SUMMATION

by Daniel Syverson

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a young uniformed cop duck out the front door. She heard the sound of retching follow closely behind. She looked up at the photographer, another veteran of many years and even more scenes. He shrugged his shoulders and gave her a crooked smile. "He's young. They all go through it."

  "I know. I didn't say anything." She looked back at the woman. "Besides, this really is a nasty one."

  The photographer nodded. "Never had one quite like this."

  She pointed to the fingers. "Get them?"

  "Already done. And shots of the hands behind the chair."

  "That was fast. How'd you get here so quick?"

  "Just chance. I was helping out on a burglary scene in that office park up the street. Off of North 46th, by Arcadia Crossings? Just finished up, and I heard the call go out, so I checked in, and came over. Actually, I pulled in right behind the first responding unit. The rest of the team and the van just got here, but I got a head start on the photos."

  "See anything? Anyone running out?"

  "Naw. Whoever it was, was already gone. Maybe they spotted the security company car. I don't know. But by the time we got here, no car. Just the security kid, parked a couple of houses down."

  "Okay. Thanks. I'll get with you later. It'll probably kind of late, I'm afraid."

  "No problem. Just the way it is."

  She turned her attention back to the room. The copious blood, followed by the fingers, had initially drawn her attention, and now she finally stepped back to look at the woman herself, look at the bigger picture. She looked to be early sixties, seemed to be in reasonably good shape. Hair was gray, but a well-kept, multi-toned gray, complete with highlights. Probably spent as much maintaining the gray as if she had maintained a darker color. Tasteful. Not hiding her age, but presenting it in the best light. Not an athlete, but she seemed to take care of herself.

  Above her chair was a photo of her and her husband. A formal photo. Anniversary? Taken not too long ago. Though probably not someone who was ever considered beautiful, she clearly was a very pretty woman.

  But no more.

  Her face had been beaten, and had numerous cuts and abrasions. Where her mouth hung open, she could see several teeth badly chipped, lips torn, dried blood in a trail coming off her chin. Probably pistol whipped her first, she thought. A small amount of bruising had already begun. The beating must have gone on for a while. Whoever it was had made her suffer. Long, slow, and painful. She shuddered.

  She turned her attention to the dead man, probably her husband. They hadn't checked I.D.'s yet, but he was the guy in the photo above the woman. Plus, the alarm company had called-said they spoke to the husband. At least they thought it was the husband. Most likely was. Said he sounded stressed, and when asked for the code word, he gave the wrong one. She had spoken with the alarm company's dispatcher by phone while driving over. The conversation played itself through in her mind for a moment as she turned toward him.

  "So what kind of alarm went off?" she asked.

  "An automatic alarm on the wall safe. It's silent, and goes off if it's opened and the alarm isn't turned off first."

  "Wouldn't someone see a red light or some kind of warning that it's alarmed?"

  "Not on this one. The keypad is across the room. I believe it's by the window, according to the plans, probably behind some curtains. Pretty common. That way, if they're forced to open it, a silent alarm goes off. Like this time."

  "So you called him?"

  "Yes ma'am. Procedure is to call and ask if everything is okay. If it's a false alarm, and everything is okay, the client will say something like, "Oh, sorry. Forgot to turn off the alarm. Code word is 'chainsaw'."

  "Chainsaw?"

  "Well, it's whatever you want it to be. Mr. McCulloch used the word 'chainsaw' as the safe word. When I called, it rang for a while before he picked up, and then he just said everything was okay. I asked if he was sure, and he said yeah, he was sure, but he sounded kind of funny. I asked if there was anything else he wanted to pass on, since I had him on the phone, such as needing any updates to his system. I was trying to give him a chance to say something, or remember to give me the safe word, but he didn't. Then he hung up. So I hung up and called our mobile patrol. They were pretty close."

  "What's pretty close?"

  "Oh, probably five minutes away or so. Maybe a little more. Just a second." There was a short pause, and he came back on the line. "Well, pretty close. I called the patrol vehicle at seven-twelve, and he reported arrival at seven-twenty three."

  "Eleven minutes."

  "Eleven minutes is pretty fast."

  "Not if you're bleeding out from a gunshot, it isn't."

  "Well...." He paused, not knowing what to say.

  She switched the phone to her other hand. "And then, after the mobile unit arrived?"

  "Well, he's a new kid, pretty young. By himself. He stopped just before the house and got out on foot. He was going to walk up on the house, but stopped because he heard screaming coming from the house."

  "Male or female?"

  "He didn't say. I think he's still there with your guys now, last I heard. He hasn't checked back in yet. Anyway, as soon as he heard that, he calls me back, and I call you guys. That's it. He waited at his car until your guys got there."

  "What happened then?"

  "Don't know. He hung up when your guys got there."

  "Did he see anybody leaving? Or a car?"

