?” He cleared his throat. “When did you go there?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “You know, if you need anything, the chief said I should get it for you. Anything. So…”

  “So?”

  “Well, I just don’t think it was a good idea for you to go the warehouse. That’s a crime scene…”

  “Then why didn’t anyone treat it like one.”

  Quinn’s voice reminded Nick of Mrs. Slatterly, his third grade teacher, but her stare was twenty times worse. Like a hatchet burying itself between his eyes. Nick shook her off. “There was a team. They did their job.”

  “Really?” Maggie snapped her gum. “So what can you tell me about the crime, Detective?

  “Well,” Nick’s mind was suddenly blank. “Look, everything’s in the file.”

  Maggie nodded to herself. She grabbed a photo from the stack and handed to Dublowski. “So what’s this?”

  The image was a little blurry. It must be the door of the warehouse but it was taken too close to give any perspective. Like a contest in a magazine, he’d have to guess what the image was.

  “It’s the door to the warehouse,” he said, trying to hand it back to her.

  “Really. Back or front? What part of the door?”

  “Back, probably.” He looked again. “The jamb, I guess.”

  “See, Detective, I don’t guess. Neither should you.”

  Nick smiled. He’d handled enough pissed off people on the beat. He could handle this. “Look, Detect...Miss Quinn, I didn’t take these photos.”

  “Did you check in with the person who did? Take a look at what was shot? You can do that you know. Digital.”

  “If you’ve got a problem, I can talk to the lab guys and see…”

  “A little late, don’t you think?” Maggie took the photo from Nick’s hand and replaced it with another. “So what’s this?”

  Nick let out a heavy sigh. “The jamb, knob and lock of the back door. Warehouse. Pershing and Halsted.”

  “How do you know?”

  He looked at her and tried to smile. “It’s labeled.”

  “Right. And I was actually looking through the lens when I snapped it.”

  “Okay, I get it. We’ve got mistakes.”

  “You have nothing. That’s what’s in your file. Nothing.”

  “Like I said, I’ll talk to the lab guys.” Nick smiled again. He needed to keep things calm. He needed to keep Quinn calm. “I’m new, okay. Just cut me a little slack.”

  “I’m sure that will make the Phillips family feel much better,” Maggie said. “You don’t get slack. You screw up and there goes the case. Didn’t they teach you that in detective school?” It was Vinnie’s line, but Maggie didn’t think he’d mind if she borrowed it.

  “I don’t think…”

  “That’s the problem.”

  Nick clenched his jaw. “I’m just following orders. The chief says you can help. If you can, great. If you can’t, I’ll get out of your hair.” The detective checked his watch again. “Look, Miss Quinn, it’s getting late. What am I telling Tierney? Something or nothing?” He paused as he headed for his coat. “I mean, you’re Maggie Quinn, right? You must know something. Look at all this forensic stuff.”

  “All this forensic stuff? Don’t talk like a fucking hammerhead.” Maggie leveled her voice and spoke slowly. “I do know something. I know whoever was assigning that day assumed someone disposable had been killed.”

  Nick remembered Halverson and Monroe. “The location,” the detective mumbled.

  “Exactly and because of that assumption, something as simple as an address...” A shitty team was assigned, Maggie thought. She snapped her gum. “A less than capable team was dispatched.”

  Nick tried to respond, but Maggie cut him short.

  “No offense, Detective, but look who you were working with and tell me I’m wrong.”

  Nick thought. No, she was right. That’s what made it hurt even more.

  “I also know that because everyone thought the person killed didn’t matter, they worked the scene like nothing mattered. Everyone failed to do their job. Especially you and your partner.”

  “Now wait a minute…”

  “This was your team, Detective. Your team, your mistakes. Get used to it.”

  Nick Dublowski grabbed his coat. “Okay. That’s what I’ll tell Chief Tierney. I’m sure it will come as a huge surprise that I fucked up.” The detective’s cell phone rang. He turned away from Maggie. “Yes, I know what time it is.”

  Dublowski’s shoulders tightened, his jaw froze in position. Maggie could hear his breathing speed up, trying to pull in more oxygen to fuel the fire.

  “I know we had an agreement. I know it’s your uncle. Just tell Harry I’ll be late… Well, he’ll have to understand…”

  Maggie knew what was coming from the opposite end of the phone line. She’d heard it before. From Richard.

  “Look, this isn’t a good time… No, I love you. You know I do.” The young man’s face was soft, vulnerable. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to do this. It’s important. I’m sorry… That’s not possible…” Nick’s voice was suddenly firm. “No… Just go. Go. You’ll have a better time without me anyway. They’re your relatives, you take care of it.”

  He doesn’t know, Maggie’s brain whispered. He doesn’t know about the uncle, about his rabbi downtown. He thinks he earned his way into Area One.

