The Dead Detective

by William Heffernan

  “You curse a lot, Bobby Joe. And I truly find it offensive when you do. I’m certain the Lord finds it offensive as well.”

  The shiver returned to Bobby Joe’s spine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just nervous. Bein’ pushed by that cop and now you not believin’ me. My nerves are just a damn … My nerves are just a mess.”

  The man slipped his arm around Bobby Joe’s shoulder and began walking him across the room. “No need to be nervous, Bobby Joe. Did you give him that other detective’s name, the one Darlene told you about?”

  Bobby Joe’s head began to nod rapidly again. “I did. I did. And my lawyer called the sheriff and demanded to know why the cops aren’t investigating one of their own people. Why they were tryin’ to pin everything on a minister of the church, instead. He did it. He did it just like Daddy told him to, and he said the sheriff assured him he was gonna do somethin’ about it.”

  “But Harry Doyle still showed up at your door, didn’t he?”

  Bobby Joe searched his mind for a reason. He felt like a man who had fallen into a raging river and was reaching out for anything he could find to keep himself afloat. “I don’t think the sheriff had gotten to him yet. He seemed surprised when I told him that Walter … that’s the lawyer … had called him.”

  The man continued to walk him slowly around the room, one arm still draped around his shoulder.

  “What else did you tell him, Bobby Joe?”

  “Nothin’, nothin’ at all.”

  “Did you tell him about me?”

  “No, of course not. I didn’t tell him nothin’ else, not a damn thing.”

  The man shook his head. “I asked you to stop cursing, Bobby Joe. You’re a minister of the Lord and you’re cursing like some common riffraff.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I really don’t.”

  With a movement so deft and quick Bobby Joe never felt it happening, the man slipped behind him, slid one arm across his throat, and pressed his body against his back.

  “If you move, I will break your neck,” he hissed in his ear.

  Bobby Joe said nothing, and the man could feel his entire body trembling against him. In a way it felt oddly erotic, reminding him of how he had felt when he killed Darlene, how she had begged when he put the knife against her throat, how she had promised to do anything he wanted, give him anything he wanted; how that terrible erection had come, tempting him until he had drawn the blade across her throat and seen her blood gush out into the sand of that sinful beach. He pushed the memories away and realized that his breath had become as ragged as Bobby Joe’s. He removed the six-inch hunting knife from the sheath stuck under his belt at the small of his back and placed the blade under Bobby Joe’s chin, moving it slowly down until it had replaced his arm, allowing him to grab a handful of the young minister’s long hair. He felt himself becoming aroused and pushed Bobby Joe away from his body and pulled his head back exposing the entire length of his throat.

  “This is the same knife that killed the whore. The same knife that cut into her throat and spilled her blood, the same tip of the blade that wrote the Lord’s judgment on her forehead. Do you know what she said when I told her she would receive the Lord’s judgment, Bobby Joe?”

  Fear had stolen all the breath from Bobby Joe’s lungs and he found himself struggling to speak. He tried nodding his head instead, but the blade of the knife bit into his throat and he felt a small trickle of blood run down his neck. His voice finally returned, breathless and weak. “Oh, please, please don’t hurt me.”

  “That’s exactly what Darlene said, Bobby Joe. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told her. I’m not going to hurt you. No, I’m not. But the Lord is going to judge you. And in a few minutes you’re going to be standing before Him, just as Darlene did, and His judgment will hurt you far more than anything I could do.”

  “No, no, no. Please, no. I’m not bad. I’m not.”

  He drew the knife firmly across Bobby Joe’s throat and saw the dark, rich, arterial blood gush out in a long stream. Bobby Joe tried to scream but it came out as a loud gurgle; then his hands flew to his throat and the blood began to pulse through his fingers. The man released him and pushed him forward, stepping back as he saw the young minister stagger away. He stepped even further back as Bobby Joe regained control of his body and turned toward him, not wanting his clothes to be washed in the young minister’s spraying blood. Bobby Joe took two steps and then collapsed to his knees. He looked up at the man, his face filled with the horror of his own impending death. Then his eyes began to cloud and he pitched forward, and fell facedown on the carpeted floor.

