A Simple Lie

by Mary Bush

  Howie grabbed her before she had a chance to put her things down. “Don’t get comfortable. We’ve been called to a death scene. We’re leaving immediately.”

  Val followed Howie to the parking ramp, walking fast, trying to keep up. Her thoughts churned quickly, one rapid anxious hiccup to the other. She was nervous and excited at the same time. This would be her first real death scene investigation and she couldn’t wait to be part of it, though she had no idea what to do once she got there.

  When they arrived at the car Howie said, “The victim was found just like the other one. Her teeth were removed and left on the bedroom pillow. The rest of her is missing.” He popped the trunk and placed several bags of equipment inside. “The apartment manager discovered her about an hour ago.”

  Val opened the door and slid onto the seat, her heart beating hard. This story was nonstop on the news. She couldn’t believe it had happened again. And this is where we are heading. She took a deep breath and tried to hold her emotions together.

  Howie got in behind the wheel, placed the key in the ignition, and quickly explained more. “At the first crime scene, there was an attempt to obliterate all physical evidence. Meticulous cleaning was performed. The killer wiped away not only fingerprints, but almost all visible signs of blood. Investigators had to use luminol to see where it was. And it was everywhere. Floors. Walls.”

  “Luminol?”

  “It’s a chemical that reacts with the iron component in blood. Even if it’s cleaned with detergent and no longer visible, luminol will still detect it.”

  “I don’t remember hearing about this on the news.”

  “That’s because this information was never released to the press. There’s no way this was a gang killing as they originally suggested. No member of any gang would have gone to that kind of trouble. From the preliminary report the cops sent to us, it looks like the same thing happened with this new victim. It’s so ritualistic that this has to be a serial killer.”

  “The new victim, what’s her name?” Val asked.

  “Francine Donohue.”

  Howie made it to the Eastville Projects, one of the city’s most run-down subsidized housing developments, in less than five minutes, but they were far from the first to arrive. Squad cars lined the street; reporters hustled and cameras were positioned. Small groups of people stood outside the entrances to the adjacent buildings. They obviously lived here. Val shuddered at the thought of anyone having to live here. The tenements were ugly, bland, rectangular brick buildings. Nothing about them was the slightest bit appealing, or hospitable.

  The Eastville Projects had a reputation that was established well before her own childhood. In these projects death came more frequently than the repo man. Gang fights, domestic disputes, drug deals all happened frequently. People shooting each other over cocaine or methamphetamine was common here. But Jesus, what happened to Francine Donohue was anything but common, even for a crime haven like this.

  “Dr. Blythe will be here personally because of how important this case is. He’ll be in charge and our job will be just to assist him,” Howie said. “This is going to be really high profile.”

  Val looked around at the reporters and her pulse raced. “Oh my God. I think every news station is here. A second person killed liked this, someone else who had their teeth removed. This is huge.”

  “Huge is an understatement. Francine Donohue wasn’t the only one to die here in Eastville. Jeanne Coleman, the first victim, was murdered here too.”

  Her head snapped towards Howie but he was already getting out of the car. Val reached for the door handle and quickly pulled it open. Adrenaline pumped through her system as they started to walk towards the building.

  Howie stopped when a blue sedan pulled up. Two men got out. He explained that they were Mitchell Gavin and Alexander Warren, the detectives in charge of this case. He stressed that Gavin was the lead detective and pointed him out.

  Val stood by Howie’s side, staring as they came closer. She wouldn’t have guessed Gavin to be a cop. He was a handsome man, moderately tall, slightly over six feet with a lean build. His light brown hair had small silver streaks throughout. Alexander Warren looked nothing like his partner. He stood several inches shorter, his head was shaved and he wore a goatee.

  They came up to Howie and shook his hand. He introduced Val and then asked, “What do you know about the victim?”

