Nail on the Head (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 5)

by Gina LaManna

  “How was your breakfast?” I asked Jimmy.

  “Breakfast?” For a moment, he looked confused. Then his eyes slid toward Chloe, and it was obvious something clicked. “Oh, that breakfast. Great.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, pushing the door open to the lab. “I totally believe you. Hey, Melinda, how’s it going?”

  “Almost done,” Melinda said, stepping back from the body. Her eyes flicked to Chloe, but she didn’t say anything. “Unfortunately, what I’ve learned is pretty much the equivalent to what you already know. Not a lot of new information just yet. We’re running tox screens and everything else to see if he had anything in his system, but we won’t know that for a little while.”

  “Time of death?” I asked.

  “Between four and six a.m.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily count out his coworkers,” Chloe said. “I mean, it’s within the realm of possibility that they could’ve sped back.”

  “But highly, highly unlikely,” I said. “They’d have had to really be flying on the freeway and not get pulled over. They’d have had to have gone straight to the victim and murdered him immediately to hit that window.”

  Chloe nodded.

  “While we can’t completely discount it,” I said, “I don’t think they’re worth too much of our time pursuing unless we can turn up some sort of motive. Without a motive, I’m having a hard time seeing how the pieces fit together.”

  “The broken heart on his arm was done postmortem,” Melinda said. “Cause of death was the obvious bullet wound.”

  “Was he killed where we found him?”

  Melinda shook her head. “He was not. His body was dumped there. We haven’t been able to determine where the victim was killed yet, but we’re running tests on all the fibers we can find.”

  “Any evidence of a struggle?” Jimmy asked.

  “None that we’ve found yet,” Melinda said. “Though with gunshot wounds that’s not entirely unusual. I will say, however, that whoever fired the gun was standing close to the victim.”

  “They probably knew one another,” I mused. “That would explain how they got so close to one another without Travis being suspicious. Not to mention the broken heart on the arm.”

  “It’s possible,” Melinda agreed. “I really can’t say for certain.”

  “There were no markings of restraint, right? The victim wasn’t tied up or being held against his will?”

  Melinda shook her head. “Again, nothing. We didn’t find any tissue under the nails, no signs of a struggle, no marks on the wrists or ankles. It seems like the victim was shot point-blank by someone.”

  “It could have been the girlfriend,” Chloe murmured. “Tammy could’ve gotten close to him without suspicion.”

  “It’s a possibility,” I agreed. “We don’t have enough for a warrant to search her place just yet.” I turned to Melinda. “Do you know what sort of instrument was used to carve the heart into Travis’s arm?”

  Melinda nodded and walked around the body to point at the marking in question. “It is quite an exact figure. I haven’t been able to match it exactly yet, but I can say it was a very sharp knife, almost scalpel-like. It could be a professional tool, but I don’t know for sure. We’re looking for a match now.”

  “A professional tool,” I mused. “Do you think our killer might be a doctor?”

  “I definitely wouldn’t leap to that conclusion,” Melinda said. “While the tool might have been professional, I don’t get the impression that the person who made the cut had an incredibly steady hand. While it’s accurate enough, there are shaky cuts.”

  “The person could have been nervous,” I said, “or in a hurry.”

  “Or both,” Melinda said. “Or they’re simply not a surgeon and don’t have a steady hand. I’m just saying, don’t use doctor as a search criterion.”

  I gave her a grim smile. “Got it. Anything else?”

  “There’s one more thing.” Melinda turned to me with a pensive expression. “You might be hearing from Russo.”

  “Russo?” I gave a sideways glance at Chloe. “We’re still talking about the case, right?”

  As if on cue, my phone rang. I glanced at it, and unlike last time, I decided to answer. I stepped out from the lab as I raised the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, you,” I said. “Were your ears ringing? Melinda was just talking about you.”

  Russo gave a dry cough. “I hope only good things.”

  “We didn’t actually get that far.” I closed the door behind me and paced up and down the hallway. “What’s up? Why did Melinda say I’d be hearing from you?”

  “As much as I’d like this phone call to be about this weekend and what I’d like to do with you...” Russo heaved a big sigh. “We got a ping on your case.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, I’m not sure if it’s related yet, but Melinda reached out to me to see if I could run a few things through our databases to see if we could come up with any matches.”

  The light bulb went on for me. “You’re talking about the mark on the victim’s arm,” I said. “Did you get a match? Are you saying we’re working with a serial killer?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Russo said. “I’m not sure of anything just yet. We did get a loose match, and it just so happens one of my buddies worked that case.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “There was a serial killer in Chicago about six years back,” Russo said. “The guy’s signature was to carve small heart shapes onto the chests of the victims.”

  “Interesting. Did you catch him?”

  “Yes, Agent Maxwell Brody—the buddy I was telling you about—is the one who had the case. He’s also the one who arrested him.”

  “Is the guy still behind bars?”

  “Sure is. Double-checked with the prison myself this morning,” Russo said. “The guy’s name is Clint Flystone. I was assured that he’s still being held in maximum security and hasn’t been out of those walls in six years.”

  “Okay, well, that brings us to a dead end. Unless you’re thinking some sort of copycat killer?”

