Aaron didn’t blink. “We’re not sure yet. We have to wait for the coroner’s office to give us an official cause.”
Thank goodness that explanation seemed to be enough for her. She blinked back some fresh tears, but only nodded her head.
“I need to ask you some questions,” Aaron said, very professional policeman style.
“You think I killed him?” Paula said, sitting straighter in her bed, instantly defensive.
“Of course we don’t,” Brianna said, casting a glare Aaron’s direction.
“No, we don’t,” he said, his voice turning very soft and conciliatory. “That came out wrong. Please forgive me. What I meant was, can you give me information on Art? Like his last name?”
Apparently appeased by his apology, Paula relaxed back in the bed. She shook her head. “I only knew him as Art.”
“Okay. That’s not unusual for homeless people to not give their last names out. Some don’t even remember them.” Aaron propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “What can you tell me about him? Anything about his family or his past?”
She twisted her lips a moment, reminding Brianna of Abby’s little niece, Elizabeth, when she was trying to think of how to remember something. “He told me once he had a wife and daughter, but he’d lost touch with them when he came back from the war.”
“Vietnam?” Aaron asked, which made sense given Art’s apparent age. If Brianna had to guess he was about seventy or so. Of course, being homeless on the street aged people quickly.
Paula nodded. “He said he was one…of the last group of soldiers to get drafted over in that war.” She paused. “He had two medals…from serving there. Showed them to me all the time.”
“We didn’t find any medals with Art,” Aaron said, not mentioning they’d found him decked out in military attire.
Paula’s eyes grew wide. “He always, always had those medals with him.”
“Okay, that helps. Maybe we can figure out which ones he earned.”
He pulled out his phone, tapped in some letters, then scrolled up and down. Finally, he turned the screen around to show a list of service medal pictures. The only one Brianna could identify was the purple heart. She’d seen it in movies and TV shows before.
“Do any of these look like the ones Art showed you?” Aaron asked.
Paula took the phone and scrolled down a few images before stopping.
“That was one,” she said, showing them one that was a ribbon with a silver star hanging from it.
“That’s the Silver Star,” Aaron said. “Means Art was a hero in the war. Any of the others look familiar?”
Paula pushed her finger up to look at the next image and stopped again. “This one.”
Brianna looked in to see what looked like a golden eagle with spread wings mounted on a large cross, hanging from a blue, white and red trimmed ribbon.
“The Distinguished Service Cross,” Aaron said, taking his phone back and looking impressed.
“Will that help…you find who did…this to Art?” Paula asked.
“I don’t know. But it may help us at least give him a last name. It will depend on how many soldiers in that group of draftees earned both of these. I’m imagining not too many.” Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Let’s switch gears a moment. Can you remember what day you found Stanley wandering by himself?”
“It was last…Thursday. A week ago, today.”
“She told us that last night,” Brianna said, wondering why he was asking something they already knew the answer to.
Aaron tipped his head her direction asking her to be patient.
She growled inwardly, but bit down on the urge to argue with him. He was the detective and probably had a well-established method to his questioning of witnesses. It was up to her to not get in the way.
“Did Stanley look like he’d been without food more than a week?” he asked, returning his attention to Paula.
She considered his question before answering. “He was hungry, but only ate…one and a half bowls of food, so…he wasn’t starving.”
“Good. That means we can guess that maybe he hadn’t been without Art there to feed him for more than a day or two.”
“So, you think…Art was killed…last Tuesday?” Paula asked, tearing up again.
Aaron shook his head. “We don’t know when he was killed, yet. The Medical Examiner will help with that. But we can assume Tuesday was when he went missing.” He paused a moment, and Brianna got the impression he was giving Paula a chance to gather her thoughts and catch her breath before he continued.
“So, walk me through what happened when you found Stanley,” he said. “Let’s start with where you were.”
“On Thursdays, I volunteer…to serve dinner…at the East Side Hope Fellowship church,” Paula said.
“That’s about two blocks north of The City Mission?” Aaron asked, typing into his phone.
“Yeah. They have hot meals…on Mondays and Thursdays.” Paula’s eyes welled up again. “Art loved…Thursday’s meals, usually meatloaf and mashed potatoes…or spaghetti. He said the Thursday cooks…were the best anywhere. He also always got there early enough to get a bed and food for Stanley.”
Brianna handed her another tissue to dry her eyes. Aaron seemed to be typing slowly on his phone. She suspected he was giving Paula time to collect her thoughts and stem her emotions again. He must’ve realized her crying was affecting her breathing.
“So, Stanley came to the Fellowship’s dining hall on his own? Was that during the meal service or afterwards?” he asked after a few minutes.
“After,” Paula said, her voice a little steadier. “I was taking the trash out to the dumpster…in the alley out back. Poor Stanley was huddled…near the door. He looked very scared.” She stroked her hand over the dog in her lap, as if still trying to soothe his fright. “I coaxed him over and…looked around for Art. When I didn’t see him…I walked up and down the alley to see if…maybe he’d been hurt or something. Only…he wasn’t there.”
