by Karen Rose
‘First, he was sitting in Mr Pugh’s chair.’
‘You said that before. What do you mean, “his” chair?’
‘When he wanders, he always comes here, to this chair. Before the Alzheimer’s he was quite a chess player. He’d come here every day after school and there were always people waiting to take him on.’ She shook herself lightly. ‘Plus there was that.’ She pointed to a tweed hat on the ground. ‘Mr Pugh wears one just like it. It was pulled over his face, like he was asleep. It fell off when I touched his shoulder and he fell forward.’ She paused, biting her lower lip. ‘Mr Pugh has a similar trench coat, too.’
JD frowned, not liking that. ‘Who knows that Mr Pugh wanders out here?’
Slowly she turned, looked up to meet his eyes. Hers were troubled. ‘Everyone in our building. Everyone in any of the buildings nearby. He wanders out at different times during the night and day. Why?’ She asked the question even though he thought she already knew the answer.
‘Who knows you run every morning before dawn?’
‘Other runners. Anyone who’s up at dawn. Why?’ she repeated.
‘Because he wasn’t killed here. Drew thinks he was transported by wheelchair from the front of your building. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to have him found.’
She looked back at the hat. ‘You think someone wanted me to find him.’
He thought exactly that, but didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. ‘For now, let’s leave it at someone going to a lot of trouble to have him found.’
‘Hands are in his pockets,’ she observed quietly. ‘His face is destroyed. Someone wanted him found, but not identified. I think you’ll find his fingertips are . . . altered.’
‘Or gone,’ JD said grimly.
‘Or gone,’ she repeated evenly. ‘Rigor’s passed. He’s been dead at least two days. I’ll get you a better time of death after the exam.’ She leaned forward a few inches, studying the facial injuries. ‘Blunt object was used. I’ll have a better idea—’
‘After the exam,’ he finished. ‘So let’s get him transported. I want to check his pockets for ID, but I don’t want to chance any evidence falling on the grass here. Can we check his pockets as soon as you unload him at the morgue?’
She studied him, clearly sizing him up. ‘Either Stevie’s been training you or you just have common sense. A lot of cops would want me to lay him out here.’
Her approval made him feel . . . good. Just as it had the other time they’d met. He didn’t think she remembered it and he wasn’t in any hurry to bring it up.
A door slammed behind them and as one they looked over their shoulders to see an ME tech pushing a gurney with a folded body bag lying on top. ‘I’m just coming back from two weeks out of the office,’ Trask said. ‘I may have a heavy load, so I may not be able to do the cut today. But if you want to meet me at the morgue, we can do a cursory exam and go through his pockets right away.’
‘I appreciate it. I’ll work on locating the Pughs. I want to be sure they’re all right.’
‘Thank you. I’ll suit up and get started.’ She looked back at the body slumped over the chess table. ‘I want to believe I came along by coincidence, that the placement of this man’s body had nothing to do with me.’
‘But you don’t.’
‘Do you?’
He wanted to put her mind at ease, but wouldn’t lie to her. ‘No.’
She sighed. ‘Neither do I.’
Chapter Two
Monday, May 3, 6.20 A.M.
Well. That had gone much better than he’d dared to hope for. He’d held his breath for a while, hoping Trask would come along, hoping she’d follow her usual path.
He needn’t have worried. Lucy Trask was as predictable as the sun she hated so much. She’d found the cocksucker, just like he’d planned.
He’d enjoyed the precious minutes when she’d thought the cocksucker was the old man. Unfortunately she’d figured it out too soon. I should have changed his shoes. Stupid mistake. Could have drawn her torment out a lot longer. She truly loved that old man, Mr Pugh. Good to know.
He took stock of the two detectives talking. The man had been first on the scene. The woman had just arrived. Now that he knew who was investigating, he could put Plan B in place – setting up a distraction in the unlikely event that things went sour and he needed to get away fast. Cops had families and he had no qualms about using theirs. Just like they used mine.
He’d get his justice, one body at a time. His mouth curved in a satisfied smile. The next name on his list was already taken and stowed. He couldn’t wait.
Monday, May 3, 6.35 A.M.
Lucy drew a steadying breath as she leaned against the morgue rig, stepping into a pair of coveralls. Her heart was still pounding. It isn’t him. Not Mr Pugh.
