by Harry Hoge
"He must have seen the morning Chronicle."
"No doubt about that. He was clenching his teeth so hard, little pieces of enamel fell like snow."
"What time's the meeting?" "Open ended, but soon after Sumbitch gets here." Frank glanced at the pile of folders. "Looks like you've been busy. What do you need for me to do?"
"Come take a look. I'm pretty well organized here, but I need your input."
Frank laid his briefcase on the table and stood by Gerry's shoulder. She barely had time to open the first folder when Lieutenant Barker burst into the squad room.
"Showtime," Barker shouted. "The captain wants us in the conference room right away. I don't like this. We should have had time to get our act together, but it's too late now."
Frank grabbed his briefcase. Gerry scooped up the folders and they walked quickly out the door, down the hall and into the conference room. Captain Holloman sat at the head of the hardwood maple table scarred by cigarette burns and gouges from years of use as a forum of brainstorming and anguished debate. Four other detectives were already seated around the table: Arnold Grisham and his partner Aaron Fox sat two seats away from Holloman on the right, and Olivia Stanton and George Foster sat across from them. Frank took the seat on Holloman's left and Gerry sat beside him. Lieutenant Barker sat on the captain's right.
Holloman's assistant Grace Villalobos was busy at a sideboard in the corner making coffee. The cabinet matched the conference table in color, age and utility, and supported a huge multi-cup percolator, an assortment of cast-off mugs, and a tray heaped with pastries. Grace had been with Holloman since he first came to the homicide division and her customary seat would be next to Barker. Every detective was aware of her influence over Holloman and the captain's loyalty to her. Many mused that Villalobos had more power than the captain.
Grace turned from the credenza with a mug of coffee in her hand and announced with an officious smile that if anyone wanted coffee, they should fill their mugs before the meeting began. Chair legs scraped the vinyl tiles covering the floor as the team moved to the refreshments, but no one spoke. When they were all reseated and ready, Captain Holloman leaned back in his chair and took measure of each officer's face.
"If you read the morning Chronicle, you know why we're here. The 'Clown Case,' as it's being labeled, took on an entirely different perspective when Julia Brewster decided to make it a brouhaha. We need to clear up this situation ASAP. As of now, this group is designated as a task force with Lieutenant Barker in charge. Detectives Rivers and Gardner are the lead investigators, and the rest of you will supply any assistance necessary to speed up a solution. I'll let Lieutenant Barker bring those of you that are new to the investigation up to speed and then we'll hear from Rivers and Gardner. Lieutenant."
Barker didn't stand, she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and apparently warming her hands around her coffee mug.
"I'm afraid we don't have very much. We're treating these two homicides as early episodes in a serial event. Both bodies were found in parking garages, dressed in clown suits with planted trappings of unknown significance. Both victims were killed somewhere else and transported. Death was the result of poison, and the bodies were gaffed post-mortem for the alleged intent to cleanse the body of evidence. We've determined that each victim was murdered in their residence and cleansed there, which may mean that the victim knew his or her assailant. Both victims were comedians and worked their last job at one of the local clubs owned by Reuben Rankin, namely the Ha Ha House on Gray, and had performed at the Wit's End on Westheimer. Other than minor details, that's it. Rivers and Gardner can fill you in from there."
"Detective Gardner and I have been working this case from the beginning," Frank started. "Yesterday we worked different leads and haven't had a chance to brief each other as to our individual findings. I think the best way to cover what we know, is to play off each other and field questions that anyone might have."
"Have you identified any relationship between the two victims?" George Foster asked.
"None except the comedy clubs," Gerry answered. "The first victim was an Asian-American of Vietnamese extraction, about 30 years old and a Houston native. He had worked with Rankin for several months and had received an offer from Las Vegas a few days before he died. He seemed to be an up and coming talent. The second victim was a white female of approximately the same age, who's been bottom feeding the stand-up circuit for years with little success. Her home is Albuquerque, New Mexico. As far as we know, they never met each other."
