by Rick Murcer
“I-I got the call that there had been a murder in the park at around ten p.m. Back then, murder was still a big thing in Lansing, so, looking back, I wasn’t so sure that we truly had a homicide.”
“My partner at that time, Jerry Hastings, was out of town fishing near the Mackinac Bridge for the weekend, so I was the first suit on the scene. I took one look and reality smacked me as hard as it possibly could. For the only time in my career, I found a place to puke my guts out. Not so much for the blood and twisted display of Alan’s body, but because of who Alan had been to Stella, Mike, and me.”
“You don’t have to relive this thing, Gavin, not like this. I—”
He raised his hand, stopping her midsentence. “Actually, there aren’t many days that go by that I don’t relive that first few hours. It’s like one of those damn, never ending, repeating DVDs, you know? I keep it to myself, though. I haven’t even told Manny. He was just coming on the force and getting adjusted to his new life was enough on his plate. I’m sure he did what all of the other blues did—shook their heads and went on with their duties.”
He turned his cup in his hands, fiddling with the rim. She waited. After a few moments, she began what she’d come to do: question Gavin on what was done in this investigation, and what wasn’t.
“Ready, man?” she asked.
He nodded. “Fire away.”
“Why no DNA processing? There were two questionable sources of blood that, based on the area of origin and subsequent spatter patterns, could have come from the killer. The second one, in particular. It was found nine feet from the body, and the wider pattern indicated that it dropped from around six to six-and-a-half feet.”
Chloe shifted in her chair, handing Gavin the yellowing photo.
“I think there’s a possibility that Alan may have defended himself and his attacker was bleeding. Maybe a bloody nose,” she said.
“I agree, and that was in my report.”
“It was, but you didn’t push it or follow through. Why?”
“You know that a single spatter isn’t enough to determine the correct point of origin, axis and angles and whatever other kind of physics shit you want to throw in there. Hell, the wind could have gusted just enough. Who in the hell knows for sure? You also know that exposure to the environment could affect the DNA results. Just being on that piece of cement for an hour could, and most likely did, render that potential piece of evidence worthless,” answered Gavin, his voice back to more like she’d grown accustomed to hearing. She’d never believed gravelly and surly could sound as good as it did.
“I get that and that isn’t the case so much these days. I’m sure Alex has lectured ya a time or two. And at the risk of pissing you off, I’ve got to press this. Why didn’t you at least try, man?”
“Good God, you don’t let shit die, do you? I’m not a praying man, but Manny’s going to need help with you,” he said.
Chloe grinned, but continued to press Gavin. “You could be right with that. But I think he knows what he got himself into, almost. Anyway, we can talk about your prayer life later, just answer the question.”
“We didn’t really have a forensics team as such. It’d be another year before the department hired Alex to get us up to speed. Also, there was the cost. LPD didn’t have a ton of money budgeted for that stuff either so, all things being even, I didn’t think it’d further the investigation.”
“And?”
Leaning back in his chair, he tilted his head toward the ceiling, gathering his responses, and, in Chloe’s estimation, trying to keep his infamous impatience in check.
“I-I. Shit, Chloe. I just didn’t think it’d be a problem putting this killer away. I thought it was a clear-cut crime of passion and finding this guy would be a snap. Someone must have seen something or the killer’s remorse would bring him into the station. Something.”
“I can buy that, a little anyway. But why not go back and try to do something with the sample later?”
“Mostly for the reasons I stated before. But I guess the real reason was not being able to find the biological evidence bag that the sample was in. One of the evidence boxes for Alan’s case is missing or misfiled, along with forty other files and boxes from other cold cases. It happened when we moved to the new facility a few years ago.”
She nodded. That wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened when a new storage building was needed. She’d even heard of techs throwing away old files simply to avoid having to move them.
“We may have to dig into that before we’re done, depending on how you answer my next question.”
“Have at it,” he said.
“I will, don’t ya know.”
Opening the second folder with the transcripts of possible tips and leads, she pulled the first one from the top and placed it on the table, halfway between them.
“Let me guess. You want to know why we didn’t follow up after that crazy woman called the second time about hearing a motorcycle drive away a few minutes after Alan was murdered.” said Gavin.
“That’s right. How did you know?” asked Chloe, frowning.
“Because that’s what I would ask. Listen, Chloe. There were hundreds of bikes registered in the area. Hell, we even found eighty or so owned by women. It would have been like finding Bigfoot in the woods to even get a few possible suspects that way.”
“She may have been ready for the loony bin, but—”
Gavin waived her off. “Having said that, we realized as the case grew older that it was worth at least some sort of effort to see where the lead took us. We went to work on it. We started by thinking like you’re thinking: let’s narrow it down by who might have fit our initial profile. Who knew for sure? Maybe we’d get a break. Then we added those several suspects who could have had opportunity and some unknown motive into the mix.”
Chloe threw up her arms. “Where is that research? It’s not in any of the files.”
“It’s with the lost box, which includes the samples of blood spatter and a couple of more files. Sorry to say.”
