White Russian
Page 15
“At least it's been quiet,” she said to fill the silence. Their Major Crimes unit hadn't had anything on their plate for nearly a week. That was one reason Lieutenant Webb hadn't objected to them taking some time out of the office.
“Great,” Vic said. “Just fantastic.”
“What?” she said. “You get tired of moping around, ready to get off the bench?”
“I don't mope,” Vic said.
“What do you call it, then?”
“I'm Russian,” he said. “We brood.”
He smiled. Just a little, but it was a smile, and that was progress. Maybe there was hope for him.
“So you hoping we catch a case?” she asked.
“Beats being a chew-toy,” he said. “I'm sick of sitting around doing nothing.”
Rolf, realizing Erin's heart wasn't in their game, stopped tugging on his rope. He held it in his mouth and stared over it at Erin. His tail went back and forth in a slow, hopeful wave.
Erin's phone buzzed in her pocket. “Pust!” she ordered Rolf, who let go of the rope at once. She fished out the phone and saw Webb's name on the screen.
“O'Reilly,” she said.
“You got Neshenko with you?” her commanding officer asked.
“Most of him.”
“Okay, the two of you get down to Corlears Hook Park,” Webb said.
“What've we got?” she asked.
“Looks like a double homicide,” he said.
“On our way,” Erin said, disconnecting. She looked at Vic. “Looks like you got your wish. Time to go back to work.”
Corlears Hook lay on the southeastern edge of Manhattan, on the bank of the East River. By the time Vic, Erin, and Rolf arrived, in Erin's brand-new unmarked police Charger, the uniforms had established a perimeter of yellow tape. Half a dozen officers were there, along with a couple of unnecessary paramedics who were finishing packing up their gear.
Detective Kira Jones waved them over to the shoreline. She'd recently re-dyed her hair, a habit picked up from her days as a liaison with the gang task force. Its tips were a bright, electric blue that made it easy to pick her out of a crowd.
“Where's the LT?” Erin asked.
With Levine,” Jones said, gesturing with her thumb. “We just got here.”
Sarah Levine was the Medical Examiner. She and Lieutenant Webb were standing near the water's edge, staring at a couple of lumpy shapes wedged in among the rocks. Levine was wearing a white lab coat, wire-rimmed glasses, and a thoughtful expression. Webb had his hands on his hips and a cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth.
“What've we got, Sir?” Erin asked, stepping carefully on the slippery stones. Rolf, catching the scent, alerted her to the presence of a dead body.
“Two victims,” Webb said. He took the cigarette from his mouth and used it as a pointer. “Jogger saw the crows going at them, wondered what was there.”
“Where's the runner?” Vic asked.
“Going over her statement,” Webb said, cocking his head. “She didn't see much. As soon as she figured out she was looking at bodies, she called it in.”
Erin peered past Levine at the bodies. She couldn't make out much. “What do you think, Doc?” she asked.
Levine didn't look at her. “They were washed up here,” the ME said. “This isn't where they died.”
“Two bodies, washed up together?” Erin said. “That happen often?”
“Depends on the currents,” Levine said. “I'll need to look at the charts.”
“What are the chances they're related?” Erin said.
“Won't know till I do the bloodwork,” Levine said. “They're both adult males, so it's possible they might be brothers.”
“What I meant,” Erin said, “is, are we looking at separate incidents?”
“Unlikely,” Levine said. “Judging from the condition of the bodies, they probably went into the water at about the same time. My best estimate, until I study them further, is that they died within the last twenty-four hours, probably between ten and midnight.”
“Accident, or foul play?” Erin asked.
“Check the hands,” Vic said, entering the conversation.
Erin followed his look. The body he was examining was face-down. Its hands were secured with a cheap plastic zip-tie.
“Tied up,” Webb said. “Definitely homicide.”
Erin bent over to see more closely. “There's something wrong with that hand,” she said.
“All five fingernails have been torn off,” Levine said.
“Could that have been caused by something in the water?” Erin asked. She thought she knew the answer already, but she was hoping to hear different.
The other three all shook their heads. “Torture,” Vic muttered.
“Preliminary cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the back of the cranium,” Levine said. “I'd guess it was a handgun, thirty-eight caliber, or maybe nine-millimeter.”
“The other one?” Webb asked.
“The other body presents identically,” Levine said. “The hands are secured behind the back, a single gunshot wound to the head. The only difference is that both hands on the second one are intact.”
“Tied up, interrogated, and executed,” Webb said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Then chucked into the river. We know where they came from?”
“Again, I'll need to check a chart of the currents,” Levine said with a touch of annoyance.
“Could've come from anywhere,” Vic said. “Bridge, boat, whatever.”
“You got all the pictures you need?” Webb asked Levine. One of the ME's lab-techs was snapping shots of the corpses from every possible angle.
“Not quite,” Levine said. “We need a few more minutes.”
“Okay, get them out of the water as soon as you're done,” he said. “We need IDs on them ASAP. And I want you back in the lab right away.”
Levine gave him a curious look. “Where else would I go?”
He sighed. “Never mind. I want you to double-check cause of death. Get me a bullet, if the rounds didn't exit the skulls. Print 'em, check dental records. And get started on the clothes, see if we've got fibers, chemicals, anything that didn't wash out in the river.”
Levine's annoyance was becoming more obvious. “Lieutenant, I do several examinations every week,” she said. “I have a medical doctorate.”
“Okay, okay,” Webb said, holding up his hands. “I just want you to move this one to the head of the line. Anything you can tell us will help.”
“How cold was it last night?” Erin broke in. She was still looking at the bodies.
“Seventy-five, give or take,” Jones said. “Why?”
“These guys are dressed pretty warm,” Erin said. Both dead men were clad in wool sweaters, one gray, one dark green. The body on the left also had a watch cap on his head. The bullet hole had entered his skull just below its edge.
“Yeah,” Webb said. “Sailors, you think?”
“Looks like it,” Vic said.
“That raises a question of jurisdiction,” Jones said.
“Our bodies, our problem,” Vic said.
“We're Major Crimes,” Webb reminded her. “It doesn't matter where the body came from.”
“It matters if they were on a ship over the Jersey border,” Jones said. “The state line runs through the harbor, and depending on where the boat was at the time they were killed, if we can even figure that out. Of course, it's probably a Port Authority matter in any case...”
“Oh, for Christ's sake,” Vic said.
“Until we know where they came from, they're ours,” Webb said. “You really want to worry about that bureaucratic bullshit now?”
“I thought that was your job, Sir,” Erin said with false innocence.
“May you make Lieutenant someday,” Webb said. “And may you on that day be blessed with detectives of your own, just like you.”
“I bet he says the same thing to his kids,” Jones said out of the side of her mouth.<
br />
“Not much of a crime scene,” Vic said. “This is just where they fetched up.”
“I agree,” Webb said. “But we'll need the CSU guys to comb the rocks anyway, in case any other evidence washed up.”
They all took a moment to look at the shoreline. Empty bottles, plastic bags, and all sorts of trash were scattered everywhere. Jones said what each of them was thinking.
“Those poor bastards.”
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About the Author
Steven Henry learned how to read almost before he learned how to walk. Ever since he began reading stories, he wanted to put his own on the page. He lives a very quiet and ordinary life in Minnesota with his wife and dog.
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