by D P Lyle
Why Noel and Crystal?
Who could do it? Group? How many?
Who killed Eddie?
Why? Why? Why?
Now I added:
Who is Alejandro Diaz? The killer? Garbageman?
High Rollers/Rocco connection?
Two dozen victims?
I looked up as T-Tommy came around the house. “What’s the story?” I asked.
“They have eight of the twelve sites excavated. A body or two in each. Haven’t been to Maple Hill yet. We’ll do those last since they’ll attract the most attention.”
“What condition?” I asked.
“Half are either skeletal or severely decayed. Can’t tell much about them. Those that aren’t had similar wounds to Noel and Crystal. I guess surgeries would be more accurate.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I had to get away from it. Not much for me to do right now, anyway. This is the coroner’s domain.” He massaged the back of his neck. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“You’re not alone there,” I said. “Want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
I went inside and poured two cups and brought them back out.
T-Tommy sat across from me. “I had a little chat with Furyk this morning. Not really a chat. The real Furious Furyk came out. Mostly he screamed. I listened.”
“What was his beef?” I asked.
“Ranted about you being at Eddie’s murder scene last night. Talking to a witness. Going with us to Alejandro’s place. I tried to explain that you might be helpful.”
“Bet he was receptive to that.”
“Oh yeah. What really put a weed up his ass was our little visit to Rocco Scarcella.”
“He knows about that?”
“Furyk’s got political ambitions. That takes money. Rocco’s got a boatload of that.”
“You saying your sergeant’s dirty?”
He shrugged. “Rumors and innuendo.”
“Which usually turn out to be fact. The cop grapevine usually knows the score.”
T-Tommy nodded. “Anyway, he tore me a new asshole. Threatened to take me off the case.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“He wants this case he can have it. I hate psychos, anyway.”
“You’ll feel differently when all this is solved,” I said.
He worked on a cuticle with his thumbnail. “No. I’ve been thinking about jumping ship for a few months. Just haven’t overcome the inertia yet. Furyk may be the shove I need.”
“Besides ranting and raving, what’s Furyk’s take on all this?”
“He’s still focused on Eddie. Shotgunning it. Got guys working the drug angle. Busted a couple of meth labs. The lab guys are trying to match the seized product with what we found at Eddie’s trailer.” T-Tommy scratched an ear. “Of course it won’t matter if they do get a match. Drugs got nothing to do with this.”
“All these bodies didn’t change his mind?” I asked.
“Not yet. We’ve got guys canvassing every hospital for two hundred miles, looking for unaccounted for patients, digging into the backgrounds of every surgeon in the state.”
“They won’t find anything. Liz Mackey was dead right on that. This shit isn’t from some hospital or clinic. This is something else.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” He stood. “Want some more?” He raised his cup. I declined. He went inside, refilled his cup, and returned.
“I’d suspect that whatever is going on Rocco and those two goons of his are involved. Know anything about them?” I asked.
“Tommy Austin and Lefty Bruno? Sure. A couple of years ago a witness saw Austin put a bullet through the head of a guy scheduled to testify against one of Rocco’s buddies. A simple pandering rap, but his third strike. Funny thing. The witness committed suicide before he could testify.”
“How?” I asked.
“Bullet to the head.” He pointed to his right temple. “Full contact wound. Supposed to look like a suicide, but Austin was the triggerman.”
“It was written off as suicide?”
“Almost. Austin and Lefty aren’t that smart. Couldn’t stage a crime scene for shit. The victim was found lying on a sofa. No GSR on his hands. Gun casually lying on his chest.”
“So the case’s still open?”
T-Tommy nodded. “Coroner listed the manner as undetermined. Wouldn’t buy the suicide.”
Claire arrived. Her mahogany-red hair—it moved around the red spectrum a lot, mahogany apparently this week’s choice—was fastened into a ponytail and draped over one shoulder. She had her briefcase in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other.
“Ain’t this some shit?” She sat down at the end of the table. “I’ve filmed on-site pieces at three of the locations. Going to make for an interesting report tonight.” She looked at T-Tommy. “When are you guys going over to Maple Hill?”
