The Dead Detective

by William Heffernan

  “What were you pressing him to give up?” Vicky asked.

  “The name of anybody else he knew who was watching Darlene, who was trying to get something on her that would violate her probation.”

  “So you still think it was somebody in the church who did this.” Vicky’s voice held all the incredulity she felt.

  Harry just looked at her and then turned his attention back to the body.

  “Why won’t you even consider Benevuto?” she demanded. “Is it because he’s a brother cop?”

  Harry kept his eyes on the body. “I wouldn’t care if he was the man in the moon,” he said. “Nick just doesn’t look good for this kind of killing.”

  “Why not, why doesn’t he look good for it?” She spoke the last four words with an edge, mocking the idea.

  Harry pivoted slowly to face her. He inclined his head toward the body. “Look at him. Look at the way he was killed; the way the body was mutilated. Then think back to Darlene’s body. This is the work of a religious head case, and that’s not Nick Benevuto. You were in his apartment. There wasn’t one iota of religion in it. Whoever killed Darlene thought she was evil—not a sick woman, not a deviant—but evil. Hell, Nick wouldn’t think twice about a woman spreading her legs for anyone—even a kid. He might think it was stupid, and he’d definitely think she was stupid to do it the way she did, as an open invitation to get caught. But he wouldn’t be declaring it evil and be so outraged that he’d carve that message in her forehead.” He swung a hand toward Bobby Joe’s face. “And do you think Nick Benevuto is so down on fornication that he’d cut up a body like this?” Harry shook his head and glared up at her. “He’d brand anybody who wasn’t a fornicator as an asshole.”

  “Did you ever consider that he’s just trying to throw us off? He’s a good investigator. He knows how a good investigator thinks. He knows how you think, Harry.”

  “Okay, let’s say I give you all that. Let’s look at the choice of weapon. Our killer used a knife, and a fairly good-sized one. Why? Was it because this was some kind of religious sacrifice? I don’t know. But I do know that Nick would not have chosen slicing somebody’s throat as the best way to kill them. He might use a knife, but he would have used it with a few wellplaced stabs to the heart. He wouldn’t want to bathe the room in blood. Nobody who’s ever worked homicide would want a crime scene like this. Not if he had to walk out of it. It’s too damn hard not to leave evidence behind, or take evidence away with you.”

  “People do stupid things when they’re in a jealous rage.”

  “These weren’t impulsive acts. These murders were well planned. Remember, Darlene’s body was moved, and it was moved for a reason that we haven’t figured out yet. But whatever it was, it was worth the risk of moving her. And in both murders the killer came prepared to deliver a message.”

  “Prepared how? He had the knife with him?”

  “He brought the masks with him too.”

  “I don’t buy it, Harry. I just don’t buy it. I think it’s all part of his game to throw us off. Just like he altered the computer records so we wouldn’t be able to trace his department car. He was involved with Darlene. He fell for her, and he fell for her hard. But she wanted to bounce from bed to bed. She needed to know that she was wanted by a lot of men; it’s the only thing that satisfied her. God, she even needed to know that young boys wanted her. And Nick couldn’t stand that. He wanted her for himself. Hell, Harry, you saw her. A man couldn’t ask for a more beautiful, more desirable woman. And Nick Benevuto didn’t want to share that with anybody. Period, end of story; motive and opportunity all wrapped up in a neat little package. And to top it off, the best cover in the world. He’s a cop. And better yet, a detective who just might get to investigate the case. And that, my friend, is why Darlene’s body was moved. To make sure the case stayed in our jurisdiction. If her body was found in Tarpon Springs, the case might have been snatched up by Tarpon P.D.”

  Harry swiveled back to the body. “Those are all excellent points. And you’ve got a very dirty crime scene here and no reason for Nick Benevuto to ever have been in this room. So let’s work the room and then you can see if anything we find here ties him to the crime scene.”

  Vicky’s jaw tightened. “And if we don’t find anything, what does it prove? Just that he’s as smart a cop as I think he is.”

