by James Glass
“Who’s that?” Riley asked.
“My partner. You can leave now. We’ll take it from here.”
He opened the door. “I need to stay and lock up.”
“All right, but you need to stay on the porch.”
He sighed. Guess it wasn’t the response he wanted.
“This may be a crime scene and we don’t need you getting in the way.” Although true, I didn’t need Mister Nosey Britches gossiping to the neighbors or possibly the media.
He sighed again.
“What’s up?” Francisco asked.
“This is Chuck Riley, the Super.”
“Homeowners Association President,” Riley corrected.
“Nice pants, man,” Francisco said with a hint of sarcasm that Riley missed. They shook hands.
We stepped inside, leaving the Super to play with the insects.
As we walked down the foyer, a yellow light illuminated the kitchen. When we reached the end of the hall, we split up. This isn’t unusual for us. It comes down to checks and balances. Four eyes are better than two when searching for potential evidence.
I looked at the large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall in the living room. “Did the neighbors provide anything useful?”
Francisco yelled from another area of the house. “His background check revealed he recently retired from the Navy as a Captain in the JAG corps, whatever that means.”
“That’s because you never served in the military. JAG is an acronym for Judge Advocate General. Basically, our guy was a lawyer.”
“That makes sense. He works for a law firm downtown. Sheldon, Patterson, and Levine.” He paused. “I almost forgot that you work for the Navy part-time, Rebecca.”
Part-time. That made me smile.
“Navy Reserves. I’m a weekend warrior.”
I searched the kitchen. Nothing on any surface indicating a crime took place here. The sink was spotless. “We’ll need to speak to them. Maybe a current or prior client killed him.”
“I also learned his wife of twenty-three years divorced him six months ago.”
I ran a finger across the marble countertops. No dust or grime. “Think she might have something to do with the murder?”
“Doubtful. According to several neighbors, she packed up her shit and moved to Hawaii with her new lover, another woman.” I heard a chuckle. “But we need to contact her.”
“Good work. I’ll let you call her.”
He grunted. As partners for the past three years I knew his mannerisms. This meant he didn’t really want to be the bearer of bad news. But it didn’t take a genius to figure this out. Death notification never came easy.
I walked down the hallway and entered the master bedroom. Two walls were decorated with various pictures of artwork I didn’t recognize. A Persian rug hung from a fourth. The bed rested under a large rectangular window that ran along most of the west wall. The full moon illuminated the fairway of the golf course. I moved to the nightstand and picked up a picture of the deceased and a woman with shoulder-length amber hair. Her skin was pale and covered with freckles. He wore a white choker naval uniform with matching gloves. She had on a forest green gown. They stood on a beach holding hands, blue water in the background.
Footsteps echoed off the wood floor in the hallway.
“Do you think it could be a murder for revenge?” Francisco asked from the doorway.
“We’ll need to consider the possibility. After all, the carved message in Green’s chest has a meaning.”
“But what?”
I raised a brow. “Who knows, but the killer is definitely trying to tell us something.”
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the photo in my hand.
I handed it to him. “Old picture of the victim and his wife I presume.”
“How do you know it’s not recent, man?”
“You said he retired a Captain.”
He nodded.
I tapped a finger on the glass. “His shoulder boards on the uniform are the rank of a Commander, not Captain.”
“So this was taken before he retired?”
“Yup.”
My nose scrunched when I opened the bathroom door. There was blood spatter along the bathtub. Crimson smeared the white tiled floor. Dried vomit stained the sink. Water pooled along the base of the edge of the toilet. Two large empty water jugs lay on their sides in the middle of the floor.
Francisco peered over my shoulder. “Looks like we found the crime scene.”
I removed the cell from the clip on my hip. “I’ll call CSU.”
Chapter 9
Saturday, 7:45 a.m.
Most Saturdays you can find me at home catching up on my sleep or going skydiving. Today, however, I’m at the morgue. Watching the medical examiner carve out a corpse was never on my bucket list.
An autopsy room, in many ways, is the mirror image of an Operating Room. The only difference is the patient is dead and their body must tell its story. Oh, and another thing; at the morgue, unlike at the OR, you gown up but don't scrub up because you’re protecting yourself, not the patient. For the same reason, afterward you make damn sure to scrub down, because the bacteria coming out of the dead body are very much alive, and you need to make sure they go down the drain.
The stomach is filleted open, and the substances, if any, are examined. When I first began attending autopsies, I was disappointed that stomach contents were usually a tan or gray colored mush. From innumerable television crime shows, I had expected to see some easily recognizable remnants of a decedent’s last meal. Usually the contents are no more than, well, macerated mush.
As I’m gowning up, my partner walks through the door, eyes squinting from the bright white overhead lights.
“After we left Green’s house last night, I did some research on the quote our killer cut into his victim’s chest,” Francisco said, pulling a gown from a wall locker. “It’s from the Bible. Psalms 34:13. But it’s only half the verse.”
“What’s the entire verse?” I asked, my voice muffled from the mask covering my face.
“Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from speaking guile.” He donned the gown. “What do you think it means?”
“I’m not sure, but it almost sounds as if Green was a snitch.”