“After we finish the other sites.”
“I want some shots from there. I have Jeffrey and the van staked out. He’s going to call when the excavation crew shows up.”
CHAPTER 51
SUNDAY 12:31 P.M.
“YOU TWO ARE FUCKING MORONS,” ROCCO SAID. “THE COPS ARE DIGGING up bodies all over the place.”
“What are you talking about?” Lefty asked.
Rocco leaned back in his chair and massaged his tightening neck. “I’m talking about all the goddamn bodies Alejandro and that jerk-off Eddie buried.”
“How?”
“They have a map. Shows where they are.”
“Where’d they get that?” Austin asked.
“Alejandro.”
“They’ve got him?” Lefty asked.
Rocco was beginning to think these two were hopelessly stupid. He’d fix that once everything settled. “If they did, don’t you think they’d be here arresting our asses?” He slid the cellophane wrapper off a fresh cigar and clipped the tip. “My guy says they found the map at Alejandro’s place.”
“We searched his house. Top to bottom,” Austin said.
“Not very well.” Rocco fired up the cigar.
“It was night. Had to do it in the dark.”
“That your excuse?”
Austin shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Should’ve popped that prick a long time ago,” Lefty said.
“Too late now,” Rocco said. “But we’ve got to find him.”
“We went back over every street in Cummings Research Park,” Lefty said. “Every alley. Every shrub. Even the garbage bins. Nothing.”
“He wasn’t beamed into some fucking spaceship. He’s got to be somewhere.” Rocco plucked a tobacco fleck from his lip and flicked it toward the trash can beside his desk.
“Somebody must have picked him up,” Austin said.
“Who?” Rocco asked. “Someone who wouldn’t call the police or take him to a hospital? Does that make any sense to you?”
“Guess not.”
“He lost a lot of blood,” Lefty said. “Bet he holed up somewhere and died.”
“You better hope so. I know for damn sure he isn’t in Memorial. I’d know.”
“Could’ve taken him somewhere else,” Austin said. “Out of the county.”
Rocco shook his head. “Do I look stupid? You think I don’t have that covered? He couldn’t get into a fucking dog pound without me knowing. The word’s out.”
“What about Walker and Tortelli?” Lefty asked. “Could they be hiding him?”
Rocco gave his cigar a couple of long puffs. He stared at Lefty through a cloud of smoke, thinking that it was a stupid idea. Or was it? “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t. But we can’t find him. Cops don’t have him. He’s not in a hospital. Just trying to figure who else could know about him and who might be able to hurt us if they had him.”
Rocco puffed out another cloud of smoke but said nothing.
“I mean,” Lefty continued, “they were at Eddie’s trailer. Talked to the sister. Went to Alejandro’s place. Right?”
Rocco nodded.
“Maybe they found Alejandro. Maybe he isn’t as bad off as we think.”
“He’s bad,” Austin said. “You saw all the blood.”
“Maybe they took him some place. A private clinic or something.”
“Tortelli’s a cop. He couldn’t do that,” Rocco said. “Besides, why would he? He’s in charge of the murder investigation. Doesn’t make sense that he would keep Alejandro holed up somewhere.”
“Tortelli is a cowboy,” Austin said. “Isn’t that the word on him?”
Rocco dumped a long ash into the ashtray on his desk. “What’s the payoff? Why would he take the risk?”
“Information,” Lefty said. “Alejandro knows a lot. Too much, in fact.”
“I don’t buy it.” Rocco shoved the cigar into his mouth and talked around it. “Alejandro’s either dead or still on the run. Nothing else makes sense. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have another chat with Tortelli and Walker. Get a read on what they know.”
“That’d be better than letting them decide when to play the card,” Lefty said. “If they have a card, that is. We’ll find them. Invite them over.” He smiled.
Rocco flexed his neck, trying to get the kinks out. “What a fucking mess.” He looked at Lefty. “You about ready to go over on Pratt?”
“Getting all the players lined up.”
“Good. Time to pull the trigger on that deal.”
