I don’t argue. I don’t want to argue. I’m in complete agreement with the sergeant; his words just took me aback for a moment. I nod in agreement, no words needing to be spoken.
Sergeant Liddell stands and exits the interrogation room, and I follow close behind. He picks up the horn and says, “This is Sergeant Liddell, this is the Ares Corporation? I will need your authentication number . . . My apologies, sir, I can’t be too careful; what can I do for you?” Liddell’s face slackens and his eyes grow wide. He puts the horn down and stares directly at me.
“They want you to run the investigation into the death of Howard Sutton. I don’t know what you said or what you did, but they want you specifically on the case, and we are supposed to comply with your every demand, no questions asked.”
Chapter 7
The Morgue
I’ve never felt fury from the coppers as I do now. Nothing irritates coppers more than being told they have to follow the orders of a private investigator, especially one who is supposed to be a suspect.
“What did you do?” Sergeant Liddell asks. “Who did you talk to?”
I shake my head and shrug. “The only people I’ve spoken to are Genevieve, Dorothy, and my client. I didn’t give details on where I found the body and that I'm being paid to find him. None of which is secret knowledge anyway. Besides, none of them have the power or authority to get the Ares Corporation to choose me for the case. Something else is afoot there.”
Sergeant Liddell glares at me, probably trying to decide how much of what I’m saying he really buys. Soon he hangs his head, closes his eyes and shakes his head. “What do you want us to do?”
“Go about your investigations as usual,” I say, keeping my composure. “The more eyes you can get on the evidence, the better. If any developments come, let me know. I have a quick meeting I need to take, and then I will go see Howard Sutton’s body in the morgue. I want to hear the coroner’s thoughts before he does the autopsy.”
“What’s the matter?” John Corey spat. “Don’t trust us to give you the right report?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I like to gather my own evidence. But don’t worry, Officer Corey; you’ll get the report as soon as it’s done. Well, the precinct will. I don’t want you on the case; you have had it out for me since day one.”
Corey’s face grows red, and his eyes bug out. He takes a step forward, and Sergeant Liddell stops him. “You heard Detective Baxter; you’re not on the case. Head out on your route, and we will discuss this later.”
Officer Corey’s face contorted as if he wanted to contest his orders, but he scowled and walked away. “Yeah, we’ll talk later,” he says before walking through a door.
“I’m sorry, detective,” Sergeant Liddell says. “I’ll make sure he’s punished for his insolence.”
I wave my hand in dismissal. “It’s not important. I’m not keen on taking the lead in this investigation, but there isn’t anything I can do about it. Now, go about your business.”
The cops stare at me for a second before turning and getting back to work. Liddell follows me as I walk toward the door.
“I don’t know what all this is about, but you’re a flatfoot; I don’t understand why you’re leading the investigation.”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “But the men in the tower have their reasons, and I’m not about to defy them.”
Liddell’s face straightens. I can see he’s not happy about the whole setup, and I can’t say as I blame him. After a moment, he nods and clasps his hand on my shoulder. “You be careful out there.”
I nod. “You as well, sergeant. Which morgue is Mister Sutton being kept in?”
***
I didn’t want to wait until I got back to the office to call Helen O’Reilly. I push a nickel into a payphone and dial her number. The telephone rings three times before Helen’s voice chimes through the horn.
“Hello?”
Her voice isn’t nearly as weak as it was before; maybe the tears had stopped for now.
“Miss O’Reilly,” I say. “It’s Detective Baxter.”
“Detective,” Helen says, her voice surprised. “I’m happy to hear from you. Do you agree to meet with me?”
“Yes, meet me at the North Red City Mortuary.”
“I’m on my way.”
She hangs up, and I leave the phone booth.
***
The wind has subsided by the time I get to the mortuary. I lean against a pillar and light a cigarette as I wait for Helen. I feel the burn of the tobacco in my lungs before exhaling a plume of grey smoke.
I watch the road as a car drives up and stops. Helen O’Reilly steps from the taxi and pays the man behind the wheel. I throw my cigarette to the ground and approach, slowly and carefully.
“Miss O’Reilly,” I say. “Care to explain why we’re having this meeting?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” she says. “Why was Howard running? Why did he even leave? I don’t think he froze to death.”
I cock my head to the side and grin. “What gives you the idea the story is he froze to death?”
“You found him in the snow, and I heard some coppers saying he probably froze.” Helen stopped for a moment to gaze at my face. Purposely, I display no emotion. “I just don’t believe that’s what happened.”
“For what it’s worth, Miss O’Reilly, I don’t think he froze to death either. But I need more than just my belief before pushing forward.”
I turn to walk into the mortuary, ready to learn that a man froze today in the snow and had been delusional about people wanting to kill him. I don’t believe it to be the case, but I’m willing to accept the story if it’s what the coroner tells me.
Helen grabs me by the arm. “If something doesn’t look right, or if something seems off, please look into his murder. I can pay you whatever you want. I don’t have a lot of money, but I’ll do anything you ask.”
I stop and purse my lips. “I’m going in to speak with the coroner. If something looks out of the ordinary, I’ll look into it.”
