Using his gloved hand he slowly turned the knob.
In his night vision, a woman with eye shades lay on this side of the large bed. All but her head lay underneath the bedding.
Good.
That would make it harder for her to get her hands to her face.
He inhaled and exhaled several times to hyperventilate. From his jacket pocket, he removed a cloth and from the other pocket, a small narrow bottle of liquid. After taking a deep breath and holding it, he unscrewed the bottle, and poured a portion of the liquid on the cloth. He still detected the aroma of chloroform.
He approached the bed and held the cloth over the woman’s face. She struggled but in less than ten seconds, her breathing returned to its steady and slow pace. With care, he screwed the cap back on the bottle and waved his hand to clear the air before he exhaled. He turned his head to one side and took a breath. Then he reinserted the bottle in his pocket and leaned over the reclining woman.
He pulled her nighttime mask up over her head and removed the covers to reveal she was in her nightgown.
An old fashioned woman.
With both his arms, he lifted her off the bed. The aroma of chloroform lingered and he needed to get her out of the room before he breathed too much of it.
With less care this time, he descended the stairs with the load in his arms and took her to the kitchen. First he pulled her nightgown over her head, exposing her flabby and aged body. Then he tied her hands behind her to the back of the chair. Then he knelt on the kitchen floor and tied her ankles to the legs of the chair. He tied a gag across her mouth and secured it behind her neck.
With the kitchen still dark, he kept his night vision goggles on. It would not do to have a neighbor notice the light. Besides, keeping the room dark would add to her fear.
From one pocket, he removed another small bottle and opened it under her nose.
She jerked her head and turned away from the ammonia. He followed her nose so she had to breathe in the vapors.
Mrs. Albert’s eyes opened and got wider when she saw him in his all-black outfit. She struggled and tried to scream but only her muffled voice came through.
Chapter 19
At eight the next morning, I rose for the last time, glad to be free of the dreams. Kept having nightmares of watching my daughter die while I was stuck in mud and couldn’t get to her.
I jogged at nearby Ally Mason Park and took a shower. Got dressed in brown slacks, white shirt, and brown jacket. Barely made it to the kitchen where I intended to get a quick drink of orangette juice. Orangettes were the Rossan equivalent of oranges. My comm alerted me to a tag and I looked at the clock on it. Ten in the morning.
Who could call now?
I opened my nostrils to answer.
“Deek Tanny here. Do you know a Mrs. Albert?”
“Yeah. Alena was staying there. Why?”
“Mrs. Albert bought it. Care to come look over the scene?”
“Yeah,” I said. Instantly alert. “Gimme fifteen.”
“Know the address?”
“Oh yeah.”
I looked at my new pet on the floor.
“Take care, Monk.”
When I got to the scene, it wasn’t easy finding a parking space. Cop cars with flashing lights filled the street.
I rushed up to the front door. A uniformed cop stopped me. He came to within two inches of my height.
“Can’t let you in here, sir. It’s a crime scene.”
“Deek Tanny tagged me to come here.”
“Your name?” he asked.
“Jake Dani.”
The uniform tapped his nose and spoke. “Sir, I have a Jake Dani at the front door.”
While he was on his comm, I glanced in the living room. Lots of equipment. It’s amazing how they can shrink electronics to a portable size.
A minute later, the uniform stepped aside. “Captain is in the kitchen.” He pointed.
Careful to stay on the brown paper, I proceeded into the kitchen. There I saw the back of a woman’s head, angled down, hands tied behind her back. I walked around to her front and saw the red marks on her.
Deek looked up at me in his cheapest gray suit. It didn’t fit him well. I figured it came from a discount store. Cops can’t afford to wear expensive threads while on duty.
The homicide captain said, “Hi, Jake. Sorry to get you to see this. Figured you’d be used to it. Cleaning lady called the precinct when she found the body. Guy was careful. No fingerprints anywhere, even with all the blood. Probably wore gloves. No shoe prints in the blood on the floor.”
