The Witness

by Dee Henderson

  Marsh nodded. “We fumble around not figuring out how to solve the case, whine to the press about no leads and the case going cold, annoy a couple reporters who are pestering us—” He smiled. “Our guy will show up somewhere to try to help us out or to gloat about how badly we are doing solving his spectacular crime. He thinks he got away with something—he wore the gloves, he used the bleach, he took the weapon with him, he got away unseen—he thinks he’s smarter than the cops and that he’s got his fame and his freedom.”

  “You wind up that image in his mind too far and he’ll just kill again.”

  Marsh’s smile disappeared. “Oh, he’ll kill again. And I think he’s already decided who. If this case doesn’t lead very quickly to someone who knew Nolan and had an actual reason to kill him, then we are looking at someone who simply chose Nolan as his victim. You don’t premeditate murder for a thrill and plan to do it just once. And that’s what this is really beginning to feel like. A murder for a thrill.”

  “What do we tell Tracey and Marie? They’re going to read the newspaper tomorrow and find out their father’s former chauffeur was just murdered. They’re going to be talking to Daniel.”

  “What we say to every neighbor and friend in cases like this—it’s a coincidence that there is a connection between you and the victim. The six-degrees-of-separation-between-everyone theory applies again.”

  “I may mention it to Marie myself to head her off. She’s wound up to worry about everything right now.”

  “I would.”

  Connor tried to shove the murder scene into the side of his mind marked “work” and let it go for a bit. “How’s Tracey doing with Amy being back?”

  Marsh smiled. “She’s chomping at the bit for when she can next go out and see her again. It’s been over a week and that’s about Tracey’s patience limit, I think.”

  “You want to suggest something for this weekend?”

  “Let’s see how this case unfolds first. I’d rather give short notice and be able to keep the appointment than schedule something that work just has us canceling.” Marsh clicked on blinkers to turn toward Connor’s apartment building. “You’ve been seeing a lot of Marie.”

  “I like her.”

  “Tracey’s been inquiring on your intentions,” Marsh offered.

  “Has she?” Connor found the thought amusing. “Better Tracey than Granger. I think he’s not so sure what to think these days, us dating sisters, and wealthy ones at that.”

  “He’s afraid he’s going to lose two homicide cops at the same time.”

  “Do you ever think about quitting or shifting over to administration after you and Tracey get married?”

  Marsh snorted.

  “That’s what I thought. These hours are going to be killers on a wife though.”

  “We’ll adjust.” Marsh pulled up to the apartment door. “Don’t forget to set the alarm; I don’t plan to face the boss alone.”

  Connor looked around the area and then slid out of the car. “I’ll be there.”

  The alarm was not going off—that was the phone. Connor struggled to get his eyes open and groaned at the red digits blinking back at him: 4 a.m. This was brutal on his body and his mind. “Yeah?”

  “The boss is already en route; he’ll be at your door in ten minutes.” “Marsh?”

  “Not the tooth fairy. We’ve got another murder, same MO.” “My feet are on the floor,” Connor promised. “Where?” “I’m struggling to find the address now. One of those pricey towers over by the lake. A resident complained about the smell, and the building super used a master to open the door. Now we’ve got complaining rich people annoyed to have cops walking around their building in the middle of the night. There it is. Forty-nine twelve Ulysses Street, the one with the square-cut balconies jutting into those triangular architectural features.”

  “I vaguely remember it. Why Granger?”

  “Daniel called him after the building super called him. This one was Henry’s retired personal bookkeeper.”

  Connor winced. “Tell me the boss isn’t going to be working this personally.”

  “Granger? He’ll let us do our jobs. But if he wants to run interference for us with the press, I’m all for it.”

  “True.” Connor found slacks and a relatively clean shirt.

  “Fill him in on every detail you can think of on the drive over here, as well as your speculation on this being a media thrill seeker. This second murder—we’ll see if there is a note and what it says, but I’m leaning even more to someone trying to grab the sisters’ fame and making it his springboard to a notoriety and infamy all his own. ‘Sisters Haunted by Killer’—I can see it now, splashed all over the tabloids in bold headlines. ‘The Blood Killer.’ ‘Revenge of All That Money’—”

  “I get the idea.” Connor stepped in on the headline writing. “You ought to warn Tracey and let her warn Marie before the reporters start shouting questions at them.”

  “You could warn Marie and let her warn Tracey,” Marsh replied.

  “I take it neither one of us likes this idea. I’ll suggest Daniel go visit the gallery and tell them in person.”

  “That works for me. What about the sister Amy?”

  “That is a no-brainer. Get Caroline on the phone and give her everything we have. I want her gut reaction to these killings anyway. She’s got instincts anyone with any sense would respect.”

  Connor tugged his shirt on and hoped the chief would cut him some slack on the uniform. Getting to the dry cleaners hadn’t been in the schedule this week. “What are you seeing at the scene?”

  “Lots and lots of cop cars and people milling around and not a single person acting in charge. I’m going to go change that. I’ll ring you back in five.”

