by Rick Reed
“Where’s your coat?” Roscoe asked.
“I’m not supposed to be here, and Liddell is in sensitivity class,” Jack said, wishing they could skip this part.
“None of us are supposed to be here,” Roscoe said.
Roscoe pulled a sheet of paper from a small notebook and handed it to Jack. On the paper were the names Zackariah Pugh and Dayton Bolin, aged sixteen and fifteen respectively, along with their addresses and Roscoe’s notes on how he came upon them. “I’m finishing the incident report,” he said. “I’ll do a supplementary report on what the kids told me. I didn’t read them their rights. I went in and saw the body.” He made a face. “No way these two done what I saw in there. I know the boy and he’s a puke, but he could never do something like this.”
“I’m going to pull my car up behind you,” Jack said. It was too cold to talk outside. “Send the girl back first.”
Jack and Walker hurried to the car. Jack cranked it up and made a three-point turn, pulling behind the police car. Roscoe opened the back door and helped the girl out, pointing toward Jack’s car. Jack cranked his window down in time to hear Roscoe say to the boy, “Sit still, or I’ll get the cuffs out, boy-o.” Roscoe was good with kids that way.
Sergeant Walker sat in the back seat and Jack pushed the passenger door open. The girl got in and put her gloved hands against her face to warm it, even with his car heater running like a politician’s mouth.
“I’ll give you a chance to get warm,” Jack said. She didn’t respond. Eyes straight ahead.
According to Roscoe’s notes, the teens were on Christmas break from Reitz High School. They were both in their junior year. She wore a jacket that swallowed her petite size. Strands of thick, copper-colored hair stuck out from under a fashionable, knit plaid tam, the color of which perfectly complemented her jacket and skintight slacks. In this neighborhood, in this cold, with this guy, she was totally out of place. Jack wondered what this nice girl was doing with this scum-bucket. They belonged together like Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton.
Zack had turned in his seat and was watching them through the windshield.
Jack said, “Don’t worry about him. Zackariah. Is that his name?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Murphy. This is Sergeant Walker. Your name is Dayton Bolin, right?”
“Yes.”
“I need to ask you a couple of questions,” Jack said.
She opened her mouth to respond but stopped when Sergeant Walker showed her the scuffed combat boot. He opened the bag and took out the rolled-up jacket.
“Where did you get those?” she asked.
“Do you know who they belong to?” Jack asked.
“They’re his. Zack’s.”
“I think you two have some property that doesn’t belong to you,” Jack said. “If you give it to me…right now…I won’t charge you with robbery and murder.” He didn’t intend to charge them with anything. The boy probably wouldn’t talk, but the girl was soft, respectable, law-abiding. She’d break like Humpty Dumpty.
In a voice barely above a whisper Dayton said, “We didn’t touch anything. Honest.”
“You’re not a liar, Dayton.” Jack tried to keep a comforting tone, but he didn’t do comfort well. Especially when someone stole from a corpse. “Talk to me.”
She hugged herself and words spilled from her mouth. “I didn’t know Zack took those things. We went in there to get warm and Zack was…we saw…” Her voice broke and she began shaking from more than cold.
Jack softened his voice. “Slow down. Take a deep breath. Now let it out.”
She did. He said, “Start again. Did you go inside or just Zack?”
“Both of us. It was freezing and we’d walked forever. Zack saw this house and said we should go in and get warm. I didn’t think it would be any warmer but Zack said we could start a fire. Zack said he was going to find something to burn. I told him not to.”
“How long were you in the house before you saw the—victim?” Jack asked.
She stared at Jack before saying, “I…I’m not sure.”
“Guess,” Jack prompted.
She turned her head away and said, “I’m not sure. Maybe a few minutes. We came in the back door. I stayed in the kitchen. I didn’t know what he was doing. I never thought…”
“And what happened?”
“When Zack came back in the kitchen I knew something was wrong. I went to see and that’s when I saw... I just ran to find a cop…I mean a policeman.”
