Embalmed (A Brad Frame Mystery Book 6)

by Ray Flynt

  Brad opened the door, surprised to see Detective Jack Barkow, accompanied by a female officer.

  “Mr. Frame, I’m sure you remember me, and this is Detective Mays. May we come in?”

  Brad stepped back and gestured for them to come in. Detective Mays’ dark skin was set off by short gray hair. She looked at least ten years older than Barkow, yet he took the lead.

  “Is there a place where we can sit?” Barkow asked.

  “Right in here.” Brad directed them to the library and pointed to the wing chairs while he sat at the desk. He turned off the computer monitor, hoping they hadn’t noticed the content, and slid it to his right so he’d have an unobstructed view of the two detectives.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Barkow said.

  Brad smiled. “I didn’t imagine this was a social call.”

  “As you know from our encounter the other day, we’ve been investigating the death of Sterling Haller.”

  Interesting his use of the word “encounter.”

  “What can you tell us about Henry Lucas?”

  Brad hadn’t heard Lucas’ name in years. He’d undoubtedly furrowed his brow at the mention of it, as his mind searched for memories of the man. He knew they’d be watching him for any changes in his facial expression.

  “He worked in the accounting department at Joedco, the business my dad started.”

  Barkow shifted in his seat. “You’re still involved with the company, right?”

  “I serve as chair of the executive committee, my brother is the chairman and CEO.”

  “How well did you know Lucas?”

  “I only knew him in passing, from when I’d visit my dad. Once my brother took over, he eventually moved the headquarters to the Houston area.”

  “You had no contact with Lucas after that?”

  “I didn’t say that. I investigated him, which you probably already know, or you wouldn’t be asking.”

  Barkow cracked a smile. “Humor us with the details.”

  “About fifteen years ago, Dad promoted Lucas to controller. When my brother took over as CEO, he suspected Henry was embezzling funds. Since I was a private detective by then, my brother asked me to investigate. I found that he was indeed stealing funds—at least a hundred sixty thousand dollars—and I presented my findings to the District Attorney’s office. But even during my investigation I had very little contact with Lucas. I’d see him when I was in the office, but my work was mostly about documenting a paper trail and interviewing associates.”

  “But you were responsible for him going to prison?”

  What a jerk! “I believe it was the judge who sentenced Lucas to eight to twelve years.”

  Barkow looked over at Detective Mays. “See what I told you about this smart ass?” Turning back to Brad, he said, “You know he was released after serving six years?”

  “Now that you mention it, I may have heard he was out.” Brad shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t kept up with him.”

  Detective Mays held a pad of paper in her hand and had been taking notes. “What can you tell us about his relationship with Grace Haller when he worked in your family’s business?” she asked in the flat accent of a Midwesterner.

  “Not much of anything,” Brad said. “Grace worked at the same time, at least during the early years.” He wondered if Irene or Rhonda would know more, but decided not to mention their names.

  “You don’t remember anything?” Barkow said, his tone skeptical.

  “Not a thing.”

  Brad slid forward in his chair, thinking that their inquiry had come to an end.

  Barkow handed him a business card before asking, “Do you recognize this?”

  It was one of his own cards. “Sure. It’s my card. Where did you find—”

  Barkow cut him off. “I’ll ask the questions. Where were you at seven-thirty p.m. last evening?”

  Brad tried to keep the astonishment off his face and pointed at the chair Detective Mays occupied. “I was sitting right there, sharing a pizza with my associate, Sharon Porter… You remember her?”

  “Where is Ms. Porter right now?”

  “She’s on her way to visit her boyfriend.”

  Barkow and Mays exchanged glances. Are they about to ask for her phone number?

  Brad stared at the open pizza box and figured a receipt might be taped to the lid. When he reached for the box, Barkow reacted with an irritated what-are-you-doing expression. Brad folded the lid closed, exposing a receipt, which included a time stamp for when the delivery had left the shop: 6:42 p.m.

