Beneath the Cracks

by LS Sygnet

  I called Ken's cell phone and explained the situation.

  "Tell Steve I'll be right there. In the meantime, we'll have someone from tech come over here and get Maya set up with a web cam. It might be the first virtual autopsy in the history of Darkwater Bay, but we'll get her done."

  "Thank you. Shelly will be relieved that Maya can at least direct the pathologist performing the postmortem exam. Tell her I'm sorry, Ken. I had no choice but to explain to Shelly what's going on."

  "Don't worry about it. It's not like we'll be able to hide the hospital room when she's on the web cam. It would've come out sooner or later anyway."

  My stomach churned trying to decide whether breakfast would be rejected or digested while CSD processed the crime scene. Tony and Crevan arrived faster than I would've imagined possible and immediately began planning an investigation into how someone could've gotten to Denton and poisoned him.

  Shelly was certain that the autopsy and toxicology reports were little more than formalities. I tended to agree with her. Based on Billy's measurement of Denton's body temperature, the haloperidol injection was quickly ruled out as the mode of delivery. By eleven thirty, Billy estimated that the victim could not have been dead for more than six hours.

  We went to the tech room and started reviewing digital security records.

  "There," Conall pointed at the screen. "See that? The uniform with the bag in his hand."

  "I see it," I said. "Can you blow that up and enhance it at all?"

  "Even if I could, it wouldn't do much good," the tech said. "See the way he keeps his head slightly turned away from the camera and pointed down? We couldn't get enough markers on the face to identify him anyway."

  "What about his size relative to surroundings? Can't we get an accurate estimate of height and weight? Can we determine if that uniform is authentic or if it's a knock off?"

  "Sure looks real to me," Briscoe muttered.

  Finkelstein started cursing under her breath again. It drew horrified stares from her detectives who were not apparently accustomed to hearing such profane speech from their lieutenant.

  "Let's be rational about this. If this guy got his hands on a police uniform, we should be able to figure out how he did it," I said.

  "Or the other obvious option. We've got a dirty cop working out of Downey Division," Shelly fumed and paced a little more. "Wouldn't that make the most sense?"

  "I would imagine that if this man was a cop in this division, one of you would recognize him, regardless of how much of his face is visible. Does anything about this man seem familiar? Anybody? Is he moving in a distinct way that reminds you of someone? Is his height distinctive, or weight?"

  Nobody recognized him.

  "Then the next logical step is to determine how someone could acquire an authentic police uniform. Who supplies them to Darkwater Bay?"

  "Hell," Tony grunted, "that place distributes uniforms to everybody, from lowly Darkwater Bay all the way up to OSI, the state police and the governor's special security detail. Ain't no way somebody got the uniform from them."

  "All right, but for the sake of being thorough, we should probably inquire with that company."

  "I'm on it," Shelly said before disappearing from the room.

  "These uniforms – are they wash and wear?" I asked.

  "Dry clean only," Crevan said. Light sparked in his eyes. "We have a system for disposal of the uniforms right here at the division, Helen. I mean, all the divisions do the same thing."

  "You use the same dry cleaner?"

  "Nope, Commissioner Hardy thought it would be fair if every division patronized a local business. We use a place right here in Downey."

  "What's the procedure?"

  "The uniforms don't leave the building unless a body is wearin' 'em, or they're in a bag for the cleaner," Tony said. "A guy comes off shift, or on, whatever, and goes to the locker room to change. When the uniform needs to be cleaned, he puts it in a bag with one of them bar code things on it. That's how it works except for our dress uniforms, and the guy ain't exactly wearin' his dress blues."

  "The UPC is specific to that officer," Crevan explained. "They drop off uniforms when they pick up the dry cleaning. So the guy signs out a bag from the desk sergeant when he comes off shift, puts the dirty uniform in the bag and drops it in this thing that sort of looks like one of those data disposal units."

  "It's locked?"