“Did Zack go with you to find the cop?”
“I don’t know. No. I saw the police car and when the policeman brought me back Zack was standing out front.”
Jack saw her stealing glances at the boot in Walker’s hand. “Did Zack take anything from the house besides these boots?” He could see the wheels turning in her mind and added, “I’ll know if you’re lying, Dayton.”
“I didn’t know Zack took anything. I swear!” she said. “That’s Zack’s boot, but he’s not like that. He’s a sweet guy.”
“Dayton, what kind of jacket was Zack wearing this morning?” Walker asked. He opened the paper sack and showed her the tattered blue jean jacket.
Her expression told Jack that it was Zack’s jacket.
“Does he have anything else?” Jack asked. “If you don’t come clean you will be an accessory to theft at the least, and maybe obstruction of justice.”
“The policeman had Zack come and sit in the back of the car with me and he went in the house. While Zack was in the house he must have found the boots and he was wearing a different coat from what he had on this morning. That’s Zack’s blue jean jacket in the sack,” she said. “He showed me a bunch of money. He said he found it in the pocket of the coat along with the ring.”
“Dayton, I want you to stay right here. Do you have anything from the house? Did he give you anything? I’ll search you and these cars before we take you downtown. You might as well give it to me.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t take anything. Zack tried to give me the ring, but I couldn’t stand the thought of…you know.”
Jack and Walker left Dayton in Jack’s car and took Zack from the back of Roscoe’s car. Zack was wearing a heavy winter parka and a newish pair of Wolverine lace-up boots.
“Can you help Sergeant Walker search the car?” Jack asked Roscoe. To the boy Jack said, “Come on.”
While Walker and Roscoe searched the car, Jack took Zack to the side and said to him, “Nice coat.”
Zack’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “You haven’t read us our rights. Anything she said to you isn’t usable. I know that much. And I don’t have to tell you shit, man.”
“Why should I read Miranda rights to you?” Jack asked, and Zack turned away.
“What do a pair of those boots cost?” Jack asked. They were dark brown, suede leather. They were too big for the boy’s feet.
“What? These?” Zack said like a practiced liar, “My dad bought me these for Christmas. I don’t have any idea what they cost. You like them? He can tell you where to go.”
Jack watched Walker pop the back seat loose. In police cars, the seats were made to be easily detached because it was a favorite place for those inclined to hide things. It was police policy to search the back seat before and after transporting a prisoner or anyone else. Walker straightened up almost immediately, holding something in his hands.
Zack said, “Whatever that is, it’s not mine. Even if it was mine—and I’m not saying it is—it don’t mean nothing. Money’s money. I’ll bet you’ve got money in your pocket. So what? I don’t know how it got in the car but I didn’t steal it and you can’t prove shit. Someone else could have left it. That cop probably stuck it down the seat.”
Dayton got out of Jack’s car and came forward. “Give him the rest of the things you stole, Zack, or we’ll
go to jail. He’s not kidding.”
“I didn’t steal nothing, Dayton,” Zack said. To Jack and Walker he said, “She’s just scared. You’re bullying her.”
“That money wasn’t ours, Zack. Those aren’t your boots, or your coat, or any of it. You took them from…from… the dead guy? What is wrong with you?”
“It ain’t like I was gonna keep it. I just wanted to show the badge to my buddies. You know?” He dug in his pocket, pulled out a black bifold wallet.
Badge?
Jack took the wallet from Zack. Sure enough, inside was a police badge. A gold sergeant’s shield on one side of the fold, police credentials on the other that identified Detective Sergeant Franco Caparelli. Evansville Police Department.
Jack grabbed the boy by the shoulders, spun him around and shoved him face down over the police car’s trunk. He patted Zack down, reaching in his pants pockets and turning them inside out. A couple of wrinkled dollar bills and some change came out on the frozen ground. Jack stripped Zack’s coat off, searched it, and shoved the boy toward Roscoe. Walker and Roscoe had snapped the backseat in place and Jack shoved the kid onto it. He yanked the boots off of Zack’s feet and when he did a gold-nugget ring fell onto the street.
