Beneath the Cracks

by LS Sygnet

He eyed the dessert with appreciation. "Am I supposed to destroy this thing of beauty?"

  The cake wasn't plain, as I ordinarily preferred my cheesecake. Instead it was topped with a thick raspberry goo and spiked with apple-slice shaped wedges of white chocolate. I picked the chocolate off mine and nibbled. "Uh-huh. It's an old family recipe, so if you don't like it, lie. And eat every crumb."

  Between his second and third sliver, Orion filled me in on the unique cause of death in all five previous victims. "A single injury to the abdomen. Winslow said it caused a lateral rupture in the diaphragm, and that the vics essentially lost the ability to breathe. She called it dry drowning."

  "Were there fractures or other signs of trauma?"

  "Nope," Johnny mumbled. "We thought the same thing too, that hitting someone with that much force would have to involve a car or something. Hit, dump and run, you know? But our medical examiner says no. They weren't starving, but were hardly well fed. We're talking about some guys who had been living a certain way for years, not months. I guess it wouldn't take as much to do that kind of damage in somebody who didn't have much meat on his bones."

  "Mmm. I'm not so sure about that. The diaphragm by design is difficult to rupture, Johnny."

  "Explain."

  "Imagine three balloons. The outer balloon is larger and filled with water. The two additional balloons are also filled with water but situated one on top of the other inside the large balloon. You're talking about a hit so precise that it increases the pressure in the large balloon so that the pressure ruptures one of the interior balloons but not the other. In fact, you're saying that there was no other evident injury to the victims. I can't even imagine what sort of weapon would do that."

  "You and everybody else. Look, the first case was an anomaly, possibly accidental even, like we figured. A hit and run. Someone freaks out after they smack into a bum on the street right? But when the second guy in Downey turned up, and then two more in central before the third in Downey, it couldn't have been an accident."

  "I'd be interested in reading Maya's final autopsy reports on the victims."

  "Are you sure you wouldn't rather join them at the scene? I can drive if you'd rather not venture out alone."

  "I've got a lot of work to do tonight. I'm satisfied with getting Briscoe's notes." I felt a little irritation bubbling to the surface, something that had been blissfully absent during my sabbatical away from the rest of the world. "You act like I'm some frail flower. I can assure you. If I wanted to throw down, I could do it without batting an eyelash."

  I have a small office off the family room in my new house. It's where I keep computers, the fax, a small copier and other clutter that would be out of place in the study. Before Orion had the chance to defend himself, the fax rang. He looked toward the closed door.

  "Another phone line?"

  "Probably Briscoe sending the information I asked for," I said, "which means I should get busy cleaning up after this party so I can give it a run through."

  "Go get it. I'll stick around and help clean up."

  "That really isn't necessary."

  His eyebrows waggled. "Did you really think I would leave you to deal with all of this alone? Either you go read the case notes now, or you do it later. Either way, I'm staying to help load the dishwasher."

  "There are two. I use the one in the kitchen for the china, and the other in the butler's pantry for the serving platters."

  "Where are all the leftovers going?"

  "Garbage disposal. If you're serious about KP duty, let's get busy. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get to Tony's case."

  That said, for some reason, Orion insisted on working the pantry side of the cleaning detail. It freed me to check the fax machine long before he was finished. I had to refill the paper tray twice. What had he sent, Gone with the Wind? It would take hours, if not a full day to sift through all of the information. Fortunately, Briscoe had some organizational flow to the information contained in his files. Initial reports, investigative notes, evidence processed by Crime Scene Division and last, the final autopsy reports.

  A handwritten note concluded the transmission. Called Charlie Haverston at central to send the files on the cases from Darkwater proper. You should have his by morning. Charlie said they were and I quote – a friggin' mess. Thanks for the help, Eriksson. TB. PS. Save some of that brisket. I'll be back for lunch.

  I chuckled and slipped the note into the paper shredder. Briscoe would be disappointed on lunch. Hopefully I'd be able to contribute something to his investigation.

