Mendez Genesis

by Edward Hancock II

  And there it was, Danny thought. The punch line. Alex sat, smiling. But this was not a Cheshire grin that usually accompanied such a fantastic “Gotcha.” Something odd existed in Alex’s smile. Something that struck a nerve with Danny. Something that said – that had been saying all along – that Alex was not kidding. All Danny could do was blink, breath and wonder if this Alex Mendez was the one he’d be stuck with. Unable to meet Alex’s stare any longer, Danny looked at the small table that rested near Alex’s chair. On it, he found a copy of The Holy Bible, which looked like it once belonged in Alex’s hospital room or something.

  Tossing it gently in Alex’s lap, Danny said, “That’s funny, I thought those people only put these things in seedy motel rooms.”

  Alex picked up the Bible. “Mike gave this to me. It was in my hospital room. He said I should keep it. Read it. I’ve been reading it and things are finally starting to make sense for me.”

  “Apparently you didn’t get to the ‘no stealing’ part yet huh?” Danny said, chuckling. Standing, he continued, “I gotta get going, Brother. I’ll be back tomorrow or sometime. Tell your old lady I stopped by. And tell her I said get back to work soon. All that extra work is cutting into my goofing off.”

  Alex smiled, “I guess I’ll see you.”

  “You need anything?” Danny asked.

  “Not that I can think of.”

  Danny gently took the Bible from Alex, opened it, flipped through the pages and set it back on the small wicker table.

  Patting Brandy once more, Danny said, “Yeah, looks like you got all you need.”

  Still smiling, Alex said, “Just the beginning my friend.”

  Danny wanted to say something but he knew anything he’d say was likely to offend Alex in his newfound peace. He wanted to shake him, maybe even trade punches but that would be a big waste of time. Not to mention a huge shot at the ego for beating on a disabled person.

  People in need search for comfort anywhere they can get it. Beer, cigarettes, drugs, infidelity, violence, robbery, skydiving, and The Bible. They all had one thing in common. Somebody out there was being comforted by each of them right now. In chocolate Danny trusted.

  He took Alex’s hand in a manly grip, bending down to touch shoulder to shoulder. Without a word, he left, not sure when he’d be back. Not sure, he admitted, he felt comfortable even coming back. Walking to his car, Danny found himself wishing for a cigarette, a parachute and a Perp he could pummel in privacy. Twenty minutes later, at home alone, he settled for the Quickie Mart Special, a Dr Pepper, chocolate bar and paperwork by the light of a DVD.

  Chapter 16 ~

  A backlog of cases at the Gregg County Medical Examiner’s office had pushed back the official autopsy results on the Rock Springs deaths more than a month. Far longer than Danny thought was acceptable. Far longer than would have been of any real help should a suspect have been brought into custody. Preliminary results had come out within a week but had done little to aid an investigation. The official results made Danny feel somewhat like a disappointed child who had just spent all night waiting up for a fat man in a red suit to climb down the chimney. When the results finally showed up on his desk–on the same day he happened to receive the autopsy results for Dave Collins–it did little to alleviate his frustration. Tox screening was essentially negative on all the kids. They weren’t on anything and they weren’t poisoned, at least not on anything that modern science could detect. Rachel Garrison had taken some form of Ibuprofen earlier in the evening, but all that proved is that she’d had a headache that night. No abnormalities anywhere in the vital organ systems, it seemed. The brain and spinal cord were intact. The lungs on all three were as normal as was to be expected from three reasonably healthy non-smoking teens. The cause of death, according to the report, was cardiac arrest, aggravated by sudden rupture of acute pulmonary embolism. In English that meant their hearts just gave out. Overworked, weakened by some undetectable abnormality perhaps, the hearts had literally exploded. In each victim, both adrenaline and serotonin levels were off-the-chart high. Though he wasn’t a doctor, Danny’s gut told him something was off about that. Whereas adrenaline was a stimulant, often credited for quick action, brute strength or drastically increased emotional impulses, serotonin had the function of a calming effect on the body. It was commonly investigated as the culprit behind a carbohydrate addict’s craving for comfort food.