  “The suspected victim is Francine Donohue. The first responders found her driver’s license in her handbag,” Warren announced, then looked through his notes. “She was reported missing about six months ago by her sister. This sister hadn’t spoken to her in almost twenty years but decided to pay her a visit. She went to Francine’s previous residence, which was in Orchard Park, New York, but Francine was gone. Several people saw Francine heading to her car with suitcases a few days before this. No one saw her again after that. Get this. She was a dentist.”

  “Holy crap. What a way to kill a dentist.” Howie quickly glanced over at Val.

  She maintained her composure as best she could, though it did freak her out.

  Gavin, who had been silent, finally spoke. “Do we know how long she’s been living here?”

  “According to the apartment manager’s records, she’s been here the last six months. Since she disappeared,” Warren answered.

  “So, she was living in Eastville at the time of the last murder.” Gavin looked around at the layout of the apartment buildings. “This isn’t even close to Jeanne Coleman’s place. They’re direct opposites in the complex. They couldn’t be further apart.”

  “This may be a hunting ground,” Warren said. “We could have a serial killer.”

  “No,” Gavin said bluntly, and took the missing persons report from Warren, glancing at it before he spoke again. “Up until six months ago, Francine lived in an upper-class suburban neighborhood. She was a dentist and now she’s dead in a slum? Killed like this? What in the hell was Francine Donohue doing here and for that length of time? Who was she hiding from? And what was her connection to Jeanne Coleman? This is what I want to know because there’s no way this can be random. This is not the work of some serial killer. And damn it, this isn’t some gang killing either.”

  The small group grew quiet after Gavin’s rant.

  “What was the first victim’s occupation?” Val asked, her voice soft. Gavin stared at her. She was scrutinized as much as her question and wanted to crawl away, wishing that she’d never said anything at all.

  “Jeanne Coleman didn’t have one,” he answered. “She was a recluse.”

  “Jesus, nothing in this case makes any sense,” Howie said.

  “Certainly not anymore,” Gavin said, and entered the apartment.

  Val followed the group in. Howie stopped to talk to a few people who were standing just inside the doorway. As she waited for him to finish, she watched the production unfolding. The experience seemed surreal as the number of people entering the small apartment grew larger by the second. Crime-scene technicians and uniformed officers hurried in, all discussing the course of action they were to take. They carried an array of equipment. Some had cameras around their necks. All wore jackets and name badges listing who they were and what they were there to do. Outside, commotion from reporters and bystanders created a steady hum in the background.

  Howie walked away from the conversation and motioned towards Val to come too. She trailed after him down the hallway. She knew where they were going and what she was about to see. As they entered the bedroom, she held her breath and quickly looked around.

  A team of technicians was busy collecting evidence and two more were photographing it. Gavin and Warren talked with several officers.

  “So far we found one set of prints. They’re on the ceiling in the closet over there,” the one officer said. “The ceiling obviously had a repair. Water damage can be seen. The prints more than likely belonged to the person who fixed it.”

  Very few people were around the bed an
d when Howie moved closer to it, Val went too, now able to see what remained of Francine Donohue. On the pillow lay what appeared to be a complete set of human teeth. They had been ripped from the victim’s jaws. This was obvious. Some had pieces of bone still attached while others possessed remnants of clinging tissue. All were covered in dried blood. Val winced at the sheer violence of it all. God, I hope she was dead before any of this started.

  This was the only visible blood in the room. The pictures lying on the bed told a different story. They depicted Francine’s murder and dismemberment. According to these, this room and the bathroom should have been a bloody mess.

  The first photo was of Francine on the floor. Multiple stab wounds could be seen on her abdomen and chest. Blood spatter covered the wall behind the body. A furious attack must have occurred to cause that much spray. Though the scene in the photos was particularly violent, most notable was that Francine’s mouth was bloody and sunken in. Val couldn’t tell from the pictures if her teeth were removed before she was stabbed to death.

  From what the rest of the photos showed, most of the dismemberment took place in the bathtub. Francine was cut up into several parts. Each arm and leg was sectioned in two, dissected at the knee and elbow. Her head was detached and her torso halved. The killer obviously wanted everyone to know what had occurred.

