by Karen Long
“Couldn’t take one because he’d done nothing… well nothing we could prove,” said Mo who was sitting in an armchair carried in from the Chief’s office. In one hand he scanned the files he’d compiled twenty years earlier and in the other he nursed Monster’s giant head, which was plonked on his lap.
“Where the fuck did this guy go to, Mo?” said Wadesky scanning her monitor. “It’s like he stepped off the planet.”
“Could he be dead?” asked Laurence.
Wadesky shrugged and chewed her finger. “No unclaimed, unidentified bodies appear of corresponding age. I’ve scanned the stats from 1992 to current day and unusually there are none that could be him.”
“Which means that he’s alive and well hidden or dead and well hidden,” replied Laurence. “And you’ve checked the school year book?”
“I called his school and he disappeared before leavers’ photos were taken. There’s nothing official on him over the years.”
“What was your impression of him?” Laurence asked Mo.
“He was evasive but polite. Seemed very cut up about his sister being dead but didn’t get any feeling he gave a shit about Mom. He wouldn’t admit to having placed his sister in a plastic bag but who else could have done it? The garage was locked from the inside and only access was through the kitchen. But if he had it wasn’t really chargeable not after the suffering he’d been through.”
“But the sexual abuse? Did you think it was him?”
Mo thought for a minute. “With hindsight yes but at the time it just didn’t seem possible. We thought it was a guy, someone we hadn’t met yet. Hell we even dragged Carin’s male teachers over the coals though there was nothing doing. Maybe we could have gotten something out of him but he vanished before the inquest. Gone. Didn’t take a bag or money or any goddamn thing that could have helped him. He just walked.”
“That is so weird,” said Wadesky.
“What did you make of him?” coaxed Laurence.
“Christ, it was twenty years ago. I’m not sure that I could divorce myself from current events and give you an accurate picture,” brooded Mo. He was silent for a moment or two, slowly and rhythmically stroking Monster’s head, as if clearing his thoughts and running through the images of the case. “He was calm. Too calm… he said he hadn’t seen the bodies of his sister and mom but no one believed Marilyn had placed Carin in the plastic bag.”
“Why not?” asked Wadesky, still surfing possible links to Lee Hughes.
“Carin’s body was the same temperature as Marilyn’s and so they must have died fairly close to each other but the lividity shows Carin was moved several hours later,” replied Mo. “And yet, Lee couldn’t have killed them because he was seen in class during the times when the deaths occurred..”
“That’s a definite?”
Mo nodded. “Something did cause him to bunk off school at lunch though. What it was we never got to the bottom of but he was picked up on the streets later on in the afternoon. Maybe it was some sort of premonition.” He shrugged.
“What about the sexual abuse? Could it have been him and that may have driven Marilyn to kill herself and Carin?” said Laurence.
“Yeah but there were no complaints from either of the two women to anyone. We asked everyone and there was shit,” replied Mo shaking his head. “Hey I do remember something about Lee. He was good at Art. Really fucking good. He won some sort of state contest or something. They gave him a trophy.”
Laurence and Wadesky looked at Mo, who was straightening his back in the chair in an attempt to relieve the pain in his chest and guts and then at each other. Wadesky hit the keys and within less than a minute let out a stifled, “Got him!” She spun the laptop screen round to show Laurence and Mo. The newspaper article was captioned, ‘Local Greenslade High School student wins coveted state Arts scholarship’ and a grainy, monochrome photograph showing an unsmiling teenager with fair hair and a slim figure holding a metallic trophy in the shape of an obelisk.
Eleanor cleared her throat and ran her eyes around the room. It was usual to wait several minutes for detectives to finish anecdotes, gulp final mouthfuls of coffee and saunter from a distant workstation to take up a position round the murder board. Now everyone had a pen and notebook, firearms were holstered rather than shoved to the back of desk drawers and the usual room smells of coffee, fries and doughnut had been replaced by a sharp feral tang. Everyone wanted to get out of the office and onto the streets but this debrief would determine which street and who they were looking for. Eleanor was used to addressing colleagues, fending questions and motivating the masses but this morning’s debrief was very different. The usual barrier of anonymity had disappeared and no one was sure whether tempers and professionalism could be assured with the photographs of two dead cops on the board.
