by Rick Reed
Mayor Hensley interrupted. “I don’t understand something. Do you mean to tell me you’re involving us in a Vanderburgh County investigation? Mrs. Day’s murder happened in the county. We don’t have jurisdiction, unless I’m mistaken.”
Jack said, “Mr. Mayor, we will be working alongside the county police. They have jurisdiction, but in a case like this we need to share information and resources. We do this all the time.”
“And you say all these cases are related, yet you don’t think they were done with the same weapon. Is there one killer or two? Or three or four, for that matter. Next thing you’ll be telling me is we have a serial killer that’s killing again after three decades. The public will be terrified. I can’t have that. They’ll think me negligent. The news media is already saying the police department covered up the boy’s murder. If they can’t trust their law enforcers, they won’t trust their mayor.”
Thatcher Hensley rose from his chair unsteadily and color had bloomed in his cheeks. “Well, gentlemen, I’ll leave you to it. I have much to do. My mind was occupied and I didn’t hear much of what was said after Miss Coyne’s interruptions. I trust that you will get to the bottom of this, Chief Pope. I think your men are doing great work. Keep me informed.” And with that, he left the room. Jack got up and shut the door.
“He doesn’t have a clue what he’s gotten into, does he?” Jack asked.
“He’s a good man, basically, but I think he’s ready to take his bows in public and go home,” Pope said. “This is getting a little deep for someone who has a month left in office. He’s a proud man. He doesn’t want this to stain his reputation.”
It always came down to saving face for a career politician. The fact that three people from the same family were ruthlessly murdered meant nothing. Jack expected no less, but it still pissed him off.
Screw his reputation, Jack thought, but said, “I understand, Chief.” But he didn’t understand. Every one of them in the room had more to lose than Hensley. Hensley could walk away. They couldn’t.
Jack continued his briefing. Some things the Chief and Captain had already heard from Mattingly, but they hadn’t heard Olson’s story and denial that there was a fight at Rex Mundi or signs of a fight at the cemetery the night of Max’s murder. Jack told them about the Xerox copies of two Polaroid photos that Mattingly had given Mrs. Day after Harry was murdered. The original Polaroids, like the case file, were missing. Jack told them about Olson’s suspicion that Mattingly was having an affair with Mrs. Day, or that he was dealing in stolen guns with Harry, or that they were running drugs. They all agreed that the stories were so different and yet so similar that someone was lying.
“This all started with the death of Max Day,” Jack said. “When Harry wasn’t happy with the police investigation and basically started his own investigation, I believe that’s what led to his being killed. Then it’s quiet from 1984 to now, until Richard Dick is recorded by Reina Day, and they go to Claudine. The killer must have been concerned the investigation would be reopened.”
“That seems logical,” Captain Franklin said, “but how did the killer know the Days were going to see Claudine? The only ones they told about the recording were Benet Cato and Claudine. Claudine was the one who brought it to us.”
“Richard must have told someone about going to see Mrs. Day,” Jack said. “Whoever that was knew it was a stupid move and that set the ball in motion. Or Dick realized he’d screwed up going to Mrs. Day. The person who tried to kill or scare Reina Day must have suspected she had some piece of evidence. Her purse was stolen. The recorder was taken.”
Jack asked the Chief and Captain, “When you asked him to come to your office, did you have the feeling he already knew what it was about?”
Chief Pope said, “He may have suspected I knew he’d gone to see Mrs. Day, but he was genuinely surprised and angry when we started playing the recording for him. Is that your impression, Charles?”
Captain Franklin said, “He was embarrassed. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the recording. It’s hard to say.”
“You both knew Captain Dick, right?” Jack asked.
“Are we back to the cover-up, or is there a motive for murder?” Chief Pope asked.
“Both,” Jack answered truthfully. “What can you tell me about him?”
Chief Pope chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “He was a…stern man. He was a Captain when I came on the department. Maybe motor patrol, but I seem to remember him being in investigations. No one seemed to like him. Some stayed clear just because he was hard to please, but most feared him. He was quick to lay blame if he ran into a problem with an investigation. Motor patrol was his favorite target.”
