Another Word for Murder

by Nero Blanc

  Believing that the visitor was a potentially violent person and that the situation could turn dangerous, she depressed an under-counter button that sent a silent alarm back to Dr. Wagner’s office, alerting him that there was an unexpected and unwanted visitor who was clearly not there for dental work. When the man reached Bonnie, he placed his right hand under his jacket as if he were reaching for a gun. She was so shaken that she let out with a small scream—a noise that in turn startled the single patient already ensconced in the waiting area.

  “My name is Lieutenant Al Lever. I’m with the Newcastle Police Department. I’d like to speak to Doctor Wagner.” Al removed his identification and placed it on the counter as he spoke.

  Bonnie’s response was to begin weeping afresh. She yanked additional tissues from a box, daubed her eyes, and inclined her head toward the desktop while the alerted Wagner hurried into sight, his right arm held awkwardly down at his side, a small caliber semi-automatic pistol clenched in his hand. Lever lifted his ID into the air and uttered a level “Police officer!”

  Wagner marched irritably into Bonnie’s work space and set the gun on her desk. “I have a permit for that. It’s in my office. We’ve had two burglaries.” He wrapped his arms over Bonnie’s slumping shoulders. “It’s okay, Bon, relax … take some deep breaths. In and out, slowly. C’mon, there … nice and slow…. Now, let’s lower your head…. I know it’s been a terrible morning…. ” He looked at Lever and growled, “What is it you people want? Can’t you see that she’s been upset enough for one morning?”

  Al returned his ID to his jacket. “My name is Lieutenant Lever. I take it you’re Doctor Wagner?”

  “What right do you have coming barging in here?” Wagner snapped. “I already sent everything over to Doctor Carlyle.”

  Lever turned and glanced at the waiting patient, who was giving the situation his full attention. “Is there a place we can talk privately?”

  Bonnie was now trembling uncontrollably. Wagner brought her to her feet and steadied her. “It’s okay, Bon; take deep breaths.” He looked toward his patient. “This is going to take a few moments, Mr. Parsons, but I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” Then Wagner returned his antagonistic stare to Lever. “We can talk in Dan’s examining room. I believe my receptionist needs to lie down for a little while.” Wagner guided Bonnie down the hallway to Tacete’s dental office and helped her into the examination chair while Lever followed in silence.

  “Suffice it to say that your medical examiner’s phone call came as a terrible shock,” Wagner said as he slid a metal stool next to Bonnie’s prone form and sat. “It was also delivered in a most callous and inhumane manner. Surely, there are better methods for requesting dental records than announcing a brusque ‘We think we found your partner’s charred remains.’”

  Al’s response was a stifled sigh. Not if you’re Herb Carlyle, it isn’t, he thought.

  “I gather you’re here to confirm that the body in that car crash was Dan’s?” Wagner continued.

  Al leaned against the formica counter top and folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. I’m sorry.”

  A fresh wave of tears filled Bonnie’s eyes, and she began to tremble once more. Wagner reached for a box of tissues and handed it to her. He then stood, opened a wall cabinet, and removed a jar of pills. He shook a number of them into his palm and handed them to Bonnie. “Why don’t you take these? They’ll relax you.”

  At first, Al had assumed that Bonnie and Jack were husband and wife. Despite an age difference, which he estimated was close to twenty years, the relationship seemed far more intimate than boss and office staff; and Wagner had no compunction about comforting the young woman physically. But Lever now noticed that while Wagner wore a wedding ring, Bonnie did not. He watched the dentist fill a paper cup with water and gently touch it to her mouth. Jack Wagner appeared a great deal more concerned with her well-being than with his partner’s death.

  After Bonnie swallowed the pills, Wagner turned to Lever. “Okay, you’ve delivered your bad news. Now if you don’t mind, I think we could use some time alone. Feel free to let yourself out.”

  “There have been other developments you should know about.” As Lever spoke, he tried to observe the reactions of Bonnie and her boss, but both seemed wholly perplexed at the news.