Laurence’s phone buzzed just as Eleanor began to explain the supposed connection between the murders of Greystein and Myrtle. Seeing it was Matt he nodded to Eleanor and stepped quickly into the corridor.
“We’ve got an id on the female victim. We had her prints on file from a DUI last year. Her name’s Cassandra Willis, aged forty-nine. Autopsy’s finished on her and I’ve emailed the documents through to you,” said Matt. “You may wish to note that her tongue had been removed several hours before death and the neck severance was postmortem.”
“Jeez,” said Laurence. “How long did she take to die?”
“She died between 9 pm and midnight last night. Can’t make it any tighter than that. She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for at least ten hours before death. If you can narrow down her lunch period it would help. I’ve listed the contents on the report. We’re starting on our two officers in an hour,” Matt said quietly.
“I’ll talk to you later. I owe you,” said Laurence heading towards his office.
“Not for this one buddy,” replied Matt breaking the call.
There was a silence when Laurence walked back into the room with a handful of printouts. Eleanor had run through the known information and detectives were reading through the hand-outs that she’d prepared earlier.
“We got anything on this guy Lee Hughes? A fucking photo’d help,” said a stocky red-haired, red-faced man in his late forties. By his figure and repetitive style in shirts, Laurence assumed this to be Smith.
“We’ve got a photo now but it’ was taken in the nineties” responded Laurence, pinning the newspaper printout of Hughes onto the board. “Wadesky’s onto getting the original and when that comes through I will get it to you.”
Smith nodded.
“We’ve got an id on the victim. Cassandra Willis aged 49,” he said, putting up a mug shot with her arrest number and the date from last August. “DUI last year for second time. Manages a recruitment company in downtown.”
Eleanor looked pleased and took a moment or two to study the photograph of the woman who was barely recognisable from her corpse.
“He’d cut her tongue out,” said Laurence.
“Who the fuck are we dealing with here?” said Timms from somewhere in the back of the room.
“From what I can tell you’re dealing with an extremely organised individual with a passion for his work,” said a small, bird-like woman swathed in more wool than an alpaca.
“This is Ruby Delaware, profiler,” said Eleanor quickly. A sigh was heard from the back of the room. It was common knowledge that detectives considered the opinions of profilers little better than those of the canteen staff and often less accurate.
“I need twenty-four hours to analyse what we have here,” said Ruby, her cheeks burning.
“Take as long as you like darling,” came a muttered comment from the back ranks.
“We need all the help we can get!” snapped Eleanor. “Thank you Dr Delaware,” she said as Ruby scurried from the room clutching the handouts and jottings tightly to her chest.
“Ok, Smith I want you to dig out Tracy Earnshaw she knows something and I want to know what. Timms get down to County Morgue, make sur
e we get everything from Dr Hounslow and follow up. Our guy used some sort of power saw see if you can get it typed and send uniforms out to see if we can trace it. There’s ballistic evidence, run it. Wadesky you trace Lee Hughes with Mo and let’s see if we can’t get a time line on him. I believe he wrapped Carin in that plastic sheet and that it was in some way symbolic for him. Give me the times he couldn’t be accounted for. ”
“You think it’s this guy Lee Hughes? We putting our eggs in one basket on him?” said Smith.
Eleanor hesitated and glanced at the board. If she went off on a goose chase she could lose any lead that might still be traceable but this felt right.
“I believe it’s him,” she said firmly. “However, for every hunch or belief there’s a fuck up waiting so Johnson is going to retrace the case starting from the Greystein murder and following our arrests and evidence trail. If for one moment he thinks we’ve missed something or are heading in the wrong direction we stop and listen ok?” There were mutterings of approval from the gathered detectives. Sam Johnson looked and worked with all the dispassionate rigor of a tax collector. Too bland and humourless for the majority of his colleagues he’d gradually been withdrawn from public contact and encouraged to pursue a more academic and analytical approach to policing. A decision that relieved all concerned. “Johnson will collate and analyse all data that comes in. He will take the first meeting with Dr Delaware and distribute all discovery across the department. Make sure you have checked it in with him as well as me. The only way we are going to stop this killer and bring him to justice is by sharing information. Got that?” Eleanor looked around the room. She’d said enough. Detectives were getting restless, they knew what was demanded of them and they would work every hour of every day to flush Lee Hughes out. That is until disappointment, despair and exhaustion took their inevitable toll.