  "Yep. Three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, the truck from the dry cleaner comes over and delivers the clean uniforms to the desk sergeant for distribution and picks up the ones that need to be cleaned."

  "We need the name and address of that company," I said. "It's probably where our perp got his hands on a uniform. Crevan, get the information and get on the phone to that company. Tell them we need the owner over there right away. Tony, you go fill in Shelly on what we're doing next."

  "Where are you goin'?" Tony asked before I was out the door of the tech room.

  "I need to make a phone call. This whole thing just got more complicated, and I think it's time our mutual friend got an update."

  Tony grinned. "Give him my regards, Eriksson."

  Chapter 28

  If he answered the phone, what would I say?

  Come home?

  I need you?

  I'm sorry?

  I bit down on tender flesh in my mouth. Bad plan.

  Stick to the facts then. The case is flying apart at the seams. If we're going to muscle our way into Dupree Farm, we'll need OSI to get the job done.

  And what if he didn't answer the phone? How much would I say, should I say?

  Fingers trembled over the names in my iPhone contacts. Orion, Johnny. I skimmed the screen lightly and saw the numbers – home, office, cell. One little swipe…

  "Orion."

  Not a soft, "Hi." No, "Doc." Just, "Orion." All business.

  I cleared my throat. "It's me. Helen. Eriksson."

  "Oh, hey."

  My heart ached for the comfort he offered, but the brain reminded me that it was too little too late. "I should call Darnell and give him this information. I'm sorry I called you."

  "Hey, hold on. What information?" His tone grew achingly intimate. "Baby, you sound upset. What's wrong?"

  Christ, his voice. It sucked stupid words tumbling out of my mouth. "Where are you? When are you coming home?"

  "Soon," he murmured. "Am I welcome when I get back?"

  "Tom Denton is dead." A shaky hand swiped at the moisture that drizzled suddenly from my nose. "Shelly's upset, understandably, since he died while in custody at Downey Division. And I swear to God she's having flashbacks or something."

  "Whoa, slow down. Why was Denton in custody?"

  "We caught him out recruiting homeless guys Friday night."

  "And this is a criminal act because…?"

  "We were using what Tony calls his material –"

  "Witness gag," Johnny groaned. "You're right, Helen. You need to get Chris involved in this right away. I wish I could drop what I'm doing and come home, but I'm in the middle of something pretty important."

  I wanted to stomp my feet and demand to know what could possibly be more important than something so dire that I almost admitted that I needed him here.

  "You haven't answered my question yet," he continued. "Am I welcome when I come back?"

  "Yes," I whispered. "Johnny, you know you are."

  His voice dipped so low my toes curled. "I will be there as soon as I possibly can. I promise."

  "Where are you?"

  "It's a case, Helen. I can't get into it right now, but I want you to know that I've been thinking about how we left things every minute that I've been gone. I want to make this right, make it work. I hope you're telling me the same thing right now, in your usual evasive way."

  He laughed, but I heard the nervous tremor in his voice.

  "You can't smother me, Johnny. You have to let me do my own thing, even if it makes you worry. I've been on my own
for a very long time, and I'm not used to…to…"

  "People giving a damn what happens to you?"

  "I wouldn't go that far, but permission has never been in my vocabulary."

  "There's room for compromise in here somewhere," the audible smile was relaxed now. "I miss you."

  "Me too."

  "God, I wish I was there right now."

  "Why? It's not like you'd be where I am for the foreseeable future. We've got to figure out how somebody got a police uniform, slipped into Downey, poisoned Denton and got back out without leaving any evidence of how the deed was done. And I have zero shot at getting a look inside that research building now that Denton is dead."

  "I can see I've missed a lot of details since I left town."

  "You're not the only one who feels that way. I'm right in the middle of this and I feel like something I should see is staring me in the face."

  "Close your eyes."

  "Johnny –"

  "Humor me. Close your eyes." After a moment's pause, "Did you do it?"

  "Yes."

