More photos for the crime-scene file.
But photos weren’t getting him a look at the dead guy.
Al pinched the exposed wires flat with the little pliers of the Swiss army knife, twisted the ends together with his fingers, let go, took yet another photo and pushed the button.
The opposite side of the glass coffin slid down. There we go.
His momentary triumph was cut off by a cough. He covered his nose to cut the stench and stepped away.
“Oh God,” Matthews said, his face pale. Then he ran to a garbage can under the exit sign and began puking.
Great. Al hoped there wasn’t evidence in that garbage can. Between his jumping into the crime scene and this, the techs would bitch for years.
Assuming they showed at all.
This day would be going so much better if he’d stayed home with Noir. Or if Noir were at his side, investigating with him.
He blinked. That was new too, thinking of her, instead of the problem at hand, and wanting her help. She’d taken up permanent residence in his head. He half resented that because he didn’t know if she’d be around very long.
An assistant coroner rolled a gurney into the gallery. Okay, more like the old man used the gurney as a walker. Had they found this fossil in a cemetery?
Al gestured him over and tried not to count how many seconds it took the walking corpse to make it to the glass coffin.
“New to the coroner’s office?” Al drawled.
“Yep. Retired ER doc but I was bored and they were hiring.” He put on wire-frame glasses. “Better than sitting home all day browsing porn sites.”
There was an image Al didn’t need in his head.
“Welcome back to the fun, then.” Did this guy have any idea what he was doing? Once again, the city had obviously scraped the bottom of the barrel for employees. But, hey, someone was here. That wasn’t always the case. Sometimes Al had to put the corpse in his trunk and deliver it to the morgue himself. It was a bitch getting the smell out too, even with the body bag.
“When you get him out, can you check the head for a blow on the back of the skull?” Al asked.
“Help me get him out and maybe I can give you a preliminary exam right here.”
“No can do. We have to wait for the crime-scene guys to process. At least, that’s what protocol says.”
The new guy sighed. “Well, fuck.”
“Welcome to the Double C,” Al said. “How long will you take for a COD after we get him out?”
The assistant coroner looked at Al over his glasses. “I’m old, not stupid. I’ll have it for you soon as I can.”
Al smiled. “Okay.” His mind wasn’t as frail as his body. This could work out. “I’m Captain Aloysius James.”
The old man nodded. “Dr. Didio.” He frowned. “You’re Detective Fixit.”
Al almost snarled that he wasn’t, except, hey, he could use an ally in the coroner’s office, and if Didio had really been an ER doctor, then maybe he could be an asset. He’d arrived promptly, for one.
“Captain Fixit,” Al corrected.
Dr. Didio smiled. “So, you got Scrooge in the coffin?” He shined his flashlight at the victim’s head. “Preliminary and don’t quote me but probably blunt-force trauma to the back of the head.”
Al nodded. “About what I thought.”
Didio moved the victim’s head. “Maybe something wooden. I see some splinters in the hair.”
“Wooden? A bat?”
“Now you’re getting into speculation. Wood splinters is all I can say.”
Al patted down the body as best he could while it was in the glass box. He found a heavy lump in the front suit pocket. Careful to ensure only his gloved hands touched the victim, he drew the heavy object out of the pocket.
A snub-nosed handgun. Huh. This guy had a gun but he’d been killed by a blow to the back of the head, not by a GSW.
Al slipped the gun back into the vic’s pocket.
“Why’d you do that?” Didio asked, leaning over his shoulder.
Al straightened. He hated people looking over his shoulder. “When you take the vic to the morgue, you’re required to catalog all objects with him for the crime scene techs. I remove the gun, we break the chain of evidence.”
“Ah.”
“But check for a GSW.”
“GSW?” Didio asked.
Al nearly groaned. Didio was very green. “Gunshot wound.”
“Sir?”
Al turned. The ponytailed rookie was standing there with the museum guy. Apparently, their witness was done puking his guts out.
“Mr. Scott Matthews,” the rookie said, “this is Captain Aloysius James.”
“This is awful,” Matthews whispered.
“Worse for him than us,” Al said, stripping off his gloves. “You found the body and called 911?”
The man only nodded, his face pale.
“Any idea how he got into that coffin?”
“It’s not a coffin!” Matthews said. “It’s a sleeping chamber. It was used several months ago by a performance artist.”
“Doing what?” Al asked.
“Sleeping,” Matthews said, his tone implying that fact should’ve been obvious. “She slept during museum hours and people could watch her do it.”
“Like Sleeping Beauty?” Al asked. He noticed the rookie was taking notes. Smart.
“Exactly like Sleeping Beauty,” Matthews agreed. “It was a commentary on society and women, and the lens in which we view beauty. But…I don’t understand why it’s out here. It’s not part of our holiday exhibit. And I don’t know how anybody could be trapped inside. There’s a button to let yourself out.”
“You mean this one?” Al pointed to the one on the underside that he’d pushed to open it up.
“No, there’s a button on the inside.”
“Point to me where,” Al said.