I turn to face Helen. She retracts her arm and wraps it around her body, crossing her arms. “Thank you.”
Her eyes start to water before she turns and walks away. I watch her leave and get back into the car. The taxi drives away, and I walk into the mortuary. I watch the car pull out and turn to the line of coffins along the far wall.
“Detective Baxter?” a woman’s voice says.
I turn to the other side of the room to see Ruth Sutton walking from the next room. “Good day, Missus Sutton.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a good day,” Ruth says, her face flaccid and her eyes wet. “My husband died. A son of a bitch he may have been, he didn’t deserve to die.”
“I agree,” I say.
‘You’re here to talk to the coroner?”
I nod and move past her as she approaches me. “I’m sure someone will be out here soon to speak with me,” I say. Ruth nods and turns to leave. “I’m surprised you’re here,” I add. “I figured you would have refused to see the man, especially after he abandoned you for another woman.”
Ruth hangs her head and tears fall to the floor. “I wasn’t going to. They called and I refused to come. I don’t think they even called his mistress.”
“You changed your mind, though.”
Ruth nods. “They must have told the coroner nobody was coming to claim the body, so he’d already started the autopsy when I got here.”
“That’s awfully quick,” I say.
“It was horrible, seeing Howard cut open like that with the top of his head missing.” Tears fall faster, and Ruth nearly collapses into a fit of sobs. She stops herself just as I move to console her. “You know what’s even worse? I feel almost nothing for him. I’m more upset to have seen a dead body than I am to know whose body it is.” She shakes her head and dries her eyes with a handkerchief she pulls from her purse. “I know saying that must make me look like a suspect, but I’m more concerned about what that revelati
on says about me.”
“No,” I say. “Being his ex-wife makes you a suspect. His leaving you makes you a suspect. I don’t think you’re guilty, but I’m going to have to stop by and ask you some questions soon.”
“Okay.”
I straighten as I realize how much of an egg I’m becoming. I let out a deep sigh and remove my trilby. “I’m sorry for your loss, for what it’s worth.”
Ruth shrugs and shakes her head. “I must go. I can’t be here anymore.”
She pushes the door open and walks out. I don’t watch her leave; instead, I turn to the skin-crawling image of the funeral director.
“Hello,” he says with a harsh dry voice. “How can I help you?”
I pause before pulling out my buzzer and licence. “I’m Detective Thomas Baxter. I’m here looking into the death of Howard Sutton.”
The director looks at my credentials and grins. “Of course, right this way. I hope you don’t mind that we started with the autopsy straight away. The Ares Corporation called and said they wanted the results as soon as possible, even telling us to move any other jobs to the side until this one was done. I don’t know why, but I suppose it’s not my place to ask. The Legion of Twelve gets what they want, no matter what.”
“Indeed it does.”
The director leads me into the morgue. The cold air sends a chill down my spine as I remind myself why the room must remain cold. In the center of the room stands the coroner with a leather apron, white clothes and a face mask. Beside him stands a boy not quite in his twenties. He’s pale and looks as if he’s ready to pass out at any moment.
I stand back, waiting for the coroner to notice me while his hands move deep in Howard’s chest. “Lungs look healthy and intact. Mild browning, likely from cigarette exposure. Slight freezing damage.”
The coroner looks up and notices me. “Hello? Are you an officer?”
I chuckle and pull out my credentials. “Not quite, but I am the next best thing.”
The coroner doesn’t move from the body, prompting me to come closer. He eyes my documents and looks back up at me. “A private dick? What’s a shamus doing with a dead body case?”
“Higher-ups wanted me, so here I am. What can you tell me?”
The coroner sighs and pulls his hands out of the body. He strips off the rubber surgical gloves and pulls his mask down. He’s quite handsome, with a square jaw and sharp cheekbones. Were he in any other profession, the dames would be all over him.
“Isaac,” he says, holding out his hand.
I shake it and introduce myself. “Any idea why he died?”
“It’s the damndest thing,” the coroner says. “There’s not a mark anywhere on his body, so he wasn’t stabbed, shot or injected with anything. He may have been poisoned, but there should be some damage to his organs, and I’m not finding a damn thing. It could be apoplexy, but I’d have to cut into his brain for that.”
“Maybe arsenic?” I suggest.
“I thought of that too,” Isaac replies. “It was one of the first tests I did when I saw there weren’t any physical wounds. It’s certainly not arsenic. Besides, he died much too quickly for that poison.”
“Is it possible he really did freeze to death?” I ask. “It would explain the lack of physical wounds or damaged organs. Well, apart from being frozen, I suppose.”
Isaac shakes his head. “Not at all. Had he frozen to death, the rate of freezing and the damage from the ice crystals would have been very different. The internal organs wouldn’t have nearly the same damage as his extremities. He did die while in the cold, that’s for sure. There are some disparities in the damage to cell structure, but not enough to make me think he froze to death.”
I tap my foot and stare at the corner. “What do you think killed him?”
“I have no earthly idea,” Isaac says. “It looks like he just died for no reason. I can’t explain it.” Isaac stares at the corpse for a good long minute before shaking his head as he snaps himself out of what looks like a distant trance. “But I haven’t finished the autopsy. I’m sure if I run some more tests and investigate some of his other organs, I’ll find something.”
