Hot Lights, Cold Steel

by D P Lyle

  We sat quietly for a minute, and then T-Tommy said, “If Alejandro grabbed girls for him, then how did Slade, or whoever the cutter is, take down Alejandro? I’d bet Alejandro was a pretty tough customer. And, as you said, Slade doesn’t look like a warrior.”

  “Fentanyl?” Claire asked. “Like the two girls?”

  “Good thought,” T-Tommy said. He grabbed his cell and made a call. Lasted about two minutes. He snapped the phone closed. “That was the lab in Birmingham. They were just finalizing their report. Eddie had fentanyl on board, too.”

  “Well, well,” I said. “We have a pattern.”

  “They’ll check Alejandro, too, won’t they?” Claire asked.

  “Unfortunately, tox testing on Alejandro is worthless,” I said. “I’m sure he had a ton of drugs of all types during his surgery and his resuscitation. It would be a pharmaceutical soup.”

  “What about the other victims?” Claire asked.

  “They’re testing the ones with enough tissue left. It’ll take weeks if not months.”

  T-Tommy took a gulp of coffee, the cup hidden in his massive hands. “Slade might be the cutter, but he didn’t do it at his place.”

  “Everything points to Talbert,” I said. “No other explanation for Alejandro turning up nearby. Which means that Talbert and Kincaid are involved.”

  “Hell of a conspiracy,” T-Tommy said.

  “You saw that place,” Claire said. “Looks like a tight ship. Don’t think any of them could pull this off without the others knowing.”

  The waitress swung by and refilled our coffee cups. “Anything else?”

  We all declined, and she headed off to the kitchen.

  I added some cream to my coffee and took a sip. “What I can’t get my head around is why? What’s the payoff for Kincaid and Talbert?” I glanced at T-Tommy. “As you said before, it can’t be for a handful of two-hundred-dollar surgical tools.”

  “Then what?”

  I shrugged. “No clue.”

  “Only one way to find out,” T-Tommy said. “Answer’s somewhere inside Talbert.”

  “Break into Talbert?” Claire asked. “I thought you’d decided that was a bonehead idea.”

  I looked at T-Tommy.

  He smiled.

  CHAPTER 69

  TUESDAY 12:13 P.M.

  “BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT COPS DO,” KINCAID SAID. HE SAT AT THE conference table with Harmon Talbert and Aden Slade. “They ask questions. Sniff around. Mostly waste the taxpayers’ money.”

  “Do you think he knows?” Slade asked. “About the project?”

  Slade was shaken. Kincaid could see it in his face, his body language, hear it in his voice. He needed to calm him, hold it together for a few more hours, and then it wouldn’t matter anymore. He smiled and spoke in his most soothing voice. The one he had used with frightened patients for years. “They’re investigating a couple of dozen murders. They think it’s the work of a deranged serial killer.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have my sources.” Again Kincaid smiled. “Relax, Aden. They have nothing.” He leaned forward and looked into Slade’s eyes. “Nothing.”

  “Then why did they come here? Come to my house?”

  Kincaid folded his hands. “I’ll admit it was unfortunate that the bodies were found. But the wounds on them only prove that someone, not us, just someone, had done things to them. We make tools. They were simply looking under every rock.”

  Slade shook his head. “I don’t like this scrutiny.”

  Talbert stepped in. “We’re in the clear. There’s no way they can connect those bodies to us.”

  “That cop knew all about me.”

  “Cops have access to all kinds of information,” Kincaid said. “He could find out about anyone. Me. Harmon. You. Anyone.”

  “But . . .”

  “In fact, when he was here yesterday, he knew everything about us.” He waved a hand in Talbert’s direction. “About the company. I saw that immediately. The questions he asked? He already knew the answers to most of them. That’s how they work.”

  Slade sighed. “Why didn’t he just talk to me when he was here yesterday? Why come to my house?”

  Kincaid glanced at Talbert and then turned to Slade. “Probably forgot something. What’d he ask you?”

  “If I knew some guy named Alejandro. And some other guy.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “That I didn’t know either one of them.”

  “Did he seem satisfied with that?”

  “I guess.” Slade fiddled with the pen in his breast pocket. “Who are these guys? The ones he was looking for?”