  He handed the receipt to Barkow. “This will confirm the time for the pizza delivery.”

  Barkow scowled, barely looked at it, and passed it off to Mays. “Mr. Frame, do you have any supplies of formalin in your possession?”

  If the “Where were you last night” question had surprised him, Brad was flabbergasted by this latest one. “No,” he answered, barely containing a snicker.

  “Is there something funny?”

  Perhaps he’d taken too much comfort from the fact that they hadn’t read him his Miranda rights. He figured he could be dismissive. “Your question is ridiculous.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence, Mr. Frame. According to an informant, Henry Lucas had a relationship with Grace Haller—one that continued after he got out of prison. You were brought in to investigate the disappearance of her brother, Sterling, who turns up dead of formalin poisoning soon after.”

  Brad was confused. “I’m not quite connecting the dots. It sounds to me like you need to talk with Henry Lucas.”

  “We’d love to,” Barkow said, sarcastically. “They found Lucas’ embalmed body behind Grace Haller’s home at seven-thirty last evening. Your business card was in his pocket.”

  12

  He called Sharon the moment the police left and explained what had transpired. Brad wanted her to know in case detectives turned up on her doorstep.

  “It sounds like Nick’s not the only one being framed.” Sharon verbalized what had already coursed through his mind.

  “I haven’t seen Lucas in years. Suddenly he turns up dead with my card in his pocket. The only plus is that with Barkow watching me he’s less likely to notice I’m keeping my eye on him.”

  “True.”

  Brad wrapped up the call. “In case Barkow calls you, don’t forget you had the veggie pizza, and I had the pepperoni and sausage.”

  “You’re a riot. Not.” Sharon said before disconnecting.

  Next he called Nick

  “No shit,” Nick reacted at the news of another embalmed body. “Never heard of this before and now there’s been two in less than a week.”

  “Barkow used the term ‘formalin poisoning’ to describe Sterling Haller’s death. Did you get any official word on the medical examiner’s ruling?”

  Nick groaned. “I thought I told you. Sorry about that. Yeah, formalin poisoning. He died from being embalmed. There was something else interesting in his report.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Haller had an advanced stage of liver cancer.”

  “When I met with the funeral director he thought that might be the case. You have any plans this afternoon?”

  “I can check with Ruth. What are you thinking?”

  “Barkow told me they found Lucas’ body behind Grace Haller’s place. I’d like to check it out. An extra set of eyes would be helpful.”

  Brad also felt it would be a way to engage Nick and keep his spirits up until they could get to the bottom of the trumped-up assault charge that threatened to end his career.

  “Hold on.” Brad heard Nick calling out to Ruth to see if she had any plans. Moments later, Nick returned to the line. “I’m a free man, but Ruth put dibs on the car.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up. I’d also like to take a look at the site where the killer dumped Haller’s embalmed body. I’m not sure where that is. Any way you could find out?”

  “Start heading this way. If Aus
tin’s in the office, I’ll know by the time you get here.”

  Nick flipped up the sun visor. “It should be next to Sparks Shot Tower.”

  Brad circled the block and headed north on South Front, a one-way street. To their right, traffic sped by on I-95, the main thoroughfare through the city. They were looking for a ball field where, according to Nick’s colleague in the Philadelphia Police Department, Haller’s body had been deposited.

  “Here it is.” Brad glided his car to an empty spot at the curb.

  As he stepped from the car, Brad saw two teams of girls playing softball. Their parents lined the fence on the first-base side of the field. Brad pointed at the chimney-shaped brick tower—wider at the base and tapered at the top—which rose nearly a hundred fifty feet. “When I was a kid, my dad used to tell us that was the smokestack to hell.”

  Nick laughed.

  “I believed him. It wasn’t until high school that I learned they used the tower to make ammunition for the War of 1812 and the Civil War.”

  “I was inside the tower about fifteen years ago. Caretakers reported a foul odor and thought there might be a dead body inside.”

  Nick had piqued Brad’s curiosity. “Was there a body?”

