We circled Nick’s FBI-issued Impala and made our way toward the outline of yellow police tape.
“That’s probably the healthiest thing you’ve had to eat in the last week,” Nick said.
“Screw you. Last night I had a granola bar.”
“If it came out of a package, it’s still processed food. Have you thought about having some flax for breakfast, along with fresh fruit from an organic farm?”
While I was plenty happy for Nick to take control of his life and get himself in shape, he’d become quite the food snob. On top of that, he now thought he could kick my ass in any type of athletic endeavor.
“I know I need to eat better, Nick, or should I call you Dad?”
“That stings,” he said as he lowered himself under the tape.
A few cops milled about the crime scene, despite the fact that the body had been bagged and taken to the Middlesex County medical examiner’s office for an autopsy. I wasn’t as familiar with the civil servants in Middlesex County. Normally, we worked hand in hand with Suffolk County, which lined the coast, and the Boston Police Department. We always appreciated a law enforcement agency that had a lot of resources, since Uncle Sam typically pinched pennies within the FBI.
I waved my bandaged hand at one of the uniforms. “I’m looking for a Detective Askew. Know where I can find him?”
He chuckled while sticking his thumbs inside his belt loop. “Her. Detective Askew is a woman.”
“Didn’t know. Sorry.”
“No problem. She’s down by the river working with the crime scene investigators.”
I gave him a courteous nod, and we followed the dirt path down a hill, through a cluster of dense trees that spilled onto a small inlet that served as a shore. I spotted the only female in the mud and rocks. Wearing rubber boots over what looked like a teal pantsuit, she was speaking to a pot-bellied man who had “Crime Scene Investigation” written in small white letters on the back of his windbreaker.
It took a moment, but she noticed us and made her way over. As we shook hands, I noticed her grip was firm, but her hands quite soft. We finished the rudimentary introductions, and I asked if she had seen the body. She turned her head back to the shore, and the wind blew a lock of chestnut hair across her face. While she was probably close to my age, I couldn’t spot a flaw on her face. In fact, she was drop-dead gorgeous—in a girl-next-door kind of way.
“I saw it, the body, before it was taken away,” she said, hesitating as she looked out across Mystic River, a few remaining puffs of fog clinging to the water. Miniature swells gently lapped over the smooth stones behind the detective.
I waited a good ten seconds or so, then, “Care to share what you saw, Detective?”
“Terri,” she said, turning back to me, hands now in her pockets. “Just call me Terri. I’ve only been a detective for five years, a patrol cop just two years before that. But I’ve never seen anything like this, nor have I even seen pictures of anything like this.”
I could tell she was in shock, trying to make sense of how one person could kill another. We’d all been there, and every new case brought back that same feeling, one I knew all too well. It was as if I had a perpetual case of acid reflux—the taste of my own vomit just another murder away.
I motioned with my hand for her to continue. “Sorry. When I got here, the ME took me right to the body. He pulled back her eyelids—she had no eyes. Someone had cut out her fucking eyes.” Terri raked her long fingers through her hair. Even in stress, there was something about her that seemed graceful and radiant at the same time.
Shaking her head, she added, “The officer who was first on the scene has already asked for a leave of absence. A sick bastard did this. A very sick bastard.”
Nick and I exchanged a knowing glance. I guessed that we both wondered if the little Somerville PD had the resources to take point on this investigation, even if we were riding shotgun.
“Those images stay with you long after the investigation ends. Maybe you need to talk to someone,” I said, knowing just about every department kept at least one shrink on retainer.
“I’m okay. It’s just a job, right?” She smirked, then leaned down and picked up a piece of paper that had blown near her foot.
“Evidence?” I asked.
She held the wrinkled paper closer to her face, squinting her eyes to read it. “Probably not. It’s a receipt from a 7-Eleven dated two years ago, but we’ll bag it just in case.” She whistled at the same cop from earlier, who came over and carefully placed the piece of paper in an evidence bag.
I took another view of the river. In addition to a bunch of trash that had gathered along the shoreline, I couldn’t see six inches deep into the water. It had a sludgy look, as if an oil tanker had just ruptured in the vicinity.
“Damn, when are they ever going to clean up this filth?” Nick said, beating me to it. He waved a hand in front of his face. “Smells like dead fish too.”
“Some plant keeps dumping sewage into the river, and no one does anything about it,” Terri said. “You know how it is, lots of government agencies pointing the finger…cities, water districts, everyone. No one wants to pick up the bill. So we’re stuck in inertia.”
Knowing we weren’t about to solve a government throw-down, I took our focus back to the case. Actually, two cases.
“Not sure if you’re aware, but we were recently assigned a cold case, now about ten years old. The vic also had her eyeballs cut out.”
Terri shook her head, her deep-set eyes narrowing. “How many perps can have the same MO? It’s got to be the same guy, right?”
“Guy, girl, who knows? But your vic got our attention, that’s for certain. What do you know about her?”
“Listen, Agent Troutt—”
“If I can call you Terri, you can call me Alex.”
