The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  “I was just protecting myself,” Reggie said. “I didn’t know that guy was a cop.”

  “Oh,” Kent murmured. “The only problem with that is that you stole that letter opener from the librarian’s desk on the first floor, then ambushed Joshua on the roof. I think the jury is going to see it as a premeditated attack. And the judge? The judge is going to give you the max. They don’t like to see law enforcement attacked.”

  Reggie closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

  “I bet you are,” Kent said as he urged everyone out of the room. “But my offer to intervene expires once I walk out this door. Twenty-five to life in minimum security without all of that wimpy Peeping Tom stuff on your rap sheet. Instead, you’ll be in for attempted murder of a cop. Think about it.”

  Kent followed Nicole and Ruben as they exited the room. Just before Kent’s foot crossed the threshold, Reggie spoke up.

  “There was someone,” Reggie said as Kent turned around. “I’ve got a camera and memory stick with about a thousand pictures of Rhonda.”

  “Were you at the tennis courts this morning?” Nicole asked.

  “No,” Reggie said. “I had a women’s studies midterm all morning long.”

  Well, if that wasn’t ironic. But Kent understood the look of concern on Nicole’s face. If it wasn’t Reggie in those trees, it must have been Wallflower.

  “The police didn’t find any camera or memory card,” Ruben announced.

  Reggie shrugged, then winced. “I threw the camera away in the garbage can on the third floor near the staircase, and the memory stick is on my desk.”

  “They searched there,” Ruben pressed.

  “There is a Yoda action figure next to my computer screen. You pull the head off. It contains a memory stick.”

  Ruben nodded and flipped open his phone as he walked out of the room. He would take care of the search and seizure of the camera and memory stick.

  “Don’t get too excited, though,” Reggie said. “I never got a picture of his face. Lots of shoulders and shoes. You’re still going to help me though, right?”

  As much as it galled him to help a rapist in training, Kent did make a promise. “I will let the DA and judge know that you cooperated.”

  That seemed to be enough for Reggie, and he laid his head back and closed his eyes. His heart rate returned to normal.

  * * *

  Joshua stared at the LED results screen for a good two minutes before it really registered what it said. He’d found a match to the DNA in the pre-ejaculate condoms. But who it was, was blowing Joshua’s mind.

  So he’d run it again. And again. He probably would have run it until he didn’t have any sample left, except for the fact that he needed to leave enough fluid for the defense team to run their own independent tests.

  Hands trembling, Joshua picked up his phone and dialed Detective Usher’s number.

  “Hello?” Nicole answered.

  “Hey, it’s Joshua,” he said, sounding stupid.

  “Yeah, I’ve got caller ID,” Nicole added.

  Okay, now he felt even more stupid. “Look, this is going to sound just weird, but I got a hit on our condom samples.”

  “And who is it?”

  “I’ve double- and triple-checked the findings,” Joshua warned her, knowing the grilling he was going to get once he gave over the name.

  “Yes, Joshua, I believe you, now who is it?”

  With a gulp, Joshua answered. “Mitch Pederson.”

  “The newscaster?” Nicole asked.

  “Yes.”

  “The one who was at the crime scene the other day?” Nicole pressed.

  “Yes,” Joshua answered.

  “And you are sure?” Nicole pressed.

  Jeez, why did she think he’d done that long wind-up? “Yes.”

  “And pre-ejaculate only?”

  Joshua might be a little eccentric, but he was accurate. “Yes.”

  “That’s great, Joshua. That might be the break in the case we needed. I will let Kent know.”

  The line cut off abruptly. It felt like someone had turned off the sun. But Joshua had captured enough in his heart to light his darkest hours.

  “Are you going to clean the instruments?” McGregor asked. “Or is that part of your settlement, too?”

  Like he said. Enough to light even another four hours with McGregor.

  * * *

  “No,” Ruben said, actually stomping his foot.

