Burgundy and Bodies

by Sandra Woffington

  “I’ll bet you could drive me crazy.” Steele raised his eyebrows.

  “Well, I’m already there: criminally insane.” Joy said this with such a serious tone, Steele stopped laughing.

  Max grinned and checked his shoulder communication device.

  “Your guy seemed nervous,” said Steele. “He sat in his car for a good half hour. He just went in.”

  “Maybe he’s thinking twice after talking to me at the hospital,” said Max.

  Joy added, “He may or may not know the hospital is aware of the drug problem. Talking to you just makes him look innocent. Like he’s helping.”

  “Or he doesn’t think anyone is watching,” said Max. “They never do. Even if we’re onto them—criminals just can’t stop being criminals.”

  “You’re live, Steele,” said Riggs, the station computer nerd and tech specialist who had set the wires in place. “Got a code word for storming the castle?”

  Steele smirked. “Joy ride.” He headed to the bar.

  “Tell me he doesn’t think that was cute or adorable,” Joy said with a tone of disgust.

  Max laughed. “Steele’s a good cop. He worked the gang beat in Los Angeles until recently. Moved here after he was shot a second time. Let’s take the back.” Max headed to the rear of the building and Joy followed.

  “I have to admit, it was rather witty,” said Joy. “Not adorable, mind you. But witty.”

  “You like him. Probably because he’s been shot up a couple of times. He’s damaged like you.”

  “And you are a relationship expert and advisor because…”

  Steele sat at the end of the bar and ordered a beer. His camera picked up Deon in A-gamer’s corner near the pool tables. Deon exchanged a package for an envelope and stuffed the envelope inside the waistband of his pants under his shirt.

  One of A-gamer’s boys, a fat white kid with greasy hair, stepped to the bar and ordered a couple of beers. He blocked Steele’s view and struck up a conversation.

  “Do I know you?”

  “No,” said Steele. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  The kid pulled a switchblade. “See, this is kind of an exclusive place. No one comes in here unless you’re on the guest list. Name?”

  “First name is Fuck. Last name is You.” Steele pulled out a bigger blade and popped it open under the bar. “Dude, I don’t know your game, but I’m gonna finish my beer, and then you can have your country club all to yourself again.”

  “Who’s your crew?”

  Steele didn’t answer. He simply picked up his beer and drank a few gulps while flashing his bracelet: a thick gold chain set with obsidian spikes, a sign of the Mixteca 8, a Los Angeles gang named after the 11th century Mixtec ruler, Eight Deer Jaguar Claw. The bracelet was only bestowed after a gang killing. Steele had earned his bracelet by killing a gang member who was about to kill him. The volcanic glass could shred skin like a razor, despite its decorative appearance.

  The fat boy nodded. “Fuck You, come meet my friends. You might like to join the country club. I’m Wall.” He grabbed the two beers the bartender set down and headed to the pool tables.

  Steele put his blade away. “I might.” Steele grabbed his beer and followed Wall. Wall was an appropriate name for the monolith who escorted him to the back of the room.

  Deon hit a ball with his cue stick. The solid purple ball rolled up to the corner pocket and fell in. “Can’t catch me!” If he’d have been nervous before, he seemed relaxed now. Deon swigged his beer before lining up his next shot.

  “A-gamer, meet…” Wall waited for a real name.

  “Ice,” said Steele.

  Fat boy added, “Mixteca 8.”

  A-gamer’s eyes drifted to Steele’s bracelet. “Long ways from home.”

  “Looking for a new home.” Steele lifted his shirt to show a scar that ran from the tip of his sternum, down his upper abdomen, around his belly button, and down his lower abdomen.

  A-gamer bobbed his head in admiration. “Nice scar.”

  “Scars are only nice if you live to talk about ‘em,” said Steele. “Figure I’d move before the cops blew off my dick.”

  Upon seeing the scar, Deon missed his next shot. “Hey, you guys got company, so I’ll take off.”

  Steele put down his shirt and leaned against the table to block Deon’s exit. “This dude looks nervous. I think he’s a cop.”

  A-gamer laughed. “Nah, he’s harmless.”

  “I can smell a cop.” Steel sniffed the air. “This guy smells like DEA.”

