by Rick Reed
“So what now?” Liddell asked.
“You go call forensics and tear that room apart,” Jack said. “I’m not supposed to be here, and I don’t want to put the crime scene guys on the spot by making them lie in their reports.”
The search of Room 37 took the rest of the evening. The room was surprisingly clean of any fingerprints or forensic evidence of any type, and the fingerprints they did find were smudged or so light that Liddell was told not to hold his breath. They did find some metal pieces in the large gouges in the walls, and the forensic team seemed pretty excited by that discovery. They wouldn’t promise anything, but they told Liddell to check back in the morning. If they ever found the weapon, they might be able to match it to the metal fragments, and to the wounds on the bodies. It was something, at least.
Liddell turned over the red crayon after describing in detail where “he” found it under the bed, and asked for it to be compared with the crayon on the killer’s notes. He hoped they would be able to do at least a preliminary comparison without sending it out to the state police lab. After that, Liddell packed it in and headed home. Unless something else came up, there was nothing more to do. Except call Jack and fill him in, of course.
Jack answered on the first ring. “Tell me you found something,” he said, and when Liddell didn’t respond right away he said, “Damn!”
“Jack, they’re taking everything back to headquarters, and Franklin has them working all night on what they have.” He then told Jack about the metal fragments that were found in the walls of the room, and the bad news, that the room was almost devoid of any usable fingerprints.
“How can someone be so damn lucky?” Jack complained. “Did you try the Indian woman again?”
“Yeah,” Liddell said. “Nothing. She’s scared shitless.”
Jack was disappointed, but he knew that couldn’t force Akira to identify her attacker. Haroon claimed he wasn’t able to determine which of their employees had checked the occupant in to Room 37, and the management had closed ranks in silence. Making an arrest for the battery on Akira was not going to happen. Any charge would get thrown out of court, even if they somehow obtained enough probable cause to get a warrant. They would just have to work with the parole violation charge they currently had.
“There’s more bad news,” Liddell said. “Walker called and said they can’t find Eddie’s DNA in the system.”
“How can that be?” Jack asked. “How do you lose DNA?”
“That’s what I asked. He said that there was some kind of problem with the state’s computer servers a couple of years ago, and the company they had working on them may have accidentally erased some of the data.”
“And they don’t back up the servers?” Jack said.
“Walker is still checking. He told them this is a multiple murder case, but the state employee he was talking to didn’t seem impressed. Anyway, I called Susan, and she said that she’s trying to find out if there’s anything that the state parole office may have that can be used for a DNA comparison.”
“Well, we still have the DNA from Patoka Lake, so all we have to do is catch Eddie and get some blood from him,” Jack said.
Liddell was quiet for a long time.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
“Are you sitting down, pod’na?” Liddell said.
Jack felt a headache coming on. “I was before you called,” he said.
“Well, when Walker called he gave me some other news,” Liddell said, his voice taking on a chilling note. “He said the DNA in the Patoka case is a match with the urine samples we found on your clothes.”
Jack felt his stomach roll. His vision blurred, and pain shot up his spine. His palms became sweaty, and he thought he might throw up. He was startled to realize that Liddell had been talking to him, and was saying, “Jack, did you hear me?”
Jack cleared his throat and said, “Yes. I heard. It has to be Eddie.” His voice was stiff, the words forced. He thought, This must be what victims of rape and assault feel like after…
He had talked to hundreds of victims during his career, but had never really known what they were going through. It was like the most private part of his life was torn from him and cruelly abused. Since the incident behind his cabin, he’d been nervous when he left or arrived home. He had trouble sleeping. His personal safety had been violated, and he’d lost control of his ability to defend himself. For an ordinary citizen that was frightening, but for a policeman, that loss was devastating because it threatened everything he stood for. How could he protect the public when he couldn’t even protect himself?
Jack carried the phone out to the porch, took a Guinness from the cooler he kept stocked by his chair, and sat down. Liddell heard a pop and knew what the sound was immediately. He worried about Jack. He was alone too much, too dedicated to his work sometimes, and too prone to drink when it all became too much.
“It’s a good thing you left when you did,” Liddell said, to change the subject. “When I called for forensics, they called the chief.”
“Really?” Jack said, genuinely surprised.
“Yeah, the crime scene commander has been ordered to call him personally any time I call forensics, or any other assistance,” Liddell said. “Guess the chief doesn’t trust me.”
“Or me,” Jack said, and Liddell was glad to hear him chuckle slightly.
“Or maybe he’s got wind of our little group, the Holy Jihad team?”
Jack doubted that Dick knew about the team. If he did, he would have Jack up on serious charges and in front of the Merit Commission by now. But he didn’t doubt that they would have to be extremely careful. Snitches didn’t just work for detectives.
The men agreed to talk again early in the morning. He wondered what the hell he hoped to accomplish by working against the chief’s orders. He didn’t want to compromise Liddell, and so he couldn’t even stay while Crime Scene searched the room. How was he supposed to get anywhere when he had to work blindfolded and hog-tied?
