Melting Steele

by Kimberly Amato

  “Detective, right on time!”

  Logan whirls past me and uses his butt to open the doors. It’s then that I notice he’s holding two steaming mugs of coffee. As I pass him by, he hands me one. I’m a coffee snob, so one must sniff said coffee and make sure it isn’t a watery mess.

  “I assure you, Hadley let me know your specific roast. It also happens to be my favorite so it’s nice to share a very smooth but seriously strong cup of coffee with a colleague.”

  It smells like heaven. I must look like a kid on Christmas morning because I feel the smile stretching from ear to ear.

  “You brew good coffee down here?”

  “The perks of having the newest tech gear. We demand proper coffee to ensure a happy work environment. Trust me sitting here and staring at binary code is just not very entertaining. Don’t get me started on following social media accounts, cell phone pings and crap like that. It’s fun to disprove alibis but sometimes we just want to play games on these new computers. Could you imagine a game on that massive screen out there? We can even break it up into smaller ones so we all could play at the same time.”

  He looks at me and I know he’s been talking, but he lost me at bi-something or other code. I’m just figuring out how I can make a trip down here every day to get a proper cup of heaven.

  “I lost you didn’t I?”

  “Coffee, simple pleasure. You want to talk other stuff, hit Chase up. He understands it. I make him program this new smartphone thing. It’s not very smart when I continuously lock myself out of it. He says he made it easier to open with a pin, but I promise you I’ll forget that eventually.”

  “They’re not really difficult. Maybe we can set you up with a better method…” he stops talking. It might have to do with my blank expression staring at him. While I appreciate the assistance, and it’s nice he’s trying to be kind to me, seriously do not try to teach me technology. Just quit while you’re ahead.

  “Gotcha, no tech classes. Maybe Chase and I can play some games though.”

  “I’m sure he’d love that. Now, beyond this amazing coffee, please tell me why I am here at this ungodly hour.”

  “Right,” he places his coffee down and flips open his laptop computer. After he types away for a few seconds, the white wall behind him becomes his desktop screen. I have to admit that’s a bit cooler than just showing me his small ass screen. It makes it a lot easier for my contact laden eyes to see. He sits next to me and taps away on his screen. A few markers appear in a cluster on the screen. They could mean anything, but they seem to be around one specific area.

  “What are those?”

  “After you told me to attack everything to do with Mr. Brandt, I began tracing his phone and what towers it pings off of. I’ve also had the team searching through the encoded emails and figuring out who the buyers were, when meetings were made, times of deliveries etc. The red markers are where a cell phone pinged off a tower at the location of delivery. It is always in the same spot and always a minute or two before the meeting time. The blue markers are where the traffic and other cams picked up the car that appears to be associated with the cell phone.”

  “They all seem to center around the park.”

  “Yes, it seems like that is the center of the operations. It’s perfect.”

  “How is that perfect? It’s in a public arena, people can scream, call the police, report suspicious activity. That is far from perfect.”

  “No one reports anything. Unless it’s an Amber Alert, people will ignore anything and everything that doesn’t directly relate to them. They’re too busy looking at their own cell phones, texting someone or updating some status somewhere. The point is, hiding in plain sight.”

  “That’s not normal.”

  “Not for your average criminal, no. However, this is a technology based criminal. They know statistics better than most.”

  “If they were so smart, why would they have their cell phones on to be easily traced?”

  “That’s the concerning part. We’ve been able to identify some of the buyers. Their cell phone pings the nearest tower and stays there for the same time as prior transactions. The difference is during these transactions there is no other cell phone. If you watch the pings, they are consistent, they are parallel for over five minutes. Then they break apart.”

  “I don’t see Mr. Brandt making that mistake. He seems to be sure of himself. Not to mention a person dealing with the underbelly of society with a multi-million dollar tech company would not make a newbie mistake like that.”

  “That was my thought, so we ran the phones. The main one came from a burner phone, but we have actual contact information for the rest of them.”

  “What were the deliveries?”

  “Drugs, guns, illegal information, women, organs and sometimes babies. It costs less to buy an organ or a child than it does to do it legally.”

  “Like Mr. Morris.”

  “We tracked his phone as well. His meet was at the piers.”

  “Surgery in a cargo container?”

  “You’d be surprised what’s available in those things. That isn’t the best part though.”

  “Hit me with it already.”

  “Irving Garrison owns the storage area.”

  “I’m going to go have a conversation with Mr. Morris. You keep digging in on Garrison. He wants me to back off. That means kick it into high gear. Watch your back. I don’t want to explain to Hadley that you were hurt.”

  “If there is one thing my investigations have shown me, Mr. Garrison is not one to get his hands dirty.”

  “He’s a starfish, he can cut off his limbs as needed, but they always grow back.”

  “Of all the things you could come up with you chose a starfish?”

  “I’m going to go have another conversation with Mr. Morris. You don’t hate on my bad analogies. Chase loves them.”

  “Yes, well he’s also a child living under your roof, so…”

  “Funny. Call me if anything pops. And…”

  “Keep tabs on the mastermind via the DL.”