  A-gamer moved in to intercept. “He’s a nurse.”

  “Sweet! A pipeline,” said Steele, slapping A-gamer on the shoulder. “We had a few of those. Nurses with needs.”

  A-gamer leaned over the table to take a shot. “He’s a real entrepreneur. Followed his friend here, and when she quit, he signed on.”

  “Anything I’d be interested in?” asked Steele.

  “512s and z-bars, this time,” said A-gamer, using street names for oxycodone and Xanax. “He can do better.”

  Deon gave A-gamer a cross look. “Not with admin breathing down my neck.”

  “You said ‘she’ quit. We don’t let ‘em quit in L.A.” Steele motioned across his neck. “But they can leave in peace.”

  A-gamer smirked. “First, she got cold feet. Then the rest of her got real cold.”

  “I hope you got a ‘joy ride’ first?” Steele had heard enough. He gave the signal.

  A-gamer and his boys broke out laughing.

  “Hey, Anne was my friend.” Deon made a move to leave, but Steele stepped in front of him and impeded his progress.

  In seconds, Max and Joy burst through the back door, Glocks drawn. Two uniforms rushed through the front. “Freeze, police,” shouted Max.

  Deon reached for the envelope he’d stuffed down his pants, but Max rushed forward. “Don’t move a muscle, Deon.” He pointed his Glock, and Deon froze.

  Deon’s face grimaced with disbelief and fear. He rolled his eyes skyward as if pleading for help, but he knew it was too late for that.

  More from instinct than a well thought-out plan, Wall whipped out his blade and swiped the air.

  Max pointed his Glock at him. “Dude, you seriously want to go against my Glock with that pencil?”

  Wall dropped the blade.

  A-gamer stayed calm. He put his hands behind his head and stretched. “Hey, Joy. I’m ready. Come frisk me.”

  Joy aimed at A-gamer’s head. “How about you frisk my barrel and see if you get a happy ending?”

  Max led Steele out in cuffs to maintain the illusion. On the way out the front door, following behind the others, Steele whispered, “I think I’m in love.”

  Max added, “I think she’s telling the truth about the homicidal maniac thing.”

  22

  Max and Joy stuffed Deon in the back seat. He whimpered the entire way back to the station. They decided to let A-gamer stew in another room while they interrogated Deon first.

  Max tossed the package of drugs and the envelope full of money on the table, both in evidence bags. “Looks like we found our hospital drug link?”

  “512s and Z-bars.” Joy nodded toward the evidence bag.

  Deon’s face contorted in angst. “Look, hear me. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just playin’ a game of pool.”

  “With your pants stuffed full of money?” asked Max.

  “I…I…won a game,” said Deon.

  “So your prints won’t be on those drugs?” Max walked in a circle around Deon, like a hawk swooping down on prey. “Help us out, Deon. We’re looking for Anne’s killer. This is small potatoes. You said she was your friend.”

  Deon wiped the sweat off of his brow. “I swear. This was the first time! I wasn’t running drugs, Anne was. I saw her take some meds one day, and I followed her to The Stinky Mule. I came inside and hid in a dark spot at the end of the bar. She gave an envelope to A-gamer. He said she still owed him. He tried to make a move on
her, and she slapped him—hard. His boys were about to move on her, but in walks this white-haired cop. As soon as Anne sees him, she walks out. Then the cop tells A-gamer that her account is closed, permanently. Man, that’s all I know. Please, you gotta believe me. If I could take it back, I would.”

  Joy asked, “What did the cop look like?”

  Deon answered quickly. “White hair, pale skin but red cheeks, pudgy, not real tall.”

  May showed Deon a picture of the chief. “This guy?”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” said Deon.

  Joy asked, “Then he wasn’t there to make a deal with A-gamer?”

  “No, man. He said what he had to say and split. But he threatened A-gamer. Told him to stay away from Anne or else he’d come after him.”

  “Maybe you were afraid Anne would talk, so you killed Anne,” suggested Max.

  “No! Anne was kind. I couldn’t believe she was selling drugs. Why? Why did she do that?”

  “She liked to gamble.” Max continued to pace. “She borrowed money from A-gamer.”

