Touched By Blood

by Craig Buckhout

  “On hold with Wally Mart security,” Fanucchi answered.

  “Phone records for three of my victims,” Nick added pointing to the hundred plus pages in front of him.

  “Well, let me know if I can help. Court was continued.”

  “Yeah, which case?” Fanucchi asked.

  “Divorce case,” she answered. “Can you believe that loser; he wants spousal support from me, me! Maybe if he had a decent job. What kind of a man …ahhh.” She threw up a hand dismissively.

  Nick shot Fanucchi a ‘what’d you ask that for’ look.

  “Tough one,” Fanucchi said, dropping his feet to the floor and turning to face the desk.

  Nick put Molly’s phone records on top and started through them looking for the phone number written on the back of Forney’s business card.

  “I’m here,” Fanucchi said into the phone. …“You got to be kidding, Fidel Castro? Jeeze. …Yeah, I still want a copy faxed. It will at least have his handwriting. And if you’ll Fed Ex the original with the signature on it, that’d be great. …Me or Nick Zajac. …Yeah, that’s right, no wait, it’s with a C not a K.”

  Nick took his highlighter and yellowed over the first occurrence of the number. The date was about two months prior to Molly’s death.

  Right at that moment, Andy came in the door holding some computer printouts. He set them on Nick’s desk and said, “These are the Department of Motor Vehicles and criminal histories. Nothing too earth shattering. I’ll have some more stuff for you in about thirty minutes or so.” He went back out the way he came in.

  Nick thanked him to his back and heard Fanucchi say, “Okay, now who do I contact to get the records of calls made and received?”

  He wrote something on a notepad.

  “Are they going to give me a problem? I don’t want any problems. …A letter or maybe a subpoena, huh? Yeah, I can do that, thanks.”

  After hanging up he said, “You know, it used to be that a cop could get anything with a phone call. People would drop whatever they were doing just to help. Now, now everyone wants a frigging piece of paper, on official letterhead, signed by the man, and then you still have to wait your turn.”

  “Yeah, well, it also used to be that men had a set of balls, too. Present company excluded of course,” Carla said.

  “Of course,” the two of them responded in almost perfect unison. But then Fanucchi added, “Awh, you just need to get back out there and get yourself laid by some twenty-year old with a flat stomach and a tattoo on his arm that says Mother, then things will look a whole lot brighter.”

  “You got to be out of you mind, Fanucchi. I don’t want to see another pair of hairy legs for the rest of my life. That’s how I got in this mess.”

  Nick just looked at Fanucchi and shook his head. A good reason cops shouldn’t get married, he thought.

  “You just didn’t find the right one. It makes all the difference.” Changing the subject, Fanucchi said to Nick, “I guess you got most of that stuff I said on the phone, huh?”

  “Yeah, he used the name Fidel Castro to pay for the phone and you’re going to need a letter or subpoena to get the phone records.”

  “That’s about it. It only takes a minute to do, but still …”

  “Hey Nick,” Carla interrupted. “How about you give me the phone records to work on? I need something to get my mind off that jerk I married.”

  Nick told Carla what he needed done and handed the documents off to her. She then grabbed her belongings, the records, and headed out the door saying, “I’m going to do this at home. I’ll give you a call when I’m finished.”

  After she was gone Fanucchi said, “Bet you twenty bucks that before the month is out she’ll be joy popping some guy named Lance, sporting a ten-inch salami, and coming to work with a smile on her face. It’s nature, you can’t fight it. Know what I mean?”

  “Doesn’t mean she has to marry him.”

  “Maybe not him, but the third or fourth or fifth Lance she will. Coupling-up is in our DNA; survival of the species and all that. You just have to find the right one so you can survive happy.”

  “I got work to do,” Nick said and turned his attention to the criminal history checks.