Jack thought, “Like father, like son.”
Jack asked, “When his son came on the department, how did he treat him?” Jack wasn’t sure why he’d asked that question, but no information was ever wasted when you had no information.
“I never really thought about it,” Chief Pope answered thoughtfully. “But you could tell that Richard worshipped the ground his father walked on. Thomas Dick was the man who Richard came to be. Personally, I prefer Richard to Thomas. There was something hard and cruel in that man.”
Jack asked the question. “Do you think Thomas Dick is capable of murder?”
Pope said, “Jack, you’ve been a detective long enough to know that anyone is capable of killing, given the right set of circumstances. The nicest, most religious person joins the military and kills the enemy. The reason for the killing needs to be justified. Does that fit Thomas? I don’t really know. Did Thomas kill Harry? I can’t tell you. But he could very easily have been behind covering up his son’s implication of involvement in the death of Max Day.”
Jack digested this and asked, “What can you tell us about Dan Olson?”
Pope didn’t have to think. He said, “Olson was dishonest. Everyone knew that. He retired long ago, but I think he was under internal affairs investigation when he left. He was a detective, then made sergeant and stayed in investigations instead of going to motor patrol. If he showed up on one of your runs you never expected the case to go well. I don’t want to speak ill of someone who’s not here to defend themselves, but I would say all this to his face. Do you think he killed Harry to cover up something he did wrong on Max’s investigation?”
“It’s possible, Chief,” Jack said. “But he isn’t the one that shot up Reina’s car. According to our witness that guy ran like a gazelle. Olson needs a nursing home.”
“And that leaves Thomas Dick out as well,” Captain Franklin added.
“Good point,” Jack said.
“That leaves us with Dick, Needham, and James,” Liddell said. “They’re the only ones that would fit the description from Reina’s case.”
Jack didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t going to rule anyone out yet. It was possible there was more than one person involved in these attacks. Working together, or working separately, but accomplishing the same thing. To stop an investigation into the earliest murder. Max Day.
Jack said, “Mattingly and Olson should be able to tell one story, but they’re giving conflicting accounts and pointing fingers at each other. One thing they both agree on is that these killings are meant to put an end to the Days’ meddling.”
“Who do you believe?” Captain Franklin asked.
“They both made some good points, Captain,” Jack said. “My gut goes with Mattingly and tells me Olson is a liar. But if you’ve followed a case for over thirty years, maybe some of his thoughts have been skewed by what he thinks he remembers. Olson seemed more concerned with keeping Captain Dick out of the investigation than he did about being accused of helping with a cover-up himself.”
Sergeant Walker said, “Well, I’ve got some good news for you. Sergeant Simms found some of the evidence in the Max Day case. A paper bag with some broken beer bottles. She also found
a tire iron with blood on it. She said they’d fallen behind one of the shelves.”
“It’s a miracle Simms found anything,” Chief Pope said. “I was a detective when someone got the bright idea to purge the oldest evidence from the property room to have more space. The city didn’t have a budget to expand the area. A lot of things from closed cases got pitched, sold at auction, or burned, as well as old unsolved cases.”
“That’s the kind of forward thinking I’ve come to expect from those days of policing, Chief,” Jack said, then, “Did I just say that out loud? I’m sorry.”
“So, where are we, Jack?” Chief Pope asked.
“We know that the ballistic evidence connects Max, Harry, Reina, and Mrs. Day’s cases. We suspect there was a cover-up. We suspect retired Sergeant Olson was involved in the cover-up. Sergeant Mattingly is the single known person to come up in all the cases. He found two of the bodies and found Reina. It’s still a little of a stretch for a coincidence.”
“I agree, Jack,” Captain Franklin said.
“Should we be suspecting Mattingly? Maybe take him off duty until this is over?” Chief Pope asked.
Captain Franklin answered that. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We know where he is right now. If we temporarily relieve him we’ll have to assign surveillance. Let’s wait and see what Jack comes up with.”