  "Take in a slow, deep breath…relax…"

  "I'm –"

  "No talking. Just listen to my voice and keep breathing. Let all the little bits of the case fall away. Stop thinking about what you suspect and focus on what you know. Are you doing that?"

  I held my breath.

  "You can answer."

  "Yes."

  "What's the first thing that comes to mind?"

  "The common link in this case is substance abuse or the appearance of substance abuse and bodies dumped in the trash."

  "What else, Helen?"

  "In an odd way, it sort of fits that Denton was poisoned. Cox was given an overdose against his will, but in order to kill Denton, they had to be more subtle."

  "So your focus on this case is…"

  The image of our police impersonator flashed on the backs of my eyelids, right down to the unusual sheen of his skin. My eyes shot open. "Johnny, you're a genius! Hurry home. I'll fill you in on everything when you get here."

  "I love you too –"

  I disconnected the call and ran out of the interrogation room. "We've got to go to the dry cleaner's place now. I think I might've recognized something about the man on the video. Can we get a print out of the clearest shot we have of him before we leave?"

  Within minutes, my foot was pushing against the floor of the back seat of the sedan trying to will Crevan to drive faster.

  "Calm down, Eriksson. Even if we get there in two minutes, it don't mean the boss of the place will be there yet."

  "I know," I said, "but I'm pretty sure I've figured out how to link Denton's death to the guys behind the others, specifically Detective Cox."

  "You could share that information with us," Crevan suggested.

  "Okay, but let me get all the way through this. When I was talking to Johnny, it occurred to me – why are you two grinning at each other?"

  "Oh, nothin'," Briscoe turned his head and smirked. "It's just nice to know you two are on speakin' terms again."

  "Cox died of a drug overdose, and Maya is sure it was forced on him against his will given the ligature of the wrists and ankles and the absence of evidince of chronic drug abuse."

  "Right."

  "And our five vics from Downey and Darkwater proper all were substance abusers of one sort or another, so Maya wasn't surprised when their tox screens lit up positive for methamphetamine."

  "I follow," Briscoe said.

  "Denton was probably given a fatal dose of cyanide in whatever the fake cop carried into Downey Division at six this morning."

  "Right, Eriksson, but cyanide ain't exactly a street drug."

  "I agree. What did this guy have when all the other victims died, if our theory is correct and all of this leads back to a single source?"

  "A big ol' farm out in the middle of nowhere," Briscoe said. "We ain't stupid, Helen."

  "And what didn't he have when Denton died?"

  "Privacy," Crevan said. "So he had to use something that could be given to Denton without his knowledge."

  "Bingo. In food or drink," I said. "But this is what links him back to the other crimes. He wore a police uniform."

  "You think our perp is a cop after all?"

  "No, Tony. I think he somehow gained access to Downey's uniforms, but that if we can find that specific uniform and test it –"

  "We'll get his DNA."

  "Not just his DNA, his sweat. Did you notice in the video? It was the single obvious characteristic on the tape."

  "The sheen of perspiration," Crevan said. "I wondered if there was something wrong with the video. He looked…shiny."

  "And how does this help us? I thought there was no DNA in sweat and saliva."

  "There isn't, but –"

  "CSD can drug test the sweat," Crevan said. "And if it pops for the same substance in our prior victims, there's the link between Denton and all six this time."

  "And if the guy this picture sort of resembles happens to work for the dry cleaner –"

  "How the hell do you think you recognize somebody off such a piss poor photo, Eriksson? And where'd you see this guy anyway?"

  "If you add a few day's growth of beard, a whole lotta grime, take away the cap to reveal a shiny bald head, slap him in leather, and he looks an awful lot like one of the men who threatened me the other night."

  "So all of this links back to Uncle Nooky's place?"

  "I never said that. But somebody in that bar admitted that Preacher was a regular. Somebody in that bar corroborated that Denton was hiring homeless men."

  "Ergo, someone at Uncle Nooky's might be up to this to where his eyebrows should be if he had 'em."