His neck and head throbbed. He went into the bathroom and carried a couple of aspirin back onto the porch and downed them with a Guinness. He didn’t know that the morning would hold a surprise for everyone.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
When his phone rang at six o’clock that morning Jack was wide awake and sitting on his porch watching the last boats of fishermen as they sculled along the banks. It was too late in the year to catch anything except maybe a carp or a garfish, neither one edible. He took his empty coffee mug and went inside.
“Are you dressed?” Liddell asked when Jack lifted the receiver.
“Pervert,” Jack responded in a dead serious tone.
“What color are your panties?” Liddell said in a raspy voice, accompanied with heavy breathing.
“Does Marcie know this side of you, partner?” Jack said. “What’s going on?”
“Maddy got another note. She threatened to burn it if I didn’t bring you along. I haven’t called the chief yet, in case you’re wondering.”
Liddell picked him up at his cabin a few minutes later.
The Channel Six television station was housed in a squat brick building with a flat roof that sat on top of a hill surrounded by trees. The structure itself was utilitarian and hideous, with the only advantage being that it couldn’t be seen by the public from any of the main roads. The upper parking lots commanded a 360-degree view. Unfortunately the views south and east were of the roofs of an abandoned factory, and the view to the west took in Crescent Hill Cemetery. The view to the north was the top of trees for as far as you could see.
The detectives were met by an excited Maddy Brooks when they pulled in to the Channel Six parking lot. They had not even rolled to a stop when she approached their car.
“Has there been another murder?” she asked, breathlessly.
Liddell and Jack looked at each other.
“Aw, shit,” Liddell said, and they got out of the car.
The sun was blocked by black clouds, an
d to the west Jack could see lightning and could smell the approaching rain. They walked with Maddy to her office. Jack’s mood was as dark and angry as the weather as he struggled to control his words.
“So, you got a note from the killer last night and you called the chief of police this morning,” Jack said.
Maddy caught the sarcasm in his voice and stopped just outside the doors of the television station. “Let’s get something straight, Detective Murphy. These notes are being sent to me. Me personally. I am under no obligation to share them with the police.”
Liddell opened the door for them just as the rain started coming straight down in buckets. They hurried in to the foyer.
“You’re a paragon of virtue, Maddy. Now can we please see the note?” Jack asked politely.
“You guys better not even think about trying to cut me out of this story,” she said, her back to the men as they entered her office.
Jack kept his anger in check. All that mattered was getting the note. He knew if the television station wanted to, they could tie the note up for hours while the police department fought a legal battle over the “right” to see a piece of evidence in a murder case.
He took a little comfort in the fact that they now had a suspect, and that Maddy didn’t know about it yet. The forensic boys had come up with a match on a partial fingerprint from a piece of broken mirror. The tech said it was Eddie Solazzo, but to swear to it in court they needed at least six points of comparison and they only had five. It was good enough for Jack, but it still didn’t put Eddie at any of the murders because they had no fingerprints in those cases. Crime Scene had also advised that they found a beer can in the room at the Arrowhead and they were rushing a DNA test.
How Maddy had not gotten wind of this development was a surprise to Jack, but he was sure, with all the leaks in the department, she would find all of it out before the day was over.
As they gathered around Maddy’s desk, Jack noticed that she had already taken the note from the envelope, no doubt to Xerox, photograph, and get as many fingerprints on it as possible. She saw the disdainful look and said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t handle anything.”
Liddell asked, “Was this one left at the front door again?”
“Lois Thatcher found it lying on the ground beside the front doors when she was leaving the building last night,” Maddy said, looking irritated. “I guess she thinks because she’s the mayor’s mother that she can do as she pleases. Anyway, I had already gone for the day, so she stuck it on my desk and told me about it this morning.” She looked thoughtful. “Probably would have been about six o’clock last night.” She used the eraser end of a pencil to push the note across the desk where Liddell and Jack could read it.
As she said, the envelope was addressed to her. Printed in the familiar red crayon were the words:
Bring Murphy back
Or I will kill one
Every day
Little Boy Blue is the First.
Liddell gave Jack a concerned look. “He wants you back on the case?”
“You’ve got to let me interview you,” Maddy said, and both men looked at her in disbelief.
“I’m suspended, Maddy. I’m not even supposed to be here,” Jack said patiently.
Maddy smiled smarmily. “I bet I can get you back on the job now,” she said.
“I don’t need your help,” Jack said, angrily. “The last time I dealt with you I got suspended.”
“You can’t blame that on me, Jack Murphy,” she said. “You’ve never respected your superiors, and it’s that nasty temper of yours that gets you in trouble.”
Jack wanted to come back with something hateful, but she was right. He didn’t respect his “superiors” when it came to some limelight-seeking ignoramuses like Double Dick.
