Inside Cut

by Tom Fowler

  We eschewed the precinct’s swill and stopped for proper coffee before walking to the medical examiner’s office. The coroner on duty was Doctor Gary Hunt, whom I’d worked with a few times before. He directed King and me to an office while he finished with a body on the table. Only one cadaver lay out in the open. The ventilation system did a great job of pumping out the putrescence and replacing it with a neutral aroma.

  A few minutes later, Hunt joined us, slipping his slender frame into the chair behind the desk. Brown hair framed his face, and his glasses showed a prominent smudge which would’ve driven me insane. “You’re here about the shooting victim?” he asked. “Ben Murray?”

  “We are,” King said.

  “Pretty simple. Four gunshots to the torso. Two in the upper chest, one in the diaphragm, and the fourth in the liver.”

  “The same gun fire all four?”

  “Can’t tell yet,” Hunt said. “I collected all the bullets for testing. They look to be the same caliber to my eyes, but it doesn’t mean all four came from the same pistol.”

  “A quartet of shots center mass,” I said. “We’re not dealing with an amateur here.”

  “Most likely not,” Hunt said, “but I’ll leave the investigation to you.”

  “You’d say our shooter was trained, though?”

  “Probably. The odds of a novice clustering shots in such a manner, even from twelve feet, are quite long. You gentlemen would probably know better than I would.”

  “You got anything else?” King said to me. I shook my head. “Thanks, Doc. We’ll be in touch.” We left the office and hit the street a moment later. King looked at me as the exterior door swung shut. “I know you have something on your mind.”

  “One of the pitfalls of being a genius,” I said.

  “I hear you. What are you thinking?”

  “How much did Rich tell you about this case?”

  “Not a lot,” King said. “Told me you had a bug up your ass about it.”

  I filled him in on the details, including my chat with Eddie and his enforcers yesterday. “After they left, they drove to the JHC Campus. The plate is registered to a member of the campus police.”

  “You think two college cops shot this guy?”

  “I think they’d be trained in how to fire a gun like any other law enforcement officer.”

  “They would.” King chewed on his bottom lip. “I hope it’s not them, but it sounds like there’s a chance. You working with anyone in the county on it?”

  “Gonzalez,” I said. “He told me BCPD has oversight of the JHC cops in certain circumstances.”

  King’s phone buzzed. “I probably have to go,” he said. “You good for now?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He returned to the precinct. I walked back to my car, climbed in, and sighed. Calvin’s cousin was dead, the hoops star’s girlfriend took a beating, and someone kidnapped their daughter because Calvin defied a guy who was fixing the games. I wondered about Denise. If her son planned any more acts of rebellion, she would be the next one in the crosshairs. I didn’t want to Calvin to lose his mom, and keeping a client from getting killed is a point of personal pride.

  I needed to stash her somewhere safe.

  Calvin called me a little later demanding an update. When I told him I was working on it, he launched into a screed, and I needed to shut him down. “I just saw your cousin’s body,” I said when he paused for a breath.

  He didn’t have part six of his rant ready to go anymore. Calvin stammered a couple of times. I took over. “Let me lay it out for you. I’m willing to help you get out from under Eddie Ferrugia, but I don’t work for you, and I’m not putting up with your bullshit. I work for your mother, whom I’m still concerned about. Let’s get back to reality, Calvin. Have you heard from her recently?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. Yesterday, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “It was yesterday,” he said.

  “So you haven’t told her your cousin is dead?”

  “No,” he said slowly.

  “While you’re ranting at me for an update, you might want to consider her safety.” I waited, but he didn’t say anything. Apparently, I needed to do everything. “I’ll talk to her. She should probably stay somewhere Eddie can’t find her easily. Taking Iris probably puts enough pressure on you, but never put it past these assholes to double down.”

  “Where you gonna stash her?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said.

  “You gonna tell me?”