  "The problem with the guys at that bar is that they don't use their Christian names," I said. "Sort of like the difficulty we had identifying the John Doe victims."

  "Hold on a second, Helen. We might actually get somewhere searching for aliases of bikers, especially if they've got criminal records."

  "True enough. Unfortunately, the bald eagle didn't even give me his biker name."

  "The helpful one did, though, didn't he? That Batshit Crazy guy."

  "Yeah, he was the one who was helpful."

  Tony grinned at Crevan again. "What say after this list business is done and we figure out if we can find the pilfered uniform, we let Eriksson take another run at the guys at Nooky's?"

  "Johnny will have our hide if we do."

  Tony shrugged. "We gotta get the dude's name."

  "First," I pointed at the dry cleaning business, "we've got to cross our fingers that the man who took that uniform was stupid enough to return it for processing. I'm assuming by the pissed off foot tapping that the guy in the parking lot is the one waiting for us."

  Ben Karen started out defensive at even the suggestion that a uniform could've been plundered from his tight ship. He insisted that every uniform checked in on Friday was present and accounted for. These were the only soiled Downey uniforms in the building. Wednesday's pickup had been cleaned by close of business Friday and would be delivered Monday.

  "So what you're telling me is that Friday's pickup won't be cleaned until Monday, correct?"

  "Yes, Detective Eriksson. I can assure you that if every uniform we picked up did not match the check-in roster that the first call I would've made would've been to Sergeant Middlesex. Our system is automated, and the few employees I have are of the highest caliber. I trust their integrity completely."

  "How few employees?" I asked.

  "Including myself, twenty people work here."

  "And your drivers?"

  "I have three."

  "All sterling pillars of the community, no less."

  Karen perched one hand on his hip. "I believe I told you that my employees are good people."

  "I'll still need that list of names. Crevan, did we get the match for officers who were of the approximate build of our uniform thief from division yet?"

  "Only one who worked on Frid
ay, Helen. He should have one uniform waiting to be cleaned today, the one he dropped off Thursday night that wouldn't have been picked up until Friday afternoon. Sarge already cracked open the bin and verified that he's got one bagged uniform waiting for pickup Monday."

  "His name?"

  "Brian Xavier."

  "I'll need that uniform if you can locate it please."

  "Don't you need a warrant for all of this?" Karen's face flushed deep crimson. "At the very least, I think I should contact my attorney."

  "Crevan?"

  "As I shouldn't have to explain that uniform is the property of the Darkwater Bay police department, Mr. Karen. According to the contract you signed with Downey Division, we can request information relating to any aspect of this business that may impact department security at any time and at our sole discretion. If you want to drag your lawyer into this, I can promise you, there will be only one outcome. You'll lose the contract with Downey Division."

  "And we'll get what we asked for anyway," I said.

  "Might even find yourself in a bit of hot water for obstructing a police investigation into a homicide," Tony added. "If I were you, Mr. Karen, I'd hop to on the requests we've made."

  He gritted his teeth. "Give me a minute."

  The man couldn't be logical and print out his employee list first. Instead, I was the one left tapping a foot waiting for him to locate Brian Xavier's uniform. He returned with the bag.

  "Are they always sealed like this?"

  "Yes, Detective Eriksson. As you can see, the seal on this bag is intact."

  I stared at the opaque gray plastic. "Hmm. Shouldn't his name or a UPC be somewhere on the package? This looks like a bag from UPS, Mr. Karen."

  He yanked it out of my hands. "Probably because we use a similar supplier for our…that's odd. The label and code are missing, yet I pulled this from the specific location that Officer Xavier's uniform should've been."

  "Before you rush off to investigate, I'd like that employee listing," I said. "Sooner rather than later. If you find the missing label for this uniform, you can call us."

  "While you print that list for Eriksson, what makes you so sure you couldn't have pulled the wrong package?" Briscoe asked.