Liddell stepped quickly in to defuse the argument. “Maddy, I can’t let you interview Jack, but I have something else I can give you if you don’t name your source.”
Maddy snapped her attention solely on Blanchard now. Her movement was almost snakelike. “What is it?”
Liddell looked around, almost theatrically, then leaned in close to Maddy and said softly, “Forensics think the crayon on all of the notes is from the same batch of crayons.”
Jack hadn’t learned this information yet, but he was amused watching the look on Maddy’s face while she assimilated the new piece of information. It was like she was chewing Liddell’s words, tasting them, deciding what to do with his statement. Would she swallow it, or spit it in his face? Then her brow narrowed, and she said angrily, “That’s it! That’s all I get for this note?”
Liddell plucked the note and envelope from her hands and turned toward the door. “Think of it. Mother Goose’s red crayon matched.” She was thinking about it. “I’d better get this one analyzed as well,” he said over his shoulder.
While Maddy stood with her mouth hanging open, Jack smiled and shrugged and then followed his partner out.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Chief Richard Dick used his master keys to let himself into the Civic Center hallway. The Civic Center wouldn’t open for another hour or so, but the mayor was already in and had called for him. Dick stepped off the elevator on the third floor of the Civic Center and walked to one of the mirrored columns to straighten his tie and check his uniform. Everything about him was perfect. He smiled.
It had been over a week since the last killing, and the news media frenzy was winding down. All in all, it had been perfect timing for him. The murders, the publicity, his appointment as chief of police, and the murders had stopped. The media had even played with the angle that it was Dick’s reputation as a “no-nonsense copper” that made the killer stop. And best of all, he’d finally humiliated Jack Murphy in a very public fashion. He knew it was Murphy who had started the nasty gossip about him, calling him Double Dick and such.
Dick pulled down the brim of his eight-point police cap and checked his teeth in the mirror. Things will be different from now on, he thought, and walked down the corridor to the mayor’s office.
“Good morning, Alice” Chief Dick said, giving the mayor’s secretary a sincere smile. “You’re here early.”
She looked up sharply at being addressed so casually. She didn’t like it when visitors called her by her first name, and she definitely didn’t like the new chief of police. She would have to teach him some manners, she thought.
“Do you have an appointment with the mayor?” she asked, knowing full well that the chief had been summoned by the mayor himself. Doesn’t hurt to put him in his place, she thought, and was pleased by the grim look that crossed Dick’s features.
“I was called,” Chief Dick said flatly, and thought, Controlling bitch.
She was about to tell him to have a seat while she checked with the mayor, but the door to the mayor’s office opened and Thatcher Hensley poked his head out. “Get in here. We’ve got a little problem,” he said to Dick and disappeared, leaving the door open.
Dick entered the mayor’s office and took a seat across the desk from Hensley. “You said it was urgent,” he said to the mayor.
Hensley pushed a white piece of paper that was stapled to an envelope. “This was left in the Civic Center suggestion box,” he said, without further explanation.
Dick reached for the paper, imagining that one of Evansville’s citizens had written some hate mail, or some other nonsense. Why the mayor would bother him with these frivolous matters, he couldn’t imagine. But he was the chief now. Didn’t hurt to brownnose a little.
As Dick read the letter, his face turned pasty white.
While Jack and Liddell were talking to Maddy Brooks, a retired high school teacher, a recent widower, was taking his morning exercise along the riverfront esplanade. The levee system for that stretch of the Ohio River started behind the downtown museum and ran east for eleven miles or so, ending at Angel Mounds State Park in Warrick County. Lenny Clegg had made the walk his morning routine when the weather was nice. In cold weather, or too
warm weather, he went to Eastland Mall and walked inside with the other retirees. But he much preferred the scenery and solitude of the walk along the levee.
He climbed the grassy rise behind the museum and looked around. To the east and west the Ohio River wound like a ribbon across the landscape. The old steam engine and boxcar sat in a historically correct train station behind the museum, and a bike path ran westward toward the Blue Star Casino.
In an effort to expand the art culture of the community, the City of Evansville Arts Commission had started displaying various themes of statues along brick-lined Main Street and continuing down the riverfront walkway to the museum. A few months ago, the sculptures—created and painted by local schoolchildren—were race cars. They were actually very good, and after a few months, the statues were auctioned, and the money used to repeat the process. This month, the creations were butterflies. Each one stood about four feet high and was painted in every hue of the rainbow.
Lenny was admiring one of these when he noticed the wings of this particular statue had been draped with what looked like red ropes and someone had splashed blue paint on and around the statue. He pulled out his cell phone to report the vandalism to the police when he noticed a bloody leg bent around the base of the statue.
Chief Dick had recovered sufficiently enough to speak by the time he put the note back on the desktop.
“What are you going to do about this, Chief Dick?” the mayor demanded.
That the mayor had referred to him by his official title wasn’t lost on him. What have I gotten myself into? he worried. But there was only one thing to say, wasn’t there?