‘You didn’t know that. You didn’t know anything about how the body got into that position.’
Wriggle little fish, here’s my net. Maybe land yourself right into the middle of it.
‘It didn’t take much brain power to figure it out. As soon as we knew, that the hooded top had been shredded down the middle in a straight line, and when we found the two eyelets. It was easy,’ Marshall filled in some blanks for the kid and wondered could it stop him from mouthing off about the things he thought he knew.
The kid smirked some more and touched his hair again.
‘The bozo hooked up those two eyelets a while back, left them in the ground, and then slid the victim down it, before shooting them.’
The kid touched his hair again, but was reducing the frequency of how often he did it.
‘That’s insane. Why would he do that? And how can you be so sure?’
‘How do you know that it was a he?’
Marshall leaned forwards and removed all signs of pensiveness. He placed his palms on the table and hid his elbows.
‘Assumption. The car is a she. The dog is a he. The couch is a he. I didn’t say that the killer was a man.’ He tried to outthink the Detective.
‘But you did. You just said it. Why would he do that? You said the word. Not me.’
The kid twisted a little in his chair and got a little frustrated, and that was, the tell.
‘Ok, I assumed that someone strong enough to lift a person up onto a roof would be a male.’
‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ Marshall backtracked a little, and enjoyed watching the kid regain his composure. The time would be right, to crack the ice around him some more.
‘I got a little too eager. I’m sorry. I wasn’t accusing you of anything,’
Marshall opened a small brown folder in front of him and began to read from it.
‘Simon Brotherton. 24, graduate in Forensic Science from Metro City University. Originally from Las Vegas, Nevada, but moved here with your mother, Alice, in 2001. Your father, a Derek Adams, died, on your fourth birthday, while he was being held in remand for a crime of armed robbery.’
‘He had a heart attack, while he was being held for a crime, that he didn’t commit.’
Marshall dropped the folder and cracked the ice.
‘So is that why you chose Forensic Science, to try and prove your Father innocent? Or was it to try and put one over on the Cops who arrested him? Is that what this is? A little fuck you to the cops of Metro City, nearly twenty years in the making.’
Simon sat back, eager to touch his own hair, but resisting the urge for once.
‘My Dad had a form of cardio-myopathy, that was primarily stress induced. He had been living with the condition for his entire life, but never knew exactly what it was, because he never got it checked. His father had it before him, as did his Grandfather, and his father too.’
‘So you must have it too. Do you feel ok?’
‘I feel fine Detective. I got the full work up on my nineteenth birthday, and whatever they had, seems to have skipped this generation.’
Marshall eased up a little, and sat back.
‘You better not have been accusing me of anything. I know my rights Detective, and I’m here without a lawyer. You need me back out there, trying to find the killer. Not in here, waiting for representation.’
‘You’re right Simon, I do. But we need to do this first, for formality.’
Simon nodded and touched his hair again.
‘Why didn’t you disclose the finding of the 2nd eyelet to your superior, or to anyone? That was crucial evidence.’
‘I didn’t find anything of interest, to disclose, crucial or relevant.’
‘But the victim was rappelled down from the hospital into the park. We found the first eyelet, on top of the hospital, and we found the 2nd in the Park, right in the section that you had searched,’
Lance paused.
‘With, a fine tooth comb.’ He repeated the words of James McIntosh but uttered them more slowly.
‘I didn’t check that part, ok? I was assigned it, but I didn’t check. I had blood splatter on the trees, near the hospital, and I thought that should have had priority.’
‘So you disregarded the direct orders of your supervisor?’
He had stopped touching his hair and was entirely focussed on where this was going.
‘I prioritized. We were short on direction, and the blood needed collecting and sending to the lab.’
‘So you disregarded a direct order, and took it upon yourself to investigate something entirely different? Do you know how bad that looks? Hold a minute.’
