by James Carver
“What?” said Otterman. “Why are you looking so weird?”
“Confession…” Bradley was looking intently at Otterman with a wild gleam in his eyes. “Of course. Confession.”
“I was only joking about bugging his confession.”
“No, no. Listen, Otterman. Why did Devlin go all the way down to the church in DC? When we tailed him down from Dover?”
Otterman looked deeply confused. “I don’t know…to talk about God I guess.”
“No, Otterman. What did he do when you followed him into the church?”
“‘Oh, he went into the confession box thing.”
“That’s right. He must have confessed.” Bradley sat back in his seat and grinned. “And it had to have been something pretty major. I mean, priest or no priest, you don’t travel over four hundred miles to confess just for cussing. Oh boy.” Bradley stood, walked to the bed, grabbed Otterman’s round shiny face, and planted a kiss on his lips.
“Hey, get the fuck off me!” Otterman protested.
“Otterman, we’re taking a trip back to DC.”
Bradley was ecstatic. It felt like he’d never left the force. Like the procedural error had never happened. If you could call excessive force and alleged torture a procedural error.
15
After the meeting with Stein, Devlin had returned to his car and waited. He waited through the rest of the morning, and at about ten past twelve he saw Stein exit his building and head west down East Broad Street. Devlin got out of the car and followed half a block behind. Stein took a right up North Fourth Street and entered the Renaissance Hotel. Devlin followed in behind and watched him walk over to the hotel restaurant. Inside the restaurant, Stein joined a man already sitting by at a window table, a man with pale skin tinged with a yellow hue and thin, pitch-black hair oiled back across his head.
Devlin walked straight on through and out of the exit onto North Third Street. Across the road was a steakhouse with window blinds. Devlin walked in and asked for a table by the window which gave him a direct line of sight onto the two men. He ordered a steak sandwich and coffee, and through a narrow slit in the blinds, he watched their food arrive in the restaurant opposite. They ate and then talked for about twenty minutes longer. Finally, they shook hands and the man with the greased black hair left while Stein stayed to order another drink. Devlin decided to hang on for Stein. As he watched Stein drink and talk on his cell, he noticed a sparkling new silver Jaguar XFR come up from the underground parking lot exit by the restaurant. In the driver’s seat was the man that had been eating with Stein. Devlin watched the Jaguar drive north and memorized the license plate. Then he texted it to Stevens and asked him if he could run a check on it. Devlin was finishing his sandwich when his cell buzzed. It was Stevens.
“You ran the license plate already?” asked Devlin.
“Yeah, I figured it’s to do with Ed, so I gave you the premium service.”
“It is.”
“Well, the car comes up as registered to a Dr. Claude Lazard. Home address is Beverly Park, LA.”
“Fancy.”
“Isn’t it? But I also got something else. Something interesting. There was a traffic violation recorded against the license plate a few weeks back. But it wasn’t issued to Lazard. It was issued to a Mr. Ed James.”
“That is interesting. Why would Ed take a ticket for him?”
“Must’ve been driving Lazard’s car.”
“It’s an expensive car. I wouldn’t lend it out if I were him.”
“You think you got something?”
“Not really. Just painting a picture, that’s all. Brushstroke by brushstroke. Thanks for checking it out so fast. I know you gotta be busy.”
“No problem. Speaking of which, where are you?”
“I’m in Columbus.”
“Columbus? You better get a move on. We got that meeting at three thirty.”
“Relax. I’ll make it.”
After Stein had finished at the restaurant, Devlin followed him back to his office. Then Devlin walked back across to the lot, got into his car, and headed west to Dayton to meet Stevens at the coroner’s office. While he drove he thought about Ed, about how he came to be mixed up with Stein and Lazard. And his gut told him that they weren’t the kind of company a man would wisely or freely choose.
16
The Montgomery County Coroner’s Offices were situated in a big, plain-looking concrete building with narrow and dark glass windows. Devlin pulled up around the side in the parking lot. When he got inside, he found Stevens already sitting in the reception area waiting. Devlin sat down beside him.