Liddell said, “What about the Deputy Chief? He’s the pièce de résistance in this.”
He got his answer when Chief Pope said, “If there’s nothing else, gentlemen, let’s all get back to work.”
Jack said, “Chief, just one thing. I heard Claudine Setera might be here. What’s her status, or can I push her off a bridge? Metaphorically speaking.”
Chapter 30
Jack and Liddell drove to the Vanderburgh County coroner’s office to meet with Little Casket. When they were buzzed inside they were met by a gentleman holding a calabash meerschaum pipe and wearing a wool shawl-neck sweater at least two sizes too big. He was tall and shaped like a bowling pin: narrow shoulders, thick hips and legs. The sweater’s pocket bulged with a leather tobacco pouch and was tar-stained.
Little Casket came down the hallway carrying a tray with four coffees on it. She said, “This is Dr. Eric Schirmer, the coroner-surgeon who, before he retired, performed the autopsies on Max and Harry Day.”
“I’m Detective Jack Murphy and this is—”
“I’m well aware who you both are,” Dr. Schirmer said. “Detective Murphy. Detective Blanchard,” he said, shaking hands with each of them. “You two remind me of my past. Cops and coroners were well acquainted. Quite a few detectives were required to assist me with the autopsies. A few of them passed out when you asked them to do something as simple as remove the top of the skull.”
Jack had felt nauseous himself during the first post he had attended. It was done in the garage of a funeral home on a body that had been laying in the heat for two weeks. They had to scoop it onto a body bag because it came apart when they tried to pick it up.
“Let’s get comfortable, shall we?” Little Casket said.
Jack and Liddell were caught off guard by her courteous behavior.
“Yes. Let’s,” Liddell said.
Little Casket glared at him and shoved the tray into his hands. “Make yourself useful, Hoss.”
Dr. Schirmer chuckled at that until it turned into a coughing spasm. Little Casket took him by the arm. “Let’s get you to the conference room, Dr. Schirmer.”
Schirmer shook her loose. “Unhand me, woman. I need to speak to these men. In the autopsy room, if you don’t mind. Get my case, will you? There’s a good girl.”
Little Casket hurried off and came back with an aged brown leather case. They went to the autopsy room. Dr. Schirmer stopped in the doorway and said, “Imagine what we could have done with a place like this, Lil?”
He instructed her to put his bag down on one of the stainless-steel autopsy tables and opened the flap. He took out several X-ray films and said, “Where’s the damn—Oh, there it is.” He took the X-rays to the light box mounted on the wall and began putting X-rays under the clips.
Jack whispered to Little Casket, “Does he have the autopsy reports?”
Schirmer said, “I’m ninety years old and can’t get around like a twenty-year-old, but I sure as hell haven’t lost my hearing. Have I, Lil?”
Lil?
Schirmer said, “I have those reports and more. What you make of it is up to you. We had to rely on detectives for a second pair of hands. No money for a pathologist assistant back then. Budgets and favors were something we had to get with blackmail. Just me and Lil. Isn’t that right, Lil?”
Little Casket smiled.
Schirmer said, “She wasn’t so quiet when she worked for me. What’s important is what I have for these detectives.” He flipped a switch that turned the light on.
“These are X-rays of Maximillian Day. I had copies made and given to me. I understand from Lilly that her copies are no longer in her files.”
“The whole damn file is missing,” Little Casket complained. “Excuse my language, Doctor.”
“I performed the autopsy myself. One of your detectives was present for part of it—Detective Olson, I believe his name was—but he wasn’t interested in anything but getting my report.”
“Do you have a copy of the autopsy report?” Jack asked.
“I keep a copy of all my reports. The originals went in the coroner’s files.”
Jack examined the two X-rays, a skull in profile and frontal. “What am I seeing, Dr. Schirmer?”
“I was told by Detective Olson that this boy was shot with a large-caliber weapon.” He pointed to the profile view of the skull. The left side of the skull near the ear and the skullcap were not there. Instead there was a jagged, cratered edge. “See here,” he said and put his finger beside a shadow on what would be the right side of the victim’s head.