  “Just a dead rat.”

  Brad grimaced.

  As they walked along the third-base fence, Nick said, “Austin reported that Haller was found in the middle of the outfield. Probably dumped there at night. A trucker heading southbound on I-95 called to report that he’d spotted a body near the shot tower.”

  The girls on the field wore yellow T-shirts while the pony-tailed batter wore a green shirt. A makeshift sign showed the score as five to three, with the losing team batting at the top of the sixth inning.

  Brad said, “I think they only play seven innings. When they’re done, I’d like to get closer to the spot where he was found. Do you mind watching the game for a few minutes?”

  “How ’bout a hot dog and beer too?” Nick winked.

  A cloudless blue sky and crisp autumn air made for a perfect Saturday afternoon. Brad wasn’t sure exactly what they’d find if they stuck around, but he sensed Nick enjoyed the field trip.

  Nick pointed. “See how dirty the center fielder’s uniform is?”

  “The funeral director said Haller’s back was caked with mud. He must have worn pants, or his whole body would have been covered in it.”

  “Yeah. Austin mentioned they found him shirtless.”

  The two teams finished their game and cleared out shortly before 2:00 p.m. As other players began to gather for the next timeslot, Brad and Nick ventured into the outfield.

  “Whoever killed Haller didn’t get him out here on his own,” Brad said. “There’d be an accomplice.”

  “Not necessarily,” Nick corrected him. “Police found wheel marks consistent with a handcart—like the ones movers use.”

  Brad wondered why Nick hadn’t shared these important details during their thirty-minute trip into the city, such as what Haller had worn and the use of a handcart, instead of dribbling them out piecemeal. “Did Austin have any other details to add?”

  Nick shook his head and looked sheepish, perhaps sensing Brad’s annoyance.

  “The killer would need a vehicle large enough to transport the body and a handcart,” Brad speculated. “The embalming could have occurred anywhere, but we’re only about twelve blocks from Haller’s place so proximity could be important—especially with the second body dumped there.”

  Brad watched as Nick gazed at the surrounding buildings. “What are you thinking?”

  Nick aimed his finger toward the west. “I’m sure detectives canvassed the residents in those adjacent buildings. But this field would have been pitch dark at night with cover from the trees and the park.”

  “My guess is he parked on Second Street and entered the park near the home plate.” Brad added, “Pretty audacious to roll a body back here.”

  “Yeah, almost as brazen as embalming a man who isn’t dead yet.”

  “Touché.”

  Riding with Nick brought back memories of when they’d first met. When Brad’s mother and sister had been kidnapped and brutally murdered, the Department assigned Nick as the chief investigator. Brad had been eager to help. Evidence indicated that the killers lived in West Philly. Brad wanted to offer a reward to flush out information from associates who could pinpoint the killer’s whereabouts. He’d discussed his plan with Nick, who liked the idea but advised on strategy.

  One evening after Nick had gotten off duty, he accompanied Brad on a drive through West Philly neighborhoods pointing out gathering places where a few hundred-dollar bills might loosen a few tongues.

  “Only visit during daylight,” Nick advised, “and ditch the Mercedes in favor of a less conspicuous sedan.”

  The process yielded favorable results and sowed the seeds that eventually led to Brad forming his detective agency.

  On the way to Grace Haller’s home with Nick, Brad said, “Sharon and I have a theory about how the embalming went down.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Sharon snooped the search history on Haller’s computer and discovered that he’d visited several businesses offering colonic hydrotherapy.”

  Nick shot a puzzled look at Brad from the passenger seat. “Enemas?”

  Brad nodded.

  Nick screwed up his face. “Jesus.”

  “I know. We think he was struggling to find remedies to fight his liver cancer. In addition to the hydrotherapy, Haller visited a couple of herbal medicine sites.”

  Nick shook his head. “There’s always been a market for snake oil.”

  “The detectives seized Haller’s computers, so they’ll have access to the same browsing history. I’m not sure if they’ll put it together as quickly as Sharon did.”