  Orion shadowed the doorframe. He was wearing a chef's apron. "I went ahead and washed the silver by hand. I didn't want my mother haunting my dreams for putting it in the dishwasher. Everything is clean, dry and stored in its proper place. Anything else you need done, or can we officially say the party is over?"

  "It's over," I murmured. "Thanks for your help, Orion."

  "Back to that again, huh? I was keeping track of how many times you actually called me Johnny tonight."

  "Hmm."

  "Maya had an open bottle of merlot in the butler's pantry. Want another glass?"

  "Just pour it down the drain." I gathered the bundles Tony faxed and held them to my chest. "I've got a lot of work to do tonight. Anything other than coffee will make me sleepy."

  "I can brew another pot for you."

  "Thanks, but it's not necessary. I can make the coffee, Johnny. It's late. I have a lot of work to do, so you should go home now." I followed him to the kitchen where he removed the apron and folded it before placing it on the counter.

  "At this rate, I suppose I should wish you a happy New Year before I go."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "C'mon, Doc. Don't you get it? I'm reluctant to go because I've enjoyed spending time with you tonight. If I walk out that door, how do I know it won't be another three or four months before I see you again?"

  I bit down on my lips to hide the grin. "I guess you'll have to trust me, won't you?"

  He pried the papers out of my hands and tossed them aside. "I want to trust you. I want to know that you're gonna pick up the phone and call me tomorrow. I want to believe that you like being with me too, Helen." His warm hands burned through the sheer fabric covering my arms.

  "Three or four months isn't so long for a patient man."

  "It's eternity, and you know it," he growled. "If you're not interested, cut me loose. Don't string me along like this. It's not fair, Helen."

  My chin tilted downward. This was serious. Orion meant every word he said. Unfortunately my alone time hadn't answered as many questions as I'd hoped. What he lacked in patience, I lacked in anger management. Being alone probably went beyond wise into necessity.

  "All right," I murmured. "Consider yourself cut loose."

  His hand was large enough to span my jaw from ear to ear. He did it, tipped my face up until I couldn't avoid looking at him without closing my eyes, which he'd probably see as an invitation to do something really stupid.

  Scratch that. Invite or no, Orion had one agenda in mind. With my face firmly anchored, his mouth descended. The first kiss, one he said I owed him after the business with Lowe was resolved, was chaste by comparison. Orion's lips opened and closed, hypnotized mine into similar movement. His free arm wound around my back and held me so close the only movement possible would've bent me backward over it.

  A soft tongue pressed for entry. My limbs liquefied. I felt my fingers curl into the front of his shirt. Logic said it was reflexive, something to keep me from falling. My racing heart and swirling gut disproved logic. The hand on my jaw slid around to tangle in my hair. He grasped a firm hold, tilted my head backward and ate a path down my throat, back up one side, breathed heavily into my ear.

  "You don't want me even a little bit? Because you sure kiss like a woman who doesn't want to cut me loose."

  I gave a hard shove. My hands were still pressed against his chest, so it wasn't something that caught him off guard. John
ny let go, and I took a stumbling step backward. A tremulous finger pointed in the general direction of the front door. "Go," I rasped. "Go now."

  His hand snaked out, not to grab me again. This time it rested over my pounding heart. "You can lie to yourself if you have to, Helen. But you can't hide all the evidence of the truth. You wanna cut me loose? Fine. But I'm not cutting you loose."

  I jumped seconds later when the front door slammed.

  Chapter 5

  Tony Briscoe barely greeted me at eleven when he pushed past me at the front door. Crevan smiled sheepishly, a silent apology I guess.

  "Good morning, Helen. You don't look like you got any sleep."

  "I didn't." All I managed to do besides pour over the cases Tony and Charlie sent over was change into casual clothes. I rubbed my eyes. "You may as well come in too, though I doubt either one of you will like what I have to say about this case."

  Rattling in the kitchen drew both our attention. Conall chuckled. "He's been day dreaming about Maya's brisket since we left last night."