  Confusion must have slowly etched its way across my face because Logan looks like he is fighting a fit of giggles.

  “Don’t worry about it boss, just go.”

  He waves me off and I just go. At a certain point, one must accept age is a problem. Younger we could easily pick up a device or newest gadget and we could figure out how to use it. As we get older, busier and stuck in our ways - new things fall into the “what the fuck” category. Like why the hell do I need a watch that extends my phone? I don’t need a status symbol. I don’t follow the masses. I don’t want to talk to my wrist, that is what a damn earpiece is for. Most importantly, I wouldn’t know how the hell to turn it on. I’m only in my thirties, but this crap makes me feel old as dirt.

  ***

  I hate fate. I hate karma. Hell, I hate death even though I obsess about it. Everything has a control outside of my hands, my mind or my ability to change it. Why give me a mind to think and sort out a problem if you rip away things I need to solve something? It’s like dangling a lifesaving surgery in front of a patient’s face. You know they need it, but insurance refuses to pay for it.

  Watching the nurses rushing in and out of Morris’s room, I feel that slap of death across my face. Like a force of mass destruction, he always gets his victim. You can push it off, hide from him, maybe even cheat him once or twice. I know for a fact that he will find you. You can only run so far on this plane. He can outlast you. That’s why death is fascinating. He has a plan that only he understands. It has no rhyme or reason.

  I’m known as a hard-ass detective you can’t deny. I get to the bottom of a case and I never give in. It doesn’t matter if it’s a cold case or not, I will get answers. As the alarms continue to blare in the hospital room, I feel just like him. I embody him. I have no rhyme or reason to how I do what I do. I just feel it, that need to solve something. I feel the need to protect the victims, their families.

 
“Detective? We did everything we could. He couldn’t fight off the infection.”

  “What infection?”

  “Mr. Morris had a cold.”

  “Death by sniffles? Forgive me doc, but you are going to have to give me a bit more than that.”

  The two uniformed officers try to stifle a laugh at the doctor’s expense. One stern look from me and they stop. Like I said, my reputation precedes me.

  “The original surgical procedure was not as sterile as it should be. Couple that with organ rejection, we had him on a serious round of antibiotics and steroids. Simply put his immune system was shot. That’s why he was transferred to the ICU.”

  “You mind telling me everything you know?”

  “I have other patients that need attending to. Everything you need to know is in my report. I’m sure the coroner you have will be able to explain it more in detail.”

  The doctor brushes past me as another alarm rings out above me. Death is working overtime today. Grabbing my phone I dial the only person who obsesses over death more than me.

  “Jasmine, darling, I swear I didn’t finish all Girl Scout Cookies! If Chase told you that, he’s lying.”

  “Okay, first our defective organ recipient Jake Morris is dead. Secondly, you finished my Thin Mints? That is not cool. Finally, you are putting the blame on a child, that’s sad.”

  “Right,” Victor clears his throat, “I’ll send my people to pick up the poor bloke. I’ll also get more cookies as soon as I get the chance.”

  “I’ll be following your men back to the lab. Maybe you can enlighten me how a simple cold kills someone.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Victor, living with me does not mean eating my secret anti-health food stash. Understand? You eat it, you replace it. Simple rule.”

  “Got it. I’ll see you when you arrive.”

  Disconnecting the call, I look around the ward. A nurse with a mask on her face slowly cleans up the body. Something they shouldn’t be doing.

  “Excuse me!”

  The nurse stops on a dime, but doesn’t look at me.

  “I need you to stop what you’re doing. The coroner’s office is coming to pick up the body.”

  She nods, looks up briefly and exits the room. I swear I’ve seen her before, the eyes are familiar, but I can’t place her. The officers walk into the room and just stand there.

  “Anything you need from us, detective?”

  “Yeah, one of you get me the security footage for this entire ward for today. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  One of the officers ducks out of the room. He was turning a shade of green, so I’m sure it’s more self preservation that desire to complete the task. The other officer just stands there, calm and almost at attention.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Nurse came in to check on him. She spoke to him a bit, touched him and walked out. Guy was smiling at her. A little while later, the machines started screaming. Doctor came in and yelled some code out. They shocked him a bunch of times and he died.”

  “Okay get the crime scene unit over here. I want everything bagged, tagged, dusted. If it isn’t nailed to the floor I want it at the lab.”

  “And if it is nailed to the floor?”

  “Detach it.”

  The officer walks out of the room a bit irritated, but seriously what kind of dumb question is that. I swear we need to raise the criteria for the academy. Either they’re getting dumber, taking selfies with a dead body, or they’re acting like hot shit with a badge. They make the rest of us look bad.

  Two men from Victor’s lab walk in to pack up the body for transport. After verifying who they were from their identification, I simply move out of the way and watch them wrap him up. It is very graceful, the way they remove the body bag and place Morris into it. Almost a peaceful transition. Unlike the nurses and doctors, who somewhat mutilate the body to try and keep it alive, these people are gentle. Hopefully when I die, they will be this careful with my corpse. Unless I die some gruesome way. Then Victor will just curse me to my condo in hell as he tries to reassemble me. Sadly, that thought makes me laugh a bit.