“Great. Do you remember what you found?”
“Hell yes, girl. I’m getting old, not senile. Besides, I did most of the legwork on that angle.”
“Well, speak up then, man.”
“We found nothing that helped much. I had an age criteria, along with county residence, and anyone who’d been in even a little bit of trouble with the law. We narrowed it down, right away, to twenty-four possible suspects. We interviewed each one, with the exception of two: one woman with an amputated foot and a young man who had just moved here with his family and had been out of state during the murder. All had an alibi that worked for us.”
“Okay. But I need to ask. Was there anyone’s name on that list that made you blink?”
“Define blink.”
“Don’t play with me here, Gavin. Ya know damn well what I mean.”
“Yeah, I suppose I do. But after I talked to him, there was no way it could have been him—even though he had a motorcycle and his parents couldn’t tell me exactly where he’d been. His sister said she knew where he’d been because she saw him there.”
“Where was where?”
“At the football game a few blocks away from the murder scene.”
“Let me back up. Why did he make you blink?”
“Because he’d gotten into trouble in school for fighting and owned a motorcycle.”
“Did anyone else see him at the game?”
“Three or four kids, besides his sister, said they remembered him there, but couldn’t remember what time.”
Closing the file, Chloe knew what she needed to do next.
“Don’t give me that look. I talked to him two more times after that and got the same answers. The story was consistent from him and his sister.”
“Gavin, I’m going to talk to him. Is he still around town?”
He shook his head. “He is. But it’s a dead end, Chloe.”
“You’re probably right,
but I need to start somewhere. And I’m sure your staff ain’t gonna like it when we get to pulling each file box in those evidence rooms to find some fifteen-year-old cold-case file. So we need to do what we can before we go there.”
Looking into the bottom of his paper cup, he got up, put it the trash bin, and sat back down.
“His name is Joseph Belle.”
Chloe felt her mouth fall open. Joe Belle was a name she recognized. He was the younger brother of Louise Williams, Manny’s deceased first wife.
CHAPTER-44
“We were talking about jurisdictional issues, and the next thing I knew, the unsub was in between Brent and me. He moved quickly, and I’ve not been swatted like that since we busted up a fight between Hulk Hogan and Andre the Giant years ago in the arena at Caesars,” said Mel Teachout, doing her best to keep her trepidation under control.
Manny thought she was doing well, considering the circumstances. She was obviously shaken, but doing a hell of a job compartmentalizing that trauma so she could help the team get closer to her attacker. And Manny was determined to stick to his word and get her out of there as quickly as possible.
Although he doubted that it would be much longer before they met their tormentor face to face, Detective Teachout may be able to help them get the jump on this psychopath.
Argyle.
It still had a ring of unreality to think his name and entertain that he was still breathing.
“What kind of look did you get at him, Mel?” asked Manny.
“Wait. You got smacked by Hulk Hogan? Damn. Only in my dreams. What happened?” said Sophie.
“Sophie. Not―”
“I got this Williams,” she said, raising her hand to cut him off.
He smiled inside. Good girl. Getting Mel to talk about something else, anything else, and then come back to his questions would relax her just a touch, and she’d do a better job remembering what she experienced.
Despite what she’d just been through, Mel gave Sophie a wry smile. “Ahh, well, yes, yes I did. It hurt like a bitch, but it was a good hurt, ya know? The man had muscles on his muscles and that tight little Speedo wrestling thing he was wearing was something else.”
“Oh man. Was he . . . well, was he . . . like, big?”
“Oh yeah. Everywhere. I mean everywhere. He picked me up like some discarded doll, kissed my growing bruise, and said he was sorry. Don’t tell anybody, but I didn’t wash my cheek for a week.”
“I’m sooo jealous. All I get is serial killers. I mean Manny and Dean are hot enough, but Hulk Hogan?”
Mel started to speak, stopped, and then gave Sophie a grateful nod.
“Our attacker was kind of tall, but a little stocky, maybe six-two, and like I said, strong as a bull. He might have been wearing a fake beard, or maybe a wig, because the beard and hair didn’t seem to match color totally. You see that out here when old geezers are trying to impress some young hard-body, so I recognized it.”
“What else?” asked Manny.
“He was sweating. I remember seeing perspiration on his forehead, right below the bill of his Fedora. Odd what you see in your mind’s eyes when this kind of junk goes down. I didn’t really get more than that, other than his arrogance. He had no fear and seemed to know exactly what he was doing and how to do it.”
“You’re sure that’s it?” asked Manny.
He was interested in anything she had to say about their attacker, and she was doing a tremendous job of recalling the details. That being said, the feeling that something was off with this whole situation grew. Not that it was out of character for someone like Argyle to be egocentric in anything that he did. In fact, that trait was what usually got killers like him caught or killed.
His mind was racing to add up what she was saying with what he knew, or at the minimum, what he assumed he knew.
Searching her face, he waited for any sign or micro-expression that would tell a tale she didn’t know she knew.
