“Just thought I’d tell you we found some usable DNA,” his supervisor said.
“Oh yeah? I thought the guy didn’t leave any to speak of.” He clicked the button on the electronic key; at least he thought he did. The resulting alarm jolted him and certainly everybody else within hearing distance. He fumbled and found the correct button and pressed it, a few golf words growling their way out from between his clenched teeth. The artist tossed his tablet in the back seat and pointed to a nearby all-night coffee shop. Grayson nodded as he got in the car and the artist strode to the shop.
“A couple of guys from CSI went back for another look,” the lieutenant continued. “The room is still a crime scene. They got here just after you guys left.”
“Sorry I missed ‘em,” Grayson quipped, fitting his key into the ignition.
“Yeah, sure. Quit cryin’; it’s girly. They found a used condom wedged between the bed and the wall, behind a trash can. Stuck there like a piece of gum, probably when he tried to throw it away. Guess he was too busy to be sure he’d gotten rid of it.”
“And it belongs to our guy? That room’s probably seen a lot of use besides them.”
“Yeah, I guess housekeeping doesn’t do any more than it has to. But it did no good; it doesn’t match the stiff. So unless we get lucky, and the DNA’s in the system, we won’t have anybody to match it to until we have a suspect.”
“You mean it doesn’t match the stiff they found with the father and the girl?”
“No.”
“So that tip was right; it’s another guy?”
“Looks like.”
“And I may have his mug right here.”
“Good. We’ll post it and see what happens.”
Grayson was getting tired and wanted to get home. Even once he got to the station there would be at least an hour’s worth of paperwork before he could check out.
“Yeah, at least it’s something. Listen, loo, Jack and I are stopping for coffee to keep us awake so I don’t drive into a pole or something, then we’ll be back at HQ. Talk to you then.” He turned off the phone as Jack the sketch man returned. Grayson rolled down his window Jack shoved a steaming covered cup at him. Grayson usually liked his coffee a certain way; but at nearly one in the morning, who gave a damn how it was? He lifted the top and blew over it a little, savoring the seducing aroma, before taking a long pull at it. It singed his tongue, but it kicked with caffeine. He replaced the top and sat the cup in the holder beside him and turned the key. The car responded and a moment later they were headed back.
It was after two when he came in the house. He came in quietly as he could. His wife had tried to stay up for him, catch him coming in late; but sleep had claimed her. He gently laid a crocheted afghan over her and crept upstairs. Good. He didn’t feel like dealing with that argument tonight. He’d have to go through it tomorrow, but at least it was postponed for now.
* * *
The man read the death notices again in the paper. They had been in there the last couple of days and he had read them each time; several times. He knew them by heart. Today had been the funeral. He imagined the family gathered in the cemetery, the wake afterward. A father and daughter gone in moments, leaving behind loved ones who had formed the background players in their lives, and had now become their mourners.
He put the paper down. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This hadn’t been in the plan.
He had been careful; he had left as few traces as possible. There was no record anywhere of his fingerprints or DNA; so even if they found a viable print or two there was nothing to compare them against. With the multiple identities he had muddied his tracks. They wouldn’t find him; they couldn’t find him. He was confident that no one could ever track him down.
CHAPTER SIX
It was Friday night: Happy Hour at Barney’s. Grayson needed it; man, did he need it. Thursday had been the nearly all-nighter with the genial Mr. Upton, and that morning had been the post game debate with Gina: Mrs. Grayson. When they had met, over a dozen years before, she’d had the looks and allure of a young Sophia Loren. She was still just as stunning, and just as sexy, at least in appearance; her personality had evolved into something very different.
Gina had never gotten used to the odd hours he had to keep as a detective. Police work, especially when on a case, was rarely a nine-to-five job. She had wanted a man who would be home for dinner each night; in the first few years, he usually managed. Now it was not so often; and recently, it was becoming even rarer. Of course, sometimes it wasn’t always a case that made him late...