Matthews took a step closer to the apparatus. He swallowed hard. Al definitely did not want him puking on the corpse. He put his hand on Matthews’ shoulder, steadying him. “Easy. Just point to me where. We need your help to solve this, you know. It’s all anyone can do for him now.”
Matthews pointed to area between the victim’s feet. Al stepped in front of him and peered through the glass again. He saw a depression that had to be a button, only this one blended into the coffin’s surface.
“Yep, I see it. Thank you.” Al put his arm around Matthews and led him a few more steps away.
“That should work fine. I don’t know how he was trapped in there,” Matthews said.
“It works fine now,” Al said. “The wires were cut. I put them back together.”
“Oh.”
“Take me through what happened this morning, Mr. Matthews, from the moment you arrived to now.”
“I came in as usual, through the back entrance.” Matthews took another deep breath and his face seemed to regain color. He waved in the general direction of the back of the museum.
But he waited so long to speak that Al put his hand on the man’s shoulder again. C’mon, kid, he thought. Hold it together.
“What next?”
“We had some things in the storage room I wanted to check. We’d just moved so much out of this hall to make room for the holiday displays. And I also had to catalogue exhibits that are going to be part of the local show next week. We’re setting that up in the entrance foyer.”
“The storage room is just off the back entrance to the museum?”
“Yes, exactly. Easier to stop there on my way to our office in the Contemporary wing. Everything seemed fine, then I went to the office after about a half hour. I saw Mr. Johns’ bag there and thought he must be in this gallery, maybe going over the layout changes needed for the big show. I wanted to check in with him, so I walked over here and…and I found him
in the sleeping chamber.” He stared at the floor. “I called 911 right away.” Matthews frowned and glanced at the rookie. “It took her twenty minutes to arrive.”
“We got here as fast as—”
“It’s all right, Officer.” Al held up his hand. “So, it took twenty minutes.” That was actually very good for an emergency response. The Double C lacked dispatchers or on-duty police, the same as the city lacked assistant coroners, crime scene techs or enough working patrol cars. An hour was the usual 911 response time. “Just what did you do while you were waiting, Mr. Matthews?”
Matthews blanched and ran his hand over his face. Aha, Al thought, there’s a story there of some sort.
“I, um, I don’t honestly know. I know I talked to the 911 operator for a little while. Oh, and I called the museum director, Mr. Johns’ boss. And I tried to reach my girl. But she wasn’t answering, so I left a message.”
In other words, Al thought, this guy could have been doing anything in the twenty minutes it took for the rookie to arrive. The phone records could be double-checked but he suspected Matthews could actually talk on the phone and do something else at the same time.
Well, so long as throwing up wasn’t one of them.
“Do you have video surveillance in this wing?”
Matthews brightened. “Yes, of course. I already told Security to make sure all of the footage from last night was saved.”
“Would it normally be erased?” Al asked.
“It’s on a loop. When the new day starts, the previous entries are overridden.”
What a freakin’ cheap system, likely because the museum was city owned. But maybe Matthews was wrong and didn’t know what he was talking about. Memory was cheap—that footage had to be stored somewhere, even if in a computer trash bin.
Al heard footsteps and turned. Two men wearing crime scene jackets were headed his way. “Wait here. We’re going to need your assistance again in a moment. Let me just talk to my people.”
Matthews retreated to his corner again. Al ignored the crime-scene techs examining the body for the moment because they were making dumb Christmas jokes. Instead, he closed his notebook and peered at the rookie’s name tag.
“Officer Alvarez, how did you manage to pull this duty?”
“It was end of shift and I was low man on the roster,” she said, fingering her hat. “I think they decided it was a prank call, anyway.”
“Is that what you thought? That this was a prank?”
She paused, frowning. She fiddled with the hat in her hand. He wondered if she was too young for this work. But, no, she must be about the same age as Noir.
“Yeah. I’m a rookie so I figured someone was hazing me, at least I thought that until I found the body.”
“When you discovered the body, why did you call it in directly to Major Crimes instead of your own precinct? That’s not protocol.”
“Captain, I didn’t mean…I mean…well, this seemed like the kind of crime that your unit, Major Crimes, handles.”
“And that you went around proper procedure to come to me doesn’t bother you?”
She clenched her hat tighter. “I wanted to see the crime solved. Sir.”
Stubborn for a rookie and convinced that she was smarter than her superiors. Al bet she was hazed daily.
She and Noir had a lot in common.
“And the detectives in your precinct aren’t up for solving the crime?”
Alvarez shook her head slowly. “Not if their clearance record is any indication.”
“Alvarez, you realize how much deep shit you will have to wade through when you get back to your precinct? Your detectives will never forgive you for going around them.”
“I knew that when I made the call to your division, Captain.”
“Hah.” He leaned in closer. “No one told you the reward for initiative was more work, did they? So here’s the deal: Take Matthews to his office. Secure the bag that apparently belongs to our victim. Keep it in your possession and do not let any museum employees near it. As far as I’m concerned, everyone’s a suspect. Including our tossing-cookies witness.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, yes, Captain.”
