A Killing Rain

by P J Parrish

  “Like where something or someone was.”

  “Like your friend Austin.”

  “He’s not my friend,” Louis said quickly.

  Joe’s hooded gray eyes were steady on Louis. “So, you going back to Fort Myers?”

  “Yeah, Susan is...” His voice trailed off as he shook his head. “I don’t know. I have to...I need to do something.”

  Joe hesitated then stuck the car keys back in her jacket “Let’s go,” she said, nodding in the opposite direction.

  “Where?”

  “We might as well go take a look at Wallace Sorrell while we’re here.”

  Joe led him back inside, to a small office, where a thin man in a lab coat sat at a desk, an Egg McMuffin in his hand. He looked up as Joe approached the open door.

  “Hey, it’s Joe Friday,” the man said. “What you doing here so early, Detective?”

  “Helping a friend do an ID,” Joe said. “You got a guy named Sorrell in the freezer?”

  “The dude cut up on Eighth Street?”

  “Yeah. We need to see him.”

  “Right now?”

  “Come on, Lenny, you owe me.”

  The diener reluctantly set his McMuffin down and got up. “A man can’t get any peace around here.”

  Louis and Joe followed him back down the hall to a heavy door. Lenny yanked it open and they stepped into the cold, musty air of the refrigeration unit. There were six gurneys. Louis could see the gray-pink flesh of the bodies through the heavy plastic. Except for one that was dark. Lenny went to it and unzipped the bag.

  “He’s all yours. The doc won’t get to him till later this morning,” he said.

  Joe Frye stared at the body. Louis watched her face. Not one muscle moved. He came forward.

  Other than the blood splatters, Walter Sorrell’s face didn’t have a mark on it. But his throat had been cut so deeply Louis could see a glint of vertebra.

  “They didn’t beat him,” Louis said.

  “Didn’t have to. Look,” Joe said, her eyes traveling down the corpse’s torso.

  Louis looked at Walter Sorrell’s forearms. The front of the skin on his left arm had been slit open from wrist to the crook of the elbow. The skin was gone, sliced off in ragged strips. The same incision had been made on the right arm, but the skin was still there, peeled back in flaps.

  “My breakfast is getting cold,” Lenny said behind him. “Zip him back up when you’re done, okay?”

  Louis heard the door of the refrigeration unit open and bang shut. He moved his gaze off the body and up to Joe. She was staring at the skinned arm.

  “Whoever did this took their sweet time,” she said.

  “Torture,” Louis said.

  Her eyes came up to meet his and she nodded. “See the bruises on his wrists. He was tied, probably to his chair. That’s where they found most of the blood. The question is, did he tell them what they wanted to know.”

  “What about the secretary? Does she have the cutting pattern on her?”

  Joe shook her head slowly. “No, I read the report. They just slashed her throat. Not another mark on her.” She bent closer to the body and stared at the flaps of skin.

  “It looks like the knife was very sharp, but there is little skill involved here,” she said softly. “It’s sloppy.”

  Louis was quiet for a moment and Joe looked up. “What are you thinking?”

  “They’re after Austin,” Louis said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just remembered something he said. He told Ben he was playing hooky from work. He didn’t tell his partner he was going to Fort Myers. Maybe Sorrell couldn’t tell them where Austin was, no matter what they did to him.”

  “But secretaries always know where their bosses are,” Joe said.

  Louis stared at her across the body. “Maybe she hid at first and heard what happened to Sorrell. And when they found her, she told them.”

  They were both quiet. Louis turned up the collar of his jacket against the cold of the freezer and started toward the door. Joe zipped up the body bag and came out into the hall, where Louis was waiting.

  Louis rubbed a hand over his bristly face. He leaned back against the cold white tiles and let out a tired sigh.

  “I don’t know where to go next,” he said.

  “Sometimes there’s nowhere to go,” she said. “At least for the moment. If you want to hang around until tomorrow, you can help canvas the area around the office. See who saw what.”