  Harry loved the woman’s tenacity. He smiled up at her. “Lady, you’re like a dog with a bone. But the bottom line is this: we’ve got to put the killer at the scene of the crime. If we can’t do that, we’ve got a lot of evidence and no one to tie it to.”

  Mort Janlow, the assistant M.E., finished his examination and turned the crime scene over to the forensic unit before joining Harry and Vicky on the small landing outside the front door. “Looks like the same killer—superficially at least,” he said. “I’ll be able to tell more once I get him on the table. But the killer was a strong son of a bitch. The cut went back so far it nicked the spinal column.” He raised a finger. “But that nick in the bone should let us ID the knife as the murder weapon if we ever get our hands on it.”

  “You see anything else that we might pick up from the autopsy?” Harry asked.

  “Are you talking about fingerprints on skin, something like that?” He watched Harry nod. “Nothing that’s obvious right now. The body looks fairly clean. There’s some loose hair on the scalp and some more on the shoulders. I suspect the killer held him by the hair to pull his head back just before he cut into the throat.”

  “Yes, I saw that,” Harry said. “He didn’t do that with Darlene. He held her close to him when he cut her; pressed up against him. You could tell that from the disturbance their feet made in the sand on that small beach and by the blood splatter evidence from the initial cut.”

  Janlow nodded. “But he may not have wanted to do that with a man, to keep him close to him like that.”

  “Why is that?” Vicky asked.

  Janlow gave her a cautionary look, almost as if he thought his next words might embarrass her. “I don’t know anything for certain, but according to the literature I’ve read on the subject, it’s not uncommon for a killer to become sexually aroused when he kills with a knife, or by strangulation, or anything that brings him in close physical contact with the victim. Maybe in this case our killer didn’t want to be close to another man when he began feeling aroused.”

  “He didn’t want it because it was sinful.” There was a faraway sound to Harry’s voice, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

  “That could very well be,” Janlow said.

  “Maybe he just didn’t want to get blood on himself,” Vicky said with a snide edge in her voice.

  Janlow took in the exchange, a small smile forming on his thick lips. “Are we having a professional spat, children?”

  “Just a disagreement about who our primary suspect should be,” Harry said.

  Janlow grinned at them. “More than one suspect strong enough to be a primary? Be grateful when your cup runs over, kiddies.”

  “Except you just got through examining his primary,” Vicky said.

  Janlow raised an eyebrow. “The young minister?”

  Harry nodded.

  Janlow smiled again. “I’ve heard the department folklore that the dead speak to you, Harry, but with this poor devil you might be asking a bit too much. His voice box is all chopped up.” He let out a low cackle, then turned to the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

  Vicky and Harry also turned and saw Jim Morgan coming up toward them.

  “Any luck with Benevuto?” Vicky asked.

  “He didn’t answer the door at his apartment, and his car wasn’t in the lot,” Jim said. “I tried his cell phone, but didn’t get any response there either.”

  “There are a couple of bars he hangs out in,” Harry said. “I’ll give you the names and addresses.” He paused. “Do you intend to bring him in for questioning?”

  “That’s the eventual plan,” Jim said. “Right now I was ju
st going to see if he had an alibi for tonight.”

  “Take Vicky with you. If you find him, bring him in. Let’s get the interrogation out of the way when the office isn’t full of his peers. But don’t start questioning him until I get there.” Harry glanced at his watch. “I shouldn’t be here much longer. When forensics finishes I’ll connect up with you.”

  Vicky gave him a long look. “If we find him and decide to bring him in, do we cuff him?”

  Harry let out a long breath. “It’s your call. If he was my suspect, I wouldn’t. He’s still a cop. But he’s also not supposed to be carrying, so pat him down and make sure he isn’t.”

