She texted Frank. What type of coffee do you order?
A moment later he replied. Large skim milk latte with an extra shot of espresso every time.
“Next!”
She stepped up to the cash. “One large skim milk latte with an extra shot of espresso, please.”
She choked at the price that popped up on the screen and handed over a few more bills than she had expected, normally a straight black coffee drinker herself. He handed her a ticket, and she moved down the line. One of the baristas looked at her computer and went to work, making her artsy coffee. Trace noted the two baristas chatting, handing each other things, and passing within inches of each other’s coffees. As well, the other two at the cash were within feet of them. She quickly realized any of them could dose a coffee without the other knowing. The girl who was clearing tables entered the coffee prep area and began wiping things down with a damp rag. Make that five.
A petite girl handed her the coffee with a smile, and she went to one of the more comfortable chairs in the corner and sat down with a full view of the shop, as well as the coffee prep area. She took a sip. Woah, sweeeet! She took another sip. But tasty. She could picture herself developing a taste for these, and a waistline to match. She put the coffee down, and pretended to do some texting.
Shakespeare took one look at the photo and was convinced. It had to be Richard Tate. He looked at Frank. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Is it him?”
“Who, Richard Tate?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Looks like him to me, but it’s not a great angle.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do to get an ID?”
“Nothing positive, there’s not enough to work from.”
“Can’t you do like in the movies, flip the face, map one side to the other, and do facial recognition.”
Frank chuckled. “You’ve seen too many movies. I can do the ‘flip’ as you call it and give you a face, but it’s useless for facial recognition, because the points on the other side of the face are just guess work.”
Shakespeare growled in frustration, about to push himself from the chair he had commandeered.
“But—”
“But what?” Shakespeare felt a touch of hope creep back into the room.
“—I can tell you if it’s definitely not him.”
“How?”
“Well, I do have a few points to work from, and can map them against a known photo of him, and if they don’t match, then we know it isn’t him. If they do match, then we know it could be him.”
I’ll take what I can get. “Okay, do that. How long?”
“Not long, I’ll phone you with the results.”
Shakespeare pushed himself up and stretched. “Okay, can you send me that photo to my phone?” As he tucked his shirt back into his pants, Frank hit a few keys and Shakespeare’s phone vibrated.
“Done.”
Technology. Gotta love it.
“Thanks. I’m heading over to the coffee shop. Let me know what you find.”
“Will do.”
“And make sure nobody sees that damned photo.”
“Will do.”
“And if you get any more of those texts, you let me know right away.”
“Will do.”
“And stay put. I don’t want you getting dosed again.”
“Will do.”
“Vinny should be back soon to check on you, so if you need to go anywhere, do it with him.”
“Will do.”
He felt like a mother hen. Was the kid even listening?
“And when Trace comes by, try to have a shirt on, you’re distracting her.”
“Will d—” Frank blushed. “Are-are you serious?”
I guess he was listening.
He left his last statement hanging as he walked from the lab, a grin on his face.
MJ flipped the girl over in the tub, revealing her badly beaten face. He pulled out his phone and took a photo, then swept his finger over the display, finding the photo Frank had decrypted earlier. “Definitely looks like a match,” he said to no one in particular.
“To who?”
MJ looked over his shoulder and saw Vinny in the doorway. He handed him his phone. “Look, that’s the girl from the picture; the next one is our vic here.”
Vinny’s eyebrows furled as he flipped back and forth between the two. “Looks like it could be the same girl.” Vinny suddenly brought the phone closer. “Look at this.” He handed the phone back to MJ. “Is that a tattoo on the back of her neck?”
MJ took the phone, then shoved it in his pocket. He rolled the body back and moved her hair from her neck. “Butterfly.”
“Same as the photo.”
MJ gently let go of the body. “Looks like it’s the same girl.”
Vinny leaned over to take another look. “This obviously ties the two crime scenes together, not that there was any doubt of that.”
“Nope. I’ll know more when I get her back, but I’d say she was probably killed last night, between six p.m. and midnight.”
“Cause?”
“Not sure. Our other vic had her throat slit, ear to ear, just like this one, but I also found traces of Rohypnol in her system. I’m suspecting whoever did this dosed his victim, then killed them later.”
“Any evidence of sexual interference?”
“Nothing obvious. I’ll know more later.” MJ rose to his feet and stretched out his aching back. “At least this one isn’t covered in bleach. There might actually be a chance at retrieving some DNA.” He noticed Vinny divert his eyes at his last statement, looking at the toilet, the sink, anywhere but him. “Something I should know about?”
Vinny shook his head. “Nope, why?”
MJ looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Never mind.” But I know when I’m being lied to. He pulled off the latex gloves he was wearing, packed up his kit, and followed Vinny from the tiny bathroom. He looked at his body baggers and nodded. “I’m done in there. Bag her and tag her, then bring her straight to the autopsy room, she’s my new number one.”
