Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) (11 page)

“I’ve got that now,” Mann sighed. He stared up at the ceiling and thought aloud. “I want Kydd, Greer and Blaak. And I guess I had better take Tetrault so I don’t have to bring anybody else up to speed. Just give me any uniforms you think deserve the duty. I’ll need eight lines and at least four cars. But I’ll need more guys to help with the canvass.”

“We will be pulling in more uniforms from other divisions to fill the ranks,” Keough said. “James will gladly reassign them.”

“He’s right,” Walsh agreed, standing. “Well, I’ve got a Division to reorganize. Andy, you want to come with me and we’ll get you set?”

“Gonna miss you, Mann, but I’ll take the bump,” Davis said, after they left. “But I gotta admit, I’m surprised you got the nod for this thing.”

Mann knew what Davis meant and took no offense. “You and me both.”

“But we always knew you had an angel out there somewhere,” Davis said, motioning with his head at the connecting door.

“You saw?”

“Just expensive shoes.”

“Damn,” Mann said, glancing at the connecting door again. “I would have given good money to know who was in there.”

“Alf Buchanan, you know Captain Keough?”

“Sure. How are you doing Andy? Who’d you piss off?”

“I apparently wasn’t doing anything worthwhile at the moment.” Keough waved Buchanan to an empty chair. He had commandeered a cramped office but that was the way Keough liked it because it kept people out of his office and anyone who did venture in never stayed long.

“You’re going to love this one,” the coroner said, tossing photos on the desk. “I didn’t do Yeck but I reviewed the notes. This is the same guy. But he went several steps farther this time. In fact, he really ratcheted it up.”

“Holy Mother of Christ!”

“My thoughts exactly. He did a real job on the girl.”

“COD?”

“Wait until I get her on the table for cause of death. It’s scheduled for two hours from now. I want to be sure about this one. She was strangled twice, at least. From the bruising, I’d say once to subdue her and get her to the room and once to kill her, I think. But he might have been bringing her in and out of consciousness. Or, he might have strangled her to unconsciousness a few times. Two very distinct strangulation marks. One set was from a rope and the other one from his hands. But I’m not sure about COD. It could be strangulation or blood loss. From the spatter pattern, he cut her some before she died. Looks like he really wanted to hurt her. However, most of the mutilation was post.”

“Strangulation matches the second victim,” Mann said.

“Same MO but he came prepared this time. Highly unlikely he found the cord at the scene, according to the Super. She was definitely strangled and restrained with a small rope”

“What about the bra?”

“All of her clothes were cut from her body including her bra. This bra, the one she was wearing when she was found, wasn’t hers. It was a full cup size and a couple inches larger than the other one. My guess is the killer brought it with him.”

“What purpose?” asked Mann.

“Are you kidding? I don’t have the slightest idea. We also found tissues stuffed in the bra.”

“She stuffed herself?”

“No, that was done postmortem and definitely the work of the killer. I mean, this was a nicely built girl and who uses tissues anymore? This wasn’t some teenager. There are too many prosthetics that look better and are easy to get, especially for a nurse. Besides, her bra would have fit correctly without the stuffing. Nope this was definitely a message from the killer.”

Mann was silent for a moment as he thumbed through the pictures. Keough, familiar with the way Mann worked, waited for the lieutenant. Finally, Mann looked back at Buchanan. “What do you think?”

“The theatrics of the scene strike me.”

“Theatrics?”

“The scene was laid out carefully. The killer needed a place to do his deed but then he didn’t try to hide the body. He had time. He had to be there for an hour, depending on how quick he was with the cutting. But for all that, he didn’t hide the body or dispose of it in any way.”

“What are you getting at?”

Buchanan picked up a picture and looked at it. “The internal organs are all arranged as though they are being inventoried. It was almost clinical, without any passion, as though it was more of a science project. It’s the bra that is important. He wanted us to see a stuffed bra on that girl.”

“Anything else?”

“He cut out the larynx.”

“Their larynx?” Keough said, looking puzzled.

“The voice box. The Adam’s Apple,” Buchanan said, pointing at his throat.

