The Cleanest Kill

by Rick Reed

  Jack said, “He called me sugar.”

  “So that’s why you were here. You sly old dog,” Liddell said. “Wait. What about Katie?”

  “I’m not going to even address the levels of wrong that statement makes. And I have an idea,” Jack said. “Let’s go inside.”

  They signed in with the crime scene log officer and met Sergeant Walker in the front room where Olson’s body was slumped in the recliner. Jack told Walker the idea that had come to him.

  “We’re still working in the kitchen, but I’ll take you in. Don’t touch anything.”

  “Too late,” Jack said. “I’ve been all through the house. And you’re going to find Yeti footprints and body hair all over the couch in there.”

  “Where were you exactly?” Walker asked.

  “As you know, we were here yesterday morning, but only in the living room, or the front room or whatever. I was in the front yard tonight and I heard the back door, so I came around. The guy was jetting. I came in the back door and walked through the hallway. I touched the light switch in the hallway. I opened the two doors down there and touched the light switch in this room. I didn’t touch anything else and the troops arrived, and now here we are.”

  They followed Walker into the kitchen. The back door was still open and the storm door was bent outward.

  “Nothing’s disturbed much in here,” Walker said. “What are we looking for, Jack?”

  “Those,” Jack said and pointed to the ceramic canisters on top of the refrigerator. “The baby bear one is broken on the floor, but that could have fallen off the table when he fled. Olson called me sugar. What if he meant sugar? The sugar canister.”

  Walker got one of his techs to take pictures of the refrigerator and the counters. He carefully took the two remaining canisters down from the top of the refrigerator and put them on the counter. Walker took the lid from the mama bear canister and it was filled with sugar.

  Jack took an ink pen from Walker’s pocket and stuck it in the sugar until he felt it hit something. Walker took a gallon-size evidence bag from a pocket and said, “Hold this open.”

  Jack did. Walker slowly poured the sugar from the container into the bag and stopped when something metallic poured out. Walker dug in the crystals and lifted a flat metal key with a number—111—stamped on both sides.

  Walker said, “That’s a locker key from the YMCA.”

  Jack took out his own keys and found one similar to the one they had just found. The City of Evansville offered the police department a membership at the YMCA at a highly discounted rate and suggested they use it. Most did. Jack did. But he didn’t think he’d ever seen Olson there.

  He called dispatch, got the emergency contact number for the YMCA, and called. The phone was answered by a woman who was none too happy to be awakened, but she agreed to meet the detectives at the YMCA in half an hour.

  Little Casket said from the doorway, “I heard Liddell was here, so I thought I’d find you in the kitchen. You making cookies?”

  “We didn’t know you had arrived,” Jack said.

  “The body is in the front room,” Walker said.

  “I know. I walked past him to see what was so interesting back here. If you’re done playing with the sugar, I got something to show you.”

  The men followed her to the front room and she stood close to where the victim was still slumped sideways in the recliner. “See anything familiar?” she asked them.

  “A dead body,” Liddell said.

  Jack asked her, “Are you saying this is like Max’s injury, Lilly?”

  “You’re supposed to be the detective,” she said. “I’m just a lowly government employee. What would I know?”

  He said, “Lilly, I was shot at a half-dozen times. There are .50 caliber shell casings all over the room.” He motioned toward the silver shell casings crime scene had circled in chalk.

  Walker bent over to examine the entry wound on what was left of Olson’s head. After a few seconds he said, “She may be right, Jack.”

  Liddell shook his head and said, “As my daddy used to say, ‘Shit fire and save the matches.’”

  Chapter 36

  An older gentleman wearing a gray work jacket with a cloth name tag that identified him as Lonnie unlocked the doors of the YMCA. Lonnie was even grumpier than the woman Jack had talked to on the phone. There was no small talk or introducing himself, just a scowl at being called in. Apparently, the manager had delegated this task to Lonnie.

  “Lonnie, thanks for letting us in,” Jack said. “We need to go to the locker room.” Jack held the key out where Lonnie could read the number.