  "No idea. Haven't talked with him yet. He's with you guys, like I said."

  "How late you working there tonight?"

  "Long as you need, within reason. I guess you're gonna want tapes and stuff?"

  "You know it. Sit tight, we'll call you in a little while. Thanks."

  "Hey, anything to help. I'll be at the same number."

  She'd pressed END, and two minutes later had arrived. There wasn't anything that security guard kid could have done anyway, she thought. If he'd gotten brave and gone up to the door, he'd probably be dead too. This guy wasn't fooling around.

  She was looking at the husband, and a quick glance showed pretty much the same story. Face beaten to a pulp. Several big gashes where he'd been hit, probably torn by the front sight on the pistol. At least there was probably plenty of DNA on the weapon, if they found it. He'd been tortured, but no quick kill in the leg, like his wife. Ahh, our shooter is a quick learner, she thought. Didn't want him dying too quickly. Two shots, one in each foot. Enough for excruciating pain, but not enough to kill him. The face shot was undoubtedly what did it. Finished him off, after all that torture.

  Finished him off, because... He didn't want to be identified?

  She looked around the room. Trashed. Not just stuff tipped over and messed up, but seriously tossed. Safe sitting open just above one shelf of a built in bookcase. Empty. Every book tossed. Shelves cleared. Drawers emptied. Pictures off walls.

  She took a quick look down the halls. A large, spacious home, expensive, but not ostentatious, she thought. Nice place. Or had been. Every room looked the same. Even the kitchen. Every drawer dumped and pulled out. He, or she, or they - whoever - was looking for something, that was for sure.

  Finished him off because...

  She came back into the den, again looking at the man, playing the events in her own mind. He got in, tied them up. Both? Gun on one, and the other came down? More likely there were two. Were they searching, and surprised when the two arrived home? Or were they tied up first, and after not getting the answers they wanted, proceeded to rip the place apart.

  Finished him off because he finally gave them what they wanted, and they didn't need him anymore...

  Or because he didn't give it to them?

  She thought about the open safe.

  Why kill him if he opened the safe? Finished him off because they heard cops coming?

  Still too many things to sort out, too many questions. This wasn't a simple burglary gone wrong. She needed to wait until the rest of the information ca
me in.

  "Lieutenant?" She heard someone calling her from out front. "Yeah?" she called back.

  "We've got the son. They're holding him at the bottom of the driveway."

  Ah, shit. "Okay, keep him there. I'll go down and talk to him. How is he?"

  "Don't know - they didn't say."

  She took off her gloves, picked up her notebook, and went out to the front steps. She wanted to see what the guy looked like before talking to him. It was no secret that family was always the first suspect; a painful reality, but a crushing insult to those innocent family members already suffering.

  He was wearing a polo shirt and jeans, looked about thirty-ish, average build, perhaps six foot one, maybe two. He was struggling to come up to the house, but not actually fighting. Seemed to have the right balance between trying to get past the cops, but not violent. Too passive, raised flags. Over reacting raised flags too. Not a definite marker to be sure, but usually, you started to get a feeling, and sometimes, you could just tell...

  As she headed down the driveway, she noticed several security cameras. She called a uniform over, and pulling him close, softly told him to tell Sgt. Mendez to check for any tapes from the cameras. And any cameras from the neighbors, she added as an afterthought.

  Closer now, she looked at the son again. His expression seemed to bounce between frustration, agony, and fear. He paced in place, circling, pleading with the two cops to be allowed up to the house, wanting to force his way past the cops, but restraining himself. He could be faking it, but not likely. Of course, they'd have to check him out, but most likely, he was victim number three. Just no blood.

  Another squad car pulled up, lights flashing, but no siren. Ruger watched the car quickly stop at an angle to the curb, as a young officer, a new one she recognized, but couldn't remember the name of, hopped out. Red lights? What's the hurry? These people are already dead.

  The young officer looked around until he spotted Ruger near the garage, and walked quickly over. "Detective Ruger? Detective?"

  "Yes, that's me. Can I help you?"

  "I'm glad I caught you. We just got a call from the coroner's office. The captain sent me over direct. Didn't want to do it over the radio. It's about Mr. McCulloch, the father of the guy who got murdered. We just got a call that he was missing."

  "What do you mean, 'missing'?"

  "What I was told, was, this Mr. McCulloch had had a serious stroke a few years ago. Couldn't talk, barely able to communicate, and not able to walk. Pretty much completely out of it."

  "So he's unable to leave on his own?"

  "From what I'm told, yes. Someone would have to take him out of the building."

  "When was this?"

  "They're not sure yet - checking some logs. Plus, sometimes someone is just parked in some other room, or wanders into another room, and they can't find him. Or someone's too lazy to look."

  "Best guess?

  "Early morning. Probably right after breakfast."

  "And we got the call when?"

