I thought about my wording. “I’m actually trying to make sure you don’t get fingered for something you didn’t do.”
“Don’t tell me someone robbed a liquor store in a red jumpsuit. There’s only fifty or so guys who work at Red’s, so why not come after me?” Sarcasm had replaced his outright anger.
“Not a robbery. A homicide.”
“Again, I ask why come after me?” Both of his oversized hands popped his chest.
“Not going after you. Just getting my car washed and—”
“Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that. You might believe it. I don’t. Someone sent you, I can tell. I can read people, especially with they want to hang my nig—”
“Dude. Shut it.”
He rolled his eyes. “When they want to hang my ass from the nearest tree.”
“Where were you on Saturday night, late?”
“Watching the Weather Channel, what else?”
“Nice, Captain Sarcasm.”
“I was at the house.”
I was a bit surprised he owned a home.
“Where you living these days?”
“Uh…well, it’s not really my home. Friend owns it. I just stay there some.”
“Your friend, can he—”
“She.”
“Can she verify you were at the house?”
He took another drag, then shrugged a shoulder. “Sure. Why not?”
Sounded like he was issuing a challenge, not answering the question.
My cell phone buzzed. A text from Henry.
Call me
“Hey, I need to run. Thanks for…uh, you know, sharing what’s going on.” I held out my hand, and he smacked it.
“Sure thing, Booker. Glad someone’s made it out of here.”
I nodded just as I picked up a high-pitched shriek. Looking past Metrick’s shoulder, I saw a woman in heels carrying a doublewide caboose stomping toward us. She was wagging a finger and screaming a lot of four-letter words.
I considered for a moment if she might be the same woman whose house Metrick claimed he stayed at on Saturday night. If so, she could verify his alibi the night of Miller’s murder.
Now about thirty feet away, the woman’s deep red lips were moving a hundred miles an hour, and her volume only intensified. Red shirt employees filtered into the lot where we stood. A rumble of thunder in the background didn’t divert her focus on Metrick, who just stood there, puffing away on his cigarette. He wasn’t shocked or embarrassed. It seemed like a typical episode in the life and times of Metrick McHenry.
Swinging her arms all around, I could see purple glitter painted on her curved fingernails. Bear claws weren’t as lethal.
I tapped Metrick’s arm while keeping one eye on the incoming barracuda. “Can she verify your whereabouts on Saturday night?”
“You think I stay at this LaShunda’s house?” He raised his voice just to be heard over the ear-splitting chatter. “She’d take a knife to me the moment I’d close my eyes. They couldn’t glue me back together.”
“Got it.” I already started shuffling away, wanting no part of any possible collateral damage.
“Try to stay out of trouble. From everyone,” I said to Metrick.
He nodded just before LaShunda smacked his shoulder so hard it reverberated off the car wash building.
As I coasted out of the parking lot, I tried not to look at the train wreck that was Metrick’s life. Huge drops started falling from the sky, pinging my hood, erasing all hope for a clean car. And I wondered if my old teammate could be the Dallas cop killer.
7
Henry pushed through the rotating glass doors and made a beeline toward where I stood next to a dusty ficus tree near a bank of elevators.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, catching his breath.
I noticed he was holding a portfolio with manila folders sticking out, as if he was about to walk into a courtroom for opening statements.
“Trying to do some research on the first…you know, when no one is around.” He scanned the entire ground floor of the six-story building that housed the Dallas County Medical Examiner’s Office. A few people milled around a front desk about fifty feet away.
“I’ve only been here a minute myself. Haven’t seen anyone I recognize. You going to tell me why you wanted to meet me here?”
He blew out a breath. “It’s been a hell of a morning.” Tilting his head left, he shuffled around the corner. Two black leather chairs faced each other in a small alcove. We were alone, at least for the moment.
Wearing his usual stuffy business suit uniform, Henry couldn’t stop moving his eyes to either side. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Henry, what’s up?”
Curling his lips, he brought his focus to me. “I was actually studying the ME report on the first…one back at the office. Then I got a call from a contact of mine at DPD. There was another murder last night.”
I closed my eyes, wondering if I’d really heard what he said. “Another cop? Holy Mother of Jesus. We couldn’t stop another one. Who was it?” Part of me didn’t want to hear the name, realizing the odds of me not knowing the deceased were dropping each day.
“It wasn’t a cop.”
Shifting my eyes to the marble floor, I could hear high heels clopping in the distance. They quickly disappeared before reaching our quiet space.
“Then why are we here?”
“It might be connected to the other homicides. Who knows? We’ve got to rule it in or out, on top of everything else we’ve got going on.”
“Do I have to guess the name?”
“Sorry. It’s a judge from the Court of Criminal Appeals. Judge Richard Fischer.”
I let that resonate a bit. “Two cops and a judge.”
“My mind automatically went there as well. Are we looking at some type of wrongful conviction?”
Another thought pinged my mind. Was there any way Metrick’s criminal history went through Judge Fischer’s courtroom? Doubtful, given what Metrick said about not challenging the arrest, let alone the conviction. But we had to check the records. I kept my Metrick thoughts to myself for now.