“I hope so,” I say under my breath. “Well, thank you, doctor. . .”
Isaac laughed and shook my hand. “I’m not a doctor. But I thank you for the compliment.”
I give a nervous smile and leave the morgue. The funeral director follows me out and into the showroom. “Is it wise to let someone who isn’t a doctor work on a body?”
The director looks back to the morgue and chuckles. “Isaac? He’s been doing autopsies for nearly a decade. If anyone can find a cause of death, it’s Isaac for sure.”
I scratch an itch on my nose and realize I hadn’t noticed the awful smell of the mortuary. All at once, the scent of embalming fluid and blood fills my senses, and I regret allowing my preoccupation to lapse.
“I see,” I say, fighting a sour face. “I hope he finds something. Nothing is worse than trying to find a killer without knowing what the murder weapon is.”
“Never fear,” the director says. “Isaac will find what you’re looking for.”
I exit the mortuary and suck in a deep breath of cold winter air. I spit out the taste of embalming fluid and light a cigarette. “I don’t plan to make a hobby of going there,” I mutter to myself.
I start walking back to my office. Despite being called the North Red City Mortuary, the building is closer to the downtown area than any other undertakers. It won’t take me long to get back.
As I walk, I can’t help but ponder what could have killed Howard Sutton. He’d been a healthy young man, and since he was worried that someone was trying to kill him, it was doubtful he would have accepted food or drink from another person. Poison looks like the most plausible cause of death, but it doesn’t look right at all.
A man walking faster than me bumps into my shoulder. He turns, and before my eyes stands Howard Sutton, or at the very least a man with the exact same face and posture as the man I’d seen dead only ten minutes before.
“Excuse me,” he says.
His eyes look directly into mine, and not one shred of recognition crosses his face. “Do I know you?” I ask, trying to keep my calm.
Ruth had never mentioned Howard having a twin. If he’s Howard’s brother, he should be told about the death in his family, though I’ll let Liddell cover that task.
The man looking like Howard Sutton steps back and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “You look just like someone I did a case for a while back.”
“You a dick?”
I nod and pull out my business card. He takes it and reads it.
“It’s good to meet you, Detective Baxter,” he says, holding out his hand. “Howard Sutton.”
My heart sinks in my chest, and my gut shrivels. Howard Sutton? Impossible.
“Howard Sutton? Are you sure you don’t have a different name?”
“No,” Howard says, “I’m Howard Sutton.” He looks down at his wristwatch. “Terribly sorry, but I’ve got to go. Thank you for your card; if I happen to need a private dick, I know who to call.”
My eyes grow as I watch him stroll down the street as if he’d just made a new friend. I can’t say how he didn’t catch the bewildered look on my face. Maybe he didn’t care. But if Howard Sutton is dead, who is the other guy?
Chapter 8
The Women
I hit the bottle the minute I get back to the office. Genevieve has yet to leave for the night, and I’m happy about it. She watches as I breeze past her, grab my hooch and take a mighty swig.
“Mister Baxter? Are you all right?” Genevieve asks.
I don’t hear her as I take another drink. I’m certain I hear her say ‘Mister Baxter’ a couple more times though I can't be sure.
I hear her footsteps come toward me. “Thomas,” she says, placing her hand on my arm. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this.”
&
nbsp; The use of my given name brings me back to reality. I look at the hooch and feel the alcohol travelling to my brain, making me lightheaded.
“It’s impossible,” I say.
Genevieve leads me to the couch and lays me down while she takes the chair. “What is it? What’s impossible?”
“Howard Sutton . . .”
“I know,” Genevieve says, placing a hand over my forehead. “He was only talking to us a month ago.”
“That’s just it,” I say, raising my head. “He’s alive.”
Genevieve cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “You found his body. How can he be alive?”
I shake my head and drink. “I don’t know. I saw him in the morgue. I watched the coroner go elbow deep into Howard Sutton’s body. Then he’s on the sidewalk, bumping past me.”
“You saw him on the sidewalk?”
“Introduced himself to me and everything,” I slur as the hooch takes effect. “I gave him a business card, and he acted as if we’d never met.”
I take another drink and place the bottle on the floor. Any more and I’ll run the risk of getting sick. Genevieve stares at me, her hands together with fingers entwined.
“Is it possible he has a twin?”
I sit up and shrug. “I’m going to call Missus Sutton tomorrow and ask her. I don’t think he has a twin, though; I think she would have mentioned it before I’d agreed to take her case. After all, she wouldn’t want me to find his brother instead of her husband. Plus, if he were a twin, why would he introduce himself as Howard? It doesn’t make any damn sense, and if I’d found the twin dead, why didn’t Howard recognize me?”
Genevieve looks at her wristwatch and grimaces. “I have to go; Arthur is waiting for me.”
“How is Arthur?” I ask, feeling my body go numb.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Boorish as usual. Keeps telling me how I should quit my job and stay home.” Genevieve sighs and stands. “It’s what the law requires,” she says in her best Arthur impression. “I don’t care about any of that; I was here before I ever met him.”
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