He looked at Mrs. Albert in the chair.
“The vic was tortured and then choked to death,” he continued. “There are slash marks on her belly, naked thighs, and lower legs. Closely spaced, just deep enough to draw blood. Not deep to the muscles. Just deep enough to cause pain.”
The victim sat bound and naked in the chair. Poor thing was sleeping when her nightmare began.
“Why’d you tag me?” I asked.
“One of my detectives found Alena’s name in the guest bedroom.”
“It’s unusual for a captain to be on a crime scene, especially at this hour.”
“All of my other guys are busy. Besides, I like to keep my edge.”
I looked at the victim’s bloodied body. “Why was she tortured?”
“Dunno. Any guesses?”
“The killer wanted to know what she knew about Alena’s paper.”
Deek looked at me. “And why would the victim know that?”
“Maybe Alena told her.”
“Why here, though?”
“Maybe the killer also knows who took Alena. Maybe he did it himself. Could be he tortured Alena or Leanna and found out about a second paper but Alena wouldn’t tell him more. So he tried Mrs. Albert.”
I looked around. “Where is the professor?”
“I dunno. Good question.”
“Any sign he was here?”
Deek shook his head. “The bed looks like only one person slept in it.”
“Could Dr. Albert be on leave?”
“You’d think he’d take his wife.”
“Not if he were going on a research expedition. University professors do that, you know.”
Deek nodded. “I can find that out.”
“Any sign that Alena was here?”
Deek added, “There’s a bed in a small bedroom off the living room. Somebody slept there until recently.”
“Recently? How do you know that?”
“Smelled like a female too.”
“Alena said she was staying here.”
“And she can’t tell us any more till we find her.”
I looked the body over. “This looks like a professional job. Not a crime of passion.”
“Why kill her though?”
“To keep her from testifying as a witness. Or telling the cops what she knows.”
“Pretty cool guy,” said Deek. “Killed her in cold blood.”
I paused.
Deek continued, “He knew he was going to kill her. He tortured her to find out what she knew. Then he put something thin around her neck and choked her to death. See here?” He pulled her hair aside to show red marks on the side of her neck. “Narrow rope of some sort.”
“Find it?” I asked.
“Nope.”
I replied, “May be a professional’s garrote and he took it with him.”
I looked around. “Knife?”
“The perp used a kitchen knife, from the drawer over there.” He pointed to an open drawer. “Left it on the counter. We bagged it.”
“Time of death?”
Deek replied, “TOD was less than twelve hours ago.”
“How do you know that so soon?”
He sighed and shook his head. “I opened her mouth and took her temp. Also under her arms. The ME can check her bottom.”
“So she died last night.”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“How�
��d you know so soon?”
“Cleaning lady called us. She’s in the living room. Pretty shook up.”
A crime scene tech walked into the room. He spotted me and wouldn’t speak.
Deek said, “It’s all right. He’s an ex-cop and a consultant on this case.”
I looked at Deek.
Consultant? So he has decided to share with me.
Deek turned to the tech. “What is it?”
“We found a white cloth on the floor next to her bed. Smelled of chloroform, so I bagged it.”
“See if you can find out if the blood on the knife matches the vic’s.”
The tech left. Twenty minutes later, he returned. “It’s her blood, all right. Same DNA.”
I marveled at the speed of modern detection. They didn’t even know about DNA or fingerprints in the nineteenth century during the times of good ol’ Sherlock Holmes. And now they can compare fingerprints and DNA on the scene—in an hour.
#
I got home in a half hour. It took longer than a straight shot because I took loops to check on a tail. While I stood in front of my open refrig to get the rest of my orangette drink my comm vibrated with another tag from Deek.
“Dr. Albert is on Braco, out of contact on the nape reservation.”
“Did you contact Ranute Fallow?” Fallow was the head of the Alien Protection Society and had exclusive rights to allow anyone to visit the nape reservation.