  The man felt the erection pressing against his trousers and was repulsed. It had been the same when he killed Darlene and it made him ashamed of his weakness. He pushed all thoughts of his arousal away and concentrated on Bobby Joe, waiting for the blood to stop pumping from his body. When it finally slowed to a trickle he moved in, turned the body over, and brought the tip of the knife to his forehead. When he had finished he looked down at the young minister and gave a slow, approving nod, then he returned to the front door and retrieved a bag he had left outside. A smile kissed his lips. Now there was only one thing left to do.

  Harry had checked his house and determined the church bulletin was indeed missing. Back at the office he went through the official file to make certain he hadn’t inadvertently left it there. Jim and Vicky came into the conference room just as he was finishing his search. Vicky went straight to the chair across from Harry and Jim took the seat next to him.

  “It’s four o’clock, any chance you can give me a few minutes,” Jim said.

  The written request Jim had made for a four o’clock meeting came back. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?” He glanced across at Vicky.

  She glanced out into the bullpen at Nick Benevuto’s empty desk. “Where’s Nick?” she asked.

  “Suspended with pay, by order of the sheriff,” Harry said. “It seems my suspect, the kid minister, remembered that Darlene felt threatened by Nick. His lawyer called the sheriff and the big boss decided he should not even be in the office.” He shrugged. “Rourke had no choice. Nick’s gone until we wrap up the case and either charge him or clear him.” He peered at Vicky, letting her know that in the end he still expected Nick to be cleared.

  “Harry, we’d like to bring Nick in and formally interrogate him,” Jim said.

  Harry winced.

  “It’s no more than what you did with your suspect,” Vicky chimed in. Her tone was sharp and held the unspoken comment that he was wasting his, and the department’s time, with Bobby Joe Waldo.

  The tone grated, the unspoken comment grated even more. He let it pass. They were right, of course. They had the right to interrogate Nick as many times as they felt were necessary. “You plan to cuff him when you bring him in?”

  “That’s procedure,” Jim said.

  Harry looked down at the top of the conference table. It was the same treatment to which Bobby Joe Waldo had been subjected, and he knew that doing any less with Nick Benevuto would only open the task force to criticism, possibly even jeopardize any future case against Bobby Joe. Still, Nick was a brother cop, and one he considered innocent. Bringing him in wearing cuffs would rankle every member of the department. He glanced at Vicky and Jim … except two.

  “Do what you think you have to do,” he said. “It’s your investigation.”

  “But you don’t approve …” Vicky said, the sarcasm still heavy in her voice.

  He stared at her longer than necessary. “What the hell difference does that make?”

  They all knew that as lead investigator Harry could direct their actions.

  But they also knew that his decisions could be appealed to Rourke, who was in overall command. There was little question in anyone’s mind who would win in this instance, especially after the sheriff’s decision to formally suspend Nick.

  “When do you plan to bring him in?” Harry asked.

  “As soon as we can loca
te him,” Jim said.

  “I’d like to observe the interrogation, so keep me posted on it.”

  “No problem,” Jim said.

  “And try to bring him in when there are no media types around,” Harry said. “We don’t need to fan speculation that we’ve got killers working in homicide.”

  Jim nodded. “Of course. Vicky and I will go out and find him. We’ll let you know as soon as we do.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere right now.”

  They all looked up and saw Diva Walsh standing in the doorway.