  Danny’s gut reaction was simple. That can’t happen. Someone somewhere messed up.

  The ME had noted, too, the presence of high epinephrine and its counterpart, norepinephrine, each existing in fatally high levels. The more Danny read of the report, the angrier he became. What Junior High dropout had autopsied these bodies?

  As he picked up the phone, fully intending to call the ME’s office and rip someone’s head off, Lisa Mendez walked in, setting her keys and purse down on his desk. She was wearing a dark gray pantsuit with matching jacket covering a cream-colored top. Danny hadn’t noticed her shoes, but he was reasonably sure she wore flats. Lisa almost exclusively wore flats. Heels, she claimed, made her feel like a hooker. Lisa was nothing if not a lady.

  “All right, Boss,” she said, sighing as she set her keys inside her purse. “I’m here, so let’s get to work.”

  Sighing, he hung up the phone and opened the folder containing the three Rock Springs autopsies, placing it in front of Lisa.

  “What?” she said, “You’re not even gonna offer a lady a chair before you put her to work? Not even a cup of coffee?” Chuckling to herself, she continued, “That’s the last time I work for the likes of you.”

  “Read this,” Danny said, coolly. “Tell me what you see.”

  Lisa sat down, frowning at Danny and rifled through the report on each victim. “Scared to death,” she whispered, more to herself

  “You see it then?”

  “I—Danny, I don’t know what to say. This is weird.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I think something had these kids seriously scared out of their minds. But what the heck is bad enough to scare these kids literally to death?”

  “Why not four?” Danny added.

  “Four?”

  “Scott Bryan,” Danny said, placing a manila envelope on top of the ME report.

  * * *

  For the next hour, Lisa refreshed her memory as to the details of the case. She and Danny’d had a couple of conversations about the case, but up until now she had not been able to gain access to the files. He was doing his best to keep her informed because, he said, he wanted her to partner up with him once she returned. She read the interview with Scott Bryan where he claimed he remembered nothing of any value after arriving at the cemetery. There was, of course, no real tox screen or blood work done on Scott, so there was no way to compare adrenaline, serotonin or any other chemicals in the body. By the time they would have done a blood test on him, any chemicals that had been in his body would have been flushed out. It was still logical to assume that his body would have been flushed by, at the very least, a similar chemical cocktail. Why, then, did he not die? He was found some distance from the other three, without any recollection as to how he’d gotten there. Perhaps that could account for it, but still what had done the deed?

  “Radiation?” Lisa whispered, looking at Danny.

  “Possible, but wouldn’t the officers who investigated the crime scene also suffer ill effects? And why not Scott Bryan? Still the question of why not him. Was he wearing a lead diaper or something?”

  “Temporary radiation. Radioactive burst of some sort, like an x-ray. Some sort of gun maybe? No lingering radioactivity after a while. By the time the bodies are found, maybe the radiation had even left the corpses. The only logical assumption about Scott Bryan would be that he was further away than he thought. Or he’d gotten away before whatever it was hit.”

  “I don’t even think Isaac Asimov would buy that one, Dear.”

  Lisa sighed.

  “Yeah. No, you’re r
ight. I know it’s stupid.” She pursed her lips in contemplative frustration. “He has a birth defect right? Spinal something or other?”

  Spina Bifida,” Danny confirmed. “I’ve done a little bit of reading on it. Not so much that I could go on Jeopardy or anything, but from what I know, there’d be no way that could account for his survival. If anything, he would have been the most logical victim.”

  “Okay, so any better ideas?” Just then, the phone on Lisa’s desk rang. “Lisa Mendez’s desk. I’m on the job,” she winked at Danny.

  “Lisa.” The voice on the other end belonged to Captain Steelman. “The Chief and I need you and Lt. Peterson in my office ASAP.”

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes, Sir. Is everything okay?” she asked. Her smile completely disappeared as the cop took over.