"You say they were transported to the parking garages," Olivia Stanton interjected. "How much time elapsed between death and this transfer?"
"Our best guess is hours," Frank replied. "With the first victim about twelve hours, and probably a little less with the second."
"Any clue as to why the delay?"
"Opportunity is my guess," Frank responded. "The perp wanted the body discovered in the early morning, and didn't want to be disturbed while posing the scene. This guy's very meticulous. He's careful to leave no tracks."
"I'm sure you did a web search for similar MOs of serials," Aaron Fox stated.
"Of course," Frank answered. "Nothing."
"I don't think this is a serial killing per se," Gerry added. "I did at first, but there's a major difference."
"Oh, really," Barker responded. "That's new to me."
"I know, Lieutenant," Gerry continued. "I only got that idea early yesterday and didn't want to throw the investigation off track with speculation, but the first victim got a dose of an exotic drug derived from a tree known to grow only in the tropics, Cinchona ledgeriana, if you want the Latin. The second victim was given an overdose of peyote extract. Most people that OD on peyote are looking for spiritual illusions and don't follow proper procedure. Peyote isn't classified as a poison."
"Hell," Fox exclaimed. "They're both organic, both plants. I don't see where that's a divergence."
"Give her a chance, Aaron," Barker stated. "This is Detective Gardner's first homicide case. Go on, Gerry."
Aaron Fox made an exaggerated gesture of a servant waving his hand at his employer, indicating he would be quiet and listen.
"My sources on the street tell me there are some real exotics drifting around: kukui haole or Barbados nut—that's jatrophin, also atropine from Belladonna, coniine from hemlock, aconitine or monkshood, and curare, but to name a few. These are all deadly extracts from plants and although many have been used for treatment of diseases in some parts of the world, they're all poisons rather than narcotics. Peyote's chemical base is mescaline, an entirely different critter. What I gather is, these drugs are being peddled by one distributor that street talk calls 'The Shaman Lily.' Shaman because of the 'medicinal' application of the drugs, and Lily because the distributor is a white woman."
"Can any of your sources ID this woman?" Barker asked.
Gerry shook her head. "Sadly, no. I talked to several last night who had met the main seller, but no one has met The Lily. My sources claim that even the sellers have never met her face to face. They have drops, and communicate by cell phone."
"So," Fox interrupted. "This Shaman Lily is the doer?"
"Maybe. Or she may only be supplying the doer with the drugs."
"I still like Rankin for the doer," Frank responded. "I'm looking at the old connection of Rankin and the mobs, and the fact that both victims worked in his clubs."
"Weren't these clubs under investigation as drug houses a few years back?" George Foster asked.
Frank winced. "Yes," he answered.
"Have you looked into that?"
"Yes, Detective Shields broke up a ring operating out of the comedy clubs before Rankin purchased them. He followed up after the transfer of title, and found no reason to believe that Rankin was involved in similar dealings." Everyone at the table except Gerry stared at Frank, contempt poorly disguised in their eyes.
"I talked to Skip yesterday. He filled me in on the investigation."
Silence.
"I still like Rankin for the murders, but I must confess, it's a weak link right now. Give me some time and I may be able to dig up something else. Call it a hunch..." Still no comment. Frank picked George Foster and locked on his glare, defying him to make a comment. He sensed both Arnold Grisham and Aaron Fox turn their gaze to Foster. Olivia Stanton looked down at the table.
Gerry broke the silence. "I have another consideration," she interjected. "On Frank's suggestion, I did a search for other unsolved deaths due to mescaline overdose."
Frank ended his stare down with Foster, and shot his partner a surprised look. He'd never suggested that. Gerry was doing her best to take the focus off his past 'betrayal' with Skip, and draw attention to his dedicated aptitude as an investigator.