  Louis glanced up at the clock. It was five-thirty-five a.m. No way could he make it back home across Alligator Alley without falling asleep. And he wanted to stay. He wanted to know more. He wanted to be the one to find Benjamin, if he was here.

  He nodded slowly. “All right” he said.

  He followed Joe back outside, still shivering from the cool air in the morgue.

  “You remember how to get back to your hotel?” she asked.

  Louis glanced to his right, seeing in the foggy distance the fuzzy headlights that dotted the freeway. Shit. He had no idea. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.

  “You take a wrong turn down here, you’re a dead man before dawn,” she said.

  He looked at her.

  “My apartment is only a few miles. Come with me. Grab a few hours sleep and I’ll take you back to Eighth Street in the morning.”

  He glanced at his car.

  “It’ll be safe here. The employees start showing up at six.”

  “You got any food?” Louis asked.

  She laughed softly. “Food and a couch.”

  He climbed into her red Bronco, the cold rippling through him. She saw it and turned on the heater.

  “Damn, it’s cold,” he said.

  “It snowed here once —- 1977,” Joe said. “I came out that morning and there was friggin’ snow on my windshield.” She put the car into reverse. “Thought I left that shit behind when I left Ohio.”

  She swung the car onto the empty road and accelerated so quickly Louis was pressed back against the seat. He took a moment to close his eyes but his mind was awake, alive with images of what he had seen today. He pushed them away, but now he was seeing Susan, sitting on her sofa, phone in hand, eyes reddened. He flashed onto another woman, a faceless mother somewhere who was crying for the boy back in the freezer.

  “I need to call the mother,” Louis said.

  “Not a problem,” Joe said, turning into an apartment complex parking lot.

  She led him up some stairs, pausing outside a heavy door that read: 3C. She opened the deadbolt first, then the lock above the doorknob, and shoved the door open with her hip.

  He followed her inside. There was a light on in the corner. It was a small apartment, with a kitchen separated from the living room by a bar and a sliding glass door that opened onto a small balcony. He could see a sleek ten-speed bike out on the balcony.

  He heard her snap shut the two locks, then she moved by him, slipping off her scarf and jacket. She dropped both on a chair, heading to the kitchen. She was wearing a thin gray shirt with short sleeves. Her skin was pale and Louis could see a small tattoo on her upper arm. It was a lizard.

  A calico cat appeared in the hall, let out a cry, then followed her to the kitchen, jumping up on the counter. She cupped its face in her hands to rub noses with it. She was talking to the cat like it was a baby.

  She reached for the bag of cat food and shook it. Another cat strolled out, and the room filled with hungry cries as she fed them.

  “Two?” Louis asked.

  “I used to have seven.”

  She flicked on the coffee and opened a cupboard, bringing down two mugs. From the refrigerator, she took out two containers and set them on the counter.

  Louis took off his jacket and came forward, picking up one of the containers she had set out. Dannon blueberry yogurt. This was food?

  He heard her laugh and looked up.

  “You should see the look on your face,” she said.

  �
�I’m sorry. I guess I was expecting eggs or... something.”

  She hesitated, her hand on her hip. “I got leftover pizza.”

  “That’ll work.”

  She withdrew a pizza box from the refrigerator, nodding toward the phone. “Call the mother. The coffee will take a few minutes.”

  Louis called Susan. She was hoarse, but calm. She told him Dan Wainwright had sent two cops and they were in the living room watching some old movie. She told him she had slept a few hours, but he didn’t believe her. He didn’t say much, just listened. He didn’t tell her where he was, or where he had just come from. There was no reason to.

  When he hung up, he took a breath and turned back to Joe. She handed him a plate of pizza.

  “She okay?”

  Louis nodded, taking the plate to the sofa. The first few bites were gobbled down, but as he picked up the second piece, he started looking around the living room. His eyes were drawn to two photographs sitting on a bookshelf near the TV. Two uniforms. He recognized the black one as Miami-Dade. But the other was blue...with a skirt.