“I see a pencil-sized shadow,” Jack said. “What is it?”
“That’s the point of entry. You can’t see it clearly on the X-ray, but this wound wasn’t caused by a lead projectile. My notes explain. I’m sorry I don’t have any 35mm pictures. You’ll have to take my report and my word for it.”
“What was the cause the death, Dr. Schirmer?” Jack asked.
“Compressed air,” Schirmer said and watched Jack’s expression. He tapped his finger on the pencil-shaped shadow on the right side of the X-ray. “That’s the entry point.” He pointed to the left side of the skull, where a funnel-sized crater was missing. “That’s where the blast exited.”
Jack said nothing.
“I can see you don’t believe me. Detective Olson didn’t believe me, either.”
Jack said, “It’s not disbelief, exactly, but most of Max’s brain is missing, along with the left side of his skull. A rifle bullet or a contact gunshot might do that. But compressed air?”
Schirmer said, “The victim was reportedly found in the driver’s seat of his car. Brains and tissue were all over the ceiling and driver’s-side window. The windows were up. Isn’t that right?”
In the skimpy case file Jack had there was no mention of the windows being up or down. Olson had told them the blood and brains were on the windshield and all over the passenger side of the car. He thought Max had been shot from outside the car, and then waffled on that.
“Did Olson tell you the condition of the car, or did he show you photos?”
“Olson said the driver’s window was up. That would indicate the shot had to come from someone on the passenger side of the car, correct?”
“Olson led us to believe the shooter was standing outside the car,” Jack said.
“Then the window would have been damaged. According to Olson, the window was intact. The injury was close contact, so the killer must have been inside the car. Maybe in the passenger seat, maybe in the
backseat. I can’t tell you that. But he had to be close to cause that kind of wound.”
“Okay, let’s say the killer was in the passenger side of the car. Inside. What kind of compressed air weapon does this kind of damage?”
“A diver’s weapon. A shark dart or something like it.”
“Did you say a shark stick?” Jack said incredulously. He’d seen them being used in movies to kill aggressive sharks, but the idea of someone getting in the passenger side with a spear-sized weapon was really out there.
“I assure you I don’t have dementia, Detective Murphy. This boy was not killed with a lead projectile. It was a projectile of compressed air. CO2, to be exact. I’ll explain. The skin around the entry point appeared to have been flash frozen. The skull was distorted, the scalp was torn open, much of the brains were expelled through the tear, and the rest were turned to mush. But the inside of the skull was ice cold at the time of the autopsy.”
Dr. Schirmer opened his bag again and took out a textbook and an old magazine. The cover of the magazine read SCUBA. The textbook was a very old medical manual from World War II depicting injuries. A page was marked.
“With a gunshot, a lead projectile, fired into the side of the head, you would see stippling around the wound. The gas behind the bullet enters the skull and fills the cavity, causing the skull to literally explode. It happens in microseconds. With CO2, the wound fills with frozen air—not so fast as from a gunshot—and the skull bulges and opens like you’re seeing here. I can promise you, this is not a wound caused by a lead projectile.”
Dr. Schirmer opened the book to a black-and-white photo of a man’s body lying on a steel autopsy table. The body was disemboweled from the pubic area to the solar plexus. Schirmer turned the page to a close-up of the torn skin and put his finger on the photo.
“Do you see that? That little mark there, and there.” Schirmer was pointing to the edge of the skin. Jack could see an abrasion. Small. Round. Like a puncture mark. Similar to the wound on Max’s X-ray.
“In this photograph, you can see where the shark dart entered the stomach just below the sternum. This was an accidental death, not a murder, but my point is this weapon is designed to inject air suddenly into the shark, and in effect, blow it up.” An inset picture showed a round handle, about three-quarter inch in diameter, with a three- or four-inch spike protruding from the end. The spike was round like a tenpenny nail, only larger, and a piece of orange plastic was clipped on it where it entered the handle. Another inset picture showed the handle in pieces with a CO2 cartridge screwed into the handle at the spike end.