  Oh boy. I led the way to the kitchen and stopped short. Briscoe had an array of leftovers spread out over the kitchen island and was whistling softly. He slathered mustard and mayo on a roll and started layering other items he found in my refrigerator. Lettuce, onion, tomato, and not to be forgotten, Maya's brisket.

  Orion was making a strong case for his inability to respect my wishes.

  I watched pepper fly out of the shaker onto Briscoe's concoction before he pressed the top of a roll over the sandwich.

  "So, Maya says this guy seems different from the others," Briscoe said. "She took the poor bastard back to the morgue and promised to call when she was done with her stuff. I reckon she'll be calling soon."

  "She worked all night on a homeless man? And this one was different in what way?" I started cleaning up after Briscoe without asking Crevan if he wanted anything. He didn't appear interested until he got a glimpse of dessert left over in the fridge.

  "Do you mind?" he pointed into the cavernous appliance.

  "Help yourself. I was worried about what I'd do with all this left over food last night, so I told Orion to throw it away."

  Tony's sandwich hung in midair. "Are you nuts? Throw it away? We'll clean out the fridge for you, Eriksson. Don't toss all that good food."

  I poured sweet tea and sat with them at the kitchen table. "Do you plan on answering any of my questions, Tony?"

  "Mmm," he mumbled. "Why she wanted to do the autopsy right away is beyond me, so I'd suggest you ask her that question. As for how this guy was different, he wasn't skin stretched over bone, for starters."

  "Not homeless?"

  Crevan shook his head. "I'm sure if you saw him on the street, he'd look like the rest of them. Dirty, unkempt, raggedy clothes, beard down to here." His hand sliced the air just above collar bone level. "But he ate well and according to Winslow had porcelain veneers on his teeth."

  "She was certain?"

  Crevan nodded. "So, she figures that since this was a fresh kill and a fresh find, she'll be able to get prints and probably get a hit on them. A guy like that isn't gonna be off the grid like the others."

  I had read the reports more than once and understood what Detective Conall meant. All of the previous victims were chronic homeless. They hadn't been missed. Nobody looked for them. And identifying them presented more problems than the average case. No index finger prints would be filed on men who never had need to obtain a driver's license after implementation of fingerprinting for licenses. It was good news from my perspective, that the new victim didn't fit the mold.

  "If she can identify him, it helps me," I said. "As things stand, there isn't enough information about the victims that helps me understand why they were more at risk than other homeless men. Orion warned me that there wasn't much cooperation from people who probably knew them."

  "Did he now?" Briscoe's grin highlighted the smudge of mustard in the corner of his mouth. "What time did the old dog find his way home?"

  "Shortly after your fax arrived."

  "Huh," he grunted. "That explains one bad mood."

  Crevan tactfully diverted my attention away from Briscoe. "Are you having trouble with the information Tony sent?"

  "Yeah," and that was putting it mildly. "Frankly, without any idea of a weapon that could inflict that kind of damage, or a way to link the victims beyond being homeless, not knowing their identities or if they have families that could supply additional information, I don't know what you expect me to tell you. They were at high risk by virtue of lifestyle. They used methamphetamine some by smoking, others sniffing, and it looked like one was a regular intravenous drug user based on the track marks Maya identified on his arms and legs. None ate well or regularly. That might have been a contributing factor in the cause of death. They were more susceptible to the type of injury that ruptured the diaphragm because they lacked muscle mass, even a fat layer that could've offered additional protection. Use of methamphetamine I'm sure contributed to loss of body fat and overall frailer condition of these men."

  I paused. Neither man looked unhappy, or surprised. "You knew what I would say about this case, didn't you?"

  "Now before we piss you off too –"

  "Wait a minute. That's the second time you've mentioned that people are upset about something. What's really going on here? Is this some sort of ploy to entice me back to work?"

  "Not at all, Helen," Crevan said. "The case is legitimate. Someone is causing the deaths of homeless men, and we can't seem to get a handle on why or how for that matter."

  "Orion will be angry as long as I exert my will over what he wants," I muttered. "If he's irritable today, it's his fault, not mine or yours."