  “Sorry about that.” The young man smiled to cover his embarrassment. “A little communication problem. Okay. Well, I guess I’m going. I’ll just tell the chief I fucked up again and we’re back at square one.”

  “And you’ll settle for that?”

  The question stopped Nick Dublowski.

  Maggie laid Melinda Phillips’ photo on the table. “Someone thought this woman didn’t deserve to live anymore. Someone just decided, just made a choice.” Maggie slapped the photo of the crime scene on top of the smiling young woman. “So now she’s dead.”

  Maggie watched the detective stare at the photo of the mutilated body. For just a brief moment, she remembered what it was like working that first homicide. “This is not about the chief or about scoring marks or about getting home on time. It’s not about how much she earns or how she earns it. It’s just about her. Melinda Phillips. Your job is her. You fail, her killer walks. Do you understand that, Detective?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, eyes still on the photo. “I understand.”

  “Good.” Maggie nodded. “Now, we can argue all night. You can run home to your wife. Or we can do the work and catch Melinda Phillips’ killer.”

  Nick Dublowski didn’t hesitate. “Let’s do the work.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Hi, honey,” Rebecca Harden cooed as her husband slid between the sheets. It was his third late night without notice. “Long day?”

  “Yeah, pretty full schedule.
A couple quad bypasses. Some valve work. I was pounding out my paper for the AMA during lunch. Mentor meeting. Then one of Paul’s transplants took a turn and he asked me to go in and see if he missed anything… which he did. Some sloppy stitching. You’d think that man could exercise a little more care when he’s laying a heart in someone.”

  “Come over here and let me help you relax a little.” Rebecca pushed herself against her husband. His body remained stiff, distant.

  “Look, Rebecca, I really need some sleep. I’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

  Marcus did look exhausted, but his wife was still hurt. He saw it. And as much as he hated to admit, he didn’t always know what Rebecca would do when she was hurt. Strike out at him. Curl up in a ball and whimper. Try to make him feel guilty. She could be wildly unpredictable.

  “So that’s it. Three nights out late and it’s just, ‘Honey, I need some sleep.’” Rebecca’s jaw was set. “What about what I need? Huh, Marcus. What about me?”

  “What about you,” he snapped back. “You aren’t saving people, are you? You aren’t dealing with life and death every single day? Or has your job description changed recently? From feel-good shrink to serious physician.” Marcus wouldn’t need to speak again. He knew exactly where and how to hit for the most damage.

  “I’m sorry, baby. You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… You must be under so much stress.” Rebecca rubbed his shoulders, then turned over and cried for a half an hour. Marcus listened to her for only a few minutes before falling asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “So that’s it?” Dublowski asked as he put a cardboard box on a chair.

  Maggie paced the floor. “Almost. And what do you do tomorrow?”

  “Call the owners, the real estate people. See if the warehouse was shown to anyone recently.”

  “And?” Maggie waited for an answer. There was none. “Ask some of the uniforms what they saw. Shit, Dublowski, you have got to write this down. Write it all down or you’ll forget something and chances are what you forget is the one piece of information you’ll wish you had.”

  Nick flipped open his notebook and wrote.

  “We don’t have photos, so we need to pick a few brains,” Maggie continued. “Start with whoever was first on the scene. Meyers. I saw his name on one of the reports. He’ll remember a lot. He’s been trying to make detective for six years.”

  And I am a detective and can’t remember squat, thought Nick.

  “I’m betting our man knew about the building before he brought her there.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think?” Maggie asked. Would he see it? Probably not. She walked over to the area map spread across a table. “There’s no residentials around, no retail. It’s not a place most people have on their radar. Not unless they work in the warehouse district. And I don’t think he did.”

  “Why not?”

  “What do you think?”

  “You sound like a psychiatrist.”

  That stung. “Just ask if the building was shown in the last month or so. If it was, get names, check them out.”

  “You’re going too fast,” Nick said as he scribbled notes.

  “You have to be fast, Detective. This has to be second nature, otherwise you’re in the wrong line of business.” Maggie’s voice was acidic. “The scene’s so contaminated, it’s going to be like trying to put one puzzle together with pieces from six others mixed in.”

  “What about all this?” Nick stopped himself from adding “stuff” to the question.

  “Inadmissible. Try to pull it in and it’ll destroy your case.” Maggie answered Nick’s question before he could open his mouth. “But it might put us on the right trail.”

  “You think we have a chance?”

  Maggie snapped her gum. “The first twenty-four hours are the most important. They do still teach you guys that, right?”

  “Yeah, they still do,” Dublowski droned.

  “Well, we’re about three days late. That’s not good. Every hour the odds just keep stacking up against you. The scene was your best bet at wrapping this up fast and it’s gone.”

  Nick yawned before he could stop himself.

  “Keeping you up, Detective?”