  “Welcome back to work, Lisa. See you in ten minutes.” His voice lacked the usually friendly demeanor. Something serious was bugging Captain Steelman. He always had time for small talk, even if only for a few seconds. Hanging up the phone, Lisa retrieved her keys and locked her purse inside her desk drawer.

  “Come on,” she told Danny. “Captain wants to see us.”

  “Bout what?” Danny asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  The Captain’s office was on the top of the three story county courthouse. Simple logistics and, more to the point, budget constraints had forced the various Captains to office out of the courthouse rather than at the police station with their squads. Though built sturdy and with every safety feature the human mind could imagine, to keep the project under budget, it was agreed to house all officers with a rank of Captain or above – which essentially meant the Captains, The Deputy Chief and the Chief – in the courthouse building, mostly because it had several offices that had gone unused for some years. The courthouse itself was a relic of the past, much like everything in the downtown area. Built in the early 1900’s, shortly after a fire destroyed its Civil War predecessor, the building possessed class and style of an era long forgotten. An imposing figure in its prime, the dilapidated structure now cowered in the shadowy presence of rural corporate America, shadowed under glass and metal structures six to ten stories each. The inside of the building was cinder block painted white, a recent renovation to the building. The shine on the paint seemed to suggest the recent washing it might have received. The doors were painted Crayola brown, with chipping paint, and huge opaque windows with room numbers stenciled in black. A small board by the stairs listed the occupants of the building alphabetically beside their corresponding office number. Knocking on the Captain’s door, they were beckoned in by a voice that did not belong to the Captain. Upon entering, they were met with the strange sight of Chief Bouknight sitting at the Captain’s desk, with the Captain standing behind the huge black leather office chair.

  Captain Steelman was a polished man. Everything about his appearance was squared away, neat and in place; the product of military training, Captain Steelman’s entire life seemed to thrive on order. His hair was deep ebony, with salted sideburns, which only added to his already distinguished appearance. At age sixty-three, his retreating widow’s peak was still deceptively thick and manly. The captain was all leg, though they were currently hidden behind his mahogany desk and leather chair. His 230 lb build went well with his giant nearly 6’5 frame. In his younger years, he’d enjoyed quite a career as a high school and college football star. A picture of young Tom Steelman in his A&M Jersey hung beside an older version of a Marine Corps Major Steelman shortly before his honorable discharge. From there, Lisa knew little about his rise to Captain. Others on the force had been there longer. Few had been taken out of uniform as quickly as was Captain Steelman. He’d been head of homicide just two years, appointed during a budget shakeup that saw many old friends put out to law enforcement pasture.

  Lisa liked Captain Steelman. He was tough, but extremely fair and wasn’t one to give in to political pressure. He was himself a public servant and expected those under his command to adopt a similar feeling toward their job. Those that didn’t usually didn’t last very long. Money, he declared, was not to be wasted and there was no bigger waste than a cop half-heartedly performing his duty to the public. To most, he was a commander to be feared, nothing more. Few under his charge had ever taken the time to get to know the man behind the shield. Over the years Lisa had been the exception to that rule. While she didn’t know everything about the man, she definitely knew more than most and had encouraged a very friendly relationship out of the fatherly Captain Steelman. Though his name fit him like a glove, the one quality only a select few officers had ever had the honor of receiving was Captain Steelman’s fatherly mentorship. Lisa had been among that select group and, she figured, it had been largely responsible for her sudden and unplanned rise in rank.

  Chief Bouknight was another story. He was a black man whose appearance was far less polished than Captain Steelman’s. In fact, Lisa surmised, the only thing truly polished about Chief Bouknight was his shiny, bald black head. His mustache was cropped short, but covered his entire top lip. It existed as more of an unkempt missed opportunity during his morning shaving ritual than an actual mustache. His tie hung in a crooked knot, pointing to a slight ponch in the belly that resisted ever so gently against the buttons of his white collared shirt, the sleeves of which were badly wrinkled.