It didn’t take long. The faint twitch around her eyes and the slight raising of her chin told him she had more to say. “Yeah, Manny, there was one more thing. His voice. It was deep, but it . . . hell, I don’t know, sounded like he’d been eating glass or some damn thing. He either had a really bad cold, was disguising his voice, or had some kind of injury to his throat.”
Manny’s frown couldn’t have been deeper. This shit storm was getting more cloudy and clandestine by the moment. Some of the attacker’s moves made even less sense to him, given who they were dealing with.
“Thanks, Mel. Now, as promised, get your fanny to the hospital to see your husband.”
She took three steps toward the heavy metal door, stopped, and turned back in Manny’s direction.
“I never said we were married. How did you get that?”
Manny grinned. “Well, there are laws, even in Nevada, for kissing your brother, uncle, or cousin like that. Besides, that faint white area on your ring finger tells me you keep your wedding ring in your purse or at home when you’re working. Detective Lane wasn’t as cautious. He was wearing a gold band, yet his file said he was unmarried. Not that hard to guess really.”
Mel Teachout nodded, then winced, the pain from being hit hard showing itself again.
“Damn, Manny. I feel sorry for your kids, if you have any. They probably can’t get away with anything.”
“Oh, she’s still daddy’s girl, and she might be better at reading me than I am her. She knows I love her, and the last time I looked, love is blind and fierce, Mel. Our loved one’s get that. Brent loves you and would agree with you talking to us before going to him.”
She began to tear up, steadied herself, and offered a grin of her own. “I suppose they do. I’ll see you after I get an update on Brent.”
With that, Detective Mel Teachout was through the door.
The pregnant silence had reared its head far more than Manny could remember in meetings like this, yet it seemed appropriate. There was a horde of new impressions, different facts, and just flat out inconsistent behavior from the killer that he wanted to take a moment to reconcile. He was sure his first impressions, after Mel was finished speaking, were true, but he wanted to hear what Wilkins had to say, and by the way she was staring at the white writing pad in front of her, her pen making little more than abstract patterns, Manny guessed it was part of her courage-gathering routine as she contemplated the next part of this meeting and what she had to say.
Just then, one of the forensic experts from the Vegas office strolled through the door carrying a stack of paper reports and three DVD discs resting on top of the reports.
The sleeve on one of the discs showed the FBI’s seal, the other two had “LVPD” imprinted on the spine.
Manny felt his heart jump.
They’d gotten the video from the security cameras inside the FBI’s office in record time. And, unless he missed his guess, the other two were the security footage from the Egyptian and the city’s traffic department focusing on the street corner where Agent Frost was killed.
It was time to get a first-rate look at the Good Doctor.
CHAPTER-45
Raising her hand to knock on the faded wooden door, Chloe dropped it to her side and turned to go down the concrete steps she’d only seconds before climbed. She rethought her actions, and faced the door again.
Whoever said that police work wasn’t for the faint of heart had hit that button straight on. It was strange enough to knock on anyone’s door and ask about a fifteen-year-old case. Let’s throw in that the home belonged to Manny’s ex brother-in-law. Oh, and just for the hell of it, let’s make Manny’s new wife the cop knocking on the door.
“I should sell this to Hollywood,” she whispered. “Ya just can’t make this stuff up, don’t ya know.”
Shrugging, she exhaled, and rapped on the door. The worst thing that could happen is he would shut the door in her face and she would have to get a warrant. Or maybe she would have to shoot him.
Somehow, the latter option
seemed more plausible. She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t feel the same way.
After fifteen seconds, the door swung open, and an overweight, thirty-something woman with short, dark hair and matching tattoos on either side of her neck, reading JOE in script, stood in the doorway. Her smile disappeared in a New York minute when she recognized Chloe.
“What the hell are you doing here, Chloe?” asked Linda Belle, her voice as cold as a Michigan winter’s day.
As bad as that was, Chloe thought it could have been worse.
“I’m here to talk with Joe, if he has a minute.”
Linda sighed, a hint of sadness, or maybe anger, in her dark eyes.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Chloe.”
“I understand. But I have to ask him some questions about Alan Gordon.”
“Alan Gordon? The friend of his who was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Why does the FBI want to talk with him about that?” her voice became more guarded and she moved back a step.
“I’m not FBI any more. I work for the Lansing Police Department now. Gavin gave me this case to get my feet wet and to see if anything was missed.”
Chloe remained patient. She knew how tricky this might be. The more comfortable Joe became with her, the better this might go. Linda could be a key to that.
Linda hesitated, shook her head, then answered. “That’s good for you and maybe for Alan. The thing is that Joe is out of town. His job takes him on the road every once in a while. He’ll be back in a few days.”
The ice was still there, but melting.
“I see, where is he?”
“I’m not sure. He’ll call tonight, but he’s been out west for three days.”
“What does he do?”
“I’ll let him tell you that, if he wants to.”
The ice was returning.
Don’t push too hard, girl.
Handing Linda her card, she gave Joe’s wife her best Irish smile.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d have Joe call. I realize that I’m not number one on his list of people he cares for, but I’d like to see what he remembers about that night.”