Then who is it? And why had he been left there, in Mr Pugh’s chair?
For me to find? A shiver raced across her skin as she zipped the coveralls up over her running clothes. It was already seventy degrees, but she was freezing cold. Shock, she thought. She’d come close to hyperventilating, especially there at the end.
Rubbing her hands together, she remembered Detective Fitzpatrick doing the same thing. That had been kind. And effective. The man had hands like a furnace.
She wondered if he made a habit of warming the hands of those who discovered the bodies. She imagined he hadn’t had many opportunities to do so, not yet anyway. Stevie Mazzetti’s former partner had retired only three weeks before and this new partner hadn’t been in Homicide before. He’d come from Narcotics, and—Oh.
‘Narcotics,’ she said aloud. The little girl. Two years ago. He alone had come to witness the autopsy of a child, the victim of a stray bullet in a drug-related shooting.
That’s where I saw him. She’d been trying to remember while he’d intently studied her face as she’d studied the victim’s shoes. He’d been trying to remember too.
‘You got that right,’ murmured the woman standing to her right. ‘That man can addict me any time.’
Lucy looked up and immediately rolled her eyes. ME Tech Ruby Gomez was openly ogling Detective Fitzpatrick as he stood several vehicles away, engaged in a serious conversation with Stevie Mazzetti, who’d just arrived on the scene.
‘Ruby,’ Lucy hissed. ‘Put your eyes back in your head.’
Ruby didn’t move. ‘Why? You’re the one who said he was a narcotic.’
‘I said “Narcotics”. He came from Narcotics.’
‘I know. In fact, I know everything there is to know about that man.’
‘Like what?’ Lucy demanded, sounding petulant even to her own ears.
‘Like he’s hot.’ Ruby shot her an amused look. ‘What more do I need to know?’
‘That it’s time to work. We’ve got a dead man slumped over a chess table. Focus.’
‘I am. On the live hot cop who has a very nice butt,’ Ruby replied tartly, then swung around with a resigned sigh. ‘Fine. Let’s go get the dead guy.’ She closed the back doors of the rig, taking a last look at Fitzpatrick. ‘That is one fine-lookin’ man.’
Lucy shook her head, although she privately agreed. JD Fitzpatrick had tall, dark and handsome all sewn up in very tidy package, and there was something about the way he moved. He was lean where a lot of cops were bulky. Still, he filled the space around him, his air confident. Almost dangerous. That he was kind made him more so.
The handsome, arrogant ones were easy to spot. Easy to avoid. The kind ones snuck under your radar, then . . . bam. She hefted her field exam kit and started walking. ‘Men that look like that are invariably a lot more trouble than they’re worth.’
‘In the long term, absolutely,’ Ruby said, her very red lips twitching. ‘I sure as hell wouldn’t marry one. But short term, their brand of trouble is well worth it.’
Red was Ruby’s trademark because she was anything but subtle. She wore it on her lips and on the long fingernails that she pressed on at the end of each shift. Men buzzed around
her like bees to a queen and Ruby proudly held court.
Lucy liked her. They had a business-hours friendship that left most people shaking their heads. Oil and water, the others would say. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to get which was the water. Ruby was flashy and vivid where Lucy was contained. Bland.
Or so they all thought. Not even Ruby knew what Lucy did when she left the office. None of them did. And if Lucy had her way, they never would.
‘Well, make trouble on your own time,’ Lucy said briskly. ‘I promised Detective Fitzpatrick we’d process this guy as soon as we got him back to the morgue. How many cases do I have today, anyway?’
‘Maybe four,’ Ruby replied absently, stealing looks over her shoulder. ‘He’s coming. Detective Hot Cop. Stevie Mazzetti’s with him.’
‘Ruby,’ Lucy snapped and Ruby sighed again.
‘See, that’s the difference between us,’ she said.
‘What, that I’m a professional?’ Lucy asked sarcastically.
Ruby just grinned, unoffended. ‘That too. You’ve got to get out, kid. See some men that don’t have tags on their toes.’
‘Right now, the victim in the chair is my main concern.’
Ruby puckered her lips. ‘Ooh. And now we get prim.’