  “Why? So Eddie can have some grunt beat it out of you? No. You’ll be in the dark. You worry about basketball for now. Let me handle the rest. And stop calling me for status reports.” I hung up on him before he could respond.

  I didn’t care for having all these phone conversations, but I needed to make another call. I dialed Joey Trovato. “Need more of my basketball expertise?” he said.

  “No, but I do need a favor.”

  “The same case?”

  “Yes,” I said. I told him about the game going awry, Ben getting killed, and Eddie’s men taking Iris. “I’m concerned about the mother.”

  “This guy already has the daughter, though,” Joey said.

  “I know. But what if Hanson wins their first-round game? He may want to keep the run going.”

  Joey blew a deep breath into the phone. “I got someone in the Columbia safehouse already.” Pity. I’d used it before on an earlier case and hoped to again. “I do keep a couple hotel rooms on standby for emergencies, though.” When I didn’t say anything, he clarified by adding, “The managers know me.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take wherever I can get at this point.”

  “Sounds like recent events have you spooked.”

  “I guess they do,” I said. “I didn’t expect anyone to die when I started working this case, but I left the morgue a little while ago. It’s all gone to hell over the course of a day.”

  “Let me get back to you in a little while. I should have somewhere you can use.”

  We hung up. At this point, I would gladly take the small sliver of optimism my conversation with Joey afforded.

  About a half-hour later, Joey called me with some information. I got hold of Denise and said I needed to see her. She hemmed and hawed but eventually told me where she was staying. She was at a friend’s house in Odenton, not far from Fort Meade and Columbia. I pulled into the townhouse community and marveled at the sameness of everything.

  Inside, Denise’s friend Jasmine cleared out, leaving us alone in the living room. I resisted scoffing at the dreamcatchers, crystals, and other new-age trinkets on display. “Should I sit a certain way to maximize the feng shui?” I said. Chairs and loveseats faced a variety of directions. The area was a mish-mash of styles, to say nothing of the more interesting accoutrements cluttering it up.

  Denise smiled. “I don’t think it matters.”

  She was right. “Did you know Calvin’s cousin Ben?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s Calvin’s uncle’s son on his father’s side. Nice kid.” She frowned as if realizing for the first time why I might be asking the question. “Why?”

  “He’s dead.” Denise, already a little pale, blanched. “Someone went to his house and shot him four times.”

  “My God.” She shut her eyes tightly and bowed her head. “What about Tamika and Iris?”

  “They’re alive,” I said. “Tamika took a beating, but she should be OK.”

  Denise looked up at me, her eyes threatening to spill tears. “And Iris?”

  “Eddie has her.”

  She cried and hid her face in her hands. Jasmine appeared in the doorway, but I waved her off. Healing salts and woo-woo wouldn’t be any help to us. “Are you looking for her?” she said after taking a couple minutes to compose herself.

  “The police are, too. At the moment, I’m concerned about you.” Before she could try to allay my worries, I kept talking. “Eddie might want more leverage over Calvin, and if Hanson wins their first game,
he might think he needs it. You need to go somewhere safe, and I’ve worked it out.”

  “But no one knows I’m here.”

  “I don’t think anyone was supposed to know where Tamika and Iris were, either,” I said. When I saw Eddie next, I would ask him how he came by the information.

  “Where are we going?”

  “A hotel. My friend uses it. He . . . helps people, too.” She remained in the chair. “You already have a bag packed, I presume. You’ll be safer there. I’m not going to tell Calvin where you are, and Eddie won’t get the info from me.”

  It took a minute, but Denise nodded. She thanked Jasmine for lending a hand, grabbed her bag, and we left.

  At least I kept one person safe.

  Chapter 19

  After talking to Gloria for a bit—she’d be coming back tomorrow—I drove to my office. The lot was pretty empty at this hour. Most of the offices were medical in nature, and many workers cleared out at the stroke of four. I was one of the few remaining tenants who didn’t fit in with the CareFirst system, because they honored my lease when they took the building over from First Mariner Bank. I wondered how long they’d let me remain.