  Briscoe shrugged. "The world is full of mysteries then. What baffles me is why they seem to converge around this case."

  I rolled my eyes. "Would you stop being cryptic and spit it out?"

  "We stopped by the ME's office on our way out of Downey this morning," Crevan said. "Maya wasn't happy to see us. It's understandable. She's been up all night. This case has everyone baffled and on edge. She's feeling the pressure I'm sure. Plus, she didn't get her slice of this magnificent dessert."

  Everyone knew that Maya was as addicted to sweets as I am. Food staples – wine, caffeine, sugar. "I'll bake a dozen for her," I said. "Are you sure that's all this is?"

  "She sounds worried," Briscoe said to Conall. "I told you it ain't like Winslow to pitch a hissy fit like that."

  "Let's give her time to get through her work," I suggested. God knows, I never liked the feeling that people were breathing down my back either. "And perhaps the next time you see her, you'll refrain from referring to her mood as a hissy fit, Briscoe. It probably wouldn't hurt if I talk to her in person either. Would you object if I tag along when she calls you for the final report?"

  "Do you plan on letting me sample that cheesecake?" Briscoe pointed at Crevan's half empty plate.

  "I highly doubt you'd throw me out of your investigation based on dessert," I grinned, "but yeah. You can eat as much of it as you want. Otherwise, the garbage disposal will have extra work to do."

  Crevan continued to peck. "There really wasn't something in those files that jumped out at you, something we might've missed?"

  "Nothing. You've got five men who died under suspicious circumstance who were all homeless. I can't tell you anything you don't already know."

  "Could this diaphragm thing be the result of one of them extreme fightin' gangs?" Briscoe returned from the refrigerator with more food than dessert. "I mean, since that movie way back when, we've seen the like of it before. A bunch of young guys gets together and try to knock the stuffings out of each other."

  I shook my head. Even though such clubs weren't all that prevalent, there would be evidence of more than one blow that caused or contributed to death. "I was surprised that Maya didn't have a theory on how the injury was caused."

  "She said that's because to her knowledge, only
something extremely heavy, hundreds of pounds of force, could cause the damage in one blow." Crevan sipped his tea and wrinkled his nose. "Got any coffee?"

  "Sure. How do you take it?"

  "With this cake, black is preferable. It's very rich, Helen. Did you buy it from the Italian bakery in Bay View?"

  "I didn't. That recipe came from here." I tapped one finger to my temple. "Old family recipe. From my father's side of the family."

  "Ain't that the sort of thing that gets passed down from mother to daughter?"

  "In some families, I suppose it is, Tony. My mom struggled boiling water. My dad on the other hand could do anything." Invoking his memory would probably always have the same effect on me. My heart swelled with homesickness. My head ached with the knowledge of what he had to have suffered all these years. Life without the possibility of parole seemed cruel and unusual for a man who never hurt an innocent person. And he loved me. What had I done? Turned my back on him when he needed me the most. What if that wasn't what he really wanted me to do? What if I failed him completely? It certainly fit with the wrecked and flawed self-image I carried around since one stupid, fateful night last June when Rick died.

  Died. He didn't just die. I took his life willfully, volitionally, planned it enough to show up to meet him with a revolver tucked into my clothing. And now, those same obsessive thoughts plagued me with the other half of the Rick equation. Datello, the bastard who was ultimately responsible for all of it. He put Rick in my life. He engaged Rick's services for his uncle, Sullivan Marcos. He came up with the plan to use me.

  Justification bubbled its way through the thick layer of guilt that coated my thoughts. Right and wrong had little to do with any of it. This was justice. Righteous like Dad's actions. I vibrated with solid belief that Dad would fully understand why I had to do this. And then, maybe later, after my demons were laid to rest, I could figure out a way to right that first wrong I allowed. I could make amends and unravel an old miscarriage of justice.

  The very idea soothed any prickling of conscience. Yes, there would be time for Daddy later, when I didn't have to worry about how he'd react to the men who ruined my life. They'd be taken care of. And we could simply make up for all the lost and lonely years.