  “Skull can barely turn on a computer. What’s his partner’s name?”

  “Russo.”

  “I met him once,” Nick said, “but I don’t know his capabilities.”

  “We were thinking that if you provide the police a link to solving these embalming cases, it might get you back in their good graces.”

  Nick looked skeptical. “Bureaucracy doesn’t work that way. I could solve three murders, two kidnappings, and produce the missing knife from the O.J. Simpson case, but they’d still push forward with this assault charge.”

  Brad parked on Gaskill.

  The two of them threaded their way through a narrow passage toward the backyards shared by sets of row houses bordering Gaskill and Lombard. He knew Grace’s place was closer to the west end of the block and hoped to identify it from the distinctive stained-glass transom window he’d noticed in Grace’s kitchen.

  “This is it.” Brad gestured toward a rickety back porch. He’d noted signs of aging and disrepair during his first visit to Grace’s home, but the rear of the unit needed a complete makeover.

  Nick untied a short strip of yellow vinyl police tape from a tree and shoved it in his pocket. When Brad noticed what he’d done, Nick offered, “Tidying up. Force of habit.”

  The small patch of grass behind Grace’s townhouse looked trampled. If a handcart had been used to dump Henry Lucas’ body, any evidence of wheel tracks had been obliterated. At the ball field, there’d been a nice breeze, but in the ravine formed by the two-story row houses the air felt oppressive.

  Brad cautiously ascended the steps to Grace’s back porch and peered through the window. While he knew that Grace had already moved to an assisted living facility, he was surprised to see the kitchen appliances had been removed. As he looked down the narrow hallway toward the front foyer, oriental rugs and a grandfather clock were also missing, along with the desk and chair Sterling Haller had used for his laptop.

  “Her place has already been cleaned out,” Brad reported as he returned to the yard and found Nick kneeling in the grass. “What are you looking at?”

  Brad heard a screen door slam. He turned and saw a man in his thirties wearing sweat pan
ts and a dingy T-shirt looking down on them from the back porch opposite the Haller’s. His hair appeared disheveled, and he had the wide-eyed glare of a man who’d either awakened abruptly or was stoned. “Are you the police?” the man slurred before wiping the spittle from his mouth.

  Brad cocked a thumb in Nick’s direction. “He is.”

  “When are the reporters coming?” the man asked.

  “Huh?” Brad blurted.

  Irritated, the man replied, “Last night the cops told me reporters would want to talk with me.”

  Clearly, the man desired his fifteen minutes of fame.

  Nick, still kneeling, whispered, “Don’t humor him.”

  Ignoring Nick’s advice, Brad said, “You must have been a key witness.”

  A smirk formed on the man’s face. “Damn straight.”

  “By the way, I’m Brad.” He extended his hand to the man.

  “Shaun.” He shook Brad’s hand.

  Brad invited Shaun to join them in the yard, but as the man neared—reeking from body odor and bad breath—Brad regretted his invitation.

  Nick stood from his kneeling position. From behind Shaun, Nick arched an I-told-you-so eyebrow. Brad took a step back and hoped for an easterly breeze.

  “What’d you see last evening?” Brad asked.

  “I work nights at a metal fabricating shop. A noise woke me about seven-thirty.”

  “What kind of noise?”

  “Clanking metal.”

  “Garbage can lids?” Brad offered.

  “Nah, heavier ’n that. I come to the window but didn’t see anything. I heard the noise again… sounded like a crash that time. Looked out. Nothing.”

  “Which window were you at?”

  “Right up here.” Shaun pointed to the second floor.”

  “It must have been dark?”

  Shaun shook his head. “Nope. There was a little bit of light. Enough for me to see a guy leaving and dragging a hand truck behind him. It looked like he picked it up at Home Depot. You know, with that orange color.”

  “Could you see what the guy wore?”

  “He had a dark shirt and dark hair.” Shaun nodded toward the neighbor’s place. “That shed blocked most of my view.”