  The only thing about his appearance that commanded respect was his smooth deep voice that reminded Lisa of Michael Clark Duncan or perhaps Ving Rhames. His personality was one of all business. He rarely smiled. He wasn’t mean, but there was nothing about his personality that gave the impression of a happy individual. He wasn’t there to make friends. He had no time for frivolities. He wasn’t there, Lisa believed, to protect or to serve. While Captain Steelman was a no-nonsense man, he still did his job full of heart. It wasn’t a job, it was a duty. He cared and it showed. Chief Bouknight, if he cared about the public, didn’t manage to show it. To Lisa, he seemed more like an administrator, which, by definition, he was. She’d known him to give orders and sign paychecks. That was his purpose. When she caught sight of him sitting at the Captain’s desk, she knew there was going to be something about the meeting she did not like.

  “Have a seat,” Chief Bouknight directed Danny and Lisa.

  “Please,” added Captain Steelman. “Danny, Lisa. I believe you know the Chief.”

  “Yes sir,” they answered, in monotone unity.

  Pointing to the corner behind Lisa’s left shoulder Chief Bouknight continued. “This is Agent Fredrick Beene and Agent Jun Kim.”

  Lisa looked over her shoulder, turned and greeted them with a half-smile and nod. Looking at Danny, she knew they were thinking the same thing.

  “FBI,” The male agent said.

  “A fed?” Lisa asked, panning the room, hoping the faces of her Chief or Captain Steelman might provide some answers.

  “You’re not taking this investigation,” Danny said, his voice suddenly graveled with pensive anger.

  “Which investigation would that be, Lieutenant?” The Chief hissed.

  “Any of them,” Danny said. “But I know they’re here about the Rock Springs killings. You don’t send the FBI to Mayberry over traffic stops and antique store robberies. And what other high-profile case do we have on our plates right now?”

  Turning to Lisa, Chief Bouknight asked, “How is your husband?” seemingly more out of disinterested subject changing than of genuine concern.

  “Alex is much better, Sir, thank you,” she was trying to hide her own anger, not at the threat of losing an investigation she’d had for all of 20 minutes but at his lack of respect for one of the best cops to ever wear a badge.

  Alex was a number to him and Lisa hated it. The Chief hadn’t been with Alex these last few weeks. He hadn’t seen the struggles, the obstacles Alex had fought to overcome. He hadn’t been surprised at the strength Alex had displayed. Even Lisa had to admit Alex had found somet
hing – she called it strength – she didn’t know he had.

  “Detective,” interrupted the male FBI agent, “given your current situation, we feel that your participation in this investigation would be – how to put this delicately – more of a hindrance than of any real help.”

  “Now wait just a minute there. You come marching in here like Fred the Fed and just expect to—” Lisa stopped cold, met with Danny’s calming hand on her forearm. He stifled a chuckle

  “Hold up there, cowboy,” Danny interrupted. “This is my investigation—”

  “Was your investigation.”

  “Until I give it up, it is my investigation and I will choose anyone I want to help me solve this or any other case I am assigned. If you don’t like it, I suggest you get your pencil-pushing group back to Washington and whine about it to your boss. I really don’t care what your badge says. You’re not my boss—”

  “No, but I am,” said the Chief.

  Turning toward Chief Bouknight, Danny continued, “I’ve worked with Lisa many times. She’s the most competent cop I know. She’s had plenty of time to get her personal ducks in a row and any personal issues that may be occurring in her life are not relevant to this or any other investigation.”

  “I’d appreciate it if everyone would stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Lisa said, her anger steadily building. “Look, my record speaks for itself, Chief. If you want me off this investigation, you can remove me, but you’ll have to take my badge to do it.”

  Without hesitation, Danny added, “And if you take hers, somebody will be eating mine by the time I leave this office.”

  “Is that a threat, Lieutenant?” asked the Chief.

  “Take it however you want, sir, but this investigation is mine. It’s been mine for weeks and it will stay mine or I quit.”