They both waited a few more minutes until the receptionist called them and led them through to the coroner’s office. After another short wait, a disheveled-looking guy in his fifties with no shoes on shuffled in holding a mug of coffee and muttered a couple of hellos. Bald with a half-hearted attempt at a comb-over, he wore a colorful and thickly striped shirt with a wide knotted wool tie. He sat in his chair and swung to face the two men.
“Jack Carr, chief coroner, how do you do?”
“Hi, I’m Greg Stevens, deputy up at Halton Springs. I hope you don’t mind, I brought along Father Devlin. He was an investigator with the Air Force and has some knowledge of Romani Gypsies, which is a lead at the moment. I’ve been consulting with him on this investigation.”
“Father Devlin,” said Carr, leaning forward to shake Devlin’s hand. “Well, gentlemen, safe to say this isn’t one that comes across yours or my desk every day. Decapitation is…well, let’s just say this is my second in a long and not particularly illustrious career. I’ll email the full report over after lunch. Shall I take you through the headlines, Deputy?”
“Please.”
“Okay. The victim’s age and gender as the CSI at the scene reported. Male, well nourished, late teens. No evidence of recent sexual activity. The head had been severed from the trunk between the first and second cervical vertebrae. Both hands had been separated from the forearms at the wrists, both feet at the ankle joints. We retrieved two 9 mm bullets in the thorax. But neither would have caused death. Possibly there was another shot to the victim’s head, but we don’t know the cause of death. Looking at the description of blood loss at the scene, it would appear the dismemberment occurred postmortem. There is a distinguishing mark, a red elongated birthmark on the collarbone. But not a huge help in identifying the victim given the absence of prints and teeth.”
“What about a DNA match?” asked Stevens.
“I’m afraid not, Deputy. Whoever this guy was, he doesn’t show up on our database.”
“What about other countries’ databases?”
“You’d have to push a request like that up through your chief and the Bureau of Criminal Investigations I’m afraid.” Stevens’ heart sunk. He knew that would only happen if Walker and Cutter allowed other lines of inquiry to be opened.
“Any clue to the victim’s ethnicity?” asked Stevens.
“It’s not really possible to say anything definitive with what we have of the body. The most we could get to saying is that the victim is likely non-white Caucasian. As unhelpful as that might be, it’s as much as could be stated without being willfully misleading.”
“Do we know if the body was moved?”
“I don’t think so. There was pronounced lividity along the back and buttocks consistent with the victim having lain since time of death in the position he was found. We found the presence of Cochliomyia larvae that had hatched. It’s not likely that blowfly eggs would hatch in the host body so quickly if it had been disturbed and moved from another place. The only material found on the body was soil and insects native to Long Pine. No matter was found that would indicate another site.”
“Is there anything to tell us what was used to dismember the body?”
“Well, yes, I think so. There are persistence marks on the bones.”
“Persistence marks?”
“Marks on the bones either side of t
he actual cuts. Where someone has made cuts to the left or right, false starts, or where they have missed the main cut. So that would point to a saw or large knife. However, I don’t think it was a saw. You see, it’s all about the kerf.”
“Kerf? Doesn’t that have to do with wood?”
“Usually yes; it’s the pattern of a slit made by a cutting tool, and it holds for bone as well as wood. You see, saws leave a squared cross-section kerf floor at the bottom of the slit. The marks here are V-shaped and consistent with the V-shaped kerf floor that bevel-edged knife blades create. So in my view, it was done with an extremely sharp knife.”
Devlin, who had been silent during Carr’s briefing, spoke up. “Isn’t the orthodoxy that decapitation is very rare in homicide? That homicides ending in corpse dismemberment are most commonly committed by a person close to or acquainted with the victim?”
“Yes. And I’d agree, except here the trauma is consistent, measured. It’s a very clean cut.”