  Marty LeBaron, who headed up the CSI unit, pointed to the prints that marred the light tan carpeting on the apartment floor. “We’ve got a beautiful blood footprint leading out the door. The shoes are an eleven-C, and you can see a nice pattern in the heel of one print. They won’t be hard to identify when we find them. Blood gets absorbed into the soles and heels; you never get it all out. So unless our perp tosses them, we find them, we nail his ass to the wall.”

  “So find the shoes, we find the killer. Sounds simple,” Harry said.

  Marty grinned at him. “It is simple, so why don’t you get your ass moving and do it.”

  “You notice anything under the victim’s fingernails, any fingerprints on his skin, defensive wounds?” Harry asked.

  “The body was pretty clean. There were some fibers on the back of his shirt. Probably left there when the perp first came up behind him; also some hairs that weren’t his. But it was less than we usually find. We’ll sort it all out back at the lab. As far as skin prints go, nothing. It’s my guess the perp wore latex gloves.”

  “So you’d say it was a pretty clean crime scene? Like somebody who knew what they were doing?”

  “What are you trying to say, Harry?”

  “I want to know if the crime scene looks like it was handled by someone who knew how to keep the level of evidence down.”

  “Like a cop?” Marty’s eyes narrowed.

  “Some people are looking real hard at a cop,” Harry said.

  “I can’t say that, Harry. And I sure as hell wouldn’t testify to that.”

  “Ease up, Marty.” Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not trying to nail a cop for this. I just want to be able to answer any questions that come up.”

  Marty looked away momentarily. “It could have been someone who knows crime scenes,” he conceded. “For everything except the footprints, that is. It took a real asshole to leave footprints like that. The clown never even made an effort to clean them up. If he had, we probably never would have gotten that heel print.”

  “Maybe something scared him off,” Harry speculated.

  “The way this guy killed these two people, he doesn’t strike me as the type who scares easy.”

  “You wouldn’t think so,” Harry said.

  Vicky and Jim found Nick Benevuto in one of the bars Harry had suggested, a Hooters wannabe joint located on 66th Street just off Ulmerton Avenue. Nick was seated in an obscure booth nursing the same drink he had ordered when he arrived an hour earlier. He was dressed in a black silk short-sleeved shirt, open at the collar, and tan slacks with a razor crease. Vicky thought he was living up to his nickname: Nicky the pimp.

  “What the fuck do you two want?” he asked as Vicky and Jim stopped at his table. “Or are you just here to feed off what’s left of me? Fucking vultures.”

  “We need to know where you were earlier tonight,” Vicky said.

  Jim had placed himself so he blocked Nick from making a quick exit from the booth, and Vicky was off to his side so she had a clear field of fire. Nick looked at each of them; saw the way they’d positioned themselves.

  “This a bust?”

  “We just need to ask you some questions,” Vicky said.

  “Ask away.”

  “Where were you tonight?”

  “I was home. I just came out about an hour ago, wanted to have a couple of drinks. No big surprise. They suspended my ass today.”

  “Jim went by your place about two hours ago. Nobody answered the door.”

  “I never heard the door.” He glanced up at Morgan, contempt filling his face. “Maybe your rookie partner went to the wrong door.”

  “Your car wasn’t in the parking lot,” Morgan said.

  “Then I’d already left, asshole. What else can I tell you?”

  “So you were at home between two and five this afternoon?” Vicky asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Was anybody with you?” Jim asked.

  Nick held up his right hand. “Yeah, Mary Fist. I’m sure you know her well, jerkoff.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Jim said. “We’re treating you with respect; you can treat us the same way.”

  Nick let out a barking laugh. “I got a problem there, boyo. I don’t respect either one of you. So I guess I’d have to fake it.”

  “Then fake it,”

  Vicky snapped.

  “Fuck you,” Nick snapped back.

  “On your feet and assume the position,” Jim said.

  “What? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “Do it,” Jim ordered. “Do it or I’ll charge you with resisting the lawful command of a police officer.”

  “You arresting me?”

  “You’re going in for questioning,” Vicky said, seizing control back from Morgan. “Let us pat you down for weapons and we won’t use cuffs.”