“You don’t mean he doesn’t just slash their throats? You mean he actually cuts out their voice boxes?” Keough asked. “What does that tell you?”

“Not a thing, except the obvious that the mutilation tells me he might have some anatomical knowledge. He might be a doctor, another nurse, something like that. The basic organs, they come out with the slice and dice. But the voice box – who even thinks about it? And I’ll tell you something else. He’s taking them with him.”

“He takes the larynx with him?”

“It wasn’t at either scene. I just found out about it on the Yeck murder. The original autopsy listed only a deep mutilating knife wound, as though he had thrust the blade in and twisted it. My people screwed up. Once we had the second girl, we went back and checked. It was actually missing.”

Mann was still focused on the doctor that was supposed to have made a house call at Jeanne McIntosh’s apartment.

“Time of death?”

“Between four and nine, last night.”

“Do you know if the CSU guys got lucky with prints?”

“Nope everything was wiped again.”

“Wiped? You don’t think he used gloves?” Keogh asked, surprised.

“He wants to be close to his victims,” Mann said, almost to himself. “He wanted to touch them.”

*

Hearing the soft rap on his door, Mann looked up from the pile of papers on his desk. Degget was standing in the doorway. He had cut his hair and shaved his beard which lessened the impact of the scar. He wore a suit and a tie with a picture of Bob Marley on it. Even standing in the squad room, Mann could sense tenseness in his stance. The watchfulness had nothing to do with nerves over a new transfer.

“Come in, Detective.” Mann motioned the man to a seat.

“Thank you, sir. I hope I’m not bothering you.” He handed Mann a file folder.

“Not at all. I understand that I have pulled you for a while,” Mann said, flipping through the personnel folder. Davis had greased the transfer, dealing with Walsh as an uncle more than as a cop.

“Yes, sir. They were looking for somewhere to dump me.”

“Go see Detective Kydd. She’ll set you up. Any problems, you see me,” Mann stressed.

“Thank you, sir.”

Degget stood up and left the office. Degget had found his hiding place and Mann was one step closer to Angelino.

“Please wait over there, Ms. Seymour,” the voice from the darkness said.

Andrea joined three other women and two men. Two of the women were chatting but everyone else stood quietly, staring down at the stage or out at the audience. Squinting through the footlights, Andrea could barely make out the three people sitting in the theater.

Glancing at the three women, she tried to decide which parts the other women had won. The older woman was obviously the mother. That left her and the other two women for the sisters. Two unimportant roles and Gwen, the character who was in virtually every scene and all but carried the play.

“
Don’t even think it
,” she mentally cautioned herself.

“OK,” came a voice from the audience, “can we have some chairs please?”

Stagehands quickly put out nine chairs in a circle on the stage. One of the men and the older woman walked over to the chairs. Hesitantly, the other four followed. On the seat of each chair was a copy of the script. None of the actors touched the scripts or made any effort to sit down. They were all deciding what to do when the three from the audience appeared from the wings and walked over.

“OK,” the tallest of the three men said, “let’s get started on this. Sit for Christ’s sake. I hope you have all heard of me or are smart enough not to admit it.”

“Hi Henry,” the older woman said, laughing.

“Hi Martha. Martha and I are old friends. I have had the honor to direct her in several plays and she knows exactly how to get on my good side so just follow her lead and you’ll be fine. These other two suits are the money men. With any luck, you won’t see them again until opening night.”

The two men looked at the director, neither sure whether he was kidding or not.

“We are going to do a quick read through today. I want to hear how this thing sounds before I decide on any rewrites. I’ll have that done by mid-week and then you have until Monday to get your lines down before we start into major rehearsal.”

Jack pulled a paper out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it. “OK. Parts.”

Each actor tensed as Jack began to list out who would play which role.

“Michael, Smitty. Martha, the mother. June, Debra. Alex, David. Andrea, Gwen. Diane, Isabel.”

Andrea suddenly remembered to breathe and let out a great rush of air.

Martha laughed and the director looked over at her. “You have just been given the lead in what is sure to be this year’s Tony award winning play and that’s the best you can do?”

