Danger Returns in Pairs (Shawn Danger Mysteries Book 2)

by Nina Post

  Beers took a temperature gauge out of his bag of tricks and wrote down the ambient temperature and humidity in a spiral notebook. He put the notebook aside and took Jasper's temperature in his liver. "Checking algor mortis," he said as he noted the change in body temperature after death.

  "How do you take into account that the victim was probably killed outside while he was running, or immediately after that?" Shawn asked.

  Beers' expression said it was complicated. "If the body were killed here, and remained in this climate-controlled environment, his temperature would be consistent the first hour. After that, he would lose heat at a rate of 1.5ºF per hour. But when the outside temperature varies, this measurement becomes impractical when the body temperature equals the outside temperature." Beers' voice was deeper than Shawn would have expected.

  "Are you going to call the ME?"

  "No, I am not. Checking livor mortis." Beers adjusted Jasper to look for discoloration caused by settling of the blood. "This is usually well-developed within four hours. Based on algor and the minimal lividity, I'd say approximate time since death was between one and four hours. Unofficially, I would say about two hours." He stopped to make notes. "Inspecting rigor mortis," he said in his soft voice.

  "Considering the time since death, doesn't the rigor seem too set?"

  Beers gave him a curdled expression. "Rigor normally sets in within a few hours, but he's in a more advanced state than he should be for only two and a half hours."

  "How's that?" Shawn asked.

  "Our muscles require a constant input of adenosine triphosphate. Our shaved friend here used up most of his ATP while running. His muscle cells didn't have time to regenerate, so his muscle proteins were stuck in a contracted phase after death, hastening rigor."

  So he'd been running for a while already, Shawn thought. Officer Marin leaned into the room. "Excuse me, Detective, but do we need to call the ME on duty?"

  Beers directed his withering stare to the officer this time. "That is solely my determination to make, officer, and not something for you to be concerned about." The officer glanced at Shawn, who nodded slightly. The officer retreated. In a low voice, Shawn said, "Are you saying the ME doesn't need to come to the scene?"

  Beers rolled his eyes, miffed. "Correct. He trusts me to provide a thorough documentation."

  Shawn took that to mean that the ME was a drunk the DI didn't trust, or that Beers thought he was just as good as the ME. But Beers had a competent efficiency about him, and certainly documented the heck out of everything, so Shawn was fine with the situation. As though realizing he left the ME open to speculation and gossip, Beers clarified, "He's in court. He's always in court."

  Shawn wondered if they were dating and if this was a source of their arguments.

  Beers cleared his throat and gestured to Jasper. "The victim shaved, or was shaved, very recently. Perhaps early this morning, but certainly again after these wounds were inflicted."

  Shawn perked up. This was enormously significant to the profile and the MO. "You can tell?"

  "Yes I can tell."

  "You're certain?"

  "Yes, of course I'm certain." Cue withering stare.

  He missed his ME from county. Dr. Landry Evans had her share of withering stares, but they were affectionate withering stares.

  Reminding Shawn of a country doctor or vet, Beers took a magnifying glass from his bag and peered at the head and neck wounds, then the wounds on the abdomen. "The weapon was a narrow pick or spike. The autopsy will obviously tell you more."

  The way Jasper was killed was violent and personal, though the wounds were precise and there weren't any other injuries he could see -- nothing defensive. "Something about this display is almost respectful," Shawn said. "Do you think the scene could have been staged?"

  Beers gave him a look. "Staged?"

  "To mislead us." Shawn added, "Or the killer had a change of heart. Maybe he was regretful about what he did."

  The response was a flicker of amusement. "I believe that's your area of expertise, Detective. Understanding the machinations and whims of people is hardly my strong point."

  Shawn would ask something Beers would be more comfortable with. "Based on the placement and the precise handling of the tool, do you think the killer used the same weapon before?"

  Beers seemed slightly relieved. "Based on this example, I would say yes. Did you find the weapon?"

  "No. I think he was killed off-site."