Marshall stood up and moved to walk outside and call James McIntosh. He had eyes down and his cell in his hand when Simon’s hand grabbed his arm, and from blue eyes, he pleaded with the Detective.
‘I fucked up. I know. But I'm right. The bigger clue was in the blood. I sent the samples to Dr. Randall to be analyzed. They will have found a match by now.’
‘And what, the lead CSI is supposed to remain in the dark about all of this?’ Marshall wondered, when would Simon have had told McIntosh about all of this.
‘He knows. He knows that I collected the blood near the trees, and sent it,’
Marshall walked back around and sat down, and listened to Simon Brotherton, who was eager to keep talking.
‘I find this too easy. I can see the patterns, the causes, and the effects. I see what's more important and I can prioritize my crime scene, a hell of a lot better than McIntosh is doing right now.’
Marshall was starting to piece something together, but he needed Simon to continue talking.
‘So what would you have done differently?’
Simon wiped away any residue of the crocodile tear that he had been trying to form and excitedly, sat forwards.
‘I would have assumed that the body had come from up top, of course, it did. It fell. The impact was too great for someone to have used a bat or any kind of bludgeon. It was central. It was a fall. And McIntosh knows this.’
Marshall leaned forwards.
‘What do you mean, he knows this? You’re saying a lot, without saying anything at all.’ Marshall was listening as piece by piece, Simon was trying to stitch up James McIntosh.
‘I mean it’s basic. And the way in which the grounds had been searched after the first victim? We would have found the bag with the mask much sooner. And the 2nd mask, and the 3rd. We would have found them all much sooner.’
‘Wait, we didn’t find the third mask. Kid, you have been tripping yourself up big time. Maybe you do need a lawyer.’
Lance Marshall released a pent up sigh escape from his weary lungs and was about to read Simon his Miranda rights when he said,
‘Detective, I don’t need a lawyer. I know where the 3rd mask is. The question you should be asking is why doesn't James McIntosh know where it is.’
DEATH OF A COP
Marshall left Interview Room 3, and as he walked the corridors, searched for a space on the wall that he could cling to when the sides of the building started to fall down. The rest of his world was tumbling down, so it figured that it would soon begin to physically manifest itself in the bricks and mortar of the actual world.
He walked towards the stairwell, and up to the office of the Chief of Police, Martin Edwards. As he lifted each thigh, to cross each step, he thought about the case. He needed a name. Who, if he had to jump on a suspect, would he pick? Surely it was James McIntosh, the keeper of all of the secrets, and the man with an intimate knowledge of each murder. He would only have been matched, as a suspect, by Dr. Alvin Randall, but he wouldn’t have had the physical capacity to perform the feats of strength and speed that seemed to have been required so far.
Chief Edwards was surely looking for a name, for someone to start building a case against.
Marshall decided that McIntosh would be the name, but there were apparent problems with that name, not least Lindsay Dawn.
He tr
aversed the final steps and came, once again out onto the bullpen of offices, which led to Chief Edward’s office. The office spaces were quieter now, devoid of any Detectives or administration staff. It was closer to lunchtime now, and everyone would be in Andy’s.
Marshall ran it through once more, parking the idea of McIntosh, and settled on one more name, of a man, able and capable, and who had already hindered the investigation. Indeed, it was probably as a result of this man, that Lindsay was now in the office space of the Chief of Police, for it was she who had pulled a gun on him.
Lance burst through the door and began to name his suspect, when a name that was uttered, by Lindsay Dawn, ‘Tomlinson,’ stopped him in his tracks.
‘Is the ID on the body in the park.’
Marshall stood so very still, and arrested his lips from moving, for fear of finishing the sentence he was about to utter. Edwards sat forwards from behind his desk.
‘How did you know Marshall? We just found out together. Dr. Randall placed the call just now. You couldn’t have known.’
Lindsay’s eyes went as wide as a basin of water, and as dark as night.
‘I was just down at the scene. The body looks a match for Tomlinson, all apart from the head.’