Lucy stopped short. ‘Someone meant for me to find him,’ she said quietly. ‘Dressed him so that I’d think he was someone important to me. Finding out who he is and how he died so that the cops can find out who did this . . . that’s my priority.’
Ruby sobered. ‘I’m sorry. Why don’t you go in to the lab? Alan and I can bag him.’
‘If it had been my friend I’d let you, but he’s not and the cops need answers.’
Ruby nodded once. ‘Then let’s get busy.’
‘Thank you.’ Ruby walked to where ME Tech Alan Dunbar waited, casting glances over her shoulder at Detective Fitzpatrick along the way. Lucy was tempted to sneak one last peek herself, but there was work to do.
A man to identify. And a question to answer. Why set the victim up for me to find?
‘Lucy! What is this? Are you all right?’
The voice behind her was as familiar as her own and when Lucy turned, she automatically looked down. At five-feet-nothing, Gwyn Weaver was ten inches shorter than Lucy in her sock feet. When she wore her work boots, Lucy towered even higher.
Lucy was surprised it had taken her best friend this long to get out here. Usually Gwyn was on the front row of any crowd. This morning her smooth voice was shrill and panicked and Lucy opened her mouth to reassure.
‘I’m—’ Startled, Lucy cut herself off, her chin lifting and eyes widening at the sight of Gwyn’s companion. ‘Royce.’ Who stared at her coveralls with the big ‘ME’ stenciled on the back. Royce, who only knew her from the club. ‘You . . . you both came.’
Shit. Lucy had known when Gwyn moved into her apartment complex that this would happen eventually, that at some point one of Gwyn’s boyfriends would see her in her day job attire. She had just expected it would be her nice prim suit, not her coveralls. And she certainly hadn’t expected it this morning.
Although she should have. They’d gotten in so late from picking her up at the airport last night. It made sense Royce would sleep over at Gwyn’s place. On any other morning it wouldn’t have mattered. Except this morning it did.
‘He knows, Lucy,’ Gwyn said under her breath. She was searching Lucy’s face, her own panic receding. ‘I had to tell him. But he’s not going to tell.’
‘I promise,’ Royce said, seemingly taking her day job in stride. ‘I take it that you didn’t really go to California for a sales conference.’
‘No,’ Lucy admitted. ‘It was a forensic pathology symposium.’
‘Why lie?’ he asked, more curious than annoyed.
‘Some people can’t deal with what I do. It’s easier this way.’
‘I guess I can understand that,’ he said with a comforting smile. ‘What happened here?’
Gwyn looked around Lucy, straining to see the scene. ‘The neighbors said it was Mr Pugh. But you’re here, suited up, and not upset. So it can’t be.’
‘I thought it was, but it’s not. We don’t know who it is.’
Gwyn looked up at her, dark eyes troubled. ‘But you’re sure it’s not Mr P?’ she asked, so honestly concerned that Lucy couldn’t stay annoyed.
‘I’m very sure. Look, guys, I have to get to work. I’ll catch you later?’
‘Tonight,’ Gwyn said, giving her a pointed nod. ‘Everyone’s missed you.’
And she’d missed them. Lucy had never been away so long before, and every night she’d wondered what the gang was up to. ‘I’ll try. I may be backed up at work.’
‘Which we need to let her get back to,’ Royce said to Gwyn. ‘Come on. You came, you saw, so you can go back to sleep now.’ He gave Lucy a warm smile and her shoulder a squeeze. ‘If you need anything, let us know. I’m glad it wasn’t your friend.’
‘Thanks.’ She watched them go, Gwyn small and doll-like at Royce’s side. He’d put his arm around Gwyn, shielding her from the unpleasant crime scene and Lucy felt a tiny pang of loneliness. Gwyn always thought the next guy might be the one, but up until now it had never worked out and they were still single girls together. But this time, Lucy thought Gwyn could be right. Things would change. And I’ll be alone again.
Which I will worry about later. Get to work.
When she reached the body, Lucy put her field kit on the ground next to the gurney that Alan had already prepared with a body bag. She looked up at Alan who stood grim-faced, staring at the body. ‘You okay?’ she asked.
Alan was a little green. ‘Somebody did a real number on him, didn’t they?’