  “Nobody. They don’t exist.”

  Slade looked at Kincaid, then Talbert. “What does that mean?”

  “Just that,” Talbert said. “They don’t exist.”

  Slade dropped his gaze but said nothing.

  “Anything else?” Kincaid asked.

  “Wanted to know if any of our surgical tools were missing. He treated me like I was a suspect or something.”

  “You are,” Talbert said. “We all are.”

  Slade stared at him. “You seem calm about this.”

  “There’s no need to panic,” Talbert said. “Just go about your work, and we’ll handle the police.”

  Slade nodded, got up, and walked to the door. He hesitated as if he had something else to say but pushed through the door and left the room.

  “What do you make of that?” Kincaid asked.

  “There are very few threads that lead back to us. Actually, there’s only one left, and our friend will take care of that.”

  “Some friend.” Kincaid twisted his head one way and then the other. The tightness in his neck didn’t retreat. “He’s a damn criminal.”

  “But he can fix all this.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Trust me,” Talbert said. “It’s covered. We’ve shut everything down. Tonight the police will get their deranged killer, and then there’s no one left who can hurt us.”

  “No way this could come back to us?”

  “None. Not ever.”

  Kincaid settled back in his chair, shoulders falling a bit. “How long will we be down?”

  Talbert shrugged. “Six months. A year at the most. Until things settle. Then we’ll gear up again.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Not really. Besides, didn’t you say you needed to work on a few things? Smooth out some of the gears? Change out the laser like we discussed?”

  Kincaid nodded.

  “Then this downtime will help us.” Talbert tugged at the cuff of his shirt. “After tonight, no more loose ends.”

  “Unless Ms. McBride keeps snooping.”

  “She won’t. Our friend’s going to fix that, too.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Just want to get it behind us.”

  Kincaid moved to the door and turned. “Let’s hope.”

  “Hope’s got nothing to do with it. It’s not like we dreamed this up. We’ve planned for it. Knew it might come to this.”

  Kincaid sighed. “I’ll just be glad when it’s done.”

  CHAPTER 70

  TUESDAY 3:31 P.M.

  “YOU’RE VERY BEAUTIFUL,” ROSALEE KENNEDY SAID AS SHE BRUSHED A wayward strand of hair from the girl’s face.

  “Thank you.” Katie Fuller blushed and smiled.

  The words young and naïve came to Rosalee’s mind.

  Rosalee sat on her living room sofa, Katie next to her. Max leaned against the bar, arms crossed over his massive chest. Sin-Dee lounged in a chair, facing them across the coffee table. Rosalee had opened a bottle of wine, Katie quickly accepting, trying to calm her nerves, no doubt.

  Timing is everything, Rosalee thought. Yesterday she had been fretting over finding a pair of girls. Then as if God herself had intervened, Sin-Dee called, saying she had a new girl who needed work.

  When Rosalee first saw Kati
e, she had had second thoughts. This girl was special. She had green eyes, the kind that could light up a room, full lips, model-like cheekbones, and rich black hair that framed her face and curled just beneath her jawline. She wore little makeup. Didn’t need it. Everything about her—her face, her body, her walk—exuded an athletic purity. Like a high school cheerleader. Just what every man wanted. She could demand the highest fees. Make Rosalee a fortune. Work for years before the toll wore her body out and Rosalee passed her on to Miss Sally or someone else farther down the food chain. Unfortunately, another matter needed attention, and it required two girls. No time to find anyone else.

  “I’m a little scared.” Katie cupped her wineglass with both hands, took a sip.

  “You’re going to do just fine.” Rosalee patted her leg. “Max will take care of you. Sin-Dee, too.”

  “I know. She told me she would.”

  “We all will,” Rosalee said.

  Earlier, on the phone, Sin-Dee said she had met Katie in some bar off University. Said Katie was nineteen, broke, running from a bad place, living in a piece of shit motel, hoping the city would be her salvation. Maybe scrub away painful memories. Sin-Dee listened to her story, took her in, told her she could get her work, making a ton of money, and called Rosalee.

  “So, what do you think?” Rosalee asked. “Want to work for me?”