  Blaine had bumped the law a few times; nothing serious, though. In his early twenties, he was pinched for disturbing the peace and drunk in public. The case was dismissed. Nick thumbed through the paperwork until he found the report. It was just two pages long. Police were called to a sorority house on a complaint of someone singing in the bushes. They found Blaine drunk and urinating under one of the windows. Another arrest was more recent. It was for drunken driving five years ago. He paid a fine, did community service, and had a restricted driver’s license for a year. That was it for the criminal history, nothing further. As for the DMV records, he’d received a couple of speeding tickets over the years, been in one accident, had two cars registered to him, and the drunk driving charge was listed there, too. End of story for him.

  As for Templeton, there was nothing, not even a traffic ticket. He had a Chevrolet van registered to him as well as a Volvo station wagon. His license was valid, issued three years earlier. Andy had thought to include a copy of his driver’s license, and the photo matched.

  The Homicide Unit secretary announced over the PA system, “Nick, call for you on two.”

  He picked it up.

  “Hey Nick,” Rene said. “We followed Templeton to a restaurant downtown. One of my guys got the table next to his and when he was done, grabbed a napkin and coffee cup before the busboy could get to them. The only thing is that he looked right at me when he came out. I wasn’t expecting him. He just sort of surprised me. I don’t know if he recognized me or not, but I was right there when Malone got shot, so it’s possible. Just to be safe, from now on I’m going to stay out of the area. I’ll just coordinate things.”

  “Good idea. You’re probably okay, though. You know how it goes, you always think they burn the tail, but they never really do.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to take that chance. The other thing is, while he was in the restaurant I wiped down his driver’s door around the handle and window, and also the trunk lid. That way they’re clean and tonight when he’s sleeping we’ll try to lift some fresh prints. If we can figure out the collection schedule, we’ll snatch his garbage, too.”

  “Good trick. So far the guy’s a ghost. He just seems to appear out of nowhere about three years ago. If this fingerprint thing works, maybe we can figure out who he really is. By itself, it won’t clear our homicides but it may get us closer. So whatever you come up with, turn over to Fran Decker. She’ll do the processing.”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll call you later.”

  Andy walked back into the office and started putting bundles of papers down on Nick’s desk.

  “These are calls for service. These are credit checks. These are civil filings, properties owned, divorce stuff for Blaine only, and copies of business licenses. I took the initiative to run up Melanie Blaine, too, so here’s criminal, divorce, and credit on her.”

  Nick thanked him and started labeling each stack of paper.

  Blaine continued to be an interesting guy. He’d been sued a couple of times, carried a lot of debt but also owned a lot of property. It was the divorce filing that was good reading, though. His ex had been granted a temporary restraining order where it was alleged that he had threatened her with a gun and was frequently drunk and abusive. Nick wrote his former wife’s name down in his notebook. Ex-wives and ex-girlfriends were always a good source of information.

  As for Melanie Blaine, she turned out to be the perfect match for him. Her financial history included a bankruptcy and later a high debt to asset ratio, mostly due to credit card use. She too had been through a divorce where custody of her children had been awarded to her ex-husband. Affidavits alleged that she slept around with both men and women and frequently came home late and drunk.

  It got Nick to thinking. Three bad marriages, Pe
ter Blaine’s, Melanie Blaine’s, and Carla’s; if you were going to do something like that, why not live together for a while just to make sure there weren’t any surprises?

  Nick shook the thought off and got to Templeton who had nothing of interest, which made him of interest. He owned no property, had no debt except a business loan for about fifty grand, had never been sued, and had never been married or divorced.

  Nick checked his watch. It was getting to be about that time.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Instead of sitting in his car, the uniform was standing in the bushes across the street. Not a bad idea Nick thought.

  Nick signaled the officer he could clear and climbed the steps to Ellen’s front door. She must have been waiting for him because she opened it before he could knock, gave him a kiss on the lips, and ushered him inside.

  “How about we order pizza,” she asked, “maybe eat it in bed and then go to your mom’s house later? That way we can make all the noise we want.”