  The phone went dead in Connor’s hand, and he closed it and slid it into his pocket. He hated middle-of-the-night cases. Dinner hadn’t happened because he’d just looked at a guy who had been dead for a few days, and if he was about to be looking at another dead guy, then breakfast was not going to stay down. No matter what they said about the fact you got used to the sight and smell, they were lying. You just learned to gag more tightly. He stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth to spit out when he got to the scene. At least it might help him forget the missed meals.

  He picked up his wallet and keys and went to meet the chief.

  “Nice neighborhood you live in, Connor. I keep forgetting you’re tucked back here,” Granger remarked, turning on lights but not the siren to remind a drunk staggering between cars that he was walking out into traffic and might want to rethink that.

  “It does have its moments. And you’re paying half the rent.”

  “The best money the department ever spent. You want to fill me in on what happened today?”

  “Would you answer a question for me first?”

  “Sure.”

  Connor picked up the jacket that he’d moved aside to take the passenger seat. “The perfume reminds me of someone I know.” He said it with care, wanting to know as a friend without wanting to particularly cross the line that would have the chief switching to the look that would suggest he’d best shut up.

  “She forgot the jacket last night.”

  “Okay. Just checking.”

  Granger smiled. “You’ll walk yourself into a couple questions about Marie if you’re not careful. Amy and I are warily sorting out the fact it’s okay for her to trust a cop again. Her track record with our profession hasn’t exactly made that an easy step for her to take. This afternoon—what happened with Nolan Price?”

  Connor shifted back toward work without hesitation. “Marsh said to give you speculation as well as facts, and it’s too early to sort out which is which in my mind, so let me just dump it all first.”

  “Okay.”

  Connor gave him the guts of the day’s work and the dead ends they had chased so far.

  Luke nodded. “Not bad for, what, ten hours so far? You need forensics to say they’ve got fingerprints or hair or
blood from the killer, something to at least type him.”

  “They know it’s as rushed a job as they can make it, but a phone call from you probably wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I’ll make that call.”

  “Thanks. How many other retired employees does Henry have out there?”

  Granger nodded to the phone. “Daniel is speed-dial four. I’ll want officers at every address he gives us just as soon as it’s light. Let’s make sure there isn’t a third murder out there waiting to be found.”

  Connor picked up the phone and pulled out his notebook to write down whatever information Daniel had. “Daniel isn’t on his way over to the bookkeeper’s place?”

  “I’ve got him going after the names of who might know where these two men live. The chauffeur had been at the same address for years, but the bookkeeper moved recently and had an unlisted phone number. It’s not that difficult of information to locate, but still, for someone to have both names and addresses—somewhere you intersect with that estate paperwork, I think. The lawyer’s office, retirement fund, health insurance company, somewhere both names are going to be listed along with current address information. Daniel was the one who could put that together the quickest.”

  “Good point.” Connor turned his attention to the phone as the call was answered. “Daniel, Connor. Sorry about this start to your morning, man.”

  “I’m not believing the senselessness of this. Two old guys, retired, nothing to steal, no enemies I can imagine.”

  “I know.” Connor passed on the question regarding other retired employees.

  “Hold on. I’ve got names and addresses in a file on this desk. I just signed gift checks for everyone who worked for Henry in the last five years. Seemed a basic thing to do—give them a Christmas gift early enough they could use the funds before Christmas if they liked. My uncle should have been doing it years ago. Here we go. I’ve got fourteen names. You want them all or just the six who retired in the last year?”

  “Give me those six first.”

  Connor wrote as Daniel read off the information on the fourteen employees. “Thanks.”

  “You’ll make sure they are contacted? Or should I call and let them know what’s happened?”

  “Officers will make the first contacts,” Connor reassured. “Marsh and I would like you to see Marie and Tracey for us this morning. Tell them the basics and try to brace them for the press stories coming. It’s going to get tossed around and sensationalized even if the facts of the cases quoted turn out to be mostly fabrications and rumors.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Thanks, Daniel. I’ll be back in touch in about an hour.”

  Connor closed the phone and read off the addresses to the chief. “Two are close enough to this area. I think we should check them first thing.”

  “Agreed. When we get on scene, if Marsh hasn’t already cleared the floor of spectators—cops included—I’ll handle it. Take your time on this one. I’ll want answers when you have them, but I’m not going to be pressing. Two murders in roughly a three-day time period—we’re after a guy who’s pretty far out there on the sociopath scale.”

  “Marsh and I have already talked about alerting Caroline to what is going on and getting her read on what we have. She’s better at getting into a killer’s thoughts when it’s the strange cases.”

  “I know; she’s frighteningly gifted at that. I’ll arrange to have someone stay with Amy while Caroline comes in and walks through the scenes if you think it will help. Let me know what you and Marsh decide.”

  “Thanks, Boss.”

  Connor saw the cop cars and reporters congregating at their destination and braced for the reality he was about to have flashbulbs going off in his face again. And his shirt wasn’t all that clean.

  The chief smiled. “You get used to managing them too.”

  “Sure you do,” Connor agreed, reflecting on the fact that Luke had been wading into reporters for half his career now. “I’ve no desire to ever make a higher grade than lieutenant and detective.”

  Granger chuckled. “Want me to let you off at the back door?”

