by Nero Blanc
He placed his case on the wet pavement, slipped on a pair of surgical gloves, and crouched over the body. “Vertebral column … neural arch …” He looked at his watch and made a note. “Odd … but interesting coloration. The bruise is nearly dissipated.… Do you have a name? Address?”
Lever shook his head.
“Money? Valuables?”
This time Abe Jones responded. “Nothing. We could be looking at a robbery gone sour.”
“No signs of struggle, Abe.… The face is calm.”
“Rosco and I noted that, too.”
Carlyle stiffened slightly but otherwise didn’t react. He continued as if Rosco’s name hadn’t been mentioned. “I’m not liking this skin color.… Something doesn’t jibe. Clearly we have a crushed cervical vertebra. This lady was put out like a light.”
“Could she have been killed while she was sleeping?” Rosco asked. “Hit on the back of the head? Something like that?”
The medical examiner didn’t reply.
“What about it, Carlyle?” Lever asked.
“Possible but not probable. Your attacker would have to have a thorough understanding of human anatomy … a martial arts expert, maybe. Maybe. But again, not probable. If our gal were sleeping, her skull would have been in a similar relationship to the ground as it is here.… There’s little to no flexibility in the spine—”
“So you’re saying there’s no way it could have been an accident?” Lever’s voice was weary; he still hoped he wouldn’t have to open a second homicide file in as many days.
“Not from my initial examination. The autopsy could prove me wrong. Maybe.” Carlyle retrieved his umbrella from Jones and said, “I’ll get the van.” He headed up the alley, passing Sister Mary Catherine and a uniformed officer. Carlyle scarcely acknowledged them.
When the nun reached Lever, Al extended his hand. “Thanks for coming, Sister. I believe you already know Rosco Polycrates, Belle Graham’s fiancé, and this is Abe Jones, the department’s forensics expert.… And this person—” he pointed to the corpse—“is why we’re here. Does she look familiar?”
Sister Mary Catherine took a reflexive step backward, then walked forward and knelt beside the body, crossing herself before whispering a few words into the dead woman’s ear.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt,” Lever said. “But do you think you might recognize her?”
The nun stood and attempted to brush the dampness from her knees. “No … I’ve never seen her before. She’s never entered Margaret House.”
“Not even for a meal? You’re sure?”
“I remember everyone who comes through our doors, Lieutenant.” Sister Mary Catherine smiled gently and looked at Rosco. “I’m sure our volunteers remember them, as well.”
“Can you refer us to another agency—”
The nun shook her head. “This woman was not homeless, Lieutenant. She was not living on the streets. I’m sure your medical examiner will come to the same conclusion.”
“You seem pretty sure of that fact, Sister.”
Again, the peaceable smile. “I am.”
“Then would you care to take a stab at why she was sleeping on newspapers in an alley behind a bus station and had no money on her?”
Sister Mary Catherine studied Lever, an expression of growing comprehension and compassion on her quiet face. “I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant, and the strain you must feel … especially given yesterday’s situation, but I’ve spent my life among the lost and hopeless, whether children or adults. Their faces are like road maps, showing each path taken, each disappointment, each mistake, each unfulfilled hope. This unfortunate woman did not live on the streets.”
“Okay, but—”
“I’ve said a prayer for her, and for you and your team of police officers, as well. There’s nothing else I can offer you. Now, if someone could drive me back to the mission, I would appreciate it. I apologize if I seem brusque, but I have a great deal of work … among the living.” She touched Lever’s arm in tranquil finality. “Of course, I will be available at Margaret House if you want to question me further … or should you wish to talk with some of our residents.”
Lever’s glance moved from the nun to the dead woman and back again. He didn’t speak for a moment; when he did, his tone was solemn. “Thank you for your time, Sister … and for your prayers.” Then he nodded to the officer who’d originally escorted the nun to the scene. As the two walked purposefully away, they passed Carlyle’s van backing down the alley; Sister Mary Catherine briefly placed her hand on the vehicle’s dark metallic side.