Jack scooped up the ring.
“That’s the ring I told you about,” Dayton said.
“Now you,” Jack said. He patted down Dayton’s jacket. He asked her to unzip it and hold it up while he checked her waistband. She slid her shoes off while he searched them. He said to Roscoe, “Sit her in the front. Put him in the back. Don’t let them talk.”
Dayton said curtly, “I wouldn’t talk to him anyway. How could you, Zack?”
Roscoe put a hand on Dayton’s shoulder. “Come on,” he said, and put her in the passenger seat. He leaned in the car and said, “You heard the detective. No talking. Do we understand each other?”
“Are you going to put us in jail?” Dayton asked.
Zack said, “Seeing as we ain’t done nothing, I guess they won’t. You guys wouldn’t have found this guy if it wasn’t for us. So are we free to go?”
“No,” Jack said.
Roscoe motioned for Dayton to put her seat belt on. Zack started to do the same and Roscoe said, “Hold up there, champ.” He leaned Zack over and put him in handcuffs.
Jack handed the nugget ring and the badge case to Walker. He came around to Zack and said, “Stick your feet out.”
When Zack did, Jack yanked the socks from his feet. “These probably aren’t yours,” Jack said, and handed two pairs of socks to Walker.
“Roscoe, can you call Juvenile and tell them these two are coming. I want them separated until I can interview them.” Before Roscoe shut the door, Jack asked, “Is there anything else you need to tell me before it’s too late? For example, did you find a gun?”
Zack said, “I’ll sue your asses. You can’t leave me out here without a jacket or nothing on my feet. You got no right to take my stuff. This is police brutality.”
Jack lost his patience and started to climb in the back seat. “Cop killing is a capital offense punishable by death,” Jack said through clenched teeth.
Zack recoiled. He’d lost the cocky attitude. “I swear to God, man. I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t take nothing. Someone must have left that money back here. I only took the coat and shoes because I was freezing. The ring and the badge were in the jacket pockets. I didn’t touch the money and I don’t have anything else… I swear. Ask Dy.”
Jack stared at him and Zack wisely turned his head away.
“Roscoe, take these young people to Juvenile,” Jack said.
Roscoe asked, “You want me to charge him with theft? Desecration of a corpse? Being stupid?”
“Forty thousand in one-hundred-dollar bills.” Walker had counted the money. “Four bundles. Ten thousand to a bundle. Still in bank wrappers.”
Zack whistled.
“Shut up,” Jack said. “Just take him to Juvenile for now, Roscoe. I haven’t made up my mind.”
“I’ll have one of my people get their fingerprints downtown,” Walker said. “I won’t be able to get Zack’s real boots downtown for a bit. I have to get shoe prints and photos of the soles of both of their footwear for comparison.”
Roscoe said, “I’ll have Juvenile notify the parents to bring shoes and warm clothes.”
“Zack won’t be going anywhere for a good while,” Jack said.
“I’m not a thief. You can check your records all day and you won’t find nothing. I only took the stuff ’cause we got nothing. That guy didn’t need it no more. We needed money to get us started, but we didn’t kill him. I’m telling the truth now. The money was in the pocket of the jacket too. I swear to God!”
“Where were you going?” Jack asked Zack.
“We were on our way to Hollywood. Plays, television, movies, commercials…well, commercials if the other stuff don’t work out,” Zack said. “We’re actors.”
Jack said, “Here’s the deal. If…and that’s a big if…you aren’t more involved than what you’ve told me, I’ll let you both go. But part of that deal is that you and Dayton don’t speak a word to each other until you’re interviewed and give a statement. If you so much as breathe on each other, I’ll charge you with interfering with a corpse and an IC-Seventy and Thirty-Five.” He counted on them not knowing he was making up charges.