“So, I can trust Mann?” Degget sat across the kitchen table from Brant Davis.

“Of course, you can, you stupid boy!” Ruby said from where she stood doing up the dishes.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Ruby, but it is hard to tell who to trust,” Degget said. “Everybody seems to have a hidden motive. All these years, you’ve never really talked about the Lieutenant.”

“Oh, Gregg’s got an agenda, all right, but it isn’t hidden. He wants Angelino, probably more than you do.” Ruby tossed a dishtowel to her husband. “Dry these dishes and tell him about the video tape”

Davis heaved to his full height and picked up a plate out of the rack. “You know Mann made his name when he was still in the bag, right? He had been on patrol for about six years. I was about three months in and still riding with my first partner.”

“I sort of heard the story. He arrested some dirty cops but there were some questions about it, wasn’t there? Something about him being dirty or involved?”

“No,” Davis said, “there was no question about it. It was a good bust. Mann just had the bad luck to bust a very connected cop. Mann was clean. Unlucky, and a little stupid, but never doubt that Mann is a righteous cop. All the bullshit that settled on Mann came from the Commissioner at the time trying to cover his ass. The rest came from Mann’s obsession to nail Angelino.”

“Tell him how it really happened,” Ruby said.

“On the day in question, Mann was on his day off,” Davis began.

*

Gregg Mann was down at the Beaches with his wife and two sons. The baby, Wayne, was still in the stroller but Rick was running around as they wandered along the boardwalk that bordered the sand. Gregg had his new video camera out and was trying unsuccessfully to get some video of his wife. “Just concentrate on the boys,” she insisted.

Mann stepped onto the hot sand and started to video tape Rick as he jumped along the boardwalk, trying to only hit every third board. As Mann swept the camera across the boardwalk, three men caught his eye. Two of the men were pushing the third into a warehouse across the street. Just before they disappeared into the building, Mann caught a glimpse of the guns.

Mann reached for his pocket but he had forgotten his new cell phone back at the apartment. He quickly scanned the boardwalk. He finally saw the patrolling officers well up on the pier that jutted out into the lake.

“Honey, there’s something going on in that warehouse,” he said to his wife.

“What are you talking about?”

“There are a couple guys with guns that just took a third guy into that warehouse. Go get those guys,” Mann said, pointing out to the pier. “Give them my badge number and tell them I’m in plainclothes and unarmed.”

Mann ran across the road and looked at the side of the building. A stairway ran up the side of the building to a door and a window. Another door from the alley was set twenty feet back from the bottom of the stairs. He tried the lower door but it was locked. A transom window was open a few feet down the alley. He dragged a couple crates over and slipped through into the warehouse.

Mann could hear the voices and the scrape of a chair on cement. To his left, a staircase ran up to a loft area with storage and a small office. He went for the high ground, silently mounting the stairs. Almost at the top, he crouched down and watched the men. Bringing the video camera up, he used the zoom to get a closer look. He clicked on the record at the same time.

One of the men, Mann labeled him Number One in his head, had a revolver pointed at a kid sitting in a chair. The kid looked about twenty years old and was crying. The guy with the gun was talking too low to be heard but the tone was as menacing as the gun. The second man, Number Two, had his gun out but seemed nervous and kept looking toward the front door. He reached out and pulled on the arm of Number One who just shook it off.

“Where the hell is my coke you little snot?” Number One suddenly shouted. “I know you grabbed it up and ran. I want it back.”

The kid in the chair sniveled some response that Mann couldn’t catch.

“Are you bullshitting me? You better be telling me the truth.”

The kid said something else and reached into his pocket.

“Easy,” said Number One. He motioned to Number Two who dug in the kid’s pocket and pulled out a small object. Mann thought it was a key.

“OK, we got it. Let’s get out of here,” Number Two said, almost pleading.

“Yup, we’re out of here. But first we get rid of this problem.”

The kid must have realized what was going to happen because he tried to launch himself off the chair to his right. The gun went off and hit the kid in the left shoulder, spinning him around and knocking the chair over.