  ***

  Considering the heavy nature of death, one would not necessarily expect to find a human being enjoying their job. They’ve never met Victor the lovely coroner. Hearing the latest Taylor Swift song on the speakers is one thing. Watching Victor sing, dance and shimmy his way around the body is another. If any authority figure was down here, they’d crucify him. I know better. He works best when he’s relaxed, not thinking but doing. Our instincts make us better at our jobs. The suits upstairs always forget what it’s like to be where we are.

  “I know you’re not into men so stop staring at my ass and get in here!”

  Victor always had a way of knowing where I am. Except when he’s drunk, then he doesn’t even know where he is. Entering the morgue, I pick up the remote and kill the music. Nothing against Ms. Swift, but I need to hear the report.

  “You turned off my music?”

  “My ears are old and it was too loud.”

  He lifts his face mask and shows me his full pouty lip. Did that ever work on his soon-to-be ex? I guess my lack of a response made a point. He shakes his head causing the shield to fall in front of his face.

  “You’re no fun.”

  “Chase doesn’t like me in multiplayer mode either. Sucks to be the both of you.”

  “I thought you were following the van?”

  “I wanted to make sure to pick up the records. Didn’t trust them to be sent over with the body or by email.”

  I drop the file on a different metal slab and take a look over Morris. The one thing I haven’t gotten used to is how some people look after death. Some look peaceful, like my mom. It’s as if the inner beauty was released after the stress and darkness left the body. Morris, he looks like he went nine rounds with a heavyweight champion and lost. Granted some of the damage is fresh from the attempt to save his life. His scale-like reddish skin, the swelling of his stomach and face, nothing pretty here. His family will probably have a closed casket.

  “Has the lab been given the bed sheets and anything else they need to process?”

  “Yep, they’re doing it as we speak.”

  “Good, I’ll have to go over their findings and compare them with my own.”

  “Guy was in liver failure. Doc said the surgery site wasn’t sanitary so he was on antibiotics. Morris managed to get some kind of infection and with the weakened immune system, died as a result.”

  “Well, yes, that would have killed the man eventually.”

  “What do you mean eventually?”

  “Just what I said. Eventually the man would have died from his infection. The scarring around the liver was immense. I swear I found rust particles from dirty tools embedded in the scar tissue. I don’t know if they would have been able to perform a proper transplant with this hack job. That doesn’t appear to be what killed him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “His heart shows signs of cardiac arrest.”

  “Okay, so due to the infection he suffered massive cardiac arrest.”

  Victor grabs the report and flips through the pages faster than do with the morning paper. Finally stopping, he folds the page back and points for a line of chicken scratches with numbers. I just look at him begging for an explanation.

  “His echo and EKG were fine four days ago. Yes, he had an infection. Yes, he would have died in a week maybe less. He shouldn’t have died today.”

  “So what killed him?”

  “Based on the lack of evidence, I would lean towards air embolism.”

  “That’s hard as hell to do.”

  “Possibly, but considering he had an IV, anyone could turn it off, use the port to inject a massive amount of air into the blood stream. Considering his state of demise, I doubt he knew what was happening to him at the time.”

  “The nurse at the scene was the last to see him alive. How much air are we talk
ing about?”

  “Depends, based on timing and severity anywhere from 10cc to 20cc.”

  “English?”

  “One or two full 10ml syringes worth. Whoever did this wanted him to die within minutes of the dose.”

  There’s a new player in this old game. I knew those eyes looked familiar but I’m wracking my brain with no results. I’ve got to see what the lab has. Maybe there’s some video or trace evidence that can shed light on the subject. Otherwise, no DA will arrest Harry Brandt for crimes when the defense can argue reasonable doubt. I know our leads are solid, but in a world of reality television and instantaneous result episodics - I’m screwed.

  Chapter Ten

  I was having a good dream for once. I know it was a dream because the New York Mets won the World Series and I wasn’t dead yet. I like a dream like that. Mindless, calm and just plain fun. Friends all laughing around the television as the crisp fall winds chill the air. My ragtag family enjoying one of the many things that connects us. Our devotion to lovable losers, but that’s another story for another day.

  Glass breaking forces me to bolt upright in bed. Frankie continues to sleep soundly next to me. Sliding out of bed, I grab my handgun on the nightstand. Normally I lock it up, but I must have forgotten last night. I walk down the hallway, gun raised. Pushing Chase’s door open, the boy is sound asleep. I hear more noises from the basement.

  Taking one step at a time, I walk down the two flights of stairs in silence. Muffled cries for help reach my ears and I’m instantly frozen. Hadley. The temperature of the room plummets and my breathing quickens. Closing my eyes I try to focus my energy. Whatever is going on, Hadley needs my help and I have to move forward.

  Opening my eyes, the walls of my basement have become the peeling ones of my nightmares. I knew it was too good to be true. This is like 2006 when Carlos Beltran didn’t swing on a three and two pitch. One foot in front of the other, closer to the loud screams echoing through the hallway.