Marshall leaned back to the door but almost fell back outside. It was still open, and he was panicking, and reaching for something substantial. With a thump, he landed against the door frame.
‘You still seem surprised Marshall.’ Edwards raised an eyebrow.
‘I had a feeling that it was Tomlinson, but I am shocked that I was correct. He didn’t die well.’
Lindsay spoke and broke the icy silence.
‘I was just telling the Chief about our encounter with Officer Tomlinson in the park, and how he was helping us with the investigation.’
Lance, unconvincingly, stumbled into a response.
‘He was. He was instrumental in helping us to identify the location of a key piece of evidence.’
They eye-balled each other, as Chief Edwards stood up from his chair, and walked towards the window which looked out onto the City. They made wild hand gestures and throat cutting, quiet time, movements at one another.
‘You have another name for me, Marshall?’
Lance, looked at Lindsay before the eye of the Chief fell on him, and felt her blank stare crushing his soul. The Chief walked around to the front of his desk.
‘Dr. McIntosh.’
Edwards fell backward onto his desk, as Marshall had done before. Lindsay cocked her head to the side and dropped her chin a little.
‘One of our own? You sure Detective?’
‘Just a suspect, for now, Chief, but we are going to look more closely at him. He fits the bill for the kind of person that we are looking for.’
Edwards dropped his head, as Lindsay raised her palms in silence towards Marshall.
‘You two get going. Get me a suspect that we can place in cuffs. I have to call the Mayor and tell him that his Grandson has been murdered.’
Lindsay left first, walking through the open door, with Lance following behind. He closed the door and trotted after the fast walking detective.
‘What the hell Marshall? James? Are you for real? You know about us. About what we had.’
The pair had rounded a few bends and felt more comfortable to speak.
‘Edwards needed a name, and he is the only one that we have. Plus, things have emerged, accusations from one of his own team, that McIntosh has been purposely dragging his heels. I thought you two had a thing once and that was that?’
‘I want to speak to whoever said this. Nothing is over until I say it's over.’
Lindsay stormed away, making a beeline for the interview rooms. She was a brutal work of nature, which, read the signs and worked the clues, but right now, she was all for kicking someone's ass. Marshall followed her, in much the same way that someone might ride a wave, by finding a safe spot and hoping not to drown when it eventually dumps you over the side.
Lindsay swallowed the doorknob in her slender hand, and had it open and shut, by the time the meek young man had a moment to wonder, what on earth, was going on.
The door slammed with a bang, and Lindsay thrust herself towards the table, slamming her two fists, down upon it. Marshall opened the door, just a moment after it had closed, and ran to the table, as he saw Lindsay's leg extending up and over the counter. She was trying to kick Simon Brotherton from his chair, across the table. She looked immense and flowing, as her right leg extended up and outwards. Marshall ran to her side, to stop the follow through, and the attempted standing hurdle that Lindsay Dawn was trying to carry out. Her heels glistened in the small overhead bulb, and made ready to impale Simon Brotherton, until she was felled, and then dropped to the ground, to the side, and away from the table.
Lindsay exhaled a deepening purge from her lungs, as the air was expelled from within. She lay for a moment, stunned and yet still angry, and began to compose herself. From the chair, Simon Brotherton sat, white as magnolia sheets, and tried not to offend Lindsay by even breathing the same air that she did. Marshall straddled his partner by standing over her, and facing towards Simon, put a palm out towards him, saying.
‘Don't move,’ Simon sat very still and remained so very afraid.
‘Let’s all remain calm.’ he repeated.
‘Calm,’ as Lindsay got to her feet and wiped her mouth.
‘Calm, ok?’ Lindsay moved back to the end of the desk she had stood at, and pulled a chair out.
‘We ok?’ Marshall kept his palms out and looked at both Simon and Lindsay. Simon was not ok.
‘She cannot be in here, not after that. She tried to attack me.’ He stuttered and shook.