“What did you do next?”
“I brought Stanley inside and…fed him leftover meatloaf…and gave him a bowl of water to drink, while we finished…closing up for the night.”
“Who is we?”
“The other volunteers and me.” She seemed to sink back into her pillows as if exhausted.
“Do you know any names?”
Before she could answer, a nurse came into the room to take her pulse and blood pressure. “She needs to get some rest if she’s going to fight this pneumonia. A body can’t heal without rest,” she said pointedly at Aaron and Brianna. Then she noticed Stanley in the bed, throwing a what-the-hell-is-that-animal-doing-here look their way.
Brianna scooped him into her arms before the nurse kicked him to the curb.
“I’m Detective Jeffers, nurse…” he left it open for her to fill in her name.
“Teri,” she said, not taking her eyes off Aaron like a teacher catching a student cheating on a test. “You going to tell me that little guy is part of the K-9 unit?”
Brianna fought the urge to giggle, barely. Stanley was less than half the size of the dogs usually used for K-9 duty.
“No, ma’am. He’s a witness,” Aaron said, sincere honesty written all over his face.
“I see.” Nurse Teri turned from adding a little bag of medicine to the IV setup dripping into Paula’s arm. “And you have him in witness protection?”
This time Brianna bit her upper lip and tried not to draw the nurse’s attention. She had a feeling that what transpired between her and Aaron would determine if Stanley got to stay or had to go. If he couldn’t be in the room, she wouldn’t be able to stay with Paula. She was pretty sure he couldn’t go to the precinct with Aaron, so would that mean he went to a pound?
The idea bothered her, and she cuddled the dog a little closer.
“We do need to keep him available to help on a case,” Aaron said. “He knows Miss Paula and she feels safer in the hospital with comp
any. So far, he hasn’t been a hinderance to her care, so I’d really appreciate it if he could remain here with my partner, Ms. Matthews,” he said, nodding her direction, “while she keeps Miss Paula company.”
His partner? Brianna sobered and sat a little straighter. He considered her a partner and showed his respect for her in that two-word title. Had a man ever considered her a partner, an equal? Not that she could remember. Aaron did. In fact, from the moment he’d carried her out of that mansion and stayed with her the entire helicopter ride to the hospital, he’d shown her nothing but respect and friendship.
“Does he have fleas?” the nurse asked, sounding a little more cooperative, but still eyeing Stanley like he was a mangy escapee from the pound.
Before Brianna could reply, Paula shook her head. “No, I bathed him…for that just…a week ago.”
The nurse studied her, then Aaron, and finally her gaze settled on Brianna and Stanley. Brianna was as anxious as she’d been the day her parents were making the decision whether or not to adopt her from the Sisters of the Sacred Heart orphanage.
“Policy is no animals except service animals are permitted in the building,” Teri said. “So I’m assuming he’s a service dog of some sort?”
“Yes,” Brianna, Aaron and Paula all said at once.
“Good. That means he’s not going to cause any trouble or make any messes, right?”
They all agreed.
“I’ll even take him outside before I leave,” Aaron said, standing as the nurse passed by.
“Thank you. And no more questions for your other witness. She needs to rest before her next treatment.”
And with that the nurse opened the door, propped it open with one foot while pressing the hand sanitizer button on the wall and rubbed the cleanser all over her hands on her way out the door. The act so smooth, she obviously practiced it every time she left a patient’s room.
“I’d better keep my promise,” Aaron said, reaching for Stanley’s leash.
“I like my nurse,” Paula said after he left.
“Why?” Brianna asked, already suspecting the answer.
Paula grinned. “She made your detective sweat.”
* * *
“Good, you’re awake. I’d hate for you to miss this part,” he said staring down into the brown eyes, pupils dilated with fear along with the lingering effects of the opioid he’d laced the guy’s bottle of booze with. The donor struggled to pull free, his once powerful muscles straining to no avail against the leather restraints.
Amazing how trusting some of these creatures became when you dangled expensive liquor in front of their faces. Like a big mouth bass seeing a nightcrawler wiggling on a hook in the water. Temptation always leads to the fall.
“So, now that you’re awake, we can begin. You are going to become a productive part of society. Instead of taking, you’re going to give back.”
He pulled the cap off the large bore IV needle and held it up to where the two brown eyes could focus on it in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “This is a sixteen-gauge angiocath needle. One large enough for blood to pass through it. Whose blood you ask?” He laughed and listened to the sound bounce off the cement blocks of the room. “Why, yours, of course.”
Taking a clean alcohol swab, he scrubbed at the specimen’s left brachial artery. The big vein popped up in the emaciated arm. One thing about drunks over addicts, their veins weren’t shot all to hell.
With a steady hand he plunged the needle beneath the skin and straight into the vein, getting an immediate flash of blood into the chamber. He pulled back on the needle, leaving the plastic cannula in place and quickly hooked on the blood tubing. Reaching to the side, he opened the blue plastic clamp to allow the blood to fill the length of tubing to the first collection bag.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, tucking the thick thermal blanket around the body. “It doesn’t do for you to get chilled. Slows the blood removal process down. And we can’t have that.”