  “Just park and get out first, Chief. They’ll ignore me, thankfully, when they have you to swarm.”

  Luke parked beside Marsh’s personal car. “First rule of handling the press: don’t let them see you sweat.”

  “They didn’t teach that part at the academy.” Connor waited until the chief opened his door and stepped out of the car before pushing his open and using the doorframe to push two cameramen trying to get photos of the chief back far enough he could step out. The day was going to be full of this insanity, Connor knew.

  Sykes got into his face with a handheld cassette recorder and a question Connor couldn’t sort out from the mayhem around him, and instinct had him moving one hand around the reporter’s wrist and the other toward his shoulder to force him back and out of his face. It was like getting pressed into a sardine can.

  He broke free and straightened his shirt and wondered how his boss had ever learned to cope with it. He slipped his badge face out in his pocket and went to find Marsh.

  The apartment was furnished more expensively than most homes, Connor decided, getting a taste of it from the inset stone in the entryway and the artwork facing him at eye level. “How did someone get past this security system?”

  “Our victim let him in, same as with Nolan,” Marsh replied, sitting on the steps leading to the second floor of the apartment and writing notes down on his pocket pad of paper. He glanced up. “How’s the chief?”

  “Saying a lot of words while saying little. He’ll buy us some time. You cleared this floor?”

  “Yep. Tossed everyone out that I didn’t personally want to see at 4 a.m., and that was everyone. Joe and Rachel promised to wake up enough to work the scene for me since they have some experience with this guy’s MO.”

  “Where’s our victim?”

  Marsh nodded to his right. “Staining an absolutely gorgeous and expensive rug in the living room.”

  Connor was in no hurry to follow the smell. “How long?”

  “Probably killed after Nolan, just from the way the murder looks done, but probably also a Monday night hit. The decay looks about the same.”

  “Thanks, I needed that image. His name?”

  “Sorry, I thought I said.” Marsh handed over a driver’s license.

  Connor studied the photo. “Philip Rich, sixty-seven. He looks like the plastic-surgery type.”

  “It didn’t help him die any prettier. Same knife attack with rage features, probably a blitz attack. Looks like the same kind of narrow blade, but that’s a guess.”

  Connor reluctantly went to see the scene. He didn’t react to the body, didn’t let himself do it. Some things were just sights a person shouldn’t see. The splattered blood had spotted a priceless chess set of ivory pieces and left streaks on the mirror above the fireplace. “No signs of robbery?” he asked quietly.

  Marsh stopped beside him to also study the room. “No. I passed a few items that would fit in my pocket and clear a few thousand even with a fence taking most of the cash, and they’re still sitting in plain sight.”

  “Someone knew this man, wanted him dead, and came with the intent to make very sure he was dead. Did he wash up again?”

  “Yes. The downstairs bath—upstairs is a massive master-bedroom-and-bath suite, with a private sitting area, but it looks undisturbed. I’m guessing our killer brought a change of clothes to this one; there’s a smear on the bathroom floor that looks like bloody fabric rested there, probably a pair of jeans from the texture captured in the stain.”

  “The knife?”

  “No sign of it that I saw in the initial walk around.”

  Connor accepted reality and walked closer to the body. He pulled on latex gloves. “Again, no defensive wounds on the hands. Maybe the same stunning blow to the head and then straddle and start stabbing?”

  “I think so.”

  “Philip Rich�
�Daniel said he retired almost eight months ago, before Henry had the last heart attack. He worked out at the estate most days, even though he had a business office downtown, and we know our chauffeur was around the estate most days. So it’s pretty straightforward to assume our two victims knew each other. But I don’t think from looking at this place and having seen Nolan’s that the two men traveled in the same circles.”

  “Philip was a man desiring to be as wealthy as those he worked for,” Marsh agreed.

  “There’s a message?”

  Marsh turned and shined his light on the painting over the couch.

  Pay me to go away was written in blood across a priceless work of art.

  “Marie would cringe,” Connor said softly, the first thought crossing his mind at the sight of all that blood on those nicely brushed layers of oil paints. “I’d say that is a definite demand.”

  “How much does he want, who does he want it from, where does he want it delivered … the note just raises all kinds of questions of its own.”

  “At least this guy is not crazy, as in ask us to stop the moon from rising or some such fantasy crazy.”

  “Two murders and one explicit blackmail demand ...this guy is going to be twisted when we find him.”

  Connor shook his head. “No. He’s the kind you meet, shake hands with, interview, and until forensics matches DNA and tells you that’s the killer, you would swear he was just another interview in the files,” he replied, beginning to worry for the first time about a case. This one was out of his league.

  “It will crack the same way every case does, by shoe leather and persistence. And he’s already made one mistake.”

  “What?”

  Marsh walked over to the painting and studied the message, and when he turned it was a hard smile on his face, the kind Connor knew to be wary about. “He got greedy. A man who wants money—he won’t disappear into the shadows and do his best to get away from here and his killings. No, he’ll sit back and wait for the time to demand his payment. And we’ll be waiting for him.”

  He nodded. “He did his two murders, left his notes, and he’ll still be around.”