“Thought of that too. Fallow said he gave Dr. Albert permission to go on the reservation, but on a fact finding expedition. As far as Ranute knows, Dr. Albert is still there.”
“Have you told him his wife is dead?”
“Not yet,” replied my favorite cop. “And don’t you tell him. I’ll do that.”
“One of the perks of your job as IO, eh?” I teased.
From my years as a cop in LA, I dreaded having to relay the bad news as the Investigating Officer.
“Worst part actually,” he replied. “I think we may have a serial killer. Two days ago, we found a woman choked to death in alley near Grand Central Station. Now Mrs. Albert. The two murders don’t seem to have anything in common except the MO. Marks on their necks hinted of a garrote.”
“Nothing before?”
“Not in the last three months.”
“You might check immigration. See who came from Earth recently.”
“Already did. Nothing popped out. Say, Marcie asks when are you going to stop in for dinner?”
“Not soon, I’m afraid. Gotta find my daughter.”
“I think she’ll understand that.”
I added, “By the way, thanks for the consulting job. Does it come with any pay?”
“Sorry.”
“You scratch my back. I’ll scratch yours. Don’t ask me how I know but HO is planning some kind of surprise. I don’t know anymore, so don’t ask.”
“Huh. Probably another demo. Maybe with a boom.”
After I disconnected, I noticed Monk staring up at me. I must seem like a giant to him.
After checking for bugs, I sat at my computer with the door open. Monk climbed up into my lap while I checked emails. Clever little bugger. I tapped my index finger on the table top in a pattern of five taps and repeated it, pausing to look at him.
He looked at my hand and back to my face several times. Then he tapped his finger on the surface in the same pattern. Both of us grinned. Playtime.
My monitor showed an incoming message. “Our sympathies on your daughter. Can we help?” It was signed Detter.
The mercon ambassador.
How the hell did he find out so soon?
“You know, Monk. It’s a small town.”
The little critter’s head turned toward the office door. I heard it too. A click.
“Computer. Lights out everywhere.”
I pulled out my Snap, snuck as quietly as I could to the top of the stairs in the middle of my apartment. Tut sat there with his head tilted to the right. We had an intruder. I looked down at the door.
A man’s face looked up from bottom of the stairs just before he closed the door.
I took three steps at a time. The back door was wide open so I ran in that direction. When I got into the parking lot, a lean guy rushed toward the street and I took off after him.
Despite his head start, I caught up with him at the corner of Cierto and Abby Lane. This was one time when my jogging came in handy. When I came close to him, I dove into his waist to tackle him. Down we went.
I got up first and pointed my Snap at him.
He raised his hands in front of him.
“Roll over. Spread your arms and legs. You know the routine.”
The son of a bitch had a .38 in the small of his back. I took the .38 in my left hand. Then I tagged 911 and asked for the police.
A lean male bicyclist dressed in colorful clothes and with a white stripped helmet stopped twenty feet from me, his eyes opened wide. At the sight of my gun, he turned around and pedaled off fast with his head leaning forward.
I put my Snap back in its holster. The wind was chilly. I had not had time to dress for this weather.
My wait didn’t last long though. Which was good because I shivered.
An unmarked car pulled up and two guys got out.
I recognized Barney Maston and his new partner, Stu Jamesly. Both had on cheap brown suits. Barney used to partner with Deek before the latter got promoted.
I handed the perp’s .38 by its barrel to Maston, who put it in a bag.
“What happened?” asked Maston.
“Guy on the ground broke into my apartment.” I pointed.
“Your apartment is over there. You’re here. Want to explain?”
I tapped my nose and tagged my apartment. “Tut, download the vid of the intruder.”
When it came in, I touched Maston’s comm and copied it.
“I chased him and tackled him.”
Maston squatted to look at the perp’s face. “Well, well. If it isn’t Jacky Storey. Hands behind your back. You know the routine.” The cop reached behind his back and placed a set of cuffs on Storey’s wrists. “Up.”