“We can see the body?”
“I know the coroner assigned. The assistant ME, Dan O’Malley.”
“Shorter guy, metal, oval glasses?”
“You know him?”
“Crossed paths when Paco and I went to the crime scene of that girl found in the Trinity River bottom a few months ago. That’s a crime scene I’ll never forget.” I had a quick flashback of the young girl coated in blood, then I blinked it away. “Dan seemed thorough. Overly cautious, like most in his profession.”
Henry nodded, then glanced over his shoulder and started walking. Following in his footsteps, I could see we were headed for a door next to the elevators. He pulled out a folder and jabbed it at my chest, then punched the metal door open.
“What’s this?”
Henry’s wingtips echoed in the hollow tube, bouncing off the concrete steps as we descended to the basement, the home turf for the ME’s main work space.
“It’s the initial report on Derrick Miller from two nights ago. Thought you might want to check it out, especially now that we’re trying to determine if we have a match with Judge Fischer’s killer.”
Slowing my pace, I read through the basic information. Initial cause of death was a catastrophic cervical fracture. Running my finger down the page, I found Miller’s stats. He was six one, a hundred eighty pounds. Twenty-six years old.
“Images are under the mound of papers,” Henry said without turning. He was already ten steps in front of me and widening his lead.
I pulled the handful of images to the front of the pile. The first page included four images taken at the scene, some type of alley it appeared. The body was askew, lying just a few feet away from a dumpster on wet pebbled concrete, a small puddle in the foreground. Miller wore a red sweater, but it was matted to his body from the rain, it appeared. Trash from a nearby plastic bag, ripped
open at the side, was scattered everywhere. I wondered if the officer had struggled, which tore open the bag. I noticed a line of trees just behind the body. Behind the trees, there appeared to be a structure of some kind, but I couldn’t make out any detail. All the police lighting was on the body and surrounding area in the alley. Flipping to the next page, four more images, but these were close-ups of the face and neck. The angle of his head seemed so unnatural. I’d seen more than a few dead bodies, but I’d yet to become callous enough to view them as inanimate objects. They were all human. And death by any type of homicide meant someone had died too soon.
I heard a metal door clang open. “You coming, Booker?” Henry said from below me somewhere.
“Right behind you.”
I took another look at the close-ups, my eye catching what looked like bruising on the exposed skin. One eye was so puffy it was nearly swollen shut. Then I noticed the slope of his neck down to his shoulders. They were broad. Even with a bulky sweater, he appeared to have an athletic build.
I wondered about the size and strength of the person who broke his neck. He must have caught Miller off guard, coming up from behind most likely. Did Miller do any damage before his neck was broken? I reviewed the report again and saw no references to what, if anything, was found under his fingernails.
I got to the bottom floor and stopped.
“You done yet?” Henry held the door open.
Switching back to the photos, I found two images of Miller’s hands. No obvious bruising or contusions. Now I wondered if he’d been drugged in some way. The murder seemed too easy.
I closed the folder and walked through an open doorway.
“Do we know why Miller was in the alley on a rainy night?”
“Didn’t mention it in the police report,” Henry said.
“I need to see that. Alisa does too. Also need to see the final toxicology report on Miller here.” I tapped the folder.
“I’ll see what I can do. I’m not in a position to snap my fingers and have the world at my beck and call,” Henry said, obviously still concerned about his covert role.
We walked down a hallway with gray flooring, the walls lined with medical pictures of skeletons. I’d forgotten about the morose vibe down in the ME dungeon, as we’d called it when I was on the force.
A woman sat a desk where we signed in and were given temporary badges. I nodded and we proceeded through double doors, walked another fifty feet, then Henry stopped and put a hand up to my chest.
“He’s expecting us.”
“Right, you said that.”
“I’m sure he knows there’ll be lots of questions, since it was an obvious homicide.”
“Makes sense.”
He took a step, then turned back to me.
“By the way, he thinks you’ve been hired by the judge’s wife, Bernice.”
“Great.”
He must have noticed my eyes roll.
“What? How else can I get you in here and not cause suspicion?”
“Could have told him they decided not to hold the mayoral election and I was just named Grand Poobah.”
He flipped his head and turned right into a room where Dan stood over a table that held a large man’s body covered in a sheet. Three massive spotlights hung from the ceiling, each positioned around the body and beaming with intensity.
Dan had on the typical white garb. He raised a pair of goggles covering his oval glasses.
“Gentlemen. You’re an unlikely pair,” he said, setting an instrument on a metal tray. I guess he wasn’t aware of our friendship dating back to college.
“Ran into Booker in the foyer. I’m here on official business of the DA’s office.”
“What took you so long?” Dan said with a straight face, removing his rubber gloves.
Henry paused for a split second, both of us wondering where Dan was going with his question.
Releasing a slight smirk, Dan moved around the tray. “I’m just ribbing you, Henry. As I’ve learned over the years, when important people die, the ME’s office is more popular than Disney World. But it’s never fun. Unless you’re here every day, the place can be a bit morbid, I realize. But it’s my job, just like you go to an office every day. And—” Dan looked at me. “Where do you go every day working as a PI?”