  She looked directly at Harry. “Bobby Joe Waldo was just found stone-cold dead in his apartment. His daddy’s housekeeper went looking for him and found more than she bargained for. First unit at the scene said the M.O. was identical to Darlene Beckett—throat cut, face covered with another Mardi Gras mask. This time it was a leering devil. You all better get yourselves out there.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  One phone call from Harry had set the scene for the investigation. A uniformed officer was posted at the top of the garage stairs leading to Bobby Joe’s apartment. Crime scene tape had been run in a wide circumference around the entire structure. And the housekeeper who had found the body was isolated in the rear of a patrol unit in the company of a female deputy. Harry also issued a direct order that no one be permitted inside the taped perimeter. This was met by repeated demands from the Reverend John Waldo that he be allowed to go inside and pray over his son. He was told he’d have to speak to the detective in charge.

  When he arrived at the crime scene, Harry went straight to the cruiser that held the housekeeper, after sending Vicky and Jim to make sure the remainder of the scene was still secure.

  The housekeeper was somewhere in her early fifties with graying hair, brown eyes, and a light brown complexion. Harry guessed she was Mexican, probably illegal—although he had no intention of pressing the point—and thoroughly shaken by what she had seen.

  After telling him her name was Dolores Sanchez she stared at him with trembling lips and watery eyes. “He is dead?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Sanchez, he is.” Harry saw a sense of warmth enter the woman’s eyes when he spoke to her with a tone of respect. The words also seemed to relax her. “Tell me why you went to Bobby Joe’s apartment and everything you saw when you went inside.”

  She shook her head as if his words had brought back a horrific image, although Harry was certain the image of what she had seen had never left her, and would not for a very long time.

  “I went because his father wanted to talk to him and he did not answer his telephone. His padre, he was getting very angry. He say, ‘Go get him,’ so I go.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “Well, I knock on the door, but nobody answer. Then I try the door, but it no open. But I have keys for cleaning,” she patted a pocket on her apron, “so I open the door but I no go inside. I can see him right from the doorway. Blood is everywhere, all over everything, and that horrible diablo mask is on his face.”

  “Did you touch the mask?”

  She shook her head. “No, I no go inside.”

  “Then how did you know it was him?”

  “He’s wearing the same clothes I wash and iron for him,” she said.

  Harry nodded. It was a practical answer from a practical woman. “Did you see or hear anyone or anything unusual before you found the body?”

  Dolores thought before giving her answer. “There was someone in the backyard maybe two hours before.”

  “Did you see someone?”

  She shook her head. “El perro, next door, he start barking. He always bark when there people in the backyard. I thought maybe the reverend go out to smoke a cigar. Dog always bark when he does. It always makes the reverend angry. But then I saw him inside. So I look, but nobody’s there.”

  Harry thanked her and told her that he would send someone to see her shortly to take a formal written statement that she would have to sign. “It won’t be long. Then you can go home,” he said.

  The woman looked relieved.

  Jim and Vicky were waiting for Harry at the foot of the stairs that led to Bobby Joe’s apartment. He led them up and told the uniform standing watch to allow no one else in except the forensic unit and the medical examiner.

  When Harry swung open the door, the heavy coppery smell of blood assaulted their nostrils. Bobby Joe’s body lay on its back in the middle of the room, the devil mask covering his face. He was still wearing the same clothing Harry had seen him in just hours before. Otherwise nothing was as it had been. The room was literally bathed in blood, the walls, the furniture, the floor, all washed in an arterial spray. The body had bled out before the heart had stopped beating, and Harry was certain the autopsy would show that all but the smallest amount was drained from the corpse. Still standing in the doorway he could see one set of bloody footprints leading away from the body. The first officers at the scene had checked the room to make sure the killer was not still there, but had remained far away from the body. The housekeeper, Mrs. Sanchez, said she had never entered the apartment after seeing the body from the doorway. Harry opened his crime scene case, removed his camera, and photographed the blood-stained path leading away from the body so they’d be able to separate those footprints from any new ones that were made in the course of the investigation.

  The trio slipped on shoe covers distributed from Harry’s case, then entered the room single file staying away from heavy blood splatter. The first thing Harry noticed were the stark similarities to Darlene Beckett’s murder: the deep wound in the throat; the cut made by someone so powerful it almost opened the neck to the spinal column; hands carefully, even prayerfully folded; the mask placed over the face and left untied.