Roscoe got in the car and said to Jack, “I’ll take Brad and Angelina here to headquarters. Maybe Juvie will find them a talent scout.”
Jack said, “I’ll settle for finding their parents. I hate to ask this, Roscoe, but do you mind staying on this for a bit? Juvenile might need help running down the parents.”
“I always wanted to be a detective,” Roscoe said with a fake grin. He put his seat belt on and said, “Nah. I never wanted to be a detective,” and drove off.
Walker said, “Little Casket’s here.”
Jack watched the police car drive away. He could see Zack’s profile in the side window. The kid was destined for prison, or worse. Kids like that didn’t have a chance.
“Let’s go see Lilly,” Jack said.
Chapter 5
Little Casket climbed down from the driver’s side of the black Suburban and walked carefully to the curb. That she had made this run herself suggested two possibilities. One, she was bored and needed something interesting, like a good murder. Or two, she was just going to be angry and nasty for its own sake.
She pulled on latex gloves as she walked toward Jack and Walker. “Heard it’s Sonny Caparelli,” she said.
Jack gaped at her, wondering how she knew who the victim was when he’d just found out himself.
“Close your mouth, Murphy, you’ll catch pneumonia,” she said. “I got a call from the dispatcher who got a call from one of your guys.” Little Casket said something that was totally out of character for her. “Too bad. Sonny was one of the good ones.” She pushed her way between Jack and Walker. “I haven’t got all day. Let’s get to it.”
The men followed her up to the house, listening to an unending stream of complaints about being short-handed, underpaid, tired of this shit, and so on.
As she signed into the crime scene, Walker said, “A couple of teenage runaways found the body about an hour ago.”
She nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose and scowled. “Well, are you going to take me in, or shall I just wander around until I trip over the body?”
After Jack and Walker signed the crime scene log again, Lilly went directly to the body. She knelt down and zipped open the body bag. “Huh,” was her only remark upon seeing the damaged body with metal spikes driven through both eye sockets. She examined the eyebolts and wires still buried in the drywall, and then the body. The wire that was wrapped around the knees, wrists and neck had been left in place by the techs.
She pointed to the chain
hoist and asked, “What gives?”
“He was hanging from meat hooks and steel cable. There were three-inch hooks in his back and the same in his buttocks,” Walker said. “His arms and legs were suspended by more wire but no hooks.”
“Huh.” She felt the skin on the side of the neck. “Did someone get the temperature in the room?”
Walker said, “Two degrees below zero in this room. Same as outside. The back door was standing open. Front door is missing. The window is mostly gone.”
“Duh,” she said. “I only asked for the room temperature.”
Lilly was even more foul-tempered than usual.
“She’s having a bad day,” Jack mouthed at Walker.
“I’m not deaf,” Lilly said. “Every day is a bad day. But I’m not complaining.”
She pinched several of Sonny’s fingernails and watched for a reaction. “No blanching,” Lilly mumbled. She pushed at the skin on his throat to check for resilience. His muscles were stiff. Skin was stiff.
“Help me turn him,” she said. Walker and another tech lifted the body, allowing her to see underneath. When she was satisfied, she said, “We need to get him in the freezer, chop chop.”
“I’ll get the gurney,” Officer Morris said. He headed out to Lilly’s Suburban, where a gurney was stowed like in the back of an ambulance.
Without thanking Morris, she said, “I called Dr. John as soon as I heard who the victim was. How did you identify him?” she asked. “Not by his face.”
Jack told her about the badge, but didn’t mention the money they’d found. He hoped Roscoe wouldn’t say anything about it either.
“I’m going to guess for you, Jack, but I can be way off depending on when he was last seen.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack said. Sometimes Lilly’s guess was as good as an autopsy. She’d been around death since Moses parted the Red Sea.
“My guess is six to twelve hours.” She checked the clock on her cell phone. “Estimated time of death is nine p.m. yesterday to around midnight. Maybe more, maybe less. That’s the best I can do. He didn’t freeze to death anyway, but he may be frozen by now.”