He’d learned that months ago with the violinist. As much as he’d enjoyed seeing her naked body as he’d worked, warm bodies gave up their blood so much easier.
The eyes in his donor grew wider and his breathing quickened. He patted the shoulder soothingly. “No need to get anxious, you can’t fight this. Trust me.”
With a sigh, he walked over to the stereo.
“I had a hard time trying to decide which music you might find relaxing. Something soothing. But melodic.” He pushed the on button and the sound of a snare drum and plucking strings of violins filled the room. “Ravel’s Bolero seemed like the best choice for a former athlete like you.”
As the music slowly began, he swayed to the rhythm. “I first heard this while watching the winter Olympics as a kid. Ice dancing competition.” He’d wanted to watch ski jumping, but his mother had insisted on the skating. He’d never seen anything like it, before or since. It was the first time he’d understood that humans served a purpose on this earth. Some to establish beauty, others to become important members of society, and others—he studied the lump of flesh on the table—others were meant to provide essential supplies that others might live.
The music stopped and he checked the blood bag.
“Your first bag is almost full. We’ll do a second one before you rest,” he said and switched out the bags. “I learned not to drain too much from you at once. Your reproduction of the product takes a little time.”
He hit replay on the stereo and settled into his recliner and closed his eyes, letting the music carry him away to a happier time. Mother’s smile filled his mind.
12
Crime Scene hasn’t come up with any useable prints on the body or his clothes,” Jaylon said when Aaron arrived at the precinct.
“Nothing?” he asked, settling into his chair and logging into his computer.
“Found lots of fingerprints elsewhere in the place, but who knows how many of them belong to homeless people camping in the place for years? It’s like taking prints at a cheap motel.”
Aaron nodded. “Yeah, but if some of those hit in the system, we can rule those guys out. No way did a homeless person kill, clean and pose our guy. This is way too sophisticated a kill to be someone existing on the streets.”
The door to the captain’s office opened and out strode a short, wiry, grey-haired man with a receding hairline. Levi Stedaman was a no-nonsense boss, who zeroed in on his target—detectives and perps alike—with the pinpoint accuracy of a heat-seeking missile. “You two want to fill me in on this murder you stumbled into last night? And tell me why exactly you think this is going to need investigating? Homeless people die in warehouses all the time.”
No preamble, no small talk. Just get to the facts. Aaron liked that about the man. Helped people to focus in on what was important.
“Because homeless people aren’t cleaned from head to toe, dressed in pressed military fatigues and posed for sitting up for us to find?” Aaron leaned back in his chair, and pointed to the pictures from the crime scene he’d just loaded onto his computer. They scrolled slowly across the screen in a kaleidoscope of macabre images of a life size marionette slumped against the brick column.
“Damn.” Stedaman shook his head. “And you say he was scrubbed clean?”
“Waiting for official report from the CSU, but Ramos said it looked that way. She doubted they’d find anything forensically, given the scent of disinfectant all over him and his clothes.”
“Okay, it’s not just another homeless person dying from drugs, alcohol or exposure.” Stedaman wiped his hand over his face like he always did when he was frustrated or hated asking a question. “What do you think we’re looking at, then?”
Aaron exchanged a look with Jaylon, who shrugged, then turned back to their boss. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking. At least not yet.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
No one wanted to verbalize out loud that they might have a serial killer on their hands.
/> “How do you want to proceed?” he asked leaning one hip on the desk opposite them.
Aaron flipped his phone over and opened to his notes page. “First thing we need to do is identify our victim. One of my sources said his name was Art, no last name. His prints aren’t in the system, so he’s probably never been arrested. However, he apparently was in the service. Vietnam. And he won both the Silver Star and the Distinguished Service Cross.”
Jaylon let out a low whistle.
“Impressive medals,” their boss said. “I bet there might not be too many men who won that combination of medals in that war.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Aaron agreed. “Got a call in to the Department of Veterans Affairs to get service records and a last name.”
“You thinking this might be personal?” the Captain asked.
“It would be good, if it were. Otherwise…” Aaron just left that hanging.
A sick look went across his boss’s face. “It would be a random victim killing and we’d have to wait for another body to figure out what kind of crazy we’re dealing with.”
Aaron weighed the decision to tell his boss about reaching out to Jake Carlisle for a profiler. Protocol would be to wait for a second body to be found with the exact same staging and cause of death before contacting the FBI for a profiler to look at the case, but his gut was telling him this was going to get ugly fast and the more they knew now the quicker they’d get a hold on things. Problem was how pissed was Stedaman going to get when he told him?
Best to pull the band-aid off quick.
“I put in a call to a friend last night.”
Stedaman groaned. “Please tell me it wasn’t the feds. We don’t need them charging in here and making this a news sensation before we even know another body will drop.”
“It will,” Aaron said.
“And you know that how?”
“His gut told him,” Jaylon said from his desk, a little smirk on his face. “You know he trusts it more than a sworn affidavit from the Pope.”
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