“Ok then boss,” said Smith, grabbing his coat and heading for the door.
While Eleanor waited on the phone for the warrant that would allow them to access Cassandra’s apartment and work place, Laurence gave Mo a surreptitious check over. Despite the increase in stress Mo’s heart rate, though steady, was only moderately high.
“What meds are you on?” he asked Mo quietly.
“Be better to ask what I’m not on,” grinned Mo, readjusting his position in the chair.
Laurence smiled and assessed the man. “You look like shit,” he said.
Mo smiled and nodded. “It’s when I stop looking like shit everyone needs to worry.” He paused and studied Laurence, his hand rhythmically smoothing Monster’s head and neck. The dog let out deep groans of pleasure. “You got any issues with working here?” asked Mo.
“No, not really,” answered Laurence.
Mo raised his eyebrows inviting further discussion.
“I’m not sure that Detective Raven is ready to let go of you and recognise me as her partner yet.”
“Well who says I’m not coming back?” said Mo, sitting forward in his chair and giving Laurence a hard stare. “Just yanking your chain buddy,” he smiled, easing himself back down. “She’ll get there in her own time. You have to work hard at winning over Eleanor. She’s one of the best cops I ever worked with but…” he mulled his thoughts.
“But?” queried Laurence.
“She has an enemy,” said Mo quietly. Eleanor walked into the room pulling on her overcoat and juggling phone and paperwork. She tipped her head to one side and narrowed her eyes as she saw the two men talking.
“Enemy?” asked Laurence worried.
“Herself,” whispered Mo as he resumed his reading.
“Any danger we could go do some police work Detective?” asked Eleanor her eyes raised, curious to know what had passed between them.
“Yes Ma’am,” replied Laurence standing up. “Home by five at the latest ok?” He pointed to Mo.
“Jeez…” muttered Mo.
“I’ll take him myself,” offered Wadesky. “Your Minnie got some home bakes?” she asked Mo.
“Yes,” snapped Mo. “Home bakes for any fucker that comes in from the street. Not for me! I’m so fucking hungry and calorie deprived that dog food’s looking good.” Laurence turned to see where Mo was looking. Next to the photocopier someone had placed two ceramic bowls one filled with water and the other next to a large bag of high protein kibble. He hadn’t considered whether Monster had access to water and he’d pretty much abandoned him during the day assuming one of the secretaries would keep an eye on him.
Wadesky smiled. “Timms brought it in yesterday. He’s taken a shine to Monster.” She returned to the screen. “He even took him for a walk…well down to his cigar break by the trash cans.”
“Timms?” said Laurence confused.
“Leaving,” said Eleanor as she strode out of the room.
Cassandra Willis lived in a modest but expensive condo a few miles south of her workplace. Eleanor and Laurence had been granted access to the apartment by the site manager and were taking careful note of resident names from the mailboxes in the corridor. A sound of gentle but persistent knocking came from the first floor and both detectives moved silently and carefully in its direction. As they rounded the top of the stairs they saw a slim black woman with her ear pressed to a door calling faintly, “Miss Willis? Can you hear me? It’s Aria.”
Eleanor moved slowly and silently towards Aria’s back. “Ma’am?”
Aria let out a shriek and clutched her chest. “You scared me.” The woman took a deep breath and then studied the two detectives. Her hand moved from her chest to cover her mouth. “What’s happened to her?” she whispered.
“How well do you know Cassandra Willis?” asked Eleanor.
“I work for her. I’m her office manager Aria Aryono. Who are you?” she asked nervously.
“I’m Detective Inspector Raven and this is Detective Whitefoot,” she replied. “Why are you here?”