  “Developments?” Wagner asked.

  “We have just learned that Doctor Tacete’s disappearance was the result of an abduction.” Again, Lever took a moment to watch for a reaction, but confusion was still the only emotion he read on the two faces. “We suspect that Dan Tacete was attempting to flee his captors when he drove off the road. Either that, or he was drugged when they released him and he blacked out or lost control of his vehicle. Whichever the case, I intend to pursue this as a homicide until I learn differently.”

  “Certainly, you can’t suspect that we’re involved!” Wagner stated indignantly.

  “When you say, ‘we,’ Doctor, you’re referring to yourself and—?”

  “Ms. O’Connell, here.”

  “I see,” Lever said. “And why would the police department suspect such a thing, Doctor?” Al paused a moment. “May I ask what your relationship is?”

  “I’ve already told you. Bonnie is the receptionist at Smile! I would think that’s rather obvious.”

  “Which means your relationship is of a professional nature only?”

  Wagner’s jaw tightened. “What do you mean by that question?”

  “I just wasn’t certain if you were married or not—”

  “Lieutenant, I’m a busy man and seriously understaffed at the moment. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

  Al held up his hand. “I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you, Doctor Wagner. You’re a respected professional in this community, and I can’t imagine you being involved in a fairly penny-ante kidnapping. However, your business partner is dead, and someone has made off with a bundle of cash. Time is of the essence if we intend to catch the people responsible. That’s why I would like your full cooperation.”

  Wagner pondered what Lever had said, and after a moment he seemed to settle down. Whatever he had given Bonnie had worked like a charm, and she was now in another world, humming softly and seemingly unaware that there were other people in the room.

  “All right,” Wagner said, “what do you want to know?”

  “For starters, do you have any idea who might have decided to kidnap Dan Tacete? Clearly, it was someone who was familiar with his routine.”

  “How much money did they get?”

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  Wagner smiled briefly and shook his head. “Whew, that is penny-ante stuff. I can get that much money out of a single mouth if I can find enough problems.” He rubbed his chin as though in thought, but Al felt the gesture was superficial and insincere. “Dan did pro bono work down at the Bay Clinic. Many of his patients were the men at the Saint Augustine Mission. Twenty-five grand would be an enormous amount to those low-lifes. The people who walk through this door? Hell, they run up that much on their VISA cards each month.”

  “I intend to visit the Saint Augustine Mission, Doctor Wagner, but I find it difficult to imagine that someone who is homeless would have the wherewithal to accomplish a crime of this scope.”

  “Well, I have no intention of grilling my patients, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “I’m not suggest—”

  “Rob,” Bonnie interrupted in a dreamy voice. “Where has Rob gone to?”

  “Who’s Rob?” Al asked.

  “Just calm yourself, dear,” Wagner said to her. “Don’t try to speak.” He then looked at Lever. “She’s been sedated, Lieutenant. I don’t think you should take anything she says seriously.”

  “Do you know who this Rob is?”

  Wagner suppressed an irritable sigh. “Dan had a patient by the name of Rob Rossi. Another one of his charity cases. Or close to.”

  Lever
looked past the dentist. “What can you tell me about Rob, Ms. O’Connell?”

  “Lieutenant, she’s in no condition—”

  “Bartender … kinda cute…. He didn’t …” Bonnie giggled lightly, then dozed off, allowing Wagner to speak for her.

  “Rossi failed to appear for a scheduled appointment with Dan. There’s no more to the story than that. And it’s behavior that’s not uncommon within a certain element of Dan’s clientele…. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve kept Mr. Parsons waiting long enough—”

  “I’d like to get a list of all of Doctor Tacete’s patients, if I can.”

  “Now?” Wagner’s veneer of politeness was rapidly eroding.

  “The longer we wait, the colder the trail gets. The kidnapper has already had enough time to put a lot of distance between himself and that Corvette.”

  “I’ll fax you a printout this afternoon.” Wagner stood and began striding to the door while Lever scrawled the NPD fax number on a prescription chit.