  Nicole looked to Kent. If she was annoyed by Ruben’s attitude, she could only imagine that Kent was planning to kill the detective.

  “We need her to go in alone. No cuffs. Before he lawyers up,” Kent insisted. “I’m shocked a lawyer from the station isn’t already down here. We have to stop circle-jerking and get on with this before it is too late.”

  “I don’t like it,” Ruben rumbled.

  “You don’t have to,” Nicole said. “I’m going in.”

  Before he could protest any more, Nicole reached out and turned the knob, opening the interrogation room door and walking in. If she stayed out there any longer, Ruben would just find another excuse for her not to go in alone.

  “Be strong,” Kent said. “It will make him uncomfortable.”

  Leaving the men behind, Nicole flashed a friendly smile at the reporter. They’d had enough interaction over the years that he wouldn’t find that disingenuous. Mitch smiled back. It was iridescent. Forget the annoying fluorescent lights. It was as if heaven had just opened up and spilled its precious light onto her.

  She had to stop in her tracks to shake off the feeling that Adonis himself had blessed her. He was a suspect like any other. That cleft chin and perfect dimples were nothing more than a tool that he had used to get close to his victims.

  Nicole dropped the case file onto the metal table from waist height. It hit hard, the sound echoing in the small room. She pulled the chair out, scraping the metal legs against the cement floor. Mitch winced. Good. She needed him off balance.

  She sat down across from the reporter, making sure that her earbud was properly seated. Nicole knew that Kent would have something to say during this interview. His lack of protesting that Mitch couldn’t be Wallflower spoke volumes. This man might actually be their killer.

  “Mitch,” Nicole started. “You’ve been around enough investigations—you know how they go.” The man who would be a god nodded, so Nicole continued. “I am not going to pussyfoot around with you.”

  “Thank you,” Mitch said.

  Men always thought they wanted the truth, but when it hit them? Not so much.

  “We’ve got your DNA in a used condom from the roof where the prostitute Trudy fell to her death.”

  That got his tanning-bed golden face to go sheet white.

  He cleared his throat before he spoke, Nicole guessed to try to clear the shock from his tone. It didn’t work.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Would you like to explain?”

  “If I’d rather not?” Mitch said.

  Nicole cocked her head, opening the file, laying out the crime scene photos. Not the original ones, but the ones after the maggot/fly invasion. “This isn’t about solicitation, Mitch. This is about Wallflower. We checked with the station. You have no alibi with them for the times of the abductions-murders-body dumps.”

  “Whoa. Okay, maybe I use prostitutes, but kill anyone? No. Just no.”

  “You do realize that I can’t just take your word for it?”

  Mitch leaned forward. “I’d be under arrest if you actually had any proof. So let’s not get ahead of yourself, detective.”

  * * *

  So it turned out that their suspect was a bit of a bully. No great surprise there. When cornered, he turned all that self-rage out onto the world. Time to take him down a notch or two.

  “Ask him why he uses a prostitute.”

  The guy was good looking, wealthy. He either liked the power, or had some other, more personal reason. Kent was betting on the latter.
>
  Nicole pointed to the picture of Trudy—actually, it was a mug shot of Trudy. “Why did you go to her?” Nicole asked.

  Mitch shrugged. “I don’t have the time or inclination for a relationship. It’s just easier.”

  “Really?” Kent said into the microphone. “Because we’ve heard that Trudy was quite the nurturer. High-risk sex, but she’d cuddle afterward.”

  As Nicole repeated this statement, Mitch shifted in his seat. A tell. That implication bothered him. Which meant they needed to follow it all the way.

  “Why, out of all the prostitutes in the city, would you seek out Trudy?”

  Mitch’s answer seemed well rehearsed. “Someone referred me.”

  “Who?” Nicole asked without prompting.

  “I’m not telling you so that you can arrest him.”

  Nicole smiled. “We have no interest in him. Tell me, and he won’t face charges.”