The medical examiner took another fifteen minutes to finish his on-site examination and load the body onto his van. He worked in perfunctory silence, but before leaving the scene, he spoke to Lever while giving a conspicuous nod in Rosco’s direction. “Would you like to hear my initial thoughts or should I wait until we’ve returned to headquarters and dispensed with nondepartmental personnel?”
Lever sighed. He’d been through this routine before. When Rosco had been NPD, he and Carlyle had had a number of disagreements. The medical examiner resented Rosco’s unconventional methods; Rosco often considered Carlyle’s work sloppy; he felt the city deserved better. To top it off, Rosco’s assessments had a sneaky way of being correct.
But Lever needed to keep peace, and at the moment, Carlyle was the one who required attention. “Take a hike, will you, Polly—crates? But don’t leave the scene. I want to learn more about this Gus character.”
Rosco walked to the end of the alley, then strolled into the bus depot and had a chat with with the newspaper vendor. He bought a copy of the Boston Sentinel. By the time he’d returned to the alley, Carlyle had left.
“So?” he said to Lever.
“What do you think, Polly—crates? Carlyle had nothing new to add. Just that he thinks you’re a class-A jerk. He wanted to take this opportunity to reiterate his words of wisdom.”
“This is interesting.…” Jones said as he crouched to examine the area where the body had been. “The victim’s head was resting on today’s issue of the Boston Sentinel. The Crier copies are all old, but the Boston paper’s new. If we fixed the hour the bus depot newsstand opens, we might be able to narrow our time of death.”
It was Rosco who answered. “The newsstand’s a twenty-four-hour operation. The Sentinel comes down from Boston between four-thirty and five every morning except Sundays. The current vendor doesn’t remember a homeless woman in overalls, but he didn’t start work until eight A.M. … Of course, she could have pulled the paper out of the trash or gotten it from the coin box on the corner. That information’s from the vendor, not me.” Rosco handed a slip of paper to Lever. “But just in case she didn’t get it from the coin box, here’s the home phone of the guy who had the midnight-to-eight shift last night.”
“I’m glad to see you’ve been using your time wisely, Polly—crates.”
CHAPTER 9
Belle was staring disconsolately into a near-empty kitchen cabinet when the doorbell rang. She grabbed a can of condensed mushroom soup, plopped it on the counter, and called out, “Just a sec!” as she hurried through the house.
Rosco stood at the door, a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Belle kissed him. She was so focused on her own thoughts that she failed to notice the paper or Rosco’s curious expression. “Al didn’t need you any longer?”
“I told him everything I knew about Gus and Freddie, Sara’s peripheral involvement, vis-à-vis the dog … the works.… Sister Mary Catherine came by the scene at Lever’s request. She had a strong belief that the dead woman had not been living on the streets.”
Belle nodded thoughtfully. “You know, I feel a certain relief that this latest death isn’t part of a serial crime. In the back of my mind, I’ve been wondering if the city’s more questionable vested interests could be ratcheting up for a war against the homeless shelters.”
Rosco changed the subject. “Have you had lunch yet?”
They walked to the kitchen, hands touching. “We can warm some mushroom soup,” she said. “And I’ve got saltines. We could melt cheese over the crackers.…”
“Sounds great.” Rosco placed the newspaper on the counter. “Sorry to be late. I really did try to call earlier, but the line was constantly busy—”
“My father decided it was time for one final diatribe.” She opened the soup can and unceremoniously dumped the contents into a pot.
“He loves you, Belle. He’s expressing his feelings the only way he knows how.”
“I agree with the latter part of your assessment, Rosco.”
He turned her around to face him and slipped his arms around her shoulders. “I don’t care what he thinks of me, my education, family, work … but I do care about you. I love you, and I’m going to marry you … and you are the only person I’m trying to please. Now and always.”
Belle gazed up into his eyes. “You’re the best guy on earth,” she said. “I hope you know that.”