  “He probably killed her.” Deon squirmed in his seat. He leaned forward as if trying to help solve the crime. “He said so, didn’t he? He said something like that? About her getting cold? I’m cooperating, see. That will help, right?”

  “It always helps, Deon.” Max leaned on the table.

  “Why did you do it?” asked Joy. “Just curious.”

  “I thought I could pay back my student loans, you know. They’re hanging over my head. My folks didn’t have the money. Dumb! I’m so dumb! What’s going to happen now? Do I get a second chance?”

  “Maybe,” said Joy. “If you do, use it wisely.”

  Deon burst into tears. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”

  Max and Joy met in the hallway. Max said, “We’ve only got him on this one charge.”

  “Hopefully, it will scare him straight.”

  “Funny, Grant corrupted Anne, and Anne, in essence, corrupted Deon. You don’t really think it’s all built into our DNA, do you, like you said to Grant? We have choices, Joy.”

  “Sure, we do, Max. But we also have predispositions.”

  A-gamer had been brought in so many times, he sat back, arms folded, as if he simply needed to get through the next hour and go home. He yawned.

  “So, A-gamer,” said Max. “Anne ran drugs to you.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” said A-gamer. “She just liked my company.”

  Joy smirked. “Not so much. She slapped you—pretty hard, I hear, when you tried to make a move on her.” This time, Joy paced and Max sat across from the punk.

  A-gamer tilted his head at a cocky angle. “If I wanted her, I’d have her. She’s too phony. Too full of herself—like you, Joy.”

  Max redirected the conversation. “You said, and I quote, ‘First she got cold feet. Then the rest of her got real cold.’”

  “That’s a fact,” said A-gamer. “But don’t try to pin that bitch’s death on me. I’m sure she had plenty of people who wanted her dead. She likes champagne but can only afford cheap wine.” A-gamer leaned forward, like he was preparing to make a deal. “But Chief Goldsby, he liked her. He had a reason to shut her up. He closed her account in person.”

  “Account?” asked Max. “Care to explain?”

  “A personal loan, that’s all. I felt sorry for the girl. Did her right.”

  “Or did her dead,” accused Joy.

  “Hey, I have an alibi—I was with my boys. Does your chief? You know, he worked for me. He brought Anne to me. That’s what I’ll say when I testify.”

  This time, Max sat back and folded his arms. “Well, great, Rice. That is your real name, right? Rice?”

  “As in white rice?” asked Joy. “That’s weak.”

  “Or rice pudding,” confirmed Max. “Rice, can you prove what you say about the chief? Because if you lie, I’ll make sure you get slammed for it. So think very carefully before you answer. Did the chief tell you to close Anne’s account?”

  A-gamer huffed. “Yes.”

  “Did you kill Anne Martin?” asked Joy.

  “Hell no! I was with my crew. I got me half a dozen witnesses.”

  “What was your relationship with Chief Goldsby?”

  “He protected my business, for a fee. Cash, of course. He killed the blond to shut her up.”

  “The chief’s finances do not add up to outside sources.” Joy whispered, “He’s not even a good investor. So, besides your big mouth, what proof can you provide?”

  A-gamer rose to leave. “You got nothing on me! I wasn’t carrying drugs, money, or weapons. So, we are done.”

  Max waited. “If and when I’m done with you. We’re done. But if you want to stand in a corner for a while, go for it. If you want out of here, sit your ass back down.”

  A-gamer huffed, but he turned around, and he sat down. “I didn’t do her.”

  Max rose to his feet, crossed the room and opened the door. “Stay where we can find you.”

  A-gamer strutted across the room. “It’s not every day you can help the police solve a murder and send the Chief of Police to jail at the same time.”

  Before A-gamer could get one foot outside the room, Max slammed the door in his face.

  A-gamer jumped back and swallowed hard.

  Max whispered in A-gamer’s ear, “You give one peep of false testimony, one fact you can’t back up, and I do not mean back up with a bunch of lies from your mangy crew, I promise you that my partner and I will see to it that your lily-white ass ends up in prison on a cell block with the biggest, baddest, most dangerous dudes in the prison. You see, Deon will cut a deal, and he’ll testify against you. He witnessed your little fight and the chief coming to Anne’s rescue. And that’s all the chief did. If you say otherwise, you’d better make it stick, Rice.”