  “I need to do something. I asked for a job at some bars, but they weren’t hiring. They said I could fill out an application and they’d call.” Katie smiled at Sin-Dee. “Sin-Dee came to the rescue.”

  Sin-Dee returned a glassy smile. Obviously she had already been in the medicine jar. Kept rubbing her nose and fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

  Rosalee placed her wineglass on the coffee table. “You know what kind of work I’m talking about, right?”

  Katie nodded. “I’m just not sure I’ll know what to do.”

  “You ever had a boyfriend?”

  “Sure. Lots of them.”

  “Sex?”

  “Of course.” A nervous smile.

  “How many?”

  “Seven. If you count the next-door neighbor.”

  Rosalee raised an eyebrow.

  Katie stared into her wineglass. “My mom was screwing him. He thought that made me fair game, too.” She looked up, eyes slightly moist, lower lip with a faint tremble. “I put up with it for a month and then split. Hitchhiked here.” She took a sip of wine. A drop dribbled down her chin. She wiped it away and smiled at Rosalee.

  “Relax.” Rosalee added a bit of wine to Katie’s glass. “I know what you’re worried about. I’ll never ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  Katie sighed. “I didn’t know what to expect.”

  Rosalee laughed. “Everything will be fine.” She squeezed Katie’s hand. “In fact, I have a job for you tonight.”

  “Tonight? I’m not sure I’m ready.”

  “This is an easy one. A twofer. You’ll work with Sin-Dee. Max will drive you and take care of things.”

  “How will I know what to do?”

  “This’ll be a good warm-up for you. Young guy. At his home. Not one of the motels. Sin-Dee will be with you the entire time. Show you how it works.”

  The girl still looked unsure. As if things were moving too fast. Rosalee knew she needed to reel her in. Couldn’t afford to have her balk now.

  “Pays a thousand,” Rosalee said.

  “A thousand dollars?”

  “I’ll throw in an extra five hundred for each of you. My way of welcoming you to the family.”

  “Fifteen hundred dollars?” Katie said, apparently unable to comprehend the number.

  Rosalee nodded. “This is just the beginning. Soon you’ll have more money than you can spend, and you’ll forget all about home and the shit that went down there.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Rosalee tapped her wineglass against Katie’s. “To a beautiful future.”

  Katie’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you.” She looked at Sin-Dee. “Both of you are lifesavers.”

  CHAPTER 71

  WEDNESDAY 6:08 A.M.

  “IF YOU WANT TO SEE THIS CRIME SCENE, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE.”

  It was T-Tommy. I was sleeping when he called. I did that a lot at six in the morning. I was still mostly sleeping when I answered the phone and first heard T-Tommy apologizing for calling so early. I snapped to full wakefulness when he told me that Aden Slade was dead and that there were three other bodies. That the entire scene was unnerving. His word.

  I swung my legs around and sat on the side of the bed. “Where? Slade’s house?”

  “Yeah. Hurry it up. I haven’t called Furyk yet, but I can’t hold off on that much longer.”

  “I’m on the way.”

  I took a quick shower, slipped on jeans and a black T, grabbed the gray sports coat I found hung over a chair in the kitchen, and was out the door in ten minutes flat. I wound the Porsche down Bank-head Parkway, which plugged right into Pratt Avenue. I pulled to the curb half a block from Slade’s place by 6:35. Three prowlers, two unmarked cars, the crime scene truck, and a van from the coroner’s office were parked out front. Yellow tape embraced the property, keeping the smattering of neighbors away.

  I told one of the uniforms who guarded the perimeter that T-Tommy expected me. He lifted the tape for me to pass beneath. Several other uniforms milled near the garage’s open side door. I nodded to them, went inside, and looked around. Two crime scene techs, a coroner’s tech, and three bodies that I could see.

  T-Tommy was right. The scene was unnerving.

  The metal table we had seen a couple of nights earlier now held the nude corpse of a young, raven-haired woman. Several clean slashes marked the flesh of her chest and abdomen. A metal tube projected at an angle from her belly. No blood. Looked as if she had been washed clean.