  Without a word, Lonnie turned and walked toward the stairs.

  “I guess we follow him,” Liddell said.

  They caught up with the man and walked up the stairs, through a fire door on the second floor, down a hall, past the elevator, and into the locker room. The middle of the locker room had been arranged as a mini-gym with an exercise bike, treadmill, universal weight station, and hand weights. This was for the members too lazy to go downstairs. There was a big-screen TV with comfortable couches and padded chairs. This was where the over-eighty crowd of old men sat around in their underwear—or not—arguing, comparing their various medical problems, and discussing the recently departed.

  The remainder of the room was composed of rows of gym lockers with wooden benches bolted to the floors. Jack checked the number plates and stopped at locker number 111. He inserted the key.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Lonnie said, and stood with his arms crossed, as if he’d just caught a kid stealing candy.

  “Why is that, Lonnie?” Jack asked and turned the key. The door unlocked.

  “Need a warrant,” Lonnie said. “Beverly said I had to see a warrant before I let you into a locker. She said you could see the locker, not what’s inside. We got a policy here that says—”

  Jack opened the locker. “Lonnie. I assume Beverly is the lady I talked to on the telephone. The one who couldn’t be bothered to come down here herself. Am I right?”

  Lonnie’s scowl deepened until Jack thought his face would implode or his head would melt.

  Jack said, “Beverly didn’t know that the owner of the contents of this locker was murdered a little while ago. Not her fault. We didn’t tell her because she didn’t get her lazy ass down here. So I’m telling you. We’re investigating the murder. The victim can’t object to our searching his locker because he’s dead. Ergo, no warrant is needed. Now, unless you or Beverly are attorneys, or you want to need one, I suggest you sit down and stop interfering.”

  Lonnie sat down and muttered, “Beverly should have come herself.”

  “If it makes you feel better, Lonnie, tell her I threatened you.”

  Lonnie smiled and Jack saw why the man appeared to be scowling. Most of his teeth were missing or were blackened stumps. He had what Liddell called “summer teeth,” so called because sum’r there n’ sum’ ain’t.

  Jack opened the locker. Black running pants were folded neatly on top of a small stack of Playboy magazines. On top of this were white running shoes. A black Grateful Dead T-shirt was on a hanger. Jack doubted Olson was grateful. Jack pulled latex gloves on and knelt down to go through the clothes when he saw the legal-size mailing envelope taped to the ceiling of the locker.

  “What’s this?” Jack pulled it loose. The envelope was sealed. He handed it to Liddell and stood up, taking a folding knife from his pocket.

  Liddell turned the envelope to the other side and saw a name had been written on it in Magic Marker. “Captain D.”

  Lonnie was straining to see around Liddell’s bulk and gave up, saying, “I was supposed to get his locker cleaned out if he died.”

  “Do you know what’s in it?” Jack asked.

  “Naw. Only that I’m to give it to the name on the envelope. I never saw w
hat he’d written on it before. He made me swear I’d give it to the man and not open it or tell anyone.”

  Jack had no doubt Lonnie had been paid somehow for this little favor. Or Olson had something over Lonnie to force him to do so.

  “Let’s see what this is,” Jack said and slipped the knife blade under the flap.

  “You can’t do that!” Lonnie said with anger and fear in his voice. “Now you need a warrant. That don’t belong to Detective Olson. It was supposed to go to me and I ain’t giving you permission.”

  Liddell muttered, “Everyone’s a lawyer.”

  Jack opened the envelope. “Have a seat, Lonnie, or I’ll handcuff you.”

  Lonnie sat on the benches where he could watch what Jack was doing. “You never read me my rights, you know. You can’t arrest me.”

  Both Liddell and Jack said, “Shut up, Lonnie.” He did and his shoulders dropped when Jack pulled a gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with photos from the envelope. Jack opened the baggie and began going through the photos one by one and handing them to Liddell. One of the pictures was of a provocatively posed naked young lady. Jack turned the photo over and written on the back was To my darling Lonnie.