“So not likely to be done in the heat of rage or passion?” asked Devlin.
Carr folded his arms and crossed his socked feet. “No. I wouldn’t say so. The cuts aren’t ragged at all. They’re quite precise. I would also say from the direction of the marks that the person making them was right-handed.”
“Okay. That’s helpful,” said Stevens. “Don’t suppose you want to come to the briefing with the mayor at Halton PD this afternoon?”
Carr smiled and took a sip from his steaming mug. “I don’t think so. I got two more autopsies booked in today, my friend.”
“Worth a try. Anything more to report?”
“There is something…something else...”
“What?” asked Stevens.
“The first round of toxicology results showed up a trace amount of ketamine.”
“Ketamine? Was he high?”
“Possibly. It’s conceivable it was taken for recreational use shortly before the estimated time of death. It’ll take another few weeks to establish precise levels, and we don’t know the exact time of death or the initial dose, so we have to treat these first results with great care. But that’s what it looks like to me.”
Stevens and Devlin stepped out into daylight. Stevens sighed. “Well, it ain’t much, but it’s something. Something we can take back.”
“We?” said Devlin in surprise.
“Yeah, to Walker and Cutter.”
“Listen, Greg, I don’t know that I should be getting involved…”
“I think I can ask for a bit of professional and moral support. I’m a dying man, after all.”
“You do know, Greg—the Lord’s infinite compassion notwithstanding—that there are only so many times you can play that card?”
“Come with me. Please. I’ll do the talking, but it would sure as hell give me the moral support I need if you were there. Do this and I swear, I won’t lay any more dying wishes on you. I promise, Father.”
Devlin wasn’t keen to walk into the middle of a homicide. Right at the moment, he wasn’t keen to be walking into police stations period. But Stevens was a good man trying to do the best thing. If he was pleading with him for his help, then he didn’t see he could turn him down.
“Okay. But you do all the talking. And you can drop the ‘Father’ thing too. Call me Gabe. My friends call me Gabe.”
“Thanks, Gabe.”
17
“I see you’ve brought your spiritual counselor with you, Greg,” quipped Walker. The chief was sitting back in his chair alongside the mayor around the meeting table in his office, looking smug and comfortable.
“I brought Father Devlin along as he has valuable experience of Romani Gypsy culture and a background in investigations with the Air Force. I’d very much like him to sit in on this meeting.” Walker and Cutter exchanged glances, but the mention of Devlin’s knowledge of Gypsies seemed to placate them.
“I’m Jim Cutter, mayor of Halton, Father Devlin. This is Chief of Police Caleb Walker.”
Devlin nodded acknowledgments, and he and Stevens took their seats before Cutter kicked things off.
“Well, where does the coroner’s report on this put us?”
“I’ve read it,” said Walker quickly. “And it pretty much reinforces our position yesterday. It opens no other lines of inquiry. Wouldn’t you say, Greg?” Walker stared directly at Stevens. His dull, bloodshot eyes narrowed in anticipation of Stevens’s reply.
“I wouldn’t, Chief. I think it poses serious questions for our investigation.”
Walker snapped forward in his chair and slammed the table. “Jesus Christ. Jim, this is bullshit. The victim was decapitated and dismembered. It points to a murder by someone who knew the victim well. These kind of mutilations are almost always the act of someone known to the victim.”
“I don’t think so,” interrupted Devlin.
“Oh? And what light could you possibly have to shine on this, Father?”
“Romani Gypsies do not kill their own. Their strongest punishment is banishment. And the method of dismemberment here points to a methodical act, not one of passion or revenge.”
“None of that is in the damn report,” countered Walker.
“It’s implicit in the coroner’s analysis of the striation marks on the bone,” said Devlin. “The cuts were not rushed. It was done competently and with a sharp beveled knife. Whoever did this cut up the body to prevent identification, not out of rage. It is not compatible with a feud, revenge, or crime of passion theory.”