  “I’d like that list in an hour, Doctor. You don’t want to see Al Lever turn into an unhappy cop…. Nobody does.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Few people actually enjoyed being in Newcastle’s dank basement morgue, but Herb Carlyle and his assistant Estelle were the exceptions to the rule. Both seemed to thrive on the frigid temperatures while the similar and ashen hue of their skin made a disconcerting complement to the bluish color of the stainless steel examining tables, the gray linoleum floors, the metal drawers of the refrigerated body compartments, and the institutional green of the pallid walls. And they both maintained a devoted—some might say, unhealthy—fascination with the dearly, or not so dearly, departed.

  But where Estelle was meticulous in her observations and almost fanatical about neatness and cleanliness, Carlyle was lackadaisical. He treated the morgue as an extension of home, often eating take-out burgers and fries in the midst of examining a corpse, or chain-smoking cigarettes until the Petri dish that served as an ashtray reached the point of overflowing. How these two had managed to work so well together for so long caused other members of the NPD to scratch their heads in puzzlement, although there was one thing everyone agreed upon: Herb and Estelle believed the morgue to be their private sanctuary.

  Neither the medical examiner nor his assistant enjoyed visits from outsiders—particularly detectives, whom they deemed to have little or no understanding of basic human anatomy. Carlyle considered himself the ultimate expert, though few others did, and he greeted queries or dissent with his pronouncements with an almost pathological defensiveness.

  So, when he spotted Al Lever through the large windows that separated his inner office from the morgue proper, Carlyle sighed and turned off the computer game that had been holding his attention for the last half hour. Lever was accompanied by Rosco and Belle, a fact that made Herb’s groan take on exaggerated and put-upon proportions.

  The detective tapped on Carlyle’s glass door twice, stepped into the office, and said, “Herb,” in a manner that was intended to be a pleasant salutation but that fell just short of the mark.

  The M.E. looked at his watch and responded with a surly “I thought we agreed on noon? That was twenty minutes ago.”

  “Right. We got delayed.”

  Carlyle cocked his head toward Rosco. “What’s with him? The department can’t handle this on their own? Or is the NPD handing out Second Guessing awards this week?”

  “Mind if we sit?” Al asked, purposely ignoring Carlyle’s hostility toward Rosco.

  Carlyle shrugged, and the three settled into folding metal chairs that faced his desk.

  “Rosco and Belle were apprised of Tacete’s abduction at an early stage,” Lever explained. “I feel there’s a certain advantage in keeping them up to speed. I’m not opposed to asking for help, Herb. You know that. I take it where I can get it.” The tone made it clear that Al planned to conduct the investigation by his own rules and that he had no intention of being strong-armed by Carlyle—mayor’s brother or not.

  “The situation’s personal this time,” Rosco added. “Karen Tacete’s a friend of ours. I intend to help out wherever I can.”

  “Before I get into any particulars,” Carlyle told Lever while he leveled his gaze at Rosco, “maybe your former partner can bring me up to speed. How did this all shake down?”

  Al gave Rosco a be-my-guest nod, so he took a large breath and began. “Dan Tacete was last seen leaving his office Thursday at noon. His wife phoned Belle that evening in a panic. On Saturday morning, Karen received a call from a man claiming to hold Dan hostage. Ransom particulars were to follow. The kidnapper was adamant that Karen not contact the authorities, causing her to decide to distance herself from Belle and me, as well.

  “Yesterday morning, following new demands on the part of the kidnapper, Karen Tacete placed twenty-five thousand dollars in cash in Dan’s gym bag, which she secured in the trunk of his Corvette as per her instructions. She then drove the car to the Gilbert’s Groceries parking lot, where she left the keys under the front seat—again as instructed—and took a cab home. Nobody heard anything else until last night when the ’Vette ended up in the ravine off East Farm Lane. The gym bag had been emptied.”

  “Well, like I pointed out last night,” Carlyle said as he lit a cigarette, “the situation is cut and dried. The good news for your doc is he was most likely dead before the Corvette turned to toast.”