  I eschewed the elevator and climbed the stairs. It was a lot of flights, and my legs burned after setting a good pace for the first ten. I slowed to a more reasonable rate for the next two when my phone started blowing up. The alarm I’d installed in my office threw a bunch of alerts. I quickened my pace again, and I was breathing hard by the time I popped out into the hallway next to the elevators.

  Sure enough, a light was on in my workplace. The exterior door remained opened a crack, spilling a triangle of illumination onto the carpet. I hugged the wall, drew my 9MM, and walked slowly toward the burglary in progress. As I stalked closer, I heard muffled voices coming from within. A lock popped open, and my phone responded with a fresh series of notifications. Whoever was in there breached my inner sanctum.

  I flattened onto the wall next to the door. Its hinges returned my stare. I needed to be on the other side to see anything. A quick peek told me the coast was probably clear, so I ducked and scampered across. Now I could see two guys inside. Both wore something covering their heads. Conveniently enough, they stood with their backs to me. I inched the door open and took a cautious step inside.

  They didn’t react. One looked at my desk while the other worked on jimmying the file cabinet I barely used. For the most part, it held a couple pictures of Gloria and me along with a Keurig on the top. I advanced, crossing the threshold of the interior space. The one at the desk was closer. I brought the gun up and whacked him behind the ear with the butt. His head hit the desk, and then he sagged to the side and slid onto the floor. The one who’d broken into my filing cabinet turned.

  I held the business end of the 9MM about four feet from his head. He looked at me with wide eyes, glanced over to his fallen comrade, then returned his uneasy gaze to me. This guy was smaller than the two who lunched with Eddie at the Final Score tavern. Hell, he was barely even my size, though he looked young enough to still get carded at R-rated movies. “Let’s chat,” I said. His hand moved toward his back. “Don’t.”

  To emphasize the point, I edged closer to him. The muzzle was maybe two feet from the tip of his nose. If he took a deep breath, he could smell the oil I used to clean it. His hand returned to where it had been. “Turn around,” I said, and he did. I plucked a pistol from his waistband, stuck it in my holster, and gave him a quick one-handed pat-down. He was clean. “Have a seat. Feel free to move your friend’s legs out of the way if they’re blocking the guest chair.”

  I waited for him to get situated before I walked around the desk and sat. I tossed his gun into my top drawer and put mine on the desktop pointed in his direction. He eyed it. It lay in easy reach if I needed it, and he knew it. “Eddie send you?”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, piss off,” I said. “I’ve had way too long a day for this. You and I both know who Eddie is and what he does, so can we dispense with the bullshit and have a conversation.” Swallowing hard served as his answer. “Now . . . did Eddie send you?”

  “Yeah,” he said in a small voice. After I chastised him, he refused to look at me, spending his time glancing between his lap and the still-unconscious man lying on the floor to his right.

  “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, tell me why he sent you.”

  “Wanted to know what you know, I guess. He told us to bring back files and computers.”

  If he wanted computers, I presumed he thought he possessed a way to break into them. Let him try. My computer was tethered to the desk with a cable bolt cutters would have a tough time getting through. Even if someone lifted the unit—or only its hard drive—I used full disk encryption with a strong algorithm and a password no rainbow table would uncover. “Tell Eddie if he wants to talk to me, he can make an appointment. Let him ask his questions then.” The guy didn’t say anything. “You work for Eddie long?”

  He shrugged. “Couple months.”

  “You in college?” His head bobbed. “Let me guess—John Hanson.” Another bob. “You know where he’s keeping the girl?”

  “What girl?”

  I glared at him. “I thought we talked about this. A young girl—not even two years old. Kidnapped from her mother, who caught a beating in the process.” I left out the detail of Ben Murray getting killed. Kidnapping a baby and beating up a woman should be enough to raise most people’s hackles.