  The absence of a weapon was another indication of an organized killer, especially if the body was transported. Whoever killed Jasper most likely had his own weapon and took it with him. He probably had his own murder kit, too, but that would bear out.

  "Either there was no struggle, or the killer cleaned up any sign of it," Shawn said. What in God's name was Jasper into?

  Beers looked at Shawn. "Do you know why the killer would have shaved the scalp and pubis, Detective?"

  Shawn considered Jasper. "Only pubic and scalp hair are analyzed in a lab, but there are plenty of telogen hairs in the house -- probably thousands."

  Beers gave him an appraising frown.

  "If the killer was otherwise so meticulous about not leaving evidence, he would know that," Shawn added. The shaved head made him think of monks, but he didn't mention it. "There's no way the killer got all of those hairs unless the vic kept himself shaved like this since he moved in. So we'd likely have the victim's sample anyway, as long as we could get enough of it for a good standard."

  "At least fifty intact hairs that originated from different locations on the victim's head," Beers added. "For a decent standard."

  "And we'd have to find that many samples of a suspect's hair in the house to have two different samples," Shawn said. "The only other hairs were probably from the dog. So I think the shaving must have some other purpose, maybe to express something about the victim."

  "And what's that?"

  "Not sure." But Shawn thought that Beers's interest in the purpose of one of the killer's decisions indicated he was making an effort to not be an asshole, and Shawn liked him a little bit more for that.

  Officer Crane tentatively approached. "Lieutenant, you don't think maybe the vic was stabbed right here in the chair, then shaved? And that there's no blood because the killer brought some tarp, then maybe slid it out after?"

  Beers sighed, world-weary.

  "That's a good question. But I don't think a tarp would have caught everything. There'd be more evidence here. It almost had to be off-site. But it's good to consider all the possibilities."

  Crane flashed a sheepish grin.

  To the techs, Shawn said, "Look for dirt, soil, rocks, plants, liquids -- anything from outside that could help us find the kill site. Look for our victim's running clothes, and take any dirty laundry you find. No, you know what? I'm going to bag that up myself." He pointed to the chair Jasper was on. "And test the chair."

  He overheard one of the techs say to the other, "Why are we even here?"

  Despite his eagerness to find the kill site, Shawn wanted to ask the neighbor/running partner a few questions. If they ran together, it may help him find where Jasper was killed. Shawn left the techs to their work and went outside. The neighbor was still on the lawn. He was in his late thirties, about the same age as Jasper.

  "Mind if I ask you some questions, Mr. Tunks?"

  "No, that's fine."

  "Where do you live?"

  "Right over there." The runner gestured to a smaller but well-kept house down the street.

  "How did you come to call this in, Mr. Tunks?"

  "Jasper and I started running together a few weeks ago after he moved in. Anyway." Andy's face dropped and he looked weary. "He didn't show up."

  "Where do you and Jasper run?"

  "Presque Isle. We're pretty close to it."

  "It's still a long run to get out there," Shawn said. "But then I'm not a runner. How far do you go?"

  "To Sunset Point."

  "That's a
good ten or more miles there and back."

  "Sunday is our long run. We're trying to get to twenty miles."

  "You training for the marathon?"

  "Yeah, we are, actually." A cloud over the neighbor's expression indicated a realization that he'd be the only one of them to do it. Shawn noted the use of the present tense.

  "Okay, so that's where both of you ran every Sunday morning?"

  "Yeah. But Jasper ran from his house, and I think he got a head start."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He always showed up looking like he'd already been running, and when I asked him, he admitted he got in an extra mile or two before we started. I said I could do more, but he said we had a good system. I guess he wanted some alone time first."

  That sounded like Jasper. When they all hung out, he'd often go off by himself, or turn inward, like he was in his own world.

  "What time did you meet?"

  "Six a.m."

  "He usually shows up on time?"

  "So far, he's been reliable. Six on the dot for a couple weeks now."

  "You run every day? Weekdays, weekends?"

  Andy nodded, downcast. "Yeah."