Both men nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. “And make sure you don’t drain the tub,” yelled Vinny after them. “We need to strain that in case there’s any trace.”
“No problem!” he heard a voice call from inside.
MJ looked at Vinny. “They do know their job.”
Vinny nodded. “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be the first time somebody forgot, would it?”
MJ couldn’t argue with him, he was right. He just didn’t like to see his people treated like rookies. But then, how many times had he said the obvious to Vinny over the years about his investigators? “Okay, I’ll head back to the cooler and I’ll let you and Shakes know when I find something.” He looked at the office chair he had noticed when he arrived, looking rather out of place near the couch and matching chair. He pointed at it. “What’s up with the chair?”
Vinny’s head darted a little too quickly in the direction he was pointing. “Oh, nothing, must have got moved there by one of my guys.”
MJ now knew he was being lied to for sure. There was no way one of Vinny’s techs would have moved that chair, and for Vinny to suggest it, rather than yell at his people about moving something without first labeling and photographing its original position, confirmed something was wrong.
But what the hell could it be?
Shakespeare’s phone vibrated as he pulled into a parking spot a block away from the coffee shop. He flipped it open without checking the call display. “Shakespeare.”
“Hi, Detective, it’s Vinny.”
Shakespeare paused for a moment, trying to remember the last time he had received a call from him, and couldn’t.
“What’s up?”
“First, it looks like the vic at Frank’s place is the girl from the photo.”
“Okay, I guess that’s not much of a surprise.”
“And I think we may have a problem.”
He didn’t like the sound
of that, their little secret only in play for a couple of hours. How can there be a problem already? “What?”
“I think MJ knows something’s up. He asked me if something was wrong, kind of looked at me funny, you know, as if he suspected something.”
Shakespeare felt relieved. “Is that it?”
“And he pointed out that the chair was over in the living room area, sort of out of place.”
Shakespeare’s heart skipped a beat. “Shit! Forgot about that.” He thought for a moment. “I wonder if we should bring him in on this.”
There was a pause, then a deep breath. “I don’t think we should. After all, he knows nothing, the body shouldn’t show anything involving Frank, and who’s he going to go to? Most likely the LT, and he’ll keep him straight for now. I say we keep this as tight a circle as we can.”
Shakespeare nodded. “Agreed. I’ll drop by and see him later, just to see what kind of vibe I get off him.”
“Okay, talk to you later.”
Shakespeare ended the call and stuffed the phone back in his pocket as he climbed from the Caddy. A quick huff to the shop left him slightly winded. He stepped inside, gulping air for a few seconds, and nodded to Trace who stood up and quickly joined him.
“Hey, Shakes,” she said as she stepped up beside him, then gave him a look. “You okay?”
He took another deep breath, nodding. “Just payin’ for years of neglect.”
“You need some cardio.”
That’s what he liked about Trace. She was no nonsense, just said it like it was, without the insults. “You’re tellin’ me. I’m afraid my old heart might explode just at the sight of a treadmill.”
Trace chuckled. “Well, if you don’t do something, it’ll explode anyway.”
He looked away so she couldn’t see the pained expression on his face at the thought of a heart attack he knew was probably just around the corner. “What’ve we got?”
“Looks like seven employees, five with dosing access. Two in the kitchen making sandwiches are probably in the clear, the rest would have access. We find out who was working behind the counter, and who was bussing these tables when Frank was in here those two times, we’ll have our guy, or at least a very short list.”
Shakespeare flashed his badge at the oldest looking person he could find behind the register, the rest all looking like they were barely out of high school. At least this one looked like he may be in his mid-twenties. “Detective Shakespeare, Homicide. Who’s in charge around here?”
“That would be me, I’m the evening manager.”
“Can we ask you a few questions?”
He nodded and tapped the other cashier prepping a coffee on the shoulder. “Take over, I’ll be a few.” The man walked out from behind the counter. “What’s the problem? Did you say ‘homicide’?”
Shakespeare nodded and Trace responded, her voice slightly elevated. “Yes, we‘ve had two murders recently and this coffee shop seems to be involved.”
A few of the patrons stopped their conversations and looked. The young man blanched, and ushered them into the back where they found a tiny office. He sat behind the desk, leaving Shakespeare to take the one lone chair for guests.
“Chivalry is indeed dead,” said Trace, looking at him.
“Hey, respect your elders.” Shakespeare turned his attention to the evening manager. “Your name?”
“Calvin Tickle.”
“Okay, Calvin, here’s the skinny. We think one of your staff is dosing coffees here.”
“Dosing? You mean, putting something in their drinks?”
“Yes, something like Rohypnol,” said Trace, her notepad out.
“You mean the date rape drug?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“That’s what you’re going to tell us,” replied Trace.
Shakespeare was content to let her be the bad cop.
“How?”
“By providing us with a list of everyone who was working here from three p.m. Friday until midnight, including when they started.”