  Caught in the lie, Mitch shifted in his seat again. His feet pointed to the door. He wanted the hell out of Dodge.

  “You are a big strapping guy, you must be packing some heat,” Kent said.

  Nicole looked over her shoulder.

  “Just say it.”

  Looking none too happy, Nicole repeated his words. Not quite as sharp as Kent would like, but it got the job done. Mitch frowned.

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  Oh, everything.

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Nicole said, taking the interrogation into her own hands. Kent had given her the in—now it was her chance to pop the hood on this guy’s psychosis. She glanced down at his feet. “Those are size thirteen, aren’t they? That would make you at least five inches. Maybe six?”

  Oh, that got Mitch squirming. “I really don’t see what this has to do with poor Trudy’s death.”

  “Not much,” Nicole said. “But it has everything to do with Wallflower. We’ve been banging our heads against the wall trying to figure out why he is so useless with women. Why he is so sexually ashamed.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Nicole smiled again as his heel started to bounce against the floor. “We spoke with Trudy’s roommate. She didn’t have a pimp because she liked her freedom. She liked to hang out with her tricks. She actually thought of them as people, rather than johns.”

  “She was exceptionally kind,” Mitch confirmed.

  “About what?” Nicole probed. “We are going to find out, Mitch. You might as well tell me. Once I go to her roommate with your name, she’s going to tell me.”

  Mitch’s eyes darted back and forth, his hands wringing in his lap. If he’d been a regular of Trudy’s, her roommate would indeed know all about it and, more importantly, would tell them.

  Mitch must have known that, as well. He sighed heavily and leaned back.

  “Just promise me this won’t get out.”

  “That depends on if it has anything to do with the murders.”

  “It most certainly does not,” Mitch insisted. “I am only asking for discretion here.”

  * * *

  Nicole knew they were looking for a high-functioning sociopath, but Mitch seemed sincere. He wasn’t flashing those dimples anymore. His features seemed heavier somehow. His eyes didn’t twinkle quite so blue.

  “Why, because you are transgender?” Kent asked in her ear. Even though it was horribly un-politically correct, Nicole repeated it. “Did you use to be Michelle?”

  Mitch shook his head. “I won’t tell you until I have some reassurance.”

  “We only care about Wallflower,” Nicole reassured him.

  “I don’t go to prostitutes because of some bizarre deep psychological reason. I go because…” Mitch gulped, looked to the one-way mirror. “How many people are out there?”

  Nicole wasn’t about to lie. Not when it seemed they were so close to the truth. “Probably four or five. But they are after Wallflower, and won’t breathe a word of what you tell me unless it is connected to the killings.”

  Finally he sighed. “I go to prostitutes because I have micro-penis.”

  “I’m sorry?” Nicole said. She’d never heard that word before.

  “It is a genetic anomaly. Normally, you would be correct—the length of digits in particular should be related to penile length. In my case, it is not. Definitely not.”

  “I’m sorry. I still don’t think I understand what you are saying.”

  “My penis is 2.5 inches long, erect.”

  “Oh,” Nicole said as Kent chuckled in her ear.

  Mitch waved her off. “We realized something was wrong in middle school and they gave me testosterone injections, but since my testes were fine, it didn’t help. Then they gave me growth hormone, which made me tall, but again, didn’t help my phallus. After so many humiliating exchanges in college with woman, I turned to pros. They don’t laugh. They actually appreciate it. Trudy used to say, less mileage on the odometer.”

  Nicole sat there for a moment trying to process everything that had just been revealed. The most important question was did this make him more or less likely to be Wallflower?

  While obviously embarrassed to have to tell them this most personal detail, he seemed very self-aware, which didn’t come across like a serial killer would.

  “Tell me why there was only pre-ejaculate in the condom,” Kent prompted. He clearly had recovered faster than she had.

  Nicole repeated the question.

  “Trudy was on her period, and I could see that she wasn’t enjoying herself, so I stopped.”