“You think our killer was a convict?”
He put his mask on and we headed over to the autopsy table.
“I don’t know, but it’s worth looking into.”
“Good morning, Ray,” Francisco said as the medical examiner took several snapshots of the naked body. The first time I witnessed the ME doing this I thought he was a pervert who collected pictures of the dead for some kind of scrapbook. Turned out, the pics were used to document the body.
Ray inhaled a deep breath. “Nothing like the smell of Pine Sol in the morning.” He stood on the decedent’s right side. With a scalpel, he made a deep Y-shaped incision across the trunk, from the left and right clavicle on two diagonals to the top of the sternum, then straight down to the centerline of the chest before ending at the pubic region.
He peeled back the skin and underlying muscles where he made the incision, revealing the ribcage. The first time I witnessed this, my stomach had protested and I made a beeline to the sink. Ray was the ME back then too. He had told me to make sure to remove my mask before I upchucked my breakfast or I’d drown. Indeed, it was advice worth heeding.
Ray traded the scalpel for the bolt cutter and began snipping the ribs along the sides of the body, one by one. When he finished he lifted and set aside the rack of ribs and opted for the scalpel again. With precision, he removed each organ, weighed it, examined it, and dissected it for analysis.
“Before I start on the neck,” Ray began, “I’m going to remove the twine from the decedent’s lips.” Lee Green’s lifeless eyes gazed at the brilliant white lights above as the scalpel sliced through each stitch. “Well now,” Ray said, opening the mouth. “Your victim’s tongue has been cut out.”
The hairs stood on my neck. The lips being sewn shut was one thing, but the tongue being cut out was down-right creepy.
I leaned in and saw the remains of the tongue, a short stump.
Francisco peered over my shoulder. The faint scent of cedar emanated from my partner. Body wash? Cologne? The only thing I knew for sure was these thoughts needed to be locked away in my mind. Stay focused on the job, Rebecca.
“That’s oh-so wrong, man,” he said and stepped back.
“My thoughts exactly.” I turned to Ray. “Was the victim alive when the tongue was cut out?”
He used the scalpel as a pointer and pressed it against the stub. “I don’t see any signs of bruising or clotting. Therefore, it’s my conclusion the victim was dead.”
Francisco shook his head. “Do you know what type of tool was used?”
“The cut is fairly clean. Almost looks as if someone used shears or maybe scissors. But it’s only a theory.” He looked up at us. “Any more questions?”
“No,” we said in unison.
Ray used the scalpel and made an incision into the neck and pulled the skin back. “The hyoid bone is broken.”
“So he wasn’t drowned?” I asked.
“No. There’s some hemorrhaging in the sinuses and lungs, but he didn’t drown. Asphyxiation is the cause of death.”
Francisco gestured a finger at the cadaver’s mouth. “Could the hemorrhaging be caused by the killer forcing water down his throat?”
“You mean like waterboarding?”
Ray nodded. “It’s certainly plausible.”
My partner whistled softly. “I wonder what he did to piss the killer off.”
I shrugged then turned to Ray. “You have a more definitive TOD?”
He wiped his gloved hands on his protective garment. “I’d place time of death between midnight and 2:00 a.m. Friday morning.”
Chapter 10
9:00 a.m.
Traffic was light for a Saturday morning. Several white clouds scattered across the blue sky. The warm air felt good against my skin.
A late model Chevy Lumina with faded gray paint pulled into the lane behind me. The wind whipped through my hair as I drove down Highway 90 with the top down on my Jeep. Too bad today was a workday. The Lumina followed, moving within two car lengths. A little too close for comfort. Not to be overly dramatic, I made a turn onto Market Street. The gray car turned as well. No biggie, probably headed in the same direction. After making several more turnoffs, the Lumina continued to follow. Because of the sun’s glare on the car’s windshield, I couldn’t make out if it was a man or woman behind the wheel.
I braked hard and the Jeep screeched to a stop. Burnt rubber filled my nostrils. Smoke wafted in the air. The front bumper of the Lumina swerved to miss me and sped around before I could get the license number. I stepped on the gas and the tires squealed on the pavement.
Jackass.
I slowed down and headed to Cops-n-Robbers. It’s a café where the staff wears vintage cop and prison uniforms from the 1920s. The food is pretty good, but they make the best iced-coffee in town.
Twenty minutes later I walked through the front door of Marti and Tess’s colonial home carrying breakfast.
My mother had left me in the hands of the foster system in Boston. Two weeks later, the aunties flew up from Eugene Falls, Florida, to take me back with them. After my biological father died when I was eight, I didn’t see them much. But when they heard my mother had abandoned me, they hopped on the first flight, signed the paperwork to be my guardians until they could adopt me, and raised me as their own daughter.
I still didn’t have an appetite after the autopsy, but I needed to eat. Francisco and I would be working all day.
“I’m home. Brought breakfast,” I said, kicking the door shut and setting the bag and coffee on the dining room table.