“I got a call from the people organising the conference she was attending. She was supposed to be giving a talk but she didn’t sign in. They called the hotel and she hadn’t checked in there either. They wouldn’t tell me if she’d been on the plane as I wasn’t next of kin. I don’t know where the hell she is so I came round here to check whether she got ill and just came home.” Aria stared at Eleanor. “Why are you here? Have you got her?” she asked cautiously.
“Got her?” replied Eleanor.
“Is she dead?”
“Have you a key to her apartment?” asked Eleanor.
Aria shook her head.
“Would you mind waiting here with Detective Whitefoot and answering a few of his questions while I take a look around?” Eleanor asked. Aria nodded glumly.
Eleanor unlocked the door and walked inside. She could hear Laurence’s lowered tones as he drew information out of Aria. The apartment had a strangely detached quality to it. There were no mounted photographs of family or hints of any special interests the occupant may have had. There wasn’t a trace of dust in any of the rooms and Eleanor made a note to check on any cleaning assistance she may have hired. There were a couple of indifferent prints on the wall and a bookcase full of manuals and textbooks. There wasn’t a single novel or any material that could have been consumed for pleasure. The kitchen appeared to be unused. The fridge was devoid of anything edible apart from some condiments, three litres of gin and several bottles of tonic water. The freezer had a hefty selection of ready meals of a bland and limited variety. Eleanor would call in CSI in a few minutes but quite what they’d find mystified her. Cassandra Willis appeared to have lived her life here as if a hotel resident. There was no sign of any sexual proclivity which might have linked her to her killer, nor were there any signs of a struggle having taken place. She sighed and dialled Sue Cheung.
“Can’t you just tell me what happened to her?” asked Aria plaintively.
Laurence paused. “I’m afraid she was murdered.” Aria’s mouth opened into a wide ‘o’. “Can you tell me whether Miss Willis had any enemies that you k
now of?” Laurence ran through the familiar and standard questions. Curiously Aria didn’t answer immediately.
“Yes,” her shoulders slumped as if knowing what had to be revealed. “She had poor relationships with a co-worker, Malcolm Stringer. He was the son of the previous owner and part of the sell off to Miss Willis was a guarantee that he would be kept on for the duration as office assistant.”
“And that was a problem for her or both of them?” asked Laurence interested.
“Oh, both of them. He wasn’t very… committed to the work and Miss Willis was very driven. She made the company successful and wanted to get rid of Malcolm but I don’t think he was likely to find another job and she couldn’t bear to pay him for not working.”
“You think he might have killed her?”
“Oh dear Lord no!” she answered genuinely shocked.
“Did you like Miss Willis?”
Aria paused and thought about it. “I admired what she did. She worked all hours and paid fair but I could have done without all the bitching and moaning. Guess you have to let it wash over you but sometimes I just wanted to knock their heads together.”
“So you didn’t like her?” Laurence proffered.
“No, I guess not but then that wasn’t in my job description.”
Eleanor walked out of the apartment and locked the door behind her. “Mrs Aryono we are going to visit your workplace now perhaps you would like to have a coffee and a rest before you follow us?”
Aria understood what was implied. “Of course.”
Petr Mensch had driven round the block twice in an attempt to find the correct building and then locate a parking space. He had several more deliveries to make that morning before he could get back home and finish the essay, which was due in tomorrow. He hated delivering flowers because they represented everything he loathed about this country. The decadence and the inconvenience were top of his list. Why the fuck couldn’t people hand the bloody things over themselves and not employ some shit-for-brains i.e. himself to deliver them as an excuse for forgetting an anniversary, fucking someone else, or pretending they made up for some unloved bastard dying? He also felt pissed off that he was indebted to his aunt who owned the shop for paying for his college education when it should be free and supported by the tax payer, and if he didn’t get that essay in to his tutor by six pm he might be settling for a full-time career in floristry. None of these thoughts improved his outlook on the day, so when there was no reply from Ms Raven at his insistent hammering he was just about ready to stomp the flowers underfoot and leave it as a big ‘fuck you’. Unfortunately that wasn’t how Petr’s life worked so he took a deep breath and knocked on an adjacent door. His luck was in. An elderly woman, clutching a small fat pug stared myopically at him.