CHAPTER 52
SUNDAY 1:01 P.M.
T-TOMMY HAD BEEN STANDING AT THE FAR END OF THE YARD, TALKING on his cell. He walked back to the table where Claire and I sat and flopped into a chair across from me. “Eddie’s preliminary tox report. No meth. No amphetamines at all.”
I nodded. “I figured that’d be the case.”
“But there’s something in his blood. Don’t know what. They’re sending samples to NMS in Pennsylvania.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Depends on what it is. Maybe a day. Maybe a week. Maybe longer.”
Claire stood, stretched, and then sat back down. She had been working on her notes for her broadcast. She looked at T-Tommy, her pen tapping the notepad in front of her. “Tell me about Alejandro Diaz.”
T-Tommy flipped open his murder book and shuffled through the pages until he located what he was looking for. “Alejandro Diaz.
Age thirty-two. Originally from Juárez. Lived in El Paso most of his life. Didn’t finish high school but got his GED. Did a stint with the Marines, then did eighteen months of a nickel rap for B and E, theft, and threatening a witness. That was in Miami. Apparently landed here about four years ago. Popped three years ago for grand theft auto. Charges dropped.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “The owner refused to press charges?”
“Yep,” T-Tommy said. “Of course, he reported the car stolen and didn’t know Alejandro Diaz from Adam’s house cat, but after Diaz was released on a five-thousand-dollar bail, he refused to press the matter.”
“Intimidation?” Claire asked.
“Most likely. The report I saw said the owner denied being threatened, said he was just glad to get his car back, yada, yada. You know how it works.” T-Tommy shrugged. “Since that, he’s been clean.” He turned several pages. “His bank accounts show occasional paychecks from High Rollers. We know he worked there. He also made several larger deposits. All cash.”
“Cash always means trouble,” I said. “How much are we talking about?”
“Most of the deposits were a Grover or two.” T-Tommy’s finger ran down the page. “One. Two. Three, four, five . . . three more . . . five more. Eleven for a grand and ten for two grand. All in the past . . . let’s see . . . fifteen months.”
“That’s thirty-one thousand,” Claire said. “Pretty good side business. Wonder what he did for his thirty-one grand.”
“Bury bodies,” I said.
“And maybe whack punks like Eddie,” T-Tommy said.
“They were buddy-buddy,” I said. “He could get next to him. Even catch him in the shower.”
“If we ever find him, we can ask him where the cash comes from.”
Kramden and Norton returned. Apparently they couldn’t find anything more interesting. Tried to steal some of Claire’s papers. Latched on to her pen. She didn’t back down and snatched it away. Indignant, they took to the trees and cawed their protest.
T-Tommy’s cell chirped. He answered, listened for a minute, and then said, “You’re sure?” He nodded and closed the phone. “Bingo.”
“What?” I asked.
“Got the info on Alejandro’s phone. He made or received over a hundred calls to High Rollers in the past two years.”
“Yeah. He worked there.”
“Right. But remember the other number? Karl Reinhardt and Sentinel Security? Alejandro made three calls to and received eleven from that number. All in the past ten months.”
“Okay.”
“Sentinel Security’s an Illinois company. Privately held by Karl Reinhardt.” T-Tommy stared at me. “Ready for the good part?”
“Let’s have it.”
“Reinhardt and Sentinel Security work for Talbert Biomedical. Reinhardt’s the security chief there.”
“What?”
“My thoughts exactly,” T-Tommy said.
Twenty plus people buried after having buttonhole surgeries. Eddie and Alejandro buried the bodies. Eddie’s dead and Alejandro’s missing. Alejandro has the number for the security chief of a company that makes the instruments needed to do the surgeries. Jesus.
CHAPTER 53
SUNDAY 1:33 P.M.
T-TOMMY AGAIN WANDERED TOWARD THE BACK OF THE PROPERTY while he made phone calls. Claire worked on her notes. I stretched out on a lounge chair, the sun warm against my face. A dove cooed softly from a nearby tree. I closed my eyes and went over all that had happened in the past few days.