  Along the far wall, the large trash can I had examined the other day now rested on its side. Near its mouth lay the body of another young woman. She had been wrapped in plastic, the sheeting now sliced open. My gaze fell on a third body. Crumpled in a corner. Sidau Yamaguchi knelt beside the corpse. He looked up at me and then stood.

  “What you got here?” I asked.

  “Slade. Gunshot to the head.”

  Aden Slade’s corpse half-sat against the wall, the left side of his head matted with blood, a nickel-plated S&W .357 lying on the floor next to his open hand. I moved closer. Entrance wound near the left temple, exit wound high on the right side, the wall spattered with blood, bone, and brain tissue. Looked like a distorted slug had wedged into the wall in the middle of the mess.

  T-Tommy came in. “That was quick.”

  “You said hurry.”

  He led me around the head of the table to where a fourth corpse lay. Another nude female, on her back, head turned away, blonde hair splayed across the floor. I saw several gaping wounds over her chest and abdomen. Again no blood. Ligature bruises circled her neck. I looked back at the girl on the table. Similar neck bruises.

  “They were strangled,” I said. I was intuitive that way. I carefully stepped around the girl on the floor, now seeing her face. “Jesus. It’s Sin-Dee.”

  “I know,” T-Tommy said.

  “Somebody want to let me in on it?” Sidau asked.

  “Noel and Crystal were the first two bodies found. Sin-Dee lived with them.”

  “Really?” Sidau asked.

  I nodded. “She worked for Rosalee Kennedy. Danced for Rocco Scarcella.”

  “Everything keeps leading back to Rocco, don’t it?” T-Tommy said.

  “‘Cause he’s in this. Up to his ass.”

  “Good bet he had this done,” T-Tommy said.

  “That’d be my guess, too.” I walked around Sin-Dee’s body. “Covering his ass.”

  “Then there’s this.” T-Tommy turned to the corpse near the trash can. “She has wounds exactly like those on Noel and Crystal.”

  I moved closer, detecting the faint od
or of decomposition. Not bad, just noticeable. The girl appeared young, Hispanic. She had several abdominal wounds, each closed with the same metallic clips we had seen on Noel and Crystal. I looked back at Sin-Dee and the girl on the table. No clips, just gaping wounds. “Why no clips on these two?”

  T-Tommy shrugged. “Maybe he wasn’t finished.”

  “So in the middle of the surgery he just up and decided to kill himself?” I asked.

  “Someone wants us to think that.” T-Tommy glanced at Sin-Dee. “This ain’t right. None of it’s right.”

  Sidau pointed to the corpse on the table and then to Sin-Dee. “The wounds on those two appear to be postmortem. No bleeding in or around the wounds. I’d suspect the cause of death is ligature strangulation. Need to wait for Drummond and Cooksey’s autopsies, but that’s what it’ll be. The wounds are actually quite superficial. I probed them to no more than four centimeters. Only this one” —he motioned to the instrument protruding from the raven-haired girl’s belly—”actually entered the abdominal cavity.”

  “So neither had any organs removed?” I asked. “Anything like that?

  Sidau shook his head. “Doesn’t look that way.”

  I looked at T-Tommy. “You find a knife or a scalpel?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, Slade didn’t do it with his fingernail,” I said.

  “He didn’t do it at all,” T-Tommy said. “This is a setup. Saw it from jump street. We’re supposed to think he did all this, then shot himself in the left side of his head when he’s right-handed.”

  “You sure?” I asked.

  “He whittles right-handed. What do you think?”

  “I think I can’t remember the last time I saw someone shoot themselves with their nondominant hand.”

  “Like never,” T-Tommy said. “I got a good idea who could do such a shit job of staging a crime scene.”

  “Austin and Lefty?” I said.

  T-Tommy grunted.

  I turned back to the girl who had been wrapped in plastic. “This girl’s been dead a day or so. Any estimate?”

  “Very odd.” Sidau indicated Sin-Dee and the girl on the table. “These girls died recently. Based on body temp, lack of significant rigor, and the lividity, I’d guess four to six hours max.” He gestured to the girl on the floor in the plastic sheeting. “Here rigor has passed and the lividity is fixed. The body was definitely moved more than eight hours after death. Lividity pattern doesn’t match the body position.”