  “Sorry, I’m just burnt…”

  “Get used to it.” Maggie was laying photos of Melinda Phillips on the table. “We have no scene. Hopefully, we’ll get a second on the autopsy.

  Dublowski cringed. He knew there was something he forgot.

  “Cremated?” Maggie said as she watched the detective’s face. It was the only logical answer. If the body was still intact, Tierney would’ve found a way to get it back on the block.

  “The chief said the parents must’ve pushed someone pretty hard.”

  “Okay. Well, no scene. No autopsy.” Maggie stared at photo of the mutilated body. “You can’t do that much without leaving a little of yourself behind.”

  “Monroe didn’t find anything.”

  “That’s why Harley should’ve done the cutting.”

  And he would’ve if I hadn’t messed up, thought Dublowski.

  “Okay, so what’s the next thing we focus on?” Maggie asked.

  “Why he did it?”

  “‘Why’ is for lawyers.”

  “How?”

  Maggie nodded. “What kind of weapon does this?” She held up a photo of Phillips’ mutilated body. “Did he use more than one tool? Could he have found it at the warehouse or did he bring it with? There was a broom, window cleaner. There might’ve been tools. Or was it something he kept at home? Did he go out and buy it for the occasion? If he did, was it unique? Traceable.”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said so far. We don’t know.” She snapped her gum. “Talk to Kurt Baskin, Monroe’s assistant. Hopefully he made an autopsy tape. Monroe usually does. Saves him work. See if Harley will look at it. If we’re lucky, he’ll see something they missed.”

  “Will he do that?”

  “Harley? Yeah,” Maggie nodded. “Okay, nothing from the killer’s end, so we go at it from the other side. From the victim’s.” She lined up three photos. “What do you see?”

  They’re all dead was the first answer that popped into Nick’s mind, but he doubted Quinn wanted to hear that. “They’re all strangulations.”

  “Not just strangulations. Manual strangulation. That’s unusual. It’s one thing to use a rope or pantyhose, but your bare hands. That says something. Look at Phillips again. What would make someone do this to another person?” Maggie wasn’t going to let him cheat. The young man couldn’t use that smile to slide by with her.

  Dublowski paused, his brow furrowed as he moved the photos around, then remembered what flew into his mind when he first saw the body. The killer was pissed. It was personal.

  “He knew her, Detective. He probably knew what she was doing that night and where to find her. He probably knew she was alone. So how? How did they meet? How long did he know her? Was he a one-night stand? Did he think otherwise? Get to know Melinda Phillips and you get to know our man. Halverson did the canvass, right? Did he do all the interviews?”

  Dublowski nodded.

  “So you go back and talk to everyone again. Find out where our girl hung out, then talk to bartenders, waiters, anyone who might’ve seen her that night. Ask them for names and descriptions of who she was with.” Maggie snapped her gum. “So why do all this over again? Why review the canvass?”

  “Halverson’s a fuck-up.” The words were out before Dublowski could stop himself.

  Maggie smiled. “Yeah, that’s true. But even if he wasn’t, you’d still do it because you have questions that don’t have answers.”

  “You think it’s a single killer?”r />
  “Too early to be sure.” Maggie knew he didn’t like the answer, but she didn’t want him jumping to conclusions until he had some facts to back it up. “It’s not just how it’s done. He can change the how. It’s what trips his trigger. What gets him off? Beating a face in, that’s personal. Ripping someone’s heart out and throwing it against the wall. Definitely personal. Wrapping your fingers around someone’s neck and squeezing. That’s power.”

  “So, what? You’re saying it’s two guys?”

  Maggie glared at him. “Do you want a serial situation? Do you think that’s going to make you look better?”

  Dublowski’s face was red.

  “Who is this case about, Detective?” Maggie asked.

  “The victim.”

  “Right. So do the work now. Once we have a better idea of who Melinda Phillips was, then we look at the other victims. See what they have in common and go from there.”

  The young man nodded.

  “Tomorrow you talk to her family, her friends. Everyone. And do it fast. Half-life of a witness’ memory is about thirty seconds.”

  Nick was about to ask again, but stopped himself. It might put them on the right trail. That’s why he did it. Dublowski flipped through his notebook. “And I also take the evidence.”

  “Not the stuff,” Maggie said.

  Nick tried not to smirk. “I take the evidence to Bosco at the lab.”

  “Only Bosco.” Maggie snapped her gum. “And how do you know him?”

  “Looks like Jerry Garcia, only balder.” Whoever the fuck Jerry Garcia was. He must’ve been someone if he had a Ben & Jerry’s flavor.

  “Just ask for him. You’ll give Bosco the evidence and this envelope. Don’t let anyone else have it. Only Bosco.” Maggie handed the detective the envelope with a brief greeting scribbled across the sealed flap.