He ordered another beer. This was his third; after this, he would stop. That is, if his buddies stopped too.
The bar was situated near the northern City and County line, a community called Hamilton. Baltimore County clutched the same-named City in a three-sided grip, resembling on a map a wrench grasping a nut. This was one of those borderline spots where the wrench met the nut. On Fridays Barney’s was a hang-out for cops from both jurisdictions. It was the one place and time when they met as equals; that is, except for the required one-on-one drinking bout always held between reps from the two departments, chosen by lot. It was an honor to be chosen; if you won. Pity the poor loser.
Jed Hagen, a County detective, came in. He was one of the few real friends Grayson had on the County force.
“Hey Jed!” Grayson greeted him with a raised mug. “You’re late!”
Jed slapped him on the back. “Yeah. Paperwork.”
“PAPERWORK!” everybody shouted, along with a suggestion of what properly to do with it; a two-word expression that began with a short, guttural verb and ended with the word “it.” The cry went up whenever someone mentioned that most hated and dreaded aspect of police work.
The bartender, who everyone called Barney though that was not his name, drew a draught beer for Jed and placed it before him. Nearly half of it was gone in his first gulp.
“Thanks, Barn,” Jed said. “You know what I like.”
“Barney” had the withered physique and hang-dog look of a certain TV deputy, which aided the assumption of the name. No one knew it wasn’t his real name, and he wasn’t correcting them. He wasn’t revealing his real name either.
“So, how’s that Fleming case coming?” Jed asked.
“We’ve got a sketch of the guy,” Grayson said. “And the boys did another check and found some DNA.” Grayson knew he’d let his guard down; but after all, this was Barney’s, and he was just talking to Jed.
“DNA? I thought there wasn’t any, or none to speak of.”
“Well, they found some. The lab is running it now.”
“How much did they find?” Jed finished his beer and “Barney” had another ready for him seconds later.
“Oh, just some semen in a condom.”
“No BS?”
“Nope. Guy must’ve left it behind when he fled.”
“The guy who got away with the car?”
Grayson nodded as he gulped more beer.
Jed nodded sagely. “Yeah. Well, I heard the guy left in a hurry.” He drank deeply of his second beer. “You know, there’s some of us County guys working on this too. Any chance of sharing?”
“No.” Grayson suddenly felt like he’d said too much. The two had died in the City; it was a City case, damn it. “There’s not enough to go around.”
“Too bad. But of course, our labs make those funky graphs out of the DNA results. Your guys do that too?”
“Yeah. Guess it’s easier to figure ‘em out that way, though it still looks like something from grade school math to me.”
“And don’t they print ‘em off to go in the case file?”
“Sure.” Everybody knew that; why was Jed asking? “Hey, what the hell’s this about?”
“Well, I was just thinking how copy machines can make as many duplicates as you have paper.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you know I’m gonna tell me buddies in the County about this. And I’
ll give ‘em your number, too. Don’t be surprised if they call and ask for a copy of the report.”
“They can call,” Grayson said. “That doesn’t mean I’ll give ‘em anything. Besides: They keep tabs on the stuff you copy.” Not always, but sometimes. Grayson considered a sweat ring on the bar.
“Oh, they may not ask you to copy it. In fact, you know, I’ll bet they don’t.” Joe regarded the beer remaining in his mug. “Nah, they won’t do that. After all, you’d have to copy it, stuff it in an envelope, stamp it, address it, stick it in a mail box; that is, if you can find a mail box these days.”
Grayson drained his glass and started to rise.
“Hey, wait, don’t leave so soon!” Jed said, placing a firm hand on Grayson’s arm.
“Wife and kid are waiting,” Grayson said.
“Yeah, but you’ve been home plenty later than this before. Stick around.” He signaled to the bartender. “Barney! One more cold one for my good buddy here.”
“No, I’d better be going home.”
“Hey, that’s a first.” Jed announced to the others: “Hey, get a loada this! Grayson’s turning down a freebie!”