  “Why you cunt …”

  “Now,” Morgan growled. His raised voice made several patrons turn to watch them.

  The sudden attention seemed to embarrass Benevuto. “Alright, alright,” he said in a softer voice. “But can we do the pat down in the parking lot?”

  “As long as you behave yourself,” Vicky said.

  Morgan gave her a look that told her he thought it was a mistake to grant Benevuto’s request.

  Benevuto reached into his pocket and then froze when he saw Morgan and Vicky tense. “I just want to pay for my drink,” he said. He removed a wad of folded bills held by a money clip, pulled out a ten, and placed it next to his half-finished drink. “I suppose you don’t wanna wait for me to get change.”

  “Leave the whole thing,” Vicky said. “It’ll make the waitress remember you.”

  Nick was alone in the interrogation room when Harry arrived at the office. Vicky and Jim filled him in.

  “So he has no alibi for the time period when Bobby Joe was killed,” he said when they had finished.

  “None,” Vicky replied. “And when we found him he was dressed in clothes that looked like they’d just come from the cleaner. I checked with Rourke and got an idea of what he wore to work today. It didn’t even come close. I’d like to get a warrant to search his condo.”

  Harry held up a hand. “I don’t think we have enough probable cause for a warrant. Let’s interrogate him first, see what you come up with, and then we’ll decide where we go from there.”

  “Are you going to question him?” Jim asked. There was an edge in his voice that Harry picked up on—as though he feared Harry might try to steal Benevuto away now that his own suspect was dead.

  Harry shook his head, and glanced at each of them in turn. “I’ll watch through the glass. The interrogation is all yours.”

  Vicky and Jim huddled outside the interrogation room, setting up strategy, as Harry entered the viewing area. He took a chair facing the one-way window. Nick Benevuto was seated no more than ten feet away, isolated and alone. Harry saw a lonely, beaten man, not the same pushy, thoroughly obnoxious detective he had worked with for more than five years. All the cockiness was gone from his eyes and Harry knew that any manifestation of it that he managed to force out would be little more than false bravado.

  Nick’s head snapped around to the sound of the door opening and he watched Vicky and Jim enter and take chairs opposite him across a small metal table. There was a mix of relief and irritation in his ey
es. Harry understood it. Suspects did not like to be isolated, especially in a small, closed, windowless room. They felt threatened by it. But they were equally threatened by the interrogation that followed. It was a confusing mix of emotions. Nick showed that now. He glared at his fellow detectives with open disgust. It was a feeling, Harry knew, that would never fully disappear, no matter the outcome. And he had little doubt that there would also be a dose of it for him as well.

  Speaking to no one in particular, Vicky gave the date, the time, the location, and the names of all persons present; then advised Nick that the interrogation was being tape recorded, and that he had a right to have an attorney present.

  Nick waved the statement off. “I don’t need a lawyer. If I decide I do, I’ll tell you your interrogation is over.”

  “Fair enough,” Vicky said.

  “Let’s start with Darlene Beckett,” Jim began, indicating that he would take the lead in the interrogation.

  It was a smart move, Harry thought. Nick’s attitude toward women would keep him from dealing with Vicky with any degree of openness. On the other hand, by taking the secondary role, she could jump in and force an issue whenever an irritant was needed.

  “Start wherever you want,” Nick said. “You can start with Marilyn Monroe. I didn’t kill her either.”

  “You already admitted that you had a sexual relationship with Darlene. Isn’t that true?”

  “I slept with her a couple of times. I was trying to get her to turn snitch for me, and I was trying to get close to her. I got a little too close. It was a mistake.”

  “How many mistakes did you make?” Jim asked.

  Nick glared at him. “Do you mean how many times did I fuck her? It’s okay, kid, you can say the word. Your tongue won’t turn black and fall out.”

  Harry saw Jim’s jaw tighten, but he kept his cool. “How many times?” he asked again.