"There are at least five, maybe more cases outside of Texas, where victims of mescaline poisoning where found stripped naked in parking areas with no evidence available. There's one other with normal trace evidence, but no connection was made to a perpetrator."
Now everyone was looking at her.
"We need a thorough follow up on everyone associated with the Ha Ha House and The Wit's End," Frank said. "And, I need to search Rankin's house."
"We have a problem there," Lieutenant Barker stated. "Reuben Rankin is a model citizen, to all I can determine. We have no evidence that justifies a search."
Captain Holloman had been listening without comment. He rapped his knuckles on the table. He looked at Frank, then at Gerry.
"Do either of you have anything else?"
Neither detective responded.
"All right. Detective Foster, you and Detective Stanton take over the burden of collecting everything you can on the mescaline murders from Detective Gardner. Aaron, you and Arnold do background on Rankin's employees and all the comedians that have worked his clubs during the past two years. Look for connections, disagreements, salary disputes, things like that. Frank, you and Gerry work on Rankin and his family. I expect a daily summary by way of Lieutenant Barker, and we'll plan to meet every other day at 0800 right here."
"What should we do about Julia Brewster?" the lieutenant asked.
"With what I've got here, I'll schedule a press conference. None of you are to talk to reporters about this case until further notice. I want a complete gag on everything. If this is a serial and we don't work fast, we'll probably have another body before we solve this case. We damn sure don't want that." He hesitated. "Does anyone have any questions about what's expected?"
No one did.
"All right then, get cracking." Holloman stood and marched from the room, Grace Villalobos on his heel.
Chapter 17
Holloman made such a rapid departure that it caught Gerry by surprise. She lurched to her feet and called out. "Captain Holloman. If you could spare a moment, I have a suggestion." Holloman stopped and turned. Frank was amazed at how deftly Villalobos avoided running into her boss.
"What is it Geraldine?"
Gerry looked at Barker. "I think we're missing a necessary course of action here." No one said anything, all eyes on Gerry, waiting for her to continue. "Why don't we put an undercover investigator in one of the comedy clubs?"
After what seemed like an eternity of non-response, Lieutenant Barker said, "I don't think that's possible. Policemen in general, and detectives in particular don't have the background to walk into a comedy club and get a job."
"That's not entirely accurate, Loo," Gerry replied.
"Okay, who in this department could handle that assignment?"
"Me."
"What?" The collective response from everyone echoed around the room like bell tones from a barbershop quartet.
"When I was in the Marine Corps, I worked in a lot of talent shows and USO gigs as a stand-up. And before I decided on law enforcement at U of H, my major was Theater. I worked several of the rooms around Houston to help pay my expenses."
Barker was caught off balance. She hesitated. "That's all well and good, Gerry, but it's not that simple. You'd need to enroll in 'in service' and get specialized training before you could go under cover."
Gerry smiled. "You must not have read my profile carefully, Loo. I've had all that training. I worked under cover several times while I was in Kingwood. We broke two drug rings and a prostitution combine with me under cover."
"What... what about backup? We don't have anyone trained to handle you."
"That's not accurate either. Officer Harrington worked as my backup in Kingwood and he was transferred downtown three months before I was. He always worked as my backup, and he's here and ready to help."
Barker appeared frustrated. She was searching for ways to block Gerry from being assigned this dangerous responsibility. "What happens to Harrington's partner while Roger's playing pimp?"
"Chad Sherman? We all know that Officer Sherman has been going to night school for the last several years. He's enrolled in his last classes now. Anadarko Petroleum has already made him an offer to head up their security force starting in January." That caught everyone by surprise. "He said it was all right if I told you that," Gerry continued in a soft voice.
"If you're undercover, who helps Frank?" Barker said, her voice soft, but with an edge of panic.
"Why not Chad? He can ride with Frank and watch his back. That would eliminate a need to reassign someone or train a rookie to ride with Sherman for such a short time."
"But... I mean..."