  Tunks hadn't been inside the house, so he didn't know what it normally looked like. But it was useful to know that part of Jasper's schedule -- it would set the timeline and help determine where Jasper was taken and, Shawn hoped, where he was killed and how the killer targeted him.

  "It could've just as easily been me. Maybe if I hadn't been late -- "

  "I don't think this was random, Mr. Tunks. I don't think there was a fifty-fifty chance it could've been you."

  Andy gave him a sad smile. "Cold comfort, Detective."

  Shawn thought that Andy being able to have dinner that night then watch some TV and feel his heart beating would be comfort.

  "We'll need you to come down to the station to give your statement. One of the officers can take you."

  When Shawn got back inside, Beers was examining Jasper's wounds. Shawn left him to it and looked around for the master bedroom. He stepped down a short hallway of plush carpet with his blue-bootied shoes, and nudged open a closet door with a gloved hand. The upright hamper had some clothes in it, so he pulled up the bag, cinched it tight, then carefully placed it into a large evidence bag he gave to a tech. He glanced at the bottom of the hamper to make sure nothing else was there.

  Shawn opened the closet doors and spotted a cigar box on the shelf. "Hello there." He took it down, rested it on his hand, then opened the top flap, which creaked softly and released an earthy scent particular to old cigar boxes. Inside were a few objects he recognized: the rocks and piece of slate from when they all met at the Devil's Backbone, a monkey toy Jasper won at the State Fair, a metal ID bracelet, baseball cards.

  He found another box, too, velvet-lined, with Jasper's marble collection from his mibster period. Shawn picked them up one by one in his gloved hand. The first was a red and blue onionskin with mica flakes. He picked up a few more. Another onionskin, blue and white. A champion agate swirl with creamsicle colors. He knew it would be a perfect sphere. There was also one he thought was a bumblebee, with black and yellow stripes, and a beautiful latticino, with threads and ribbons in primary colors. There was also one that looked just like a jawbreaker, a few micas that looked like bowling balls, one that looked like a tornado with a riot of colors, a red-orange lutz, and a few others.

  He wondered if the collections were worth anything, and if so, what Jasper would want him do with it. Donate the money to Battles? Maybe something animal-related? He'd have to look into it.

  Another marble was clear with a cat inside it. "Sulphide," he murmured, admiring it. Would Jasper mind if he took this one? He pocketed the marble. But where was Jasper's favorite marble, a blood-red aggie? And his Zippo lighter? He ran his hand through the box to make sure he hadn't missed it. They all had a lighter, and this was the box where Jasper kept his relics, so where was it?

  The League's dads had their own inscribed Zippo lighters, those talismans of a harrowing shared experience, and Shawn and his friends wanted to claim a part of that for themselves. Even as ten-year-olds, they were kept at a distance and held in some contempt for not having had the same experience -- even though their dads never talked about the war, not once.

  So one day, a school day, he, Jasper, Paul, Darcy, and John went directly to the Zippo factory in Bradford, fueled with resentment and determination to get the same tangible symbol of having been through the shit together.

  Brower drove to the factory. He was only twelve, the oldest, but looked like a physically imposing sixteen-year-old. They hung out in the car for a few hours, waiting for lunchtime to roll around. When the employees started to drift out of the building, Brower approached one of them and made a deal for to exchange some fireworks he had in his trunk for five pristine, unmarked Zippo lighters.

  Then later, because Shawn was the best at drawing, he etched the side of the lighters with Lo5 topped with flames.

  His old friend would've kept his lighter in that box. And it wasn't there.

  Before Shawn left Jasper's bedroom, he opened drawers and generally poked around, collecting more of the short brown hairs from the sheets and the carpet and sealing them in the appropriate packaging. The nightstand on the left side of the bed had a dust-free outline of what looked like a book. He took his measuring tape from his pocket, held it along the edge of the nightstand, and took a picture.

  Back downstairs, he met eyes with Beers. "Check his mouth."

  "Excuse me?"

  "If the rigor isn't too set, check the inside of his mouth. Please." He hoped it was in Jasper's mouth, and not…somewhere else.