“I know I’m not exactly exuding a ton of confidence right now, but I have passion for my job. I love it and hate it at the same time. So, I guess I’m saying that I’ll be happy to share with you what we know, but we need professional courtesy extended back to us as well. The media and public will be all over us, and we’ll need the extra help.”
“I don’t think so, at least not for the reasons you think,” I said, shifting my feet.
She tilted her head, a quizzical expression on her face.
“The details for cause of death were never released. In fact, the body of Gloria Lopez was never claimed by any family or friends.”
Terri raised an eyebrow.
“My thoughts exactly,” Nick said.
“So the body your officer found…was it dumped here or did it wash ashore?” I asked.
“Our divers who know the waters, and all the sludge included, are certain the body had drifted downstream.”
I took a step around Nick and scanned the area. I’d missed it when we walked up, but while we were technically next to the Mystic River, we were actually at the connecting point where the northerly Malden River dumped into the Mystic.
“Do we know which branch she came from?”
“Given where her body landed and the currents, the divers think she floated down from the Mystic. How far, no one knows.”
“Unless it was made to look like it came from the Mystic, not the Malden River,” Nick added.
I slapped my partner on the arm and nodded. “Can’t rule it out.”
“We’ve got two teams scanning the shoreline. My Somerville team is walking the shore up to about a half mile on the south side, and the Medford department is scanning both sides of the river up to two miles.”
“Everyone is marking their territory,” I said.
“We all want to find out who did this,” Terri said, sounding a bit annoyed at my jaded perspective.
The CSI person called Terri over, while Nick and I stayed back and compared notes.
“We’re dealing with amateurs,” Nick said in a hushed tone.
I smacked his arm again. “Too far.”
“Okay, we’re dealing
with professionals who couldn’t find their asses with both hands. That any better?”
As the T train rumbled across the tracks behind me, I released a smirk and turned my sights westward, up the Mystic River. I recalled the movie of the same name, the story of three boys who were forever jaded by a horrific childhood incident. If memory served me correctly, Sean Penn and Tim Robbins both won Oscars that year. The movie was based on Dennis Lehane’s novel. As usual, the book was better. It was fiction, but there was something about this river that made my stomach turn. Was it the movie alone? Could it be the disgusting water and how it seemed like everyone was afraid to make it better? Maybe. It was almost as if the river carried some type of curse on those who dared to bring it under control.
Terri joined us. “They found a five-dollar bill floating near a rock.”
“I guess anyone could have dropped that,” I said.
“Well, the ME found another five-dollar bill stuck in the vic’s bra.”
I nodded, thinking through the facts she had shared. “Had she been sexually assaulted?”
“Early examination showed nothing pointing to that. He’s doing a more thorough examination today.”
“What else have you learned about the vic?”
“She actually had a driver’s license in the back pocket of her denim skirt. Name is Emma Katic, spelled K-A-T-I-C. Age thirty-two.”
“Russian last name. Recent immigrant?” Nick asked.
“We don’t know that much about her yet. We just now received the opening kickoff.”
A sports analogy. It worked, really. That was exactly what the start of an investigation was like. “We know she was employed at a local bar in Malden—Lenny’s Pub. Sending a team over there this morning to start interviews and do background checks.”
Sounded like something we should handle, but I let it rest for now.
“You’re thinking something,” Nick said to me.
“Just doing a little comparison to our cold-case vic.”
“Do share,” Terri said.
“Two notable differences. First, our vic was only twenty-one. Much younger,” I said. “Second, she was a prostitute. All these years we’ve been wondering if it was one of her customers who had killed her.”
They both nodded as another T train plowed across the bridge, drowning out all sound around us. I counted ten times that the stressed track grunted in protest.
“What was the actual cause of death?” Terri asked.
“Blunt force trauma to the back of her skull. The ME report says they found tiny splinters of wood in her hair.”
“How about Emma?” Nick asked.
“Single gun-shot-wound to the head.”
We further compared the vics. In addition to the differences in age, profession, and actual cause of death, my cold-case vic had jet-black hair and a tan complexion.
“Doesn’t add up,” Terri said, running her fingers through her hair again. And I thought I played with my hair a lot. That appeared to be Terri’s go-to move, whether she was stressed or just pontificating.
“Any way we could be looking at a copycat killer?” Terri asked.
“But the public—” Nick started.
Terri held up a hand to interrupt him. “I know, your cold case was never made public. But a few people knew. The agents working the case, maybe the local detectives at least had awareness. And then, of course, the perp himself.”
“A family member or close friend of the perp. That could be an angle to think about,” I said.
“Don’t discount the idea of a former agent. You hinted earlier how this job can send you to the nuthouse. Maybe one of the good guys went over the deep end and started mimicking an old case.”
As much as I didn’t want to believe it, I knew Terri had every reason to throw that theory into the mix.
“Good instincts. We’ll definitely start digging on that one, if for no other reason than to rule it out.”
We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to touch base daily, if not more often, as both teams gathered intel and our suspect pool became clearer—assuming we could actually create a list of legitimate suspects.