  “It’s a loose association, I know,” Russo admitted. “But there were enough similarities that we—Melinda, Brody, and I—all thought it was worth mentioning to you. In case you wanted to look into it.”

  “Obviously I want to pursue all leads,” I said. “Would Agent Brody be willing to speak with me?”

  “That’s the thing,” Russo said. “Sturgeon actually reached out to ask if we’d consult on the case.”

  “I see.”

  “I was hoping to bring Brody with me this weekend,” Russo said. “I know it’s not shaping up to be the completely romantic weekend we planned. But hey, my flight will be expensed by the bureau.”

  I managed a small smile that Russo couldn’t see. “Of course. That’d be great. But are you sure there’s enough of a connection? The mark we found was a broken heart carved into the arm.”

  “I know. I’m not saying we have a match. But unless you have a good idea who the killer might be, I think it could be worth it to check out Clint Flystone.”

  “Where is he located now?”

  “Maximum security prison in Illinois. Just under a six-hour drive. We could be down and back there tomorrow before the engagement party.”

  “Tomorrow,” I said. “That means you’re coming in early?”

  “Tonight. If that works for you.”

  “That’s about the best news I’ve heard all day. What about Agent Brody?”

  “He’s coming in tonight too. He knows the situation. He’s staying at the usual hotel.”

  “Sounds like a fun time.”

  “I’ll fill you in more when we get there,” Russo said. “I’ll see you tonight, your place, eight p.m.?”

  “I’ll have a bottle of wine ready. Assuming you can wait until tomorrow to discuss the case?”

  Russo gave a laugh. “What case?”

  Chapter 11
/>
  AFTER MY CONVERSATION with Russo, I asked Melinda to give me a call if she found anything else. Then Chloe, Jimmy, and I headed back upstairs, where we broke for a quick lunch. Asha swung by as I was devouring a Subway sandwich. She tossed a few papers on my desk.

  “Jimmy and I have been busy reviewing traffic-cam footage,” she said, taking a seat in a spare chair near my desk and scooting it close. “I can confirm that your lawyer bros didn’t kill Travis.”

  “Greg and Joey?”

  Asha nodded. “I’ve got video of them around the time of the murder in line at a Burger King on the way back from Mystic Lake. Short of a miracle or a magic portal, they couldn’t have killed your guy.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’d mostly guessed that after the autopsy results.”

  “As for footage around where the victim’s body was discovered, now that’s a lot harder to come by.” Asha set a few photocopied, somewhat blurry images of vehicles on the desk before me. “We’re in the process of identifying these vehicles—makes, models, and what we can get of the license plates.”

  “Why are there so many?”

  Asha sighed. “There are no cameras on the road where the body was dumped. Either a lucky coincidence for the killer, or this was premeditated and more carefully planned than we thought.”

  “Let’s hope for our sake it was the former.”

  Asha frowned. “Do you think this could be something more than a one-off killing?”

  I thought of my recent call with Russo. “I’m not sure. I just know if it was premeditated to the point of the killer checking out traffic-cam situations, then we’re dealing with someone who’s very detail oriented and is far less apt to make obvious mistakes.”

  “Touché,” Asha said. “Well, there’s an ancient pharmacy around the corner with a super old security camera system, which is the closest we can get. These three cars passed by the parking lot during the time interval we were checking. It’s a weird angle, so there might have been more cars that we missed.”

  “Well, thanks for giving it a try. It’s better than nothing. Let me know if you get any makes, models, or license plates from these images, and I’ll follow up. Can I keep these printouts?”

  “Seeing as you got mustard stains on them, yes.”

  “Great. Say, I have a favor to ask,” I said. “Jimmy and I are going to head out to interview the Newton family today. Travis’s parents. It might be good for Chloe to get some insights into what you do if she’s going to be working here long term. Do you mind showing her the ropes while I’m out of the office?”

  Asha turned toward Chloe. “You up for it? Most people think what I do is boring. They’re wrong.”

  Chloe was already out of her seat. “Are you kidding? I’ve been dying to see how you get your information.”

  Once Asha and Chloe had gone into the other room, Jimmy raised his eyebrows at me. “Foisting your intern off on to Asha in her first week?”

  “It’s just for an afternoon. I didn’t have anything for her to do, and it’ll be good for her to get a more comprehensive view of the way things work here.”

  “This is why you’re not a lawyer.” Jimmy stood up, crumpled his sandwich wrapper, and tossed it toward the trash can, making an easy basket. “You’re a horrible liar.”

  “Come on. I’m driving.”

  Travis’s parents lived in a suburb of the Twin Cities called White Bear Lake. It was a half-hour drive from the precinct. Halfway through, I glanced over at Jimmy who’d been surprisingly silent most of the car ride.

  “Why’d you really go to the doctor yesterday?”

  “I told you.”

  “You’re no lawyer either, you know,” I remarked. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen the inside of the doctor’s office for thirty years voluntarily. Which means your wife made you go because she was worried about something.”

  “Damn detectives,” Jimmy said, rolling his eyes at me. “Always getting up in my business.”