‘Indeed,’ Lucy said, feeling a tug of guilt. Alan had been with them for only a few months, and he’d never seen a corpse this mutilated. ‘I should have prepared you.’
‘It’s okay. The cops said that you thought it was your friend. I’m glad it’s not.’
‘Me too,’ she murmured. Pulling on gloves, she motioned Alan and Ruby to follow. ‘He’s past rigor, so he’ll be limp. Try to keep his hands in his pockets.’
‘Why?’ Alan asked.
‘His face is messed up, honey,’ Ruby said. ‘Chances are his hands are too.’
‘Oh.’ Alan swallowed. ‘Okay.’
Lucy lightly touched the victim’s head, studying the dried blood with a frown.
‘What?’ Fitzpatrick asked.
Lucy looked up. He and Mazzetti stood a few feet away. ‘The texture of the dried blood is wrong somehow. But I can tell you that his head has been shaved.’
Stevie leaned close to see. She was a petite brunette, at thirty-four she was a year younger than Lucy, but had always seemed much older. ‘Are you okay?’ Stevie murmured over the dead man. ‘I heard you had a shock. We could call another pathologist.’
‘No. I’m fine.’ Lucy managed a smile. She respected Stevie a lot, even though the woman’s side-gig creeped her out. Grief counseling. The thought made her want to shudder. All that focus on death. When someone was dead, they were dead. I should know. Talking about it week after week was futile and just plain strange. ‘But thanks.’
Stevie smiled back, then straightened, back to business. ‘Does he have any ID?’
Lucy patted the victim’s coat pockets lightly then grimaced when her fingers met with no resistance where there should have been bone. ‘No wallet. No fingers either.’
‘At all?’ Fitzpatrick asked.
‘Left hand, they’re gone at the second knuckle. Right hand, the same. Except . . .’ She touched a single finger through the coat. ‘He still has his ring finger.’ She looked up at Fitzpatrick who watched her intently, and she realized she was holding her breath. Detective Hot Cop, Ruby had called him. Indeed. Quietly she exhaled. ‘It’s got a ring on it.’
Drew Peterson crouched beside her and she could focus again. ‘Can we get it off once he’s on the bag?’
‘We can try.’ She probed
the victim’s legs through his trousers, then grimaced again. ‘Multiple breaks. His knees feel like mush. This guy was tortured.’
‘I hate tortures,’ Stevie muttered.
‘I imagine he hated it worse,’ Fitzpatrick said dryly.
Lucy stepped back from the body. ‘Alan, Ruby, he’s all yours.’
Ruby was a pro, but Alan looked queasy enough to have Lucy worried. She was watching to see if anything fell from the body to the ground as they moved him, when a new shiver ran down her back. Where she’d been freezing, she was now warm. Fitzpatrick stood behind her, his body blasting heat.
‘I found the Pughs,’ he said softly. He’d bent down so that he spoke in her ear, and she could feel the tickle of his breath against her neck. ‘They’re both fine.’
A combination of relief and awareness had her knees wobbling but she held herself straight, keeping her eyes on Ruby and Alan. ‘Thank you. Where are they?’
‘The emergency number the super had was Mrs Pugh’s sister. They’ve been there for two days. I’m sending a squad car by to check, just in case.’
‘Thank you. I’ve been out of town a few weeks and when I got back last night it was too late to check on them. I didn’t know they were gone, but it makes sense they’re there. Barb visits her sister often.’
He was quiet a moment, still standing way too close. ‘Who knew you were gone?’
She thought about the two weeks of silence the other tenants had enjoyed in her absence. ‘Everybody in the building and at work. I went to a training symposium, then lectured at a university in LA.’
‘You didn’t post anything on your Facebook page about being away?’
She looked over her shoulder, annoyed. ‘Of course not.’
His nose was about two inches from hers. This close she could see that his eyes were dark, dark blue, not black as she’d thought before. ‘Some people do,’ he said.
‘Some people are stupid. I am not.’
‘Ugh!’ Alan’s grunt had everyone looking back at the body. The victim’s hands had fallen from his pockets as they’d placed him on the gurney. Luckily the hands had flopped straight down, falling on the unzipped body bag, so no evidence had fallen to the grass.