“After that, head to the security office and make sure no one messes with the video. Do whatever you have to do to secure that footage. Hold that station until I get there. For this case, you’re assigned to me. I’ll clear it with your precinct commander.”
“I won’t let you down, Captain, sir.” She nodded, making the ponytail bob again.
“Just follow my orders, Officer Alvarez, and that will be enough.”
So eager. So young. She thought the task was a reward. Noir would have known the reward for good work was often more work.
Worse, he’d just put Alvarez in the middle of a big media circus, likely further pissing off the territorial detectives in her precinct. Serve the assholes right. They didn’t recognize a good police officer right under their noses.
Alvarez’s confidence in her abilities also reminded him of Noir, save Noir had never, ever been intimidated by him or this open and eager to please. Alvarez was more like an eager puppy rather than a full-grown wolf, as Noir was.
Still, he was trying to gather a team for Major Crimes, officers he could trust that would back each other up. Alvarez would fit in. He could teach investigation to a rookie, especially one who caught on fast. He supposed he should teach her diplomacy and tact, too, but he hadn’t learned that yet himself, so they were both screwed there.
His phone vibrated. He checked and saw Noir’s number. Damn. He didn’t want to rehash their argument from this morning, not when he had no good answers for her.
He texted her that he had a complicated one, would get back to her later and would try to be home for dinner. Takeout. I’m buying.
And he realized again that just a few months ago, he never had to do this juggling act. Nothing but the job needed his attention and he’d liked his life that way.
Maybe Noir had a point about him not wanting to change.
Doctor Didio and the crime-scene techs removed the body. The techs stayed to process the coffin. Al decided to take another look around the exhibit. A blow to the head by something wooden. Hmmm…
He stopped in front of the Dickens exhibit. If the murder was a statement about an evil tyrant, there might be something in this exhibit. As everyone knew, there was a famous wooden prop in the story.
Probably a dumb notion, but he couldn’t resist.
The Christmas tree candles (really small electric lights) were lit at the Cratchit house, eliminating shadows. Al gingerly stepped inside the exhibit and focused on Tiny Tim. The little mannequin grinned from underneath a dark thatch of hair, looking more creepy than happy.
Al took photos to document everything before he moved the crutch. “Gotta borrow this for a second,” he muttered.
As if Tiny Tim would mind.
Al lifted the mannequin’s arm up gingerly to pry the crutch free. When the arm was loose rather than stiff and the crutch came away easily, Al knew his long-shot guess had been correct.
He held the crutch up to the light. A long crack divided the top. Splinters poked out and several dark drops were visible. Blood, though the crime scene techs would have to check the stains to be sure. He turned around, thinking there was probably other blood splatter in here too but, things being what they were, he would have to wait for the techs to come back. It was a friggin’ miracle they’d come so fast this morning.
Al glanced around to see if anyone noticed what he’d done but the hall was empty. He took photos of the crutch. This way, the crime-scene people could process, but he’d also have a record.
The crutch was a weapon of opportunity, so that meant rage or desperation. If the victim had fired his weapon and the killer had been unarmed, someone had remembered the crutch under heavy stress. Perhaps that s
omeone also was familiar with the museum.
Al carefully replaced the murder weapon under Tiny Tim’s arm, backed out of the exhibit and stood there for a moment, admiring the tree. Let the crutch stay there. Removing it might tip off the killer.
He glanced around the room again. This hall was a tribute to holidays and hope. That it’d been used for murder pissed him off.
Chapter Four
Looking at city hall was like looking at the remains of a civilization after a natural disaster. The structure was all there but in stages of decay.
The outer stone of city hall might have been brown once, but soot and dirt had taken their toll and it was mostly gray now. Cleaning it would take some serious blasting, and even that might not be enough if the stone underneath was cracked and corrupted. Someone had gone to the effort to hang an oversize holiday wreath just over the chiseled City Hall above the doorway but the wreath was already drooping and brown.
Lucy supposed economic collapse counted as a disaster of some sort. Plenty of people had escaped by fleeing, leaving only the misfits and the stubborn. She knew Cassandra was a self-proclaimed misfit but Lucy wondered what Salvatore considered himself, especially since he was a city employee stuck working in this derelict place. That had to be depressing. Maybe he was used to his office. He had Cassandra to come home to, after all.
Though, Al’s precinct was just as depressing from the outside, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“They should set our people loose on the façade to beautify it,” Lucy said.
“I suggested that to Salvatore once. He said the paperwork to even volunteer would be a mess,” Cassandra said as they walked up the cracked granite steps that led to the main entrance. She clutched Lucy’s arm. “Do you really think this will do any good?”
“Absolutely,” Lucy answered with far more conviction than she felt. “I’ve looked for missing people before.”
“Did you find them?”
“Yes.” Okay, Al had found the hostage and the operations base of her former captors. But she’d helped.
Al still hadn’t answered her call. The one time in the last few weeks that she wanted to work with him, and he was blowing her off. Damn. They were a mess, one she had no idea how to fix.
Ghosts of Christmas Past Page 3