“Do you have timecards here?” asked Shakespeare.
Tickle nodded. “Yeah, it’s all computerized.” He started hitting keys on the computer and a report soon spit out of a printer behind him. “Here’s the ins and outs from Friday.”
“And we’ll need today as well.”
“Today?” Tickle hit some more keys. “You mean this happened today as well?”
Trace and Shakespeare kept silent as they looked down the list, none of the names jumping out at Shakespeare, but he hadn’t expected any to. Another sheet spit out of the printer and Tickle handed it to Trace. “Christ, there’s half a dozen matches on both lists.” Trace put X’s beside the names unique to one list, eliminating them from their pool.
“These lists are accurate?” asked Shakespeare.
“Oh yeah, otherwise they don’t get paid.”
“And what if they were to leave during their shift, and come back?”
“Well, we would trust that they punch out and back in, but to be honest, no one ever does.” Tickle leaned back in his chair, scratching his goatee. “Let’s face it, this is minimum wage work. Someone abuses the system, their co-workers complain to me or one of the other managers, we fire them, and get another. In fact, I fired somebody just today.”
Shakespeare looked up from the two lists he was examining.
“Who?”
“Sandy Thorton.”
“Why?”
“I found out he took off during his shift for over an hour. When I got in today, one of the staff from his shift had stuck around after he left and complained to me. I left a message on his voice mail firing him. It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that, and he hadn’t even been here two weeks.”
Shakespeare looked at the lists and confirmed Sandy Thorton was on both. “What time did he disappear today?”
“Roughly ten to eleven.”
Bingo! Shakespeare gave Trace a quick look and could tell she was as excited as him.
“We’ll need personnel records for the employees on these lists. Names, address, phone numbers.”
Tickle hit some more keys, and within minutes employee tombstone information was spitting out of the printer. He handed them to Trace as Shakespeare pushed himself from the chair.
“Thanks for your help,” said Shakespeare as they were leaving.
“And don’t leave town,” added Trace.
“Why?”
“Because you’re on both these lists as well.”
Tickle looked aghast at the idea, his jaw dropped so far you could park a fist in his mouth without hitting teeth. “But—”
Shakespeare chuckled at Trace’s bad cop routine. “It’s just routine. Everybody’s a suspect until we eliminate them.” He paused and raised a finger in warning. “But listen to me carefully. If I find out you called this Sandy character and warned him, I’ll have you up on charges so fast, you’ll forget what good coffee tastes like by the time you’re out of Rikers.”
Tickle was too terrified to say anything, he simply nodded and sat in one of the leather chairs in the front as Trace and Shakespeare left. Outside, Shakespeare looked at the personnel sheet for Sandy Thorton. Trace was smiling.
“Looks like we’ve got our man.”
Shakespeare grunted. It just didn’t feel right. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out and flipped it open. “Shakespeare.”
“Hi, Detective, it’s Frank. I’ve finished analyzing the photo. The few facial recognition points I could pull are a match for Richard Tate. It’s not a positive ID, but I haven’t been able to rule him out scientifically, and just looking at the photo, flipped and mirrored like you asked, it sure looks like him to me. I’m sending it to your phone right now.”
“Okay, good work kid, any luck on tracing those cameras?”
“Just starting on them now. I figured you wanted this photo analysis done first.”
“Okay, get to work and let me
know as soon as you find something.”
Shakespeare ended the call just as the phone vibrated with a message. He opened the photo attached and grimaced. Definitely looks like him to me. “What do you think?” He held the photo up for Trace to look at.
“Richard Tate? Definitely. There’s no mistaking that guy.”
“Okay, I’m going to go to the hospital to interview Tate. You phone this in, then sit on Thorton’s place until the warrant arrives. I don’t want him making any sudden departures.”
Trace got on the phone and Shakespeare headed for his car, the feeling in his stomach he usually got when he was about to bust a case wide open not there. But the timing fit. Sandy had worked Friday night and today. He was there both times Frank was, and more importantly, he had left during the exact same time frame Frank was drugged. He felt a slight tingle. Okay, maybe it is the guy.
Or he could just be hungry.
“What the hell does it mean, Richard?”
Aynslee stood just out of sight, but not earshot, of the rip roaring argument that had ensued when a large bouquet of flowers had arrived moments before. After Justin’s visit earlier, she had asked Merle for the Tate story, knowing it would eventually become a bigger one. She had argued that he and his wife knew her from the entertainment beat coverage she had been doing only weeks before, with them quite often being the story. They might open up to a familiar face. Merle had agreed, and she was here with her camera crew, Mike and Steve.
“What the hell was in that note?” asked Steve.
“Must be from a girlfriend,” said Mike.
“Shhh!” She leaned in, trying to hear what was now being said, the door still open from when the flower deliveryman had left moments before, the twenty she had slipped him to leave it open money well spent.
Tick Tock (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #2) Page 14