"Looks like Officer Gardner has thought this through, Lieutenant Barker," Captain Holloman grinned, joining the conversation for the first time. "It seems ready to go except for the paper work. I approve. Get the forms to me before noon." He turned and stalked out of the office.
It was all going too fast. Frank had been listening quietly, more amused by Gerry's suggestion than anything else, confident that the administrators would reject her offer. The Captain's words alarmed him.
"Wait a minute," he protested. "You can't do this. It's too dangerous. Gerry's only been in homicide for a week. She can't go under cover. I won't allow it."
Now everyone was staring at Frank. He felt foolish. He had no authority to interfere with decisions made by the lieutenant and the captain. No one cared what he would or would not allow. "I mean... I don't like anything about this plan. It's too..., too dangerous. I can't think of a more appropriate word." He ducked his head.
"You're out of line, Detective," Lieutenant Barker scolded.
"Yeah, Loo. You're right. But we have to at least supply her with a wire."
"No wire," Gerry said. "If I get turned, it's going to be for a bad performance, not getting patted down by some bruiser in a night club."
Frank shook his head. "You've got to have some sort of recording device. Not only for your protection, but to collect evidence."
"No wire," Gerry insisted. "We don't have the technology on hand right now for me to conceal it successfully, and if I wore one in my shoe, it would be difficult to get anyone to talk into the mike. No wire."
"I suppose you're planning on going in without a weapon too?" Frank was beginning to share Barker's panic.
"Oh, no. I'm not that brave. I own a Smith & Wesson 3913. It's a "compact 9" that fits neatly in my purse. If someone turns the piece, it's easier to explain than a recording device."
"Where can you get convincing ID's and clothes?" Barker asked. "We can't come up with your cover like this was a Hollywood set."
Gerry smiled. "I've got the clothes. I guarantee that the first time you see me on stage, you won't recognize me. I've never been in the Ha Ha House, and when Frank and I went to The Wit's End, we were customers. No one made us as cops."
"Okay. What about false ID?"
"I've got all that from before: driver's license, library card, video store card, Master Card, even a resume and portfolio of previous jobs. I'm a split personality, Loo, known in less civilized circuits," she looked around the officious conference room, "as Bea Black."
Barker sputtered
. "Bea Black? That's ridiculous. Nobody's named Bea Black. It's too obviously phony."
"It fits," Frank said. "I'm still opposed to this whole idea, but from what I've learned, that's a perfect name for a stand-up comic."
"You'll need to check out one of our undercover cars."
"I know."
"I'll have someone set it up with the DMV so it will come back as being registered to Bea Black. And, you'll have to refrain from any contact with the department or other detectives."
"I know."
"Okay." Lieutenant Barker sighed, evidently resigned to the assignment. "How do you plan to make reports?"
"I'll call Frank if I come across anything. If anyone sees me on the phone, I'll tell them I'm calling my ex-husband."
Silence.
Lieutenant Barker put her hands on her hips, glaring at the ceiling and then at Gerry. "Why do I feel I've been sandbagged?" Barker asked, almost breaking into a smile. "I still don't like anything about this, but Captain Holloman has ordered it, so..." Her arm swept the room, "all of you get out of here and get this task force organized. I don't want Gerry hung out there any longer than necessary." No one moved, too stunned to react. "Go on now, get. I've got paperwork to do."
The three couples of detectives moved out of the conference room and walked down the hall toward the stairs. They were clustered in groups designated by partners. Frank and Gerry were in the front, walking in silence. Next, about five yards behind, came Stanton and Foster grumbling below earshot about having drawn a boring and tedious assignment, and commenting about the strange turn of events. Behind them another five yards, were Arnold Grisham and Aaron Fox, apparently too stunned to comment.
When Frank and Gerry reached the stairs leading to the squad room, Gerry broke the silence.
"You pissed at me, partner?"
"Well, yeah. Partners talk these decisions out before running off and challenging the brass."