  Jack held the picture up where Lonnie and Liddell could see it. “How old do you think she is?”

  Liddell said, “She’s what? Thirteen? Fourteen? Who is she, Lonnie?”

  Lonnie came off the bench and made a grab for the picture, but Jack held it above his head. “Sit down, Lonnie.”

  Liddell put a hand on the man’s chest and pushed him gently but firmly back onto the bench. “You got an office here, Lonnie?”

  Tears welled in Lonnie’s eyes and his breathing was unsteady.

  “I’m just messing with you, Lonnie,” Liddell said. “I won’t get a warrant for your office, computer, or your home because you’re going to tell us everything you know about Dan Olson and Captain Dick and about this envelope. Right?”

  Lonnie wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, snuffled, and wiped his nose again. He said, “We all called him Detective Dan. Came in here every Tuesday and Friday. He was a character. Kept us all in tears with war stories. Cop stories. I never believed he done all the stuff he claimed, but they was good stories. Car chases, shoot-outs, pinching hookers for information, pinching ’em in other ways, if you know what I’m saying. It was the kind of stuff you see in them old detective shows.”

  “He was a real character,” Jack agreed.

  Lonnie said, “I didn’t want you getting in there because of that picture. I never met that girl. I swear. An’ if there’s any more pictures with me in ’em, they been doctored up. Photoshopped, they call it.”

  Jack waited.

  “He said if I messed with the envelope he’d give Beverly the copies he had at home. She’s a real bitch. She would cut me loose without a second thought. I’m not a prevert.”

  “Pervert,” Liddell corrected.

  “I’m not that, either,” Lonnie said. “I mean, I ain’t one a’ them.”

  “We know you’re not,” Jack lied. “What else can you tell us? Were you and Detective Dan friends?”

  “Well, we’re not good friends now. We was, but you can see how he treated me. I suspected he had a good reason to need my cooperation. You know? But I didn’t get in that envelope.”

  “Cooperation for what?” Jack asked and Lonnie explained. He seemed to be warming up to talking now that the threat of being exposed was over.

  Lonnie sat with his hands in his lap, head down as he spoke. “Olson was divorced five times before he retired from the police. Then the fool up and got married again. It lasted all of five minutes. I asked him why he’d do such a thing and you know what he said?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “He said he needed one more ex-wife so he’d have pallbearers.” Lonnie grinned. “He thought it was funny. You ever hear such stupid crap? I never believed him. I told him he was suicidal. Who’d want to have that many ex-wives?”

  Unless they were under the age of thirteen. “So, getting back to what you know about Olson and Captain Dick,” Jack prompted.

  “Yeah, okay. Well, Olson lived alone for the last fifteen years. I’ve known him for nigh on thirty years and that’s how I know what I’m telling you. Anyway, he was convinced the police department and the city government were conspiring against him. He said he was being watched and ‘they’ were listening to his every word. The only place he felt a little safe was here and that was because he knew everyone of us old guys. He said he wasn’t worried about us because we’d forget what we heard or saw before we took the next piss.”

  Lonnie was right. Most of the guys Jack had seen hanging out in the locker room at the Y needed a bib and a call button.

  Jack said, “You were his friend.”

  “I was his only real friend,” Lonnie admitted. “I think he was just messing with me. He wasn’t going to show that picture to no one, but it gave him a laugh. He was kind of cruel that way. He said if he ever disappeared, or was dead, I should give that envelope to Captain Dick. Dan trusted him and said that envelope should go to him and only him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Dan was always talking. Captain Dick this and Captain Dick that and telling stories about what they done together. I guess they went through some stuff together.”

  “What kind of stuff?” Jack asked.

  “Police stuff. You know? Things ordinary people like me would never do. Never understand. They had their own code of honor. They had to, because they had to do some bad things. Make tough decisions. And he said the government was watching all the time.”