  A-gamer kept his façade of toughness, but color drained from his face.

  Max opened the door and let A-gamer out.

  When he’d gone, Max shook his head. “I know the evidence against the chief is circumstantial, but if A-gamer testifies, it might be enough to give the chief a solid motive for wanting Anne dead.” Max didn’t wait for a response. He stormed back to his desk and fell into his chair in defeat.

  Joy plunked into the seat opposite Max’s desk. “Max, we’ll figure this out.”

  “We’re running out of time. It’s all pointing to the chief.”

  “Grant and A-gamer are still possibilities.”

  “But we can’t prove it, Joy!” Max leaned on his elbows and dropped his weary head into his hands. “Some detective. Dad, I could use some help here.” Max opened his eyes and saw a new report on his desk. He opened the folder and read. His eyes lit up.

  “Max? What is it?”

  “There were partial prints from two suspects on the cigar butt found at Shane’s and two DNA findings—the chief’s and Eugene Carter’s.”

  “Eugene?”

  “Maybe Eugene thought Anne had used him, so he followed her and whacked her. A crime of passion.”

  “And he didn’t want Cynthia to suffer in love as he had, so he killed Shane,” suggested Joy.

  “Let’s bring Eugene in for questioning.”

  23

  By the time Max and Joy reached Eugene’s house, the sun had been down about an hour. No one answered. They hopped back into the car and headed to the mortuary. They walked around back as they had before and entered the building.

  Eugene and Cynthia were busy passing wrapped body parts from the freezer to a cold-ship box. This time, they didn’t flinch or stop working when Max and Joy walked in.

  The hair on Max’s arms tingled as he watched the pair packaging body parts like one would pack a cooler for a picnic. Eugene handed a head to Cynthia, and she set it in the box with the same care she’d served him coffee cake that morning.

  “Eugene,” said Max. “We’re bringing you in for questioning.”

  At this, Eugene stopped working. “Why? I didn’t kill Ann
e.”

  Joy answered. “We found your partial print and DNA on the cigar butt at Shane’s house.”

  Eugene’s brows knit into arches of terror. His eyes shot to Cynthia and then back to Max. “I can explain.”

  “Papa?” Cynthia stopped packing the cold storage box.

  Eugene scratched his head. “I don’t understand.”

  Max repeated, “You need to come with us, Eugene. You can explain when we get to the station.”

  Cynthia rushed to Eugene, threw her arms around him, and nestled her head against his chest. “Tell them the truth, Papa. The chief did this! He killed Anne and Shane.”

  Joy moved closer to Cynthia.

  “Tell it to the recording device,” said Max. “We’ll interview the chief too, and see where he left that cigar butt.”

  Joy put a hand on Cynthia’s arm, but Cynthia pulled away. “Cynthia, your father needs to go now. But I’ll stay and help you. Okay? Max, pick me up when you’re done.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Max. “Could be a while.”

  Joy nodded. “I’ll help Cynthia.”

  Max waited until he and Eugene stood next to the car to cuff him. “Sorry, it’s procedure.”

  “I’ll sue you. Both of you. The chief. The entire department.”

  “Yeah, we hear that a lot, but you can’t sue us for doing our jobs. Watch your head.” Max helped Eugene into the back seat.

  Max drove away in the dark of night. With any luck, he’d have Eugene booked within the hour, be back to get Joy, and call it a night.

  “What’s the order?” asked Joy.

  Cynthia answered matter-of-factly. “Four arms, four legs, two torsos, two heads. The second order is for an entire cadaver.”

  Joy handed Cynthia a leg from the cooler. “Any of these ever end up overseas?”

  “We only ship within the US but others ship overseas. If we get a request, we forward it to a larger tissue bank. Make sure you’re checking the labels. We try to ship specimens from the same body if possible.”

  As Joy reached into the freezer and pulled out a skull to pass to Cynthia, she cringed at how Cynthia had used the stock-in-trade lingo “tissue bank” to normalize the fact that she held the human head of an altruistic donor. She stared into the plastic-wrapped face and wondered, Did you think this is where you would end up?