  He rose and walked to it, chewing the pizza. The woman in the black uniform was a younger Joe. He guessed the older woman was her mother. They could have been twins, except for the hairstyles and uniforms. The mother’s uniform looked like something a stewardess might wear, complete with a little hat. But there was a badge on her jacket.

  Joe came up behind him.

  “Your mother?” Louis asked.

  “Yes. She was a cop in Cleveland. She was my inspiration, but things were pretty sucky for women back then.”

  “Not the best, even now,” Louis said.

  “You got that right.”

  His eyes caught sight of a small plant on the shelf. It was brown and withered.

  “You need to throw that thing away,” he said. “It looks dead.”

  She reached past him to get the plant. She held it, picking at the brittle leaves. “I used to have a slew of plants. Filled up that whole wall.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “I got promoted,” she said.

  She went back into the kitchen and tossed the plant in the trash. “I had no time after that. No time to cook, take care of my cats, or water plants. I got stuck once on a four-day stakeout and when I got home, they were all dead.”

  “The cats or the plants?” Louis asked.

  “You’re not a cat person or you wouldn’t make jokes like that.”

  “Actually, I have a cat.”

  He frowned and Joe saw it. “What’s the matter?”

  “I forgot to tell someone to look after her.”

  “Cats can take care of themselves. She’ll be okay for one day.”

  “She’s in heat.”

  “You better get her spayed.”

  “That’s what Mel said.”

  “Like Mel knows about cats.”

  Louis walked to the kitchen, setting his plate in the sink. “I think Mel knows about a lot of things people don’t think he knows about.”

  The coffee was done brewing and he poured himself a cup, glancing around for the sugar. A gigantic orange cat was watching him from the counter.

  “Where’s your sugar?” he asked.

  “Sorry, I don’t use sugar,” Joe said, disappearing into the bedroom.

  Louis stared at the black liquid in the cup then drank it, grimacing. He dumped it in the sink. He went back to the living room, sinking into the sofa. He rubbed his face then rested his forehead in his palms. He had been sitting a few minutes when a pillow hit him in the shoulder.

  “We’ll head to Eighth Street around nine, when the businesses open,” she said.

  Louis looked at her, then at the pillow. There was a yellow blanket folded across the arm of the sofa.

  “Yeah, okay,” Louis said.

  She disappeared and Louis heard a door close.

  Louis remained sitting, his eyes drifting to the photo of Joe with her mother, across the dark TV and finally coming to rest on the sliding glass door. He rose and walked to it. He could see the lights of downtown Miami, back-dropped by the weak pink glow of dawn.

  “Louis. Go to bed.”

  He turned. She was standing by the sofa. Her hair was down around her shoulders, her face in the shadows.

  “It’s hard to do nothing,” he said.

  “There’s nothing you can do right now except sleep.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to sleep.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “This isn’t just any kid, is it?”

  He looked back out the glass door. “He’s pretty special.”

  “You have a relationship with the mother?” she asked.

  He glanced back at her, surprised by the question.

  “I’m only asking so I know how close you are to this,” she said, coming toward him. “You’re a liability to me if you’re emotionally involved. You know that.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Hope you’re right.”

  She was standing there in the middle of the room, holding a cat, and wearing a long, baggy T-shirt that came to her knees. Her face was scrubbed, her feet bare.

  She didn’t look like a cop right now. But she was. She had all the power and he knew there was nothing he could do in Miami without her.

  “Don’t leave me out of this,” he said.

  She looked at him for a moment then started back to the bedroom, the calico cat in her arms. “I’ll wake you at eight- thirty. Get some sleep.”

  He heard the bedroom door close and he turned to the sofa, dropping into it. He wedged off his sneakers, and propped the pillow in the corner, pulling the blanket up over him.

  He had been lying there a few minutes when the orange tabby jumped on his legs. His first instinct was to push it away, but before he could, it settled in the crook behind his knees. It felt strangely familiar. Strangely comforting. He let it stay.