  Jack felt the envelope and something hard was near the bottom. He found a key taped to the inside, took it out with a gloved hand, and showed it to Lonnie.

  “Know what this goes to, Lonnie?” Jack asked.

  Lonnie didn’t.

  “I love snipe hunts,” Liddell said.

  “Call Walker and tell him what we have,” Jack said to his partner.

  “Hold the envelope open wider,” Liddell said. Jack did and Liddell took a close-up photo of the key with his cell phone. “I just sent it to Walker and Angelina. See how easy that is, pod’na?”

  “That’s why I have you,” Jack replied. “Maybe one of them can trace the key from the shape. There’s a number on this one too. It’s not to a locker here, is it, Lonnie?”

  “I never seen one like that,” Lonnie said.

  “Did Olson talk about someone he trusted besides you? Could he have given anything or said anything to the other old-timers up here?”

  Lonnie didn’t have to think about it. “Nah. He never talked about other policemen if that’s what you mean. Not in a good way, at least. And he only told the guys here war stories about him and Captain Dick. He wouldn’t have given them a handful of shit if he had diarrhea. When his ex-wife died last month, it hit him hard. He got more paranoid.”

  “Have you been to his house?”

  “Don’t know where he lives. Lived, I mean. He never said. But he talked about how his neighbors were scum of the earth. He talked about everyone like that, though.”

  Liddell pulled a notepad from his pocket, made out a receipt for the envelope, pictures, and key. He had Lonnie sign it. “I’ll give your boss a copy if she comes downtown to get it.”

  “I don’t care what she does or doesn’t do. I’ll just tell her you went through the locker, if that’s all right?” He showed Jack and Liddell out of the building and locked the doors.

  Outside, Liddell asked, “Do you think the key goes to anything important? Maybe Olson has his porn collection locked away. You think he was blackmailing other people than Lonnie?”

  Jack thought Olson was mixed up in all of this. He wouldn’t know what the dead man’s role was until he untangled the mess. Maybe what Jack had at first thought of as incompetence w
as really shrewd calculation. Time would tell. And that reminded him they were on the clock. Who knew what damaging stories Claudine was digging up. He almost wished he’d brought her on board. At least he would have had some control. But that was like trusting a snake not to bite. It was in her nature.

  “We going to work Olson’s murder or let third shift take it?” Liddell asked.

  A new detective named Adamson had shown up at Olson’s and seemed put off that Jack wouldn’t stay and give him a taped statement. Imagine that. He was even more put off that Jack wouldn’t tell him why he was there in the first place. Jack had said, “It’s a matter of national security.” Adamson didn’t get the joke.

  “I think we have enough going on,” Jack said. “I’ll go to headquarters and talk to Adamson. Then I’m going home. You should go get some rest too. Little Casket said Olson’s autopsy would be around eight this morning. She’s going to get Dr. Schirmer to come in with Dr. John on the autopsy to confirm the weapon.”

  “If it’s what we think this means, the killings are all by the same person,” Liddell said.

  “It’s time we talk to Dick’s father, Bigfoot. I’d like to get to Dick Sr. this morning before he gets his coffee. Can you be back in a couple of hours?”

  “I guess so. I’ll meet you at Two Jakes about five.”

  Jack said, “I’ve got to give Adamson a quick statement and then I’m going to get an hour of two of shut-eye. Then we go see the big Dick.”

  “And the war begins,” Liddell said.

  Chapter 37

  Jack gave a taped statement to Detective Rick Adamson at police headquarters. The statement included Olson’s cryptic call and Jack’s involvement at the scene. He left out the details of finding the key to the YMCA locker and the pictures and key they found there. Adamson asked if Olson was killed by the same gunman responsible for the assault on Reina Day. Jack didn’t commit to a yes or no.

  “I’m not allowed to make speculation as to who killed him, but I can tell you that I’m close to getting some answers. As soon as I do I’ll try to pass them on to you. Sorry. I wish I could help you more, but you’ll have to ask Captain Franklin if you want more information than what I’ve given you,” Jack said.