  “Hmmm, tempting but how about instead I take you out to dinner, we come back here and make lots and lots of noise, and then we go to my mother’s place?”

  “Really, we can go out? The big bad boogeyman won’t get me?”

  “Not where I have in mind.”

  “I’ll buy. I got a job.”

  “Deal.”

  Borys’ was on Fourth Street north in a converted two story Victorian with the Polish flag hanging out front. It was a place where you could get Pierogi at seven in the morning or green eggs and zucchini pancakes at seven at night. It was loud and busy and happy and just about everyone knew everyone else. Nick had been going there for as long as he could remember, though not so much lately. In fact, not at all in the last couple of months. When he was a kid, his father used to bring him here on Sunday afternoons. He’d balance Nick on his knee while sitting at a corner table sipping vodka and talking politics with his friends from the old country. It was that kind of place.

  “Well I’ll be damned; every day I check the obituaries looking for Mikolaj Zajac and now here you are,” Ben shouted.

  Ben, Benedykt Jaworski, was in his sixties and was the second generation owner of Borys’. Borys Jaworski was his dad, God rest his soul. Tonight, Ben was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt buttoned at the collar and grey slacks held-up with a scuffed, thin leather belt. Yesterday he was dressed that way, too, as he was just about every other day except Sundays when he always wore a white short-sleeve shirt with a diagonally striped blue and white tie, ten years past fashionable, all other things being the same.

  He spotted Ellen over Nick’s shoulder, pushed him aside, and immediately took her hands.

  “Now what is such a beautiful lady like this doing with you,” he said to Nick. And then he shouted, “Dorota, look who’s here.”

  Dorota Jawarski was Ben’s wife and good friends with Nick’s mother. She was wearing a black skirt and a light blue blouse, both under an apron stenciled Borys’. She crossed the room in a rush and wrapped her arms around Nick.

  “It’s so good to see you Nick, it’s been too long. And I was just talking with your mother, too.”

  She then moved past him, slapped her husband’s hands away, and gave Ellen a hug. She stepped back to arms length and said, “Ann told me all about you. You can call me Dorothy.”

  “We’ve got just the table for you,” Ben said. “This calls for vodka.”

  “Everything calls for vodka around here,” Nick replied.

  “But this is special.”

  “We’ll make it the special vodka then.”

  “Ahh …Wyborowa.”

  He propelled Nick with a hand on his shoulder.

  “How terrible about your sister,” Dorothy said as she walked arm and arm with Ellen to their table. “I am so sorry for you. If there is anything, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Thank you,” Ellen said. “He’s taking pretty good care of me, though,” indicating Nick who was just ahead of them.

  “Nick’s a good boy, just a little stubborn about some things if you know what I mean. I’ve known him since, well, I changed his diapers more than once. That’s how long I’ve known him.”

  Nick overheard the conversation and groaned. A woman laying claim to a diaper change was like the youth anointing himself with the blood of the stag, Nick thought.

  Ben laughed.

  For starters, they ordered crispy potato pancakes with smoked salmon, red caviar, capers, goat cheese and light cream, and with a shot of vodka of course. Ben and Dorothy toasted them like long lost cousins, and then they were off to care for others.

  “The faces of the people here, so much expression,” Ellen said when they were alone. “I wish I could photograph them. Look at that woman over there, she’s so proud. Look how straight she sits and the smile lines around her eyes. Those have to be her grandkids. And that little boy, blond hair, blue eyes, skin as pale as parchment, he’s beautiful.”

  Nick looked around him. “You know, you go someplace time after time, see the same things over and over, and it looks, well, just the same; nothing special. But through your eyes, I see what you mean.”

  Ellen touched his hand. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  At the same time their appetizer arrived, so did a call from Fanucchi.

  “Where are you, I need to drop something off.”

  “Borys’.”

  “Be there in a few.”

  They lingered over the appetizer and then decided to skip the salad. Instead, Ellen ordered the black truffle steak with mash potatoes and greens, claiming she’d burn the calories later, and Nick the Polish Perogi with caramelized onions.