He led Storey into the backseat of his car and looked at me. “Want to file a complaint?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll need your statement.”
“I’ll send it in. But first, I’d like to ask him a question.”
Maston waved his hand toward the open door. I went to it and leaned over.
“Who sent you?”
“Huh. Nobody,” replied Storey.
Maston shut the door. “That’s your one question. We’ll squeeze him at the station.”
As the cops drove off north on Cierto, I turned to go back to my place to get out of the coolness but stopped when I saw Sing Sing Cullen, my landlord. She held a shotgun aimed upward. Today she had on dark slacks, but that was normal for her. She was not a skirt or dress kind of woman. Most gay women aren’t.
She aimed upward and her shotgun barked as she fired into the trees. A bird fell to the ground. She turned to me and yelled, “You okay?”
I nodded. I made a motion of pushing my hands downward.
“Oh,” she said as she lowered her gun.
When I walked up to her, I asked, “What the hell was that about?”
She pointed. “I bagged a four-winger. They’re not allowed in the city. So they’re open game.” She walked up to the base of the tree and picked up the bird by its feet.
Sure enough, a four-winger.
We plodded back to her real estate office on the ground floor. On the way, I filled her in with the details.
Then I went up to my apartment. When I got inside, despite the warmth, I pulled on a sweater over my head. In the next fifteen minutes, I typed a full statement on my computer and sent it to the police HQ, care of Maston.
When I finished, I got a cup of coffee when a tag came in from Maston.
“Thought you’d like to know. An assistant DA bargained for a lower sentence and
Jacky coughed up a name. Borner Hoskins. But on condition we not connect Hoskins to him. Said Hoskins would kill him if he knew. Do you know Hoskins?”
“Nope.”
“I ran a search,” said Maston. “Works for Stenton Duran.”
Chapter 20
I sent a message to my team to meet at the ops center ASAP. When I got there, only Vincent waited. Today he had on a yellow shirt with thin vertical blue stripes and blue jeans.
“Ron can’t make it nor can Andy,” he said.
We both knew Leanna and Zetto were busy elsewhere.
“Ron works tonight,” he added. “Andy had to go to La Seille soon and will be gone for a couple weeks.”
I studied the walls with Coocher’s and Horton’s names. On the Coocher wall below that of Stenton Duran, was a new name. Borner Hoskins. So I walked up and spoke a few words.
“Hoskins hired Jack Storey, who broke into my apartment.” I added the date. “I chased him and Maston arrested him.”
My words appeared on the wall.
Next, I explained the morning’s events to Vincent. He went to work on his computer and came up with an address for Hoskins and a photo.
“The cops may pick up Hoskins for questioning.”
“They can look for him but the guy’s invisible,” added Vincent. “He’s never home.”
I thought about that for a few seconds.
“Let’s go visit Keepen. Maybe he knows something.”
“Who?”
“Jat Keepen. He replaced Fondero. Owns Uzzo Martial Arts now. He took over from Fondero to run the south side of Zor.”
Sometimes crooks popped up and down like popcorn as it’s cooked. That’s the trouble with running a criminal empire. The longevity wasn’t great. Until you got to the top, that is. With many layers between you and the action, it becomes harder for the cops to nail you. And you could afford more hired guns to protect you from your own people. If the cops didn’t nail you, your own people could. If it wasn’t for the money, most wouldn’t try. But then again, most of us do a lot of things for money. Things we don’t necessarily like.
We had to run to Vincent’s car because of the rain. When it rains on Rossa, it can come down so hard it stings. When we got to Uzzo Martial Arts, we used our extra-sturdy umbrellas. No man could be called a sissy on Rossa for using an umbrella. Last year, a tourist thought he could brave it and a hailstone cracked his skull. He died before the ER people could get to him.
Humans Only: A Jake Dani Novel (Jake Dani/Mike Shapeck Book 2) Page 11