I gave him the logical answer. “Wherever I need to.”
“Ah. That’s why you’re here. Understand you’re working for the judge’s wife?”
Suddenly, I felt the heat of the spotlights shining on me and my integrity. “They’ve been married a long time. She’s heartbroken.”
He nodded, his lips drawn into a straight line, then turned and walked around us. I’d been able to divert the question into a typical response from a spouse whose husband had been murdered. This case was important, but I couldn’t soil my reputation by straight-out lying about my paying clients.
Then again, I wasn’t in this place out of some type of morbid curiosity. With the US Attorney’s Office endorsement, Ligon had hired me to work the case, stop “the cop killer.” Eventually, this would all come out—my role, and how Henry and I were tapped with this sensitive assignment. With Henry drawing a government paycheck, and with his high hopes of sitting in a bigger corner office, the time for being more transparent couldn’t come soon enough.
“You boys just going to stand there?” Dan asked from across the room.
“Thought you were going to show us the body?” Henry pointed toward the large man covered with a sheet.
“Wrong body. That one came in a couple of hours ago. Just got married two days ago, had a heart attack this morning, by the looks of it. Appears to have been brought on by engaging in sex.”
“I guess that’s a good way to go,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Wasn’t his new wife. It was her sister. I was at the scene, and I watched a cat fight break out between the sisters. Supposedly, they’ve gone back and forth, screwing each other’s husbands just to get back at each other. Now, one dies. Go figure.”
Henry tried to hide his chuckle.
“The one you care about is in here.” He flipped his head to an adjoining room. I could see the spotlights hanging from the ceiling through perfectly clean windows. Henry and I walked toward the room.
“I call it center court, where all the important people go just for situations like this, when I have to do a dog-and-pony show five times a day for interested people like yourselves.”
The body was covered with a sheet. Dan had what looked like a music stand set up next to the table, as well as a microphone attached to a long, metal arm.
“I’ve been doing some recording.” He moved the mic off to the side, then ran his finger down a piece of paper on his stand.
“So, just as a word of caution. What I’m about to share should not be viewed as my official report. That will take three to four days, maybe more depending on the number of visitors I have,” he extended his arm to us, “and how many more bodies come through those doors. I don’t work twenty-four hours a day. We have a capable staff, but we have our limits.”
Henry and I both nodded like school kids, eager for Dan to pull the sheet back.
Dan slipped on another pair of rubber gloves, took hold of the sheet, then looked up at us. “I know this might be redundant, but I just want to make sure you understand this is a courtesy review and to not take this as my final report. Agreed?”
“You trying to torture them, Dan?”
Henry and I flipped our heads around at the same time. I thought I’d recognized the country twang of Detective Bobby Sturm. He’d been the lead detective on the human trafficking case. He’d offered helpful insights when Paco and I were on the scene to view the body of a dead girl in the Trinity River bottom. And I mostly recall how he and Dan had this passive-aggressive thing going between the two of them.
Bobby’s weathered cowboy boots clipped and shuffled against the hard linoleum floor as he walked into the room, pushing the sleeves of his Western
shirt up his forearms. The red and white shirt had the look of a bandana.
“No more than you torture me on every case we work together, Detective,” Dan said, his mood suddenly sour.
Bobby flicked a wrist toward the assistant ME. “Booker, you got a fascination with dead bodies or something?” I just noticed a toothpick tucked in the side of his mouth, which he was chewing like cud.
“Just working another case.”
He nodded his head, still chomping on his toothpick. I recalled his tobacco-chewing habit from the trash-infested banks of the Trinity River, him spitting brown juice every few seconds. Maybe the toothpick was the best he could do indoors.
“Aren’t we all?” he said. “Okay, Dan, I know how much you like a crowd. Whatcha got?”
“You’re the lead detective on the judge’s case?” Dan asked with dread in his voice.
“Your lucky day,” Bobby said, winking at Henry and me. It was obvious he enjoyed ribbing the young ME.
Dan cleared his throat, and our attention turned back to his hand at the top of the sheet. “If you have a weak stomach, now is your last chance.”
All six eyes fixated on the top of the sheet.
“Suit yourself,” Dan said, curling the sheet down to the judge’s chest.
“Holy shitstorm,” Bobby said.
The judge’s head looked like it had been mauled by a jackhammer.
“What happened to him?” Henry asked, his brow furrowed.
“Blunt force trauma to his head,” Dan said. “While his COD appears obvious, I can’t make it official until I get back the toxicology reports.”
“Right. Don’t want you to commit to anything this quickly. That would be an all-time record for you,” Bobby said, still going to town on his toothpick.
Dan opened his jaw, about ready to snap back, but I jumped in.
“Looks like he was hit multiple times.”
“Yes, five, maybe six direct blows with what appears to be a brick. I found red fragments of the brick buried in the contusions and scattered through his hair.”
“Bruising on his face and upper shoulders,” I pointed out.
“Yes, the bruising continues down the body. There’s hardly a spot on his body that isn’t a shade of green or blue. Do you want to see for yourself?”
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 54