  Harry went immediately to the body, took two photographs in situ, and then carefully raised the mask from Bobby Joe’s face. He stared at the word Fornicator, carved into the forehead. He stood, took two more photographs with the mask removed; then knelt back down and stared into Bobby Joe’s bloodless face.

  “I should have stayed outside and watched you,” he said softly.

  “Did you say something, Harry?” Vicky asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing.” He glanced at his watch. “I was here three hours ago. I rattled him pretty good and I even thought about staying parked outside to see if he went to anyone, or anyone came to him. But I decided there were other things I had to do first. I requested some unit drive-bys. Either that didn’t happen, or they missed whoever killed him.”

  “I’ll check it out,” Vicky said. She went back outside to check with the uniform at the door. The first unit at the scene would also have been doing any drive-bys.

  Harry picked up Bobby Joe’s wrist, then reached out and manipulated his jaw with a latex-covered hand. Rigor had not begun, but given the heavy air-conditioning in the room the process could have been delayed. He reached inside his shirt and felt under his arm. It was still warm to the touch, indicating he had been dead for less than three hours.

  “I should have stayed and watched,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Whoever killed him was probably outside watching you, waiting for you to leave,” Jim said.

  The words startled Harry. He had forgotten anyone else was still in the room. But the point was well taken, and he wondered if Bobby Joe’s killer was the same person who had searched his home and pistol whipped Jeanie. Maybe you were looking in the right direction but at the wrong person, he told himself.

  Jim’s words interrupted him again. “If you don’t need me here I’d like to go and check where Benevuto was when this murder went down. Superficially, at least, it looks like the same killer who did Darlene, and if Nick has an alibi for the last three hours that kind of lets him off the hook.”

  Harry looked back at Jim and nodded. “That’s good thinking, and its fine with me if want to check it out, but touch base with Vicky first and make sure she doesn’t need you. She worked Darlene’s
crime scene, along with that cowboy who got himself killed, so I want her to stay and work this one too. She’s liable to spot any similarities that I miss.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Jim said.

  Harry turned his attention back to the body. He studied the hands. They were covered in dried blood, indicating that Bobby Joe had used them in a vain attempt to staunch the flow from his throat, but otherwise there were no signs indicating a struggle. That told Harry that Bobby Joe knew the man well enough to let him get in close, and that the killer had not only been powerful, but also quick. He had moved in and had gotten behind Bobby Joe before the young minister realized what was happening. Military training? Justin Clearby leapt to mind. The first associate minister had told Harry he joined the church after a lengthy career as a Marine. And there could be others as well. He’d have to begin checking military records for everyone affiliated with the church.

  He studied the wound. Like Darlene’s it appeared to have been administered in a right-to-left motion, which, if Bobby Joe had been taken from behind—which is the only way such force could have been applied—would indicate that the killer used his left hand.

  “How does this person get so close to people before he kills them?” Harry asked aloud. “Does he just inspire so much fear that his victims are afraid to move? Or is he that fast, that nimble?”

  He looked into Bobby Joe’s eyes. They had not become milky and clouded yet. There was still fear in them, Harry thought. The same fear he had seen when Bobby Joe had opened the door to him that afternoon—a fear that disappeared when the minister realized it was not the person he had been expecting.

  “Who was that? Who were you waiting for?” Harry stared down at the corpse, almost as if he expected Bobby Joe to return to life and answer him.

  The door to the apartment opened and Vicky came in. “The same unit that was called to the crime scene had your earlier request for a drive-by. Unfortunately, there was a traffic accident on McMullen-Booth and the drive-by never happened.”

  Harry nodded slowly. “I should have stayed and watched him. He was all unwound. I could feel it in my gut. He was either going to rabbit, or reach out for somebody. He even told me that what I was pressing him to do could get him killed. And he wasn’t running a game on me. Whoever he was talking about scared the living hell out of him.”