  I gave a smile but noted how he’d deflected my question. In itself, that was plenty telling.

  “I hope everything comes back okay,” I said. “You’ll let me know?”

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  We remained silent for the rest of the car ride. When we reached Travis’s parents’ house, we slid out in our regular, synchronized routine and were back to business as usual.

  The Newton house looked like a completely normal suburban family home. It was tucked into a cul-de-sac a few blocks off the lake. There were no sidewalks around these parts, but it was because traffic was slow and sparse, playgrounds were many, and children were expected to be riding bikes along the side of the road. Lawns weren’t particularly well kept, but they were well used and well loved.

  Travis’s parents were expecting us, and they answered within seconds of my knock. They invited us into a neat sitting room where a pot of coffee and a few cups were waiting for us on a neat little tray. We made quick introductions, then Jimmy and I declined coffees as we took seats. Travis’s parents, Karen and James Newton, sat on the couch. I took a love seat opposite them and Jimmy an armchair in the corner.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I began. “I apologize we have to be here asking questions under these circumstances, but you’ll understand the urgency. We are trying to find out who killed your son.”

  “I still can’t believe someone would want Travis dead.” Karen raised a tissue to her eyes and dabbed at them. “My son was so sweet. He never wished anyone harm. Never caused anyone else harm. He was about to be married and start the next chapter in his life.”

  “Did you check out his fiancée?” James looked at us. “She always seemed a little off to me.”

  “James.” Karen gave her husband’s leg a frustrated little smack. “Don’t say things like that.”

  “Tammy, you mean?” I asked, with a look at Jimmy. “Yes, we’ve spoken to her and are investigating all the angles. Could you expand on what you mean about her being off?”

  “Just one of those things.” James waved a hand back and forth. “You know how they say there’s such a thing as women’s intuition? Well, we men have the same thing. Sometimes we can tell when a woman is just...off. Aren’t I right, man?”

  James looked to Jimmy. Jimmy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “I suppose you could say that, sir,” Jimmy said nonchalantly. “Sometimes it’s just a feeling.”

  “Exactly.” James shook his head and looked almost disgusted. “I told my boy there was something not right about her. He didn’t listen to me. She had him wrapped around her little finger.”

  “Could you point to any specific examples of what you mean?” I asked, feeling inexplicably annoyed at James. “It’s very hard to formulate a case based off feelings.”

  “Ask this guy,” James said, waving to Jimmy. “He knows what I mean.”

  “Try to think about it,” Jimmy said good-naturedly, leaning his elbows against his knees. “I understand where you’re coming from, absolutely. But often when we think hard, there are little indications that give us these feelings. Something she said, maybe? A way she acted or didn’t act?”

  “It was just her presence.” James shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t like being alone with her, even for a minute in the kitchen. She stared a lot. Made eye contact for too long. Didn’t have a sense of personal space. Got too close. Things like that.”

  “Oh, those men.” Karen piped up, looking like she was about to break out in a nervous sweat at any moment. She glanced at me, looking for a female-bonding moment to even out what was happening between her husband and my partner. “They always think something is ‘up’ at the slightest thing. James, you’re thirty years older than that woman. Do you think maybe she was just nervous around you? You are the father of the man she’s to marry. Or was to marry.” Karen turned back to me. “I’m sure it was just nerves.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Did Tammy ever give you any indication that she harbored ill will against your son
? Did they ever have any arguments that Travis might have shared with you?”

  James ran a hand through his thinning hair. “She was always getting on his case about going out with the boys. That right there was a red flag, I told my son. A woman who wants to keep you on that tight of a leash is only going to be trouble.”

  I was watching Karen as James spoke. Karen glanced down, looked at her ring, twisted it around her finger. I couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of sadness for her. I didn’t know James from Joe down the block, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t want to spend time alone with him for fun, let alone be married to him.

  “I think a little bit of a leash is just fine.” Karen looked up at me, her gaze piercing. “Otherwise the men in our lives get tempted, and we all know that never ends well. Right, Detective Rosetti?”

  I cleared my throat, sensing we were all in some sort of passive-aggressive argument that should’ve been between husband and wife and behind closed doors. But it certainly was eye opening. Behind this friendly little neighborhood, in a non-assuming suburban home, there were secrets and tensions. Every family had them, and the Newtons were no exception.

  “Tammy told us that she had no problem with Travis going out with the boys,” I said. “Are you saying she was lying?”

  “Of course she was,” James said. “She bugged my son about it every chance she could get. Suspected him of stepping out on her.”

  “Maybe she was just looking for some reassurance,” Karen said, staring straight ahead but obviously speaking to her husband. “A phone call letting her know where he was at, the names of people he was with. Something to assure her that whatever he was doing was exactly what he said. She was to be married to him. She’s justified in questioning where he spends his nights.”

  “What if I told you that we’ve confirmed Travis wasn’t going out with ‘the boys’?” I was hesitant to share so much about Tammy’s statement, but I needed something. A lead, a thread to pull on—something. And with the amount of bubbling tension beneath the surface here, my gut told me one of the fissures in the case was on the verge of breaking wide open. “He hasn’t been for several months.”