  Val pulled on Howie’s arm, trying to get his attention. After the third tug, he finally turned round. “Howie, I might be able to help if I examine the teeth.”

  “We can’t touch anything until Dr. Blythe gets here. He’s in charge and it’s his call. If he wants you to examine them, he’ll ask.” Howie’s tone was apologetic. “He should be here soon. We just have to sit tight for a little while.”

  Val tried hard to sit tight. This was an area in which she could shine and she wanted desperately to do that. She had lied to get this job. This was the opportunity to get past that—a chance to prove to everyone how valuable she could be as a strong member of this team. She turned her attention to what was going on in the room, the mesmerizing intensity drawing her in.

  One of the technicians pulled out the alternate light source and began scouring around the bed, causing something to glimmer under it.

  “Hey, I have something here,” the technician called out. He reached for the object and pulled out a small, balled-up, foil chewing-gum wrapper. “Sorry, it’s just garbage.”

  “Bag it anyway,” Gavin ordered. He walked away from the officers and came towards the bed and began examining the photos of Francine.

  Val stood within inches of him. She glanced at his face, and then at the pictures, trying to read his thoughts. He selected one image and narrowed his eyes. Then pointed to the pillow.

  “The pillowcase is bloodied but the sheets are clean. They’re also a different print than the ones in these photos,” Gavin said, dropping the pictures down on the bed. “He did the same thing at Jeanne Coleman’s crime scene. Why in the hell does he do this? Why change the sheets, but not the pillowcase? She wasn’t killed on the bed and it looks like the teeth were placed on the pillow after the fact.”

  Val’s gaze flew to the pillowcase. Gavin was right. She was so engrossed with the teeth that she hadn’t even noticed the bedding didn’t match.

  Warren walked around the side of the bed. “The killer took them as a souvenir. This is what he needs to relive the event,” he suggested.

  “Kind of an odd souvenir,” Howie said.

  “A souvenir points to a serial case. This is not that,” Mitchell Gavin said. He turned to a crime-scene technician. “Can you start getting pictures of all of this.”

  Another technician, who was busy searching the bedside table with a magnifying glass, eagerly motioned for Gavin to come over to her. She pointed out several small reddish-brown drops on the leg of the table.

  “The size of these three drops is consistent with medium velocity spatter. It fits in with stabbing. And see, it’s in this crevice. I think that’s why it was missed. No matter how well they clean, something’s always left behind. It’s impossible to get it all. No one is that thorough,” the technician said excitedly.

  “Scour the room for more stains and then use luminol. If this is anything like the last one there’s more to see when the lights go out,” Gavin instructed.

  “Detective Gavin, Dr. Blythe is here,” Howie said.

  Val watched Blythe come in and she smiled. She couldn’t wait to examine the teeth. Show him how strong his newest employee was.

  He entered the room breathlessly and pointed towards the bed. “Are they all photographed?”

  “Yes, everything is documented,” Warren responded.

  “Just like the last ones. This killer doesn’t leave much behind.” Blythe hovered over the pillow, probing each tooth. It seemed like forever before he finally glanced over at Val.

  Here it comes. He was going to ask for her help—her expertise. She grew ready to jump towards him.

  His eyes lingered on her for a few seconds and Val’s chest lurched with excitement. She stepped forward, her foot still in the air when Dr. Blythe looked away.

  “I’ll be finished in a couple of minutes,” Blythe told the detectives.

  Her leg felt like a lead weight. His words made her heart sink. It became fairly obvious that Blythe had no intention of requesting her opinion and she stared at him. She didn’t like Dr. Blythe very much at this moment. Worse yet, after this snub, she felt he didn’t respect her opinion, and she had no idea why. Other than maybe the obvious. He suspects my connections to Oliver, the man who is supposed to have recommended me, are complete and utter crap. The very thought of this made Val break out in a sweat.