Nick and I walked up the path and got back in the car. He started the engine, and I said, “I’m calling Gretchen to let her know we need her in the war room when we get back. We’re running short-handed without Brad, but we’ll have to make do.”
Nick gave me the eye, and then a grin cracked his face.
“What?” Was he about to admit he knew about me and Brad?
My phone rang. It was Terri. I punched the line while looking for her out my window.
“You break the case in just the last minute?” I joked.
“Maybe. We just got a tip about a guy who threatened Emma, and he’s got a violent past. We’ve got a team on the way to the guy’s employer.”
I spotted her jogging out from the canopy of trees.
“I see you. We’ll pick you up and drive together.”
Within seconds, Terri slid into the backseat, and Nick hit the gas before she could shut the door.
5
My hand hit the roof as Nick leaned the Impala into a tight turn. Not only did the tires squeal like stuck pigs, but the steering wheel trembled.
“What the fuck is going on?” he belted, his voice sounding like an automatic weapon from the incessant jittering.
For a moment, he lifted his hands from the wheel. “Don’t do that,” Terri and I screamed at the same time, as the Impala fishtailed into oncoming traffic.
He slammed his hands back on the wheel, swerved to miss a garbage truck, then scooted by the median’s light pole with only inches to spare.
“Woo! Damn, that felt good,” he said, bouncing in his seat like a little kid who had just finished his first-ever trip on a roller coaster.
Taking in a deep breath to gain control of my heartbeat, I just stared at him, wondering what the hell happened to my old partner. He’d gone from a sloth to a vegan, and now he was a thrill-seeker. Nothing too dangerous for Captain America.
I peeked over my shoulder to check on Terri. She had forgotten to buckle her seatbelt and had been tossed to the other side of the car, her hair scattered across her face. Somehow she still looked like a million bucks. Her phone rang, and she grabbed the back of my seat, pulled up, and answered it just as Nick punched the horn.
“Watch out!” I said, slapping the center console as Nick cut into oncoming traffic to pass a slower car.
“Asswipe,” he yelled out.
Horns blared from all angles, and Nick stuck his hand out the door and gave them the one-finger salute.
“Jesus, Nick, you’re on quite a roll. Is this burst of energy from one of your organic fruits?”
“Yep.”
“Maybe they mixed it with something just as natural, like ’shrooms.”
“Funny,” he said, suddenly slamming his foot on the brake. “You said 214 Carter Street, right, Terri?” He glanced at the rearview mirror.
No answer, so I quickly flipped my sights over my shoulder. She was nodding at us, while talking intensely into the phone.
Nick cut across traffic amidst another horn assault and headed north on Alford. A moment later, we sped across the Mystic River. I glanced up the river for a quick second, but I didn’t have long enough to take in a full view.
“I thought I told you not to approach the business until we got there.” Terri’s voice had an edge to it. “What do you mean, you didn’t hear me?”
I pulled down the visor and saw she had taken the phone away from her ear and was mumbling under her breath, her eyes closed.
“Everything okay?”
She covered the phone with her hand. “Hell no. Two dumbass detectives are circumventing my authority.”
“I’m sure they’re just eager to get the collar,” I said as Nick plowed the Impala straight ahead; I could see the bridge behind us in the visor’s mirror. I kept my eyes on Terri. “What’s going on now?” She had the phone back up to her ear.
Another pause. I shifted my eyes from my mirror to the road up ahead, trying to keep track of both scenarios—Nick’s driving and Terri’s freak-out.
Terri covered the phone again and said, “One of the guys is laughing. He thinks I’m just some broad who can’t keep her emotions in check.”
It was odd seeing another woman go through a similar experience from my work life. Hell, it was odd seeing another woman in any position of authority. Maybe we could commiserate later over a glass of wine. Damn, I sounded like such a girl.
I shrugged my shoulders, and she went back to her conversation, trying to get her detectives back on track. “You let the foreman leave the office to get the suspect, without anyone accompanying him? Are you fucking crazy?” I could now tell she was from Boston. Her anger had whipped up a wicked accent. “This guy threatened the life of our victim…the girl who was murdered last night. Dammit, Meyers and Longfellow!”
Nick glanced at me and said, “Longfellow?” He tried not to smirk, but that was exactly what he did.
“Not the right time.” I looked at the road ahead and saw nothing but brake lights. I jammed my foot into the floorboard. “Nick!”
“On it,” he said. The tires screeched, and we slowed to a thirty miles per hour. I took in a deep breath, exhaled, then looked in the mirror again.
“Is he back yet?” Terri asked into the phone. Then she nodded. “It’s been three minutes, and he’s still not back. You don’t think there’s a chance that he’s covering for this Vince Tripuka?”
For the first time since I’d met her, her cheeks were flush. I could almost picture steam coming from her nostrils. I could relate to the troops not following instructions, although my current team was as good as it got—Brad’s tight ass notwithstanding.
“Crap, Nick, can’t you move any faster? We might have a runner on our hands while Meyers and Longfellow are playing rock-paper-scissors in the foreman’s office.”
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2) Page 26