Tess smiled. She put her pen down on the coffee table next to the crossword puzzle she was working on and stood. Both my aunties looked very similar except for the hair. Even now, people mistook them as twins. She wore white capris with a matching blouse that accentuated her tall, trim figure. Her sandals echoed off the hardwood floor as she crossed the room and hugged me. “You keep spoiling us like this, honey, and we may have to adopt you again.”
I sipped some of my large iced coffee through a straw.
Marti entered the room from her bedroom wearing a blue silk robe. “Tess, you’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday?”
“I don’t know, who?”
Marti kissed me on the cheek then turned to her sister.
“C’mon, guess.”
“There are so many choices. Your first husband, no, wait, he’s dead. Died in bed.”
Tess winked at me. “Every man’s fantasy is to die in your Aunty Marti’s bed.”
Marti shot back with a smirk. “I can’t help that I’m as beautiful as I am smart.”
“Well you’re half right, sis.”
They both laughed.
I reached into the bag and pulled out a Boston crème donut. “I don’t want to hear about your sex lives this early. I haven’t even eaten breakfast.”
Tess took an onion bagel out of the bag. She tore off a piece and shoved it in her mouth.
“Anyway,” she began, “I ran into Harry Poole at the farmer’s market.”
Marti bit into a chocolate glazed donut then wiped her lips with a napkin. “Harry Poole from high school?”
“One and the same. Harry brought along his bulldog, Clinton. Said he named him after the former President, so you know the dog is humping every female mutt out there.”
I choked on a piece of dough. “C’mon, I’m trying to eat.”
Tess patted me on the back then sat at the table and tore another piece of bagel. She waved it in the air as she spoke. “He moved back into town after the divorce was final from his third wife.”
Marti raised a brow. “Third?”
“Well, we all can’t be perfect, now can we? Anyhow, I got a date with him tomorrow night.”
I sipped more iced coffee. “What’s he do for a living?”
“He’s a doctor.”
Marti slapped herself on the knee. “Probably a proctologist. Harold was always a pain in the ass.”
I snorted, almost causing coffee to shoot through my nose. There should be a sign hanging in the house that read, Eat and drink at your own risk.
Tess ignored the sarcasm and focused on me with eyes of baby blue.
“How’s your morning going, sunshine? I just got out of the shower.” Her short, curly gray hair dampened the bathrobe.
“I’ve had better days.”
She used her teeth to open the packet of cream cheese. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Tess smeared a healthy dose of cream cheese onto the bagel and spread it with a plastic knife. She took a bite. A smidgen of white remained on her upper lip. She licked it off with her tongue.
Marti nodded. “Let’s go into the sunroom and you can tell us all about it.”
If nothing else, the aunties were persistent. They’d been that way ever since adopting me. I never really knew my dad. He died during a home invasion. There had been rumors my mother hired the men to kill my father for the insurance, but the police could never prove it. What I always thought was weird about the investigation was the men killed my father, yet never laid a hand on my mother or me. Marti and Tess had always believed someone in the police department was in on it. When I became a homicide detective they asked me to look into the cold case, but I never could get the courage to do so.
I grabbed the bag off the table and followed them through the French doors leading into the small room filled with floor-to-ceiling windows. The view had always set me at ease. We had a great relationship and I never held back. Even from my cases. My aunties weren’t nosy, well, actually they were, but they were a treasure. Without them, I don’t know what would have become of me.
The morning sun penetrated the w
indows, its yellow glow warming the room. We sat on the futon and gazed out at the backyard, the manicured lawn magnificent. Bees buzzed along rows of flowers lined up like a military formation. Hibiscus, camellias, hydrangeas, and black-eyed Susans. Several hummingbirds ate from feeders along the cinderblock footpath.
I bit into the cream-filled donut. Saturday was the only day of the week I allowed myself to eat sweets.
“So what’s on your mind?” Marti asked, getting to the point.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Oh, that’s hogwash and you know it. I may be old, but I’m not dead.” She set her donut on the glass-top coffee table and put her hands on her lap, waiting.
I sat next to Tess on the futon. She put an arm around me. I put my head on her shoulder and felt less anxious. In times of trouble, my aunties could always be counted on to give consolation without judgment.
Where do I start?
Chapter 11
10:15 a.m.
The only person in the squad room was my partner, Francisco, sitting at one of two back-to-back desks located in the rear of the homicide division, not that I expected to see the place rife with activity on a Saturday morning. This squad room was a ghost town on weekends, except when overtime was authorized. Iʼd hoped we would solve this murder within the first 48 hours. Not only was the first 48 hours crucial in solving any homicide, I was due back in court on Monday. After getting my butt handed to me by Santa Claus, I didn’t want to come back for round two unprepared.
“Did the captain call you?” I asked, moving to my chair. The scent of a sausage biscuit lingered in the air.
Francisco crumpled a burger joint bag and tossed it into a wastebasket next to him. “No. Why, should he have?” His big paws swept several small crumbs off the desk.
“After I gave him the update on Green, I thought he might call or come in.”
“Well, he didn’t call.” He adjusted his red tie. It complemented his powder blue shirt.
I plopped in my seat, my body drained of energy even after drinking coffee. I hope I’m not coming down with something.
I gestured with a finger. “Did you find any hits on AFIS?”