  He frowned so deeply it added ten years to his age. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah!” he said. “Eddie doesn’t seem the type to do it. It must be . . .”

  “Must be what?” I asked when he trailed off.

  “Nothing. Forget it.”

  “A what or a whom?”

  “Nothing. I’m just . . . surprised Eddie would do something like this.”

  “These are surprising times,” I said.

  The fellow on the floor stirred. He groaned, and his head poked above the top of the desk as he raised himself to a crouch. I picked up the gun and showed it to him. He frowned and rubbed his head where I’d clobbered him. “Jesus, we were just looking around,” he muttered.

  “What can I say? I like my privacy. You have a gun?” He shook his head. I glanced at the other guy. “He telling the truth?”

  “Yeah. I had the pistol. He’s the burglar.”

  “You might as well sit in the chair you’re pulling yourself up with,” I said to the groggy one. I pushed the speaker button on my little-used desk phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the cops arrived a short while later, I told them what happened, gave them the gun I confiscated, and watched them lead the two burglars out in handcuffs.

  I’d originally come here to do work. No time like the present. I brewed a cup of coffee in the Keurig and set about conducting a little research into Eddie Ferrugia and where he might be.

  The next morning, I woke up feeling antsy. Gloria was due back today, and thinking about it made me realize how much I missed her. I hoped her final match went well. She won a tournament about eighteen months ago and found herself on a dry spell since. Tennis was a sport where professionals debuted on the women’s tour while still teenagers. Gloria was about to turn twenty-eight. She was far from washed up, but a younger wave of competitors managed to win all the titles since her lone victory.

  Before making breakfast or coffee, I went out for a run. I wore a .38 snugged in an elastic holster under my warm-up jacket in case any more of Eddie Ferrugia’s men decided to pay me a visit. The man himself continued to be mysterious. It impressed me in this modern age when someone kept a minimal online footprint. Eddie was one of the few. He’d avoided spilling a lot of personal information out into the world. Every time I visited social media, I wished more people took this minimalist approach. It would make my job harder but society better.

  All this magnanimity must have been a side effect of being thirty.

  I finis
hed my morning constitutional and spied no goons, miscreants, or ne’er-do-wells. At home, I took a shower, got dressed, and made breakfast. It was more like brunch at the current hour of ten-forty. Maybe I should go back in the kitchen and whip up a mimosa and some avocado toast.

  After eating, I checked in with Joey. He’d heard nothing about Denise, and he told me no news was good news. Calvin still champed at the bit, and he only calmed down when I told him I had something potentially big in the works for today. And I did, as much as I disliked the idea of it. It all came from my inability to find a place Eddie Ferrugia would be stashing Iris. He wouldn’t do it at his home or business. I knew who he was, and the police would find those places easily. Damn him and his tiny online presence.

  I drove into Little Italy, parked the S4, and walked into Il Buon Cibo shortly after their eleven-thirty opening. A quick scan of the mostly-empty dining room showed me Tony wasn’t back yet. Bruno sat at his table, accompanied by a couple tough guys who stared me down as I approached. “The hell do you want?” Bruno said.

  It was a risk, but I sat uninvited. All three men glared at me. “I think I have some information you might find useful.”

  “Yeah?” Bruno kept staring at me. After a moment, he said, “You ain’t getting a free meal.”

  “I just ate.”

  “Good. If I don’t like whatever it is you’re telling me, or if I don’t think I can do anything with it, these two are going to show you out.”

  “I can leave on my own,” I said.

  “You can. You won’t. They’ll make sure you’re back on the pavement real quick.” He paused long enough to show me a predator’s grin. “You still wanna talk?”

  “I didn’t come here for the company.”

  After I said it, I wondered if the line might have been pushing it. Bruno already didn’t like me and wasn’t inclined to listen. I didn’t need to provide him much incentive to have the no-neck twins toss me out on my ear. Instead of ordering my eviction, he took a deep breath and said, “Speak.”