  “That’s awfully considerate,” Nicole said.

  “Like I said, the girls like me. I am not there to act out any perversion. I just need to fulfill my needs without being laughed at.” Mitch put the crime scene photos neatly back into their folder. “Do you know what they used to do with my kind?” Mitch asked.

  “No,” Nicole answered honestly.

  “They would perform gender reassignment surgery. They would neuter us and give us a vagina whether or not we wanted it.”

  “That’s horrible,” Nicole said.

  “My mother refused to let them,” Mitch said. “She wanted me to live my life as a man, as I was born to be,” Mitch said. “I would never betray her trust and respect by killing anyone, and especially not a woman. I love women. I don’t kill them.”

  * * *

  “And Trudy’s roommate is going to back you up on that?” Nicole asked.

  Oh, this was just too good, Kent thought. Micro-penis. He hadn’t worked a case like that for a while. All those girls that kept insisting that size didn’t matter were exactly the ones to humiliate someone like Mitch. That could really scar a psyche.

  Mitch, though, seemed calmer, more at ease as he answered Nicole. “Yes, Zalonda will confirm the fact that I treated Trudy with respect. After the roof, I usually took Trudy to a nice hotel and let her order all the room service she wanted. Zalonda would many times join her for breakfast.”

  Well, that kind of took the wind out of their sexually repressed serial killer sails.

  “Does he have any kind of alibi for the murders?” Kent asked.

  Nicole repeated it and Mitch nodded. “I found another regular,” he said. “I was with her most of those nights. It’s Tamara. Just ask her.”

  An alibi. It seemed to be a good alibi. So while he would love to dive into Mitch’s issues, he wasn’t their guy. It was time to cut him loose. Unfortunately.

  “Nic, you can come on out.”

  “We aren’t even going to check his alibi first?” Nicole questioned.

  But Kent could see from Mitch’s body language that he was telling the truth. There wasn’t a speck of concern in his expression. Tamara was going to alibi him out, that was for certain.

  “Nah. Have the unis check it out, but you’re done.”

  Quickly, she informed Mitch that he was free to go and opened the door. Mitch walked out, his head held high. Kent actually kept from making any jokes at the man’s
expense. He’d been through enough.

  Ruben walked back into the room with a frown. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Which is?” Kent asked.

  “They found another body.”

  “Rhonda?” Nicole asked, her hand flying to her chest.

  “No,” Ruben said. “But you aren’t going to like it.”

  * * *

  Nicole skidded to a stop and jumped out of the Mustang. Kent was right behind her. Ruben pulled his SUV to the curb, as well. She had to see the body for herself.

  Instead of greeting the myriad of support staff surrounding the crime scene, Nicole blew past them, lifting the crime scene tape without even registering with the officer on the watch. She rushed to the body just as McGregor was turning her over.

  With a gasp, Nicole stumbled back. No, it couldn’t be.

  “Do you know her?” McGregor asked.

  “Yes,” Nicole said, holding her arms around her waist. “I played tennis against her this morning.”

  Ruben stepped up next to her. “Looks like her name is Emilyn Stanford.”

  The flesh of the young woman’s belly undulated. McGregor flew back faster than Nicole had ever seen him move before.

  “Someone get a tarp over her before she blows.”

  Nicole turned on her heel and ran from the scene. Not because of the imminent maggots, but the very present guilt.

  Kent met her at the crime scene tape and caught her by the waist as she tried to get past.

  “Whoa there,” he said, pulling her into his embrace.

  She pushed away and headed back to her car.

  “Nic,” Kent said, keeping pace with her. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Of course it is,” she snapped back. “I should have protected her. We were wasting time with Mitch while this…” Nicole indicated to the body. “This was happening.”

  “No,” Kent said, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her around to face him. “We should have protected her, but you know what, this is not an exact science. You know that.”

  “I was there with her,” Nicole retorted. “I shook her hand over the net. I should have known.”