  Beers made an expression suited to a spouse who had dealt with this particular annoyance a million times and had given up on it ever changing. He pried Jasper's mouth open just enough to peer in. It didn't happen quickly. Beers peered down his nose as he slowly and carefully extracted a scroll of paper from Jasper's mouth with long tweezers.

  "Look, there's a prize inside." Beers passed it to Shawn.

  "Map of a shipwreck bounty?" one of the techs offered.

  "A peel-off lottery ticket?" another tech said.

  Shawn flattened the paper on his gloved hand, holding out the edges with his thumb and index finger. He smelled the note and Beers considered him with a combination of revulsion and admiration.

  On the top of the note was a hand-drawn logo: a Zippo lighter with its own etched Lo5 on the side, engulfed by the flames. Below the logo were five stick figures, one X'd out.

  He knew who killed Jasper Stowe.

  Chapter 4

  Shawn's phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked the number. His mother again. Unbelievable. It was almost too bad he didn't run a small business -- he would put everyone in his family to work collecting on invoices. He went to the kitchen by the laundry area to call Sarah.

  "Why Jasper Stowe?" he asked when she picked up.

  "Hello to you, too."

  "He's dead. Also, I just saw you. Toss me a bone."

  "Jasper Stowe is a songwriter."

  That was news to Shawn.

  "He wrote some hit songs and made truckloads of money off them, but then he went off the radar and became a recluse. No one even knew if he was still alive." She paused, then groaned. "Ugh."

  Shawn didn't even bother asking what song. His music awareness stopped around 1980, and that was being generous.

  "So, I was thinking that I would still make the documentary," she said. "And I'd like some access to the investigation, if that's possible."

  Shawn considered this. He wanted to give her everything she wanted, unless it just wasn't possible. "I'll think about it, but can we discuss it later? I have to get back to the scene."

  "I'm parked down the street," Sarah said. "I can come right back. No one would even notice. I'm short and small. They would just think I'm a floater in their eyes, or a maybe a bird."

  "I think you greatly underestimate yo
ur attractiveness, but that's fine. Be unobtrusive." He paused. "Hello?" She had already hung up.

  The phone buzzed again right away and he smiled as he answered. "I already said yes."

  The second he heard his mother's voice, he closed his eyes. "Finally! Can you do it tomorrow?"

  "Do what tomorrow?"

  His mother made an exasperated sigh. "Take your father in to a clinic for some medical tests. I swear I've asked you a million times." Because he was so irresponsible.

  "I can't. I'm working."

  "But you just said yes! So I'll tell him you're coming to pick him up tomorrow at nine. And I hope you're planning on -- "

  He cut her off. "There's no way I can do that. I just started an investigation. I'm at the scene right now."

  "Well, that's a convenient excuse," his mother said.

  He wasn't going to get into this with her. He just said, "I think it's a damn good one," and thought about what Joe had said. In a warning tone, she added, "You're going to disappoint everyone."

  "I'm used to it." Did she think he never inconvenienced himself by working on a case? Or that he only used his job to get out of things he didn't like? He couldn't take Sarah out or go on a weekend trip for her birthday, for one thing.

  "Don't take that tone with me. I -- "

  "Tell everyone to stop calling. I can't go to the party and I can't take dad to the clinic. Bye, Mom."

  Detective Michelson, who was coordinating the neighborhood canvass, signed in and greeted Shawn. The city morgue attendant showed up to transport the body, and then Crane told him that the house alarm hadn't been set that morning. Considering there was no sign of forced entry, Brower must have accessed the house with Jasper's key, and just lucked out with the alarm.

  Once Michelson had started, Shawn called the number he found for Natasha. The number was long-distance, probably California. As far as Shawn knew, Jasper didn't have much family. Jasper's mother had died while he was a junior in high school -- Shawn remembered how uncomfortable they all felt, going to Jasper's house and expressing their awkward teenage sympathy. He'd have to check on the father, but he was pretty sure he had died, too, years ago, and Jasper didn't have any siblings.