Stevens leaped in. “And that’s why we need to check other countries’ databases for DNA as we didn’t get a match on our own…”
“An international DNA check?” Walker exploded. “Go through the BCI? Without any evidence or reason? Jim, this is insane. And why the hell are we listening to a priest tell us how to investigate. What’s next, we get Oprah in?”
“Because he’s right,” said Stevens.
There was a heavy silence. Cutter was pissed and spoke slowly in near to a whisper. “This is the biggest investigation this department has ever handled,” said the mayor. “And it’s also turning out to be the biggest mess I’ve ever witnessed.” His voice was beginning to rise as he got into speech mode, but he was cut short by his cell buzzing on the table. He leaned forward to see what it was.
“Jim, you have my word that this is the same case it was yesterday,” said Walker. “And today’s report changes absolutely nothing. I have informed deputy Stevens that he is to be—” There was another buzz. This time it was Walker’s cell that vibrated, and he paused to take a look too. Cutter already had his reading glasses on; he had clicked on a link and was watching a video. Stevens and Devlin looked at each other.
“You got it too, Caleb?” asked Cutter
“Yeah…I got it,” replied Walker. Cutter looked up at Walker, who was evidently watching the same video that Cutter had just seen. There was a knock at the door, and Miller appeared.
“You got my link I sent you, Chief?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Todd.”
“It looks like it was taken outside Charley’s last week,” said Miller. “It’s a great shot of the guy with the knife. Just what we need.” Miller turned to Stevens, and Devlin was unable to hide the smirk breaking out across his face. “You two gentlemen will want to take look too, I’m sure. We’ve been able to spec the knife, Chief. With any luck, the weapon will match the injuries to the vic.”
“Great police work, Todd,” added Walker. He had watched through to the end and put his cell down. He looked triumphantly across the table at Stevens and Devlin and with evident pleasure said, “Someone’s just posted a video on YouTube taken a few weeks back of a Gypsy brawl outside Charley’s, and one of them is holding a large knife about to attack one of his…what’s the term?” Walker looked at Devlin. “Brethren. Looks like he’s about to rip the other guy apart until he’s held back. I think this is becoming a slam dunk. I told you, Jim, this has always been going one way.”
Cutter took off his reading glasses
and slid his cell to Stevens. “There’s the link; have a look yourselves.”
Stevens and Devlin watched it through. Right enough, there was a brawl between about four or five young men. One of them had been filmed brandishing a knife before being restrained and pulled back by friends.
“This proves nothing about the case,” said Devlin. “All it proves is someone desperately wants it to be a Romani killing.”
“It’s more circumstantial evidence,” added Stevens.
“Yeah, but Greg, it’s evidence. And yet again, I don’t see any coming from your end, of any kind. Jim, the momentum of this case is clear. I propose my officers put together a summary of all the evidence we have, including any information we can find identifying the guy with the knife, and our recommendations. We will then send that to your office and to Cleveland PD where the Gypsies have moved on to. We’ll promise to send an officer to Cleveland as a gesture. To commit resources. Hell, we’re a small department; one officer is a hell of a gesture. Send Gray out there. With that sour face of hers, it won’t be long before they’ll be begging us to take her back. And that will be the end of the road for us as lead in this investigation. It will be effectively off our books.”
Cutter leaned back in his chair with the air of a condemned man who’d just got a reprieve. “Yep. I agree.” He looked at Stevens and Devlin, his mind running through the next steps he needed to take. “I think the three of us need to discuss how this case has been handled. Father Devlin, this is now an internal personnel discussion, and due to confidentiality, we’ll need to keep this meeting just between the public officials in this room.”
Devlin nodded and stood to leave. In a manner that was plainly meant as a goodbye rather than a show of gratitude, Cutter said without looking at Devlin, “Thank you, Father.”
“The best thing you can do for us, Father Devlin, is pray,” added Walker drily.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a prayer for the blind,” said Devlin. Walker’s eyes flashed with anger, and Cutter looked up to watch the priest leave the room.