The movie in my head jerked from scene to scene. Noel’s body resting on the dissection table, the smell of the place returning in waves. Rocco, Austin, and Lefty. Madison, Sin-Dee, Rosalee Kennedy. Always back to Noel. Her lifeless body hacked up and buried like so much garbage.
I looked over at Claire, seeing her in profile, remembering the first time I saw her. Coming out of a coffee shop. I had been at my lowest point, she stumbling out of a soured relationship. We went inside, had coffee, and arranged to meet for dinner that night. That led to our brief marriage, our divorce, and my trip to the Marines. My job at the Department of Forensic Sciences and FBI BAU stint followed.
I closed my eyes again, and the movie in my head cranked back up. Noel, Rocco, Madison, Sin-Dee, Rosalee, Noel again, and of course, Jill. The reason I never finished med school. The reason I walked the path I now walked. The reason my parents sank into despair. The reason I sank just as far. The hole Claire pulled me from. The reason I loved her and I always would even if we couldn’t hang our toothbrushes side by side.
I pushed away these thoughts and focused on what we knew about Alejandro. Saw flash images of his apartment. Who was Alejandro Diaz? Was he capable of doing these procedures? Everything said no. Uneducated, no experience, career criminal. His only connection to the medical world the phone number for Karl Reinhardt at Talbert Biomedical.
So, who was he? Simply a garbageman like Eddie? No doubt that he helped Eddie bury the bodies. The map proved it. But for who?
Did he do Eddie, or was it someone else? Most likely Eddie was whacked because he fucked up or pissed off the wrong person. Became a liability. Had Alejandro been taken out, too? Was he on the run, fearing he could be next?
Was Carmelita Hidalgo running with Alejandro or planted somewhere? Was she part of this or another victim? Maybe she was simply on vacation. Without telling her best friend? I didn’t buy that.
A shadow passed over. I opened my eyes and looked up, shielding the sun with one hand.
T-Tommy closed his cell phone, dropped it into his jacket pocket, and sat down at the table. “They’re working on the last rural site. Said they’d be heading over t
o Maple Hill in a half hour or so.”
“You going over there?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Me, too,” Claire said.
“Do you think Alejandro could be the cutter?” I asked T-Tommy.
“Don’t see it that way. Nothing about him says he has the skills or knowledge to do this stuff.”
“I agree. Not quite ready to write him off, though.”
“His connection to Talbert’s a bit curious. I know for sure he’s not on the company payroll or their workers’ comp rolls. Just that he has the security chief’s phone number.”
“We’re assuming it’s Reinhardt,” I said. “Could be someone else at Talbert.”
Claire jumped in. “Maybe Alejandro does more than bury bodies. Like getting instruments for the killer. Buying them under the table from an employee.”
“Maybe from Reinhardt himself,” I said.
“You could be right,” T-Tommy said. “These instruments aren’t being lifted from any of the local hospitals. All theirs are accounted for. Same with the two medical equipment wholesalers in the area.”
Claire opened her hands, palms up. “That leads us back to Talbert.”
I liked where this line of reasoning was going. “After this morning, all the bodies, we know this deal’s been going on for a while. Let’s assume that Eddie and Alejandro grabbed the victims for the killer and then disposed of them afterward. Let’s also assume that Alejandro gets the surgical tools from Talbert on the sly. Where does that leave us?”
“With a hell of a conspiracy,” Claire said. “Why would the killer expose himself that way? Hire criminals to capture victims for him? Why not do it himself? Hookers aren’t usually that difficult to isolate.”
“About a third of the bodies are male,” T-Tommy said. “Doubt that they’re all hookers.”
“They could be male prostitutes,” Claire said. “Or simply loners. Easily abducted. Not likely missed. Like hookers.”
“We’ll know when we get the IDs done,” T-Tommy said. “Might take a while, though.”
Claire nodded. “Maybe the killer’s not big enough to overpower his victims and too shy or too afraid to sweet-talk them. Maybe he can only relate to them after they’ve been restrained or immobilized. So he hires someone to do it for him.”