  Dr. Blythe picked up the teeth, placing each one into a separate evidence bag. “I’m done. You can go ahead with what you need to do.” Blythe stayed for only a few more minutes and then thankfully for Val, he left.

  The technicians began to spray the area with a liquid. Howie tapped Val on the arm. “That’s luminol.” He smiled at her, his face sympathetic. She feigned a smile back. He must have seen her reaction. “Once everything is covered, they’ll turn out the room lights and use a UV light to see where the blood once was. Just wait. This should be pretty astonishing to see.”

  Once everything went dark, a blue light was shone on every surface. Howie was right. The room glowed like a Christmas tree. The horror of Francine Donohue’s death was splattered on the walls and floor. The shocking, expansive patterns caused Val to forget being slighted by Dr. Blythe as she stared at the blood-streaked walls.

  “Are you getting pictures of this?” Warren called to the photographer.

  “My camera hasn’t stopped,” he replied.

  “Who would take the time to clean this up? This would have taken hours,” Warren remarked. “The crime scene from the other victim wasn’t as bad as this.”

  “Someone was very comfortable in the house, knew they’d have time to do what they needed and that they wouldn’t be interrupted,” Gavin said.

  Warren inhaled deeply several times. “You know, I’ve been trying to place that scent ever since we came in. It smells like Fresh ‘n Clean.” Warren sniffed the air again. Val did the same.

  Gavin, who had been studying the patterns on the wall, seemed jarred by the comment from Warren. He stared at him.

  “The laundry detergent. Fresh ‘n Clean is a laundry detergent,” Warren informed.

  Gavin let out a deep breath. The lights came back on and he yelled out, “Who’s checking the bathroom?”

  A technician answered, “It looks like the bathroom was cleaned too. Everything in there has been bleached. The odor will knock you out.”

  “So, the bathroom was bleached, but not the bedroom? Why?”

  “Could be a twisted expression of remorse,” Howie stated. “I was at a forensic conference last month and they talked about killers who go to the trouble of cleaning up blood. They don’t want to look at it after they committed the crime. It’s kind of a way to distance t
hemselves from what they’ve done.”

  “I don’t think remorse was the issue here,” Gavin said. “Bleach is one of the few things that will hinder the use of luminol, since it also reacts with it. If you’re going to clean it up, why use something that will destroy the evidence in one room and not in the other?”

  Val looked at Howie, searching for an answer.

  He whispered, “Bleach makes luminol glow too. If the killer wiped the area down with it, the entire surface will be camouflaged and you can’t see where the blood was anymore.” He then turned towards Gavin. “Maybe he doesn’t know how luminol works.”

  Val was thinking the same thing, she certainly didn’t know before now.

  “Oh, he knows all right. I’d bet my teeth on that one,” Gavin said, and then glanced over at an officer who was standing in the bedroom doorway.

  The officer had a container of laundry detergent in his hands. “Bleach wouldn’t have removed the visible stains on the carpet. This did.” He held up a bottle of Fresh ‘n Clean. “It lists blood as one of the stains it’s good at removing.”

  Val watched Warren and Gavin, waiting to see their reactions. Neither man spoke. Gavin finally said, “The fact that someone purposely removed the stains from the carpet, and didn’t destroy them, is more important than what they used to do it with.” Warren looked ready to respond but an officer came rushing in, grabbing everyone’s attention.

  “Whoever wiped down the apartment missed another set of prints. We just found them in the hall linen closet,” the officer stated. “It also looks like a repair was made to the drywall but unlike the bedroom closet ceiling it doesn’t have any signs of water damage.”

  “I don’t want this information released,” Gavin instructed. “Nothing like this was found in Jeanne Coleman’s apartment. It’s probably a dead end, but I want to keep it private for now.”

  “You got it,” the officer responded. He turned to leave the room when a second officer hurried in and headed towards Gavin. A folder was in his hand.