Grayson was trapped. His compadres on the job razzed him both verbally and physically to stay another round. He sat down to the beer “Barney” drew for him.
“Speaking of copy machines,” Jed said, “we’ve got a beaut of a new one. Copies, scans, faxes; though it makes lousy coffee. You guys got those in the city too?”
Grayson nodded.
“Well, that’s the answer. You don’t have to copy it. Just email a scan of it when they call.”
“I’m not workin’ for the County PD! Let ‘em get their own freakin’ DNA.” He then told Jed what he could do with his multi-function device.
Jed screwed up his face and shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think it’ll fit. So, even if one of my buddies calls ya you’re not gonna help him?”
“No.”
“You don’t wanna help out a fellow cop?”
“And have you guys make the collar and steal the glory? No freakin’ way.”
“Too bad.” Jed was quiet for a while and let Grayson finish his beer in peace. Just as the big City cop was about to go, Jed said: “Hey, by the way, I wanna invite you and your family to a barbeque next weekend.”
Grayson was taken by surprise. “That’s nice of you. You know my kids like your kids.”
“Yeah. I’m expecting your son to ask my daughter to the prom someday.”
Grayson laughed. Jed wasn’t such a bad egg after all.
“I also wanna have a talk with your wife,” Jed said. “I wanna discuss with her about all that overtime you’re putting in.”
Grayson paled. “You wouldn’t.”
Jed shrugged. “Well, you see, I remember the lessons I learned in kindergarten. And one of those lessons is that it’s nice to share.”
Grayson stared at him narrowly. Jed stared back, the innocence in his eyes only a thin mask for the “gotcha” behind it. Grayson knew he was beaten. “OK. If your friend calls I’ll give him what he needs.”
“See? Doesn’t it feel good to share?” He finished his beer. “That’s enough for one night. Don’t want some traffic cop to pull me over for DUI.” The other cops laughed; Grayson fumed silently that he had been snookered in front of witnesses; some of which might hold him to it while dangling a threat similar to Jed’s. “See you next Saturday then; about three or four, OK?”
Grayson gulped and said, “OK.”
* * *
Early the next morning Taylor and Peggy were in the office, each perusing the meager evidence they had so far collected. Their desks faced each other, ergo so did they. Sometimes police work could be exciting, even terrifying. Other times it was just like any other desk jockey in any other job. This was one of the latter times.
They had been over the evidence several times already, and the nearly three hours spent over it today still didn’t tie anything together. Whoever they were after had done a thorough job covering his tracks. It was like trying to make one intelligible picture using several random pieces of several different jigsaw puzzles. Nothing matched.
After a while he squeezed his weary eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose. A lovely tension headache was starting to grow along his brow. He had the sense that he was being watched and looked up to see Peggy, twirling a pencil idly between fingers of both hands, and staring at him.
“What?” he asked, fatigue and exasperation shoved into the one word.
“I was just looking at you,” she said.
“We’re supposed to be looking at the evidence,” he said.
“Yeah; and is it as good for you as it is for me?”
He massaged his forehead a moment then leaned his elbows on the desk, resting his chin against his folded hands. “Just swell. After all, there’s so much of it.”
“And it’s just so clear as to who the murderer is,” she added facetiously.
“I wish he was here right now,” Taylor said, grinding a fist into a palm. “I’d sock him one for all the grief he’s putting us through.”
“Hey, save some for me; I’d like to take a poke or two at him myself.” She shook a freckled fist at an imaginary foe. “You know, maybe that’s not a bad idea.’
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve spent too damn long starin’ at this crap. We need to get up and move around.” She stood up. “Maybe even work out.”
Taylor nodded as he stood and stretched. “Yeah. A few reps with the weights might help.”
“Oh, I was thinking more along the lines of something more violent. Something to take out our hostilities.”
“You mean a round or two on the heavy bag?”