  CHAPTER 9

  Saturday, January 16

  Joe gave him an old sweatshirt to wear. It was a faded orange color with a snarling cartoon dog head on it under-scored with the words CLEVELAND BROWNS DAWG POUND.

  It was ugly but it was clean and warm, and Louis was glad to have it on under his jacket as he headed back to Eighth Street the next morning.

  The sun was out but the temperature was still hovering around forty-five. Louis parked the Mustang and walked to Pacific Imports. The scene was still cordoned off with yellow tape and there were a couple of Miami-Dade squad cars blocking the parking lot. The two uniforms were standing around drinking 7-Eleven coffee. With the fake-fur collars of their jackets pulled up, they looked like kids bundled up in snowsuits going out to play.

  Louis glanced around. There were a fair number of people out on the street, considering the cold. But all he could hear around him was Spanish, a babble that was as intimidating as the foreign signs. He stood there, looking for some place to start.

  A small park sat catty-corner to Pacific Imports. There was a pavilion enclosed in heavy iron bars, but beyond the gate, Louis could see men sitting at concrete tables. As he drew closer, he could hear a muted clicking sound.

  The old men playing dominos at the tables didn’t look up as he came through the gate but Louis could feel their eyes on him, watching him furtively. One younger man, lounging near a tree smoking a cigarette, stared openly as Louis tried to ask questions.

  “Excuse me...”

  Click-clack-click-clack.

  “I need to talk to someone -- ”

  “No habla inqles."

  Clack-clack-click.

  Finally, he gave up, driven out of the park by the cigar smoke and the stare of the young man.

  He had no luck at any of the businesses he tried. Everyone seemed to be looking at him with weirdly strained expressions, like he was a plague carrier or worse. When he went into a hair salon, the lone woman backed away from him, gripping the scissors she had been using and muttering something in Spanish. She had the same look on her face that everyone did.r />
  He knew the look —- fear of a strange young black man. He knew one of the words she said, too.

  “Vete.”

  He had heard it before from the Mexican workers back in Immokalee. Vete...go away.

  Back out on the street, he stood on the corner, trying to figure out what in the hell to do next.

  He looked at his watch. Joe said to meet her at Pacific Imports at ten. He had only a couple minutes to wait. As he stood there, trying to warm up in the sun, his eyes drifted back across the street, stopping on an old man and a girl sitting at a table in front of the café across from Pacific Imports. They had not been there when Louis had gone in to question the owner. The little girl was looking at Louis. He tried a small smile.

  She didn’t smile back, but at least she wasn’t looking at him the way the others had. He went over to them.

  “Hello,” he said.

  The old man was wearing heavy dark sunglasses and a tattered brown jacket. A cane rested against his chair. His claw-hand was wrapped around a tiny cup of mud black coffee and a Spanish newspaper was folded in his lap. He looked away from Louis but the girl was staring at Louis’s sweatshirt.

  “Is that a dog or a bear?” she asked, pointing.

  Louis glanced down at the emblem. “A dog, I think.”

  “He looks mad.”

  “He’s a mascot, for a football team.”

  Her brown eyes came up to Louis’s face. Not friendly, really, but curious.

  “I was wondering if you could help me,” he said. “I have some questions —-”

  “Celia,” the old man said sharply, "No hables el Negro.”

  The girl glanced at Louis and then said to the old man, "Esta bien, abuelo. Esta perdido y le hace salta directiones."

  The old man gave a grunt and grabbed his cane, pulling it closer. The girl looked back at Louis. She was about twelve or thirteen, pretty, with her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and tiny gold hoops in her ears. She still didn’t smile at Louis —- he had a feeling there would be hell to pay from Grandpa if she did —- but her brown eyes were warming.

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Louis said.

  “It’s okay. I told Grandpa you were just asking me for directions. Are you lost?”

  “No.” Louis pointed across the street. “I’m trying to find out some information about what happened over there yesterday.”