“We’re not our families, Belle.”
“I know.”
“Or our friends.”
“Well, friends … now, that’s different.” She gave him a grateful kiss, then moved away and opened the refrigerator door. “No milk! Oh, drat! I’ll have to thin this stuff with water. One of these days, I have to learn some basic culinary skills.”
“Such as buying milk?”
“Very funny. I was thinking more in terms of creating meals from scratch.”
“Your deviled eggs are excellent—”
“That’s only one dish, Rosco. It’s not enough to keep body and soul alive. Anyway, they’re more of an hors d’oeuvre than a meal.”
She stirred the soup dreamily. “Oh, I forgot! We had some excellent news! I was waiting till I saw you to share it. A thumbs-up from Captain Lancia. We’re definitely getting married in Newcastle waters, so we can get our license first thing Monday morning. Lancia can’t officiate, but Sara is contacting a JP she knows. Her initial suggestion was a real-life Washington judge, but I nixed the idea, which took some doing, as you can imagine. Il capitáno came to the rescue. His ministrations lessened Sara’s disappointment at not being able to phone her dear friend on the Supreme Court. If Lancia ever loses his job on the Akbar, he can always become a gigolo—”
“You’ve been busy.”
“You don’t know the half of it. If Sara had her way, she’d organize every aspect of our wedding … and maybe play both roles, too.” Belle paused and regarded Rosco thoughtfully. “I’m sorry you’ve been involved in this police business. It doesn’t make for an easy prenuptial week. Besides, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“No trace of Carson’s dog, I take it?” she asked.
“I contacted the Humane Society and all local veterinarians. They swore they’d call me before they … well, did anything drastic. We just have to wait.”
Belle left the soup pot, returned to the fridge, and retrieved a wedge of Cheddar cheese, which she began slicing, laying thin strips atop a number of crackers. Her expression was pensive; it was clear her thoughts weren’t on her work. “I wouldn’t like to be lost and hungry,” she said, then added a typical non sequitur, “Paprika, do you think?”
“Not as much as last time.”
Belle’s eyes narrowed into bemused slits. “The last time I used cayenne, by mistake. Paprika’s not as spicy.…”
As she perused her selection of spices, Rosco unfolded the newspaper. “Hideaway” he muttered as if to himself, “four letters …”
Unconsciously Belle replied. “Nest, cave, hole, lair …”
“Tongue?” Rosco prodded.
“Language, organ of taste or speech, dialect—”
“Six letters.”
“Accent … lingua … What are you up to?” Belle turned around and stared at the newspaper. “Since when have you started doing the crossword in the Boston Sentinel? 5-Across: Hideaway.” Her fingers pointed to the puzzle grid. “Thus your LAIR … and LINGUA for Tongue at 5-Down, making Mr. Amin IDI, of course, and Ms. Parks ROSA.” Belle chuckled. “Oh, and 16, 30, 51 and 65-Across run the full length of the puzzle grid. This looks intriguing … and nicely symmetrical.…”
Rosco took a beat. “Look at 1-Across. Anagram for—”
“Anagram for 75-Across,” Belle muttered. Her eyes darted across the clues. “75-Across: Retreats … four letters … Retreat is both noun and verb. A monk’s cell could be a retreat, likewise a desert isle; to flee is a form of retreating. However, in plural, the words would be five letters.… Wait, I’ve got it! SPAS. The anagram of which is either ASPS, PASS, or SAPS.”
Rosco paused again. “The dead woman was found with a copy of today’s Sentinel under her head. It was open to the comics page. The crossword is at the foot of that section.”
“I know,” was Belle’s wary reply.
“That’s why I purchased the paper.… There may be a connection here.” He pushed the Sentinel across the counter toward her, but she made no move to take it. “Anagram is part of the first clue … like your nickname—”
Belle interrupted. “Rosco, we’re getting married one week from today.”
“I know we are.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“That you don’t want to discuss crime in Newcastle.”