Marshall pulled at a second chair and took his seat beside Lindsay. She sat, with her head down, eyes up, and looked like a beast of prey, with her fringe hanging over her eyes like curtains.
Marshall did the regular thing, and introduced everyone, for the benefit of the tape, and then he read aloud, the time and date of the first interview.
‘Mr. Brotherton, this is as formal an interview as we can do. You do not need to have representation present at this time, as we are not charging you with anything. But, we need your help. So, can we begin?’
Simon ran a hand through his hair and shrugged at the two Detectives.
‘Simon, before, you told me that you have reason to believe that senior Crime Scene Investigator, James McIntosh, has been withholding vital pieces of evidence. What leads you to believe such a thing would ever happen?’
‘Detective, I said that he was unaware, but I didn’t say that he was withholding. I just don’t think that he is as clever as I am. I don’t think that he has figured out all of the clues yet.’
Lindsay raised her head and asked the question.
‘And you have? A junior recruit trumps a senior investigator. Come on, kid. Who are you trying to impress?’
‘I am saying that McIntosh is caught in a loop. He doesn’t know what he is looking at anymore. His orders don’t make sense, and he isn’t processing the crime scene like he usually does.’
Marshall asked.
‘Bit of a stretch, don’t you think? That a Junior thinks he knows what’s best?’
‘I would normally agree, but McIntosh is making basic errors. Everyone can see it, but no one has the guts to do anything about it.’
Marshall probed.
‘Because you saw what a crummy crime scene investigator did with your father, and now here you are, swinging that ax around.’
Lindsay looked at Marshall and back to Simon.
‘So how come the 2nd mask was such a hard find or the 1st one? How come you still don’t know, what building the killer came from? No prints, no nothing. He vanished, right?’
Marshall thought back. The masks had initially seemed like such a lucky find. As discoveries go, they had been handed to him on a plate.
‘McIntosh is holding out on something. I know that for sure. He ain't
dumb, I know that. He is a great man, but he is dragging his feet.’
Simon looked at Lindsay, who was nodding that she knew that it didn't sound anything like the James McIntosh that she had known. It was the exact way, in which everybody had come to treat James McIntosh, down through the years. Lindsay knew that if even one junior wasn't standing back in awe of McIntosh, then something was up. She lightly elbowed Marshall, to speak with him outside.
Marshall did the necessaries with the tape and then stood up, alongside Lindsay Dawn.
‘Can I go?’ Simon asked.
‘It sounds like your innocent alright Simon, but by not alerting anyone to your clandestine evidence gathering, you may have caused some disruption to an ongoing murder investigation,’
Marshall continued.
‘You can count yourself very lucky that Dr. Randall found a hit so quickly, from the blood that you found.’
‘But the mask, it’s in the trees. That’s where the blood was coming from, up top. That surely shows you that I’m helping. I haven’t hindered anything.’ Simon protested.
‘I kind of knew that’s where it would be Simon, right where you told me that you collected the blood. But thanks for sharing,’ Marshall snapped his fingers and walked towards the door.
‘Oh, and one more thing, before we go. Maybe you do need to find some representation after all.’
Lance and Lindsay exited the room and walked thirty-five meters down the corridor until they were sure that they were alone. There they stopped, and together they exhaled. Lance updated Lindsay on what William Burges had been telling him.
‘This is going to shit Lance. Now Tomlinson, another Cop. The chief is going to call the FBI in soon. And maybe he should, especially if we have a priest and whoever else, contaminating our God damn crime scene.’
Lance rubbed his bald-head.
‘We can't give this up, not yet. They will take McIntosh in, and we can't have that, not yet. We owe him that much. I agree that something seems off with him, but murder? No way.’ Marshall added.
Lindsay nodded in disgust. She had worked with McIntosh before, on some heavy cases in the inner city. She knew him, and knew that he wasn’t someone to suddenly just stop, or get lazy.
Marshall Law Page 14