  “How do you know that?” Lever asked.

  “His forehead was caved in, which was almost certainly the result of hitting the windshield frame … kinda like cracking an egg. I’m guessing—more than guessing, I’m guaranteeing that he was dead before the car came to a stop and before the gas tank blew.”

  “So there was no smoke in his lungs.” Rosco’s comment was more statement than question.

  Carlyle stiffened. “Cause of death is acute cranial trauma.

  Period. Our boy was dead before the fire broke out. So, no. There would be no smoke in his lungs.”

  Rosco felt sure that the M.E. hadn’t checked the victim’s lungs, but opted not to verbally disagree. Besides, if the skull was crushed, the likelihood of smoke in the lungs was indeed remote. “Is it possible that he was killed some time before the crash? Say, an hour or even a day?”

  “Sure. But it would be the first time a dead man drove a car off a cliff.” Carlyle all but sneered. He looked at Lever. “Whose investigation is this, Lieutenant?”

  “Mine. But Polycrates has a good point. Isn’t it possible that someone could have killed him, strapped him into the driver’s seat, and ran the ’Vette over the edge?”

  “I’m placing time of death at the same time as the accident.”

  “I’m sorry,” Belle interjected, “but if Dan had his shoulder harness buckled, how could his forehead have reached the windshield frame?”

  “He’s tall, and the windshield is low.” Carlyle’s response was snippy and dismissive. “Hardly a physical impossibility for a big man like him.” He took a long drag from his cigarette and refocused on Lever. “There’s something else. Your boy was loaded up on OxyContin. He was in no condition to drive. He should never have gotten into that car in the first place. Whether your kidnappers fed it to him or he was a doper, I don’t know, but there’s my theory: He was higher than a kite and drove into the ravine all by his little lonesome.”

  “Maybe he was being chased?” Belle pondered aloud.

  “Why? You just told me they got their money. Maybe the perps figured they’d live up to their part of the bargain and simply let him go.”

  Al’s reply was a terse. “Anything else I should know, Herb?”

  “Nope. That’s it: crushed skull and doped up. Cut and dried, like I said.”

  “You wouldn’t mind if Abe Jones takes a look at the remains, would you?” Rosco asked, knowing full well the suggestion would push every one of Carlyle’s buttons.

  The M.E. stood and pointed at Rosco while again speaking to Lever. “I don’t need to pu
t up with this crap from him. That’s why your buddy couldn’t hack police work; he never had any regard for procedure; he always thought he knew more than the experts. Jones doesn’t go anywhere near that body unless it comes straight from the captain. Got it? He can play forensics whiz kid anywhere else—and with anything else, except my corpse. Now, if we’re finished here, I’ve got work to do.”

  “Really?” Rosco looked at the computer screen. “Still stuck on Pac-Man, Herb, or have you moved up to Tomb Raider?”

  “All right … all right,” Al said. He stood and placed himself between Rosco and Carlyle before their animosity could escalate into a show of physical force. “Let’s take this discussion to my office, Poly—crates.” He waited for Belle and Rosco to step out, then added, “Thanks, Herb, I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You do that.” Carlyle’s face was turned toward the computer screen, but his eyes were unmoving.

  Belle and Rosco and Al refrained from talking about the case until they reached Lever’s office. The decision wasn’t based on concerns about being overheard, but because each was wrapped up in speculation as to what might have occurred on East Farm Lane.

  “Do you think the captain will let Abe take a look at Dan’s body? To corroborate Carlyle’s findings, I mean?” Belle asked as she sat in the battered wooden ladder-back chair that lay opposite Lever’s desk. Al had flopped down in his swiveling office chair, his body tilting backward and his feet itching to settle on the desktop—where they would have been, were it not for Belle’s presence. Rosco found himself a perch on the corner of the desk’s scarred surface. The positions were similar to ones the three had taken up many times before; and they carried with them an odd sense of deja vu, and a certain kind of comfort in familiarity.