She nodded her head. “It’s not our business, Rosco. Really, it isn’t.”
Inadvertently, his eyes drifted back to the newspaper. “But doesn’t it seem unusual for a Boston daily to be found at the scene—?”
“The city’s less than an hour away—”
“And open to the crossword—?”
Belle’s expression remained unmoving. “A coincidence. That’s all. What does Al think?”
“He didn’t notice the puzzle. Neither did Abe.… Come on, Belle, humor me. This might have some bearing on the case. Call it one of my hunches.… But the woman’s torso was lying atop old Newcastle papers, her head resting on today’s Sentinel. In Carson’s case, there were also newspapers that had been used as a bed—”
“But you just said the situations were unrelated—”
“You inferred that, Belle, when I told you Sister Mary Catherine didn’t believe the dead woman had been living on the streets.”
Belle thought. “I have enormous respect for the nuns, but it’s certainly possible that’s a mistaken assumption. Perhaps the dead woman had only recently taken to the streets.… Maybe she arrived here by bus last night, so as not to be seen begging in her former hometown.… Pride plays an important role in all our lives, whatever our financial circumstances.”
Rosco didn’t reply.
Belle frowned and then sighed, the sound a mixture of frustration and guilt. “Rosco, I don’t want to deal with this. I don’t want to worry about Father Tom and the nuns. I’m being selfish, I know, but for the coming week, all I want to concentrate on is getting married, having a pleasant celebration, and beginning a new life together.”
“There may well be linkages between the two deaths—”
She touched Rosco’s arm and looked into his face. “If there are, Al will discover them. And if they turn out to involve the city’s criminal element, the NPD will handle it.”
“Fill in the puzzle, Belle. It will only take a minute.”
“And then we can forget the entire situation?”
“If there are no clues pertaining to the deaths—”
Belle attempted a jest. “Not good enough.… I’ll make you a deal. First we eat. Then we ink in the crossword. Any linkages go to Al. Okay?”
KING’S RANSOM
Across
1. 75-Across anagram
5. Hideaway
9. Ms. James
13. Remove
14. Chinese lead-in
15. Cheat
16. Walston “Damn Yankees” role?
19. Judge Lance
20. Oxygen tanker Itrs.
21. King lead-in
2
2. “Could——Be Magic”
24. Cow chomp?
26. Smells
30. Like a Barbie doll?
34. Roman sun god
35. Perrier, e.g.
36. Ms. McIntire
37. Batter’s stat.
40. School grp.
42. Logos, abbr.
44. Not pos.
45. “——hook Up?”
47. Sick
49. Travel org.
51. Detectives’ traits
57. Mends
58. ——la-la
59. Track tip
60. Spanish article
62. April 15th grp.
64. Power proj.
65. Hanoi Hilton competitor?
71. Shocked
72. Mr. Perkins
73. Overjoy
74. Vegas tip
75. Retreats
76. TV rooms
Down
1. Ms. Franklin
2. ——faire
3. Tire fig.
4. Deal in
5. Tongue
6. “Frankie——Johnny”
7. Mr. Amin
8. Ms. Parks
9. Quito country
10. Dent lead-in
11. McCort novel
12. Mr. Lincoln
13. Ms. Wharton
17. How Gaelic tales were told
18. Luminosity
23. ’60s protest grp.
25. White House mono.
27. Sign
28. Playwright David
29. Catch
31. “At the——”
32. Consume
33. Home of Ding Dong Daddy
37. Hasty
38. “——Suede Shoes”
39. Ingrid in “Casablanca”
41. The Greatest
43. Dooley in “Casablanca”
46. Indulge oneself
48. “Whole——of Shakin’ Goin On”
50. River isle
52. “——It a Pity”
53. Wild Asian sheep
54. No way to return from Aruba?
55. Comforters
56. Tired
61. Basics
63. Cast off
65. Tam
66. Self
67. Thumbs up!
68. Music choice
69. Pitcher’s stat.
70. Bravo!