  “So tell me about this job,” Nick asked.

  “Oh, it’s a fiftieth wedding anniversary, about two hundred people attending. Their daughter is making all the arrangements. It ought to be fun, plus bring a nice fee. That’s how I can afford to buy you dinner.”

  “To gainful employment,” Nick said raising his glass.

  “And to good daughters with large bank accounts.”

  They both swallowed down the last of the Wyborowa.

  Nick saw Fanucchi come in the door, shake hands with Ben, and start their way.

  When he got to their table Nick said, “Ellen, this is Benito Fanucchi. Fanuch, this is Ellen, she’s Molly Bank’s sister.”

  Fanucchi removed his hat in a show of respect seldom conferred.

  “Well, well, nice to meet you.”

  Nick didn’t like the way he said, “Well, well.”

  Ellen shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, also.”

  The waitress arrived and Fanucchi ordered a Bushmills. Nick called for two more shots of vodka.

  “So, what do you have for me?” Nick asked.

  “Oh, yeah, first off I got the list of numbers called and received on that phone, the one from Wal-Mart. The number written on the back of the business card. I had this contact of mine check to see who they belonged to, and one of them came back to the Mesa Arizona Police Department.”

  He handed Nick a single page showing the phone number, name, and address of its subscriber.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. I called it and got a recording for a Detective Meyers. He’s not scheduled back until tomorrow morning at eight. Thought you might want to make that call instead.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Anything more on the other numbers?” Nick asked.

  “No, still working on them, but Navarro caught me as I was leaving and said that a couple of deputies found Blaine’s car in the light rail park and ride off Santa Teresa Blvd. Not too far from where they found the Honda after Emerson and St. Claire were killed.”

  Nick looked at his watch. “At this time of day it’ll take me forty minutes to get there.”

  “Relax man; Navarro said there was nothing to be done. They’re going to just seal it and take it to the warehouse for processing. Enjoy your dinner.”

  “Have you had dinner yet?” Ellen asked. “You’re welcome to
join us.”

  “Oh no, no thanks. I have dinner waiting; can’t stay long. …So how long have you two been …” Fanucchi stopped mid sentence and motioned with his hand back and forth between the two of them.

  “Been what?” Nick asked.

  “Oh, gimme a break,” he said.

  “Not that long,” Ellen replied. “You might consider this our first official date.”

  She raised her foot and rubbed it along the inside of Nick’s leg. He dropped his hand below the table and touched her ankle.

  Fanucchi’s eyes caught the movement, and he couldn’t help but smile and then chuckle.

  “See,” Fanucchi said. “Simple question, honest answer.” He then handed her his card and said, “When you get tired of him, give me a call.”

  “You’re married,” Nick said.

  “I’d leave my wife in a heartbeat.”

  “If you did, she’d cut your heart out and put it in a Mason jar on her night stand.”

  The waitress arrived with the drinks.

  “So true.” He took a swallow of whiskey.

  Ellen handed back his card. “In that case, you should probably keep this; we want to keep your heart right where it is.”

  “Too bad, we would have been good for one another.”

  Ellen laughed but Nick’s mind had gone back to the case.

  “So what do you do for a living Ellen,” Fanucchi asked.

  “Photography,” she then handed him a card.

  “Now we’re talking.”

  “Did they check the trunk?” Nick asked.

  “What? Oh yeah, and no body, blood, nothing,” Fanucchi said.

  “You know, I wonder if Special Ops is keeping track of Blaine’s credit cards. They were taking the lead on tracking him. If he’s still alive, he’ll need money.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll check to make sure. Everyone’s been so busy, maybe they missed it. But right now, I’m getting out of here and going home. You guys probably have more important things to do than talk about murder anyway.”

  He took another swallow of Bushmills.

  “Don’t leave on my account, I figure it comes with the territory,” Ellen said. “Besides I want this guy caught, too.”