“No.” She punched his arm. “A round or two with each other.”
They both needed some PT time; that was a fact. Neither had gotten much of a chance to work out lately. And he knew what she meant: gloves, gear, padding and some semi-competitive boxing downstairs in the gym. But he knew her motives too: this was her idea of foreplay.
“No thanks.”
“Come on. You afraid I’ll whup your butt?”
No; he was afraid he’d enjoy it. “No; I just don’t feel up to it right now.”
“You said you could punch out the perp if he were here.”
“Did you do it?”
She gave a short laugh. “No way!”
“Then I don’t feel like punching you.” He got his coat. “But I do feel like taking a walk, and you’re welcome to join me.”
“Chicken.”
Taylor shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He was just sliding one arm into a sleeve when his cell rang. He wrestled out of the coat and dug for the cell, answering it. “Taylor.”
“Hey Ed, it’s me: Jed Hagen.”
“Yeah, Jed; what is it?”
“Just wanted to let you know I had a few drinks last night with a guy I know named Grayson. He’s a City cop.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s working on the Fleming case. It seems their forensics guys found a condom with some viable DNA.”
“Yeah, we heard something about that. Just a sec, Jed; I’m putting you on speaker.” He gestured to Peggy and pressed the button on the phone. “I’ve got my partner Peggy Russell here. Go ahead, Jed.”
“Like I said, the City CSIs found some DNA in a condom. They’re running an analysis on it, and I put a bee into Grayson’s bonnet to send a copy to you.”
“How do we know it belongs to our guy? That condom could have been there for eons.”
“We don’t; but they wouldn’t be running it if it wasn’t fresh.”
“You got that right. How soon you think we’ll hear from him?”
“Hopefully sometime today. Hey, at least it’s something.”
“Yeah. Say, technically it’s still their case. How come this Grayson is letting us in on it?”
Jed chuckled. “Let’s just say I can be pretty persuasive. There are ways, you know.”
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Peggy smiled, obviously having some idea of Jed’s tactics.
“Whatever you did, thanks,” Taylor said. He hung up. “Like Jed said, it’s something anyway.” He put the phone away and again started to put on his coat. “I’m still up for that walk. How about it?”
“OK. Maybe the DNA chart will be here when we get back.” She shrugged into her leather jacket and they went to the elevator.
It was a bit cool for the season. Baltimore rarely had a period one could identify as Spring. The temperatures see-sawed between cold and hot, cool and warm, and all variations in between, and before you knew it, Summer had come.
You don’t have to go far in any downtown area, or even a lot of suburban areas for that matter, before you find a Starbucks. Taylor treated for coffee and they resumed their walk. Both had ordered plain coffees; neither liked the fancy high-priced, high-fat, high-calorie drinks with the foreign names. Taylor took his with just a little cream and sugar. Peggy liked a generous sprinkle of cinnamon in hers. No surprise to Taylor, as she was the spicy type herself.
“How’s the wife?” Peggy asked as she sipped her coffee. “How long have you two been married?”
“It’ll be fifteen years this May.” She knew that just as well as he did.
“That’s a long time to be married to the same person.”
Taylor didn’t answer. He had come from a strong, two-parent family. He knew, however, that Peggy’s parents had split when she was about five. Her mother had cheated on her father, who had some problems of his own that precluded him getting custody. Then her mother had abandoned her to run off with still another guy. Peggy ended up with an aunt who never married but was a member of the “uncle-of-the-month club,” bringing home a series of short term male companions over the years. When Peggy came of age she struck out on her own. Seeking structure, which she had never had, she signed up at the Academy. After years of hard work, she had gotten her detective shield.
He understood where she was coming from; she had been “raised,” if that’s what you wanted to call it, by women who had no concept of what a stable home life meant. So Taylor’s successful family life was a riddle to her, and she probably expected it to implode sooner or later. It was obvious that Peggy wanted to be there when it happened, to be the one to break his fall.
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