  "A couple of hours ago. They didn't put it together right away. Usually they don't get too excited about these calls - sometimes people forget to sign someone out when they leave, stuff like that, so they didn't call right away."

  "Who else knows about this?"

  "I'm not sure. The Captain, of course, the nursing home, you. I don't know."

  "Does the family know?"

  "Oh, that's the other thing. The nursing home said they had tried to contact Mr. McCulloch's son, but hadn't reached him yet." He glanced at the house. "I guess we know why, now." Looking back at Ruger, he continued. "They were about to try to contact the grandson, but hadn't reached him yet, either. So as far as we know, the grandson doesn't even know his grandfather is missing. No other family that we know of. At least not close family. Anyway, in answer to your question, I don't think he knows yet."

  "Have we notified any other agencies?"

  "Captain was sitting on it right now. He said he wanted to wait to see what you got first, get a little more information. He was holding off on calling the FBI until he talked to you."

  She stood there for a moment, deciding how she was going to handle this. She would have to walk pretty carefully between, or more likely on, the lines. She looked down at the road where the grandson was waiting. Was he involved? Or just another victim?

  She was going to have to have a very interesting talk with the youngest Mr. McCulloch. Or should she say, the only Mr. McCulloch.

  She turned and began slowly walking towards the street, eyebrows deeply furrowed, going over the questions in her mind.

  Now, she thought grimly, this is going to be fun.

  Chapter 2

  Detective Ruger stopped and turned back to the young officer. Glancing down at the young officer's name tag, she stepped closer to him, to keep her voice low. "Tell you what, officer Roberts. Grab that officer over there," she pointed to one of the cops standing by near the street to keep onlookers away, and escort Mr. McCulloch over to my vehicle. I'll talk to him there. I want the two of you to stand by while we talk. Not hovering over him, just nearby, alright?"

  "Yes ma'am," he replied. He looked around for a moment. "Ma'am?"

  "Yes?"

  "Um, which one is Mr. McCulloch, and which car is yours?"

  She rolled her eyes, then remembered he was new. She pointed both out, then headed for her car. While walking, she called the Captain's office, using the number she kept on speed dial.

  "Captain Rutherford."

  "Cap, it's Ruger."

  "Get my message? I couldn't get through on your phone, and I wanted you to know ASAP."

  "Hmmm. Not sure why the call didn't go through. My phone was on me, and on. Anyway, yeah, I got it. Anything new? Any more on this guy McCulloch? I mean, the one in the nursing home?"

  The two officers approached with the grandson. Ruger held up her index finger and mouthed "just a moment" to them.

  "From what I have, he was pretty much demented, minimally-responsive, non-communicative other than jibberish, and non-mobile, except maybe standing enough to transfer into a wheelchair since a bad stroke a couple of years ago." He paused. He doesn't have any assets, according to his information. That all went to his family years ago. No ransom note or call. Only family left, it looks like, is the grandson. He already gets his parents stuff, I assume, so not much incentive for him. Facility says he was frequently up visiting, anyway. Pretty close, they said. I don't want to make any announcements or calls until you have a chance to check things out there."

  "Good idea. The grandson just got here. I'll let you know what happens. Give me a call if you find anything that I can use."

  "Of course. Talk to you later." Click.

  She snapped the phone back into its case on her belt and turned to McCulloch, extending her hand. "Mr. McCulloch? I'm Detective Kate Ruger." He shook her hand. She could feel he was nervous, almost trembling.

  She opened the front passenger door. "Would you like to have a seat? I can just stand right here and we can talk for a moment. He nodded and sat down. She got down on one knee to put herself at his level. Although already sitting, he put his left hand on her dashboard, as if to steady himself, to keep from falling. His right hand was clenched on his knee. He looked up at her.

  She got down on one knee, closer to eye level, in front of him. "Mr. McCulloch, I'm afraid I have some bad news, and there's no easy way to tell you." She looked him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry, but it appears that both your parents were killed by an intruder." She paused, waiting for his reaction. She saw him clench his knee even tighter, and she thought the fingers of his left hand were about to puncture the dashboard, he was gripping it so forcefully.

  He glanced up toward the house, then back at her. "Wha- What exactly happened? I heard something on the radio, and tried to call. I couldn't get through..." He looked back at the house, his voice trailing off.

  She waited until he looked back at her. "We don't know exactly, yet, but apparently
an intruder came in, and shot them both. We've just started our investigation, of course." She stopped again, giving him some time to absorb what she was saying.

  "But why? What did he want? Why shoot them? Why not just take what he wanted?"

  "I don't know. Not yet. I know you have lots of questions, and so do we." She paused a moment, waiting til she had his attention again. "First, is there someone you can call, or need to call? Wife, relative? Friend? It's better to have someone with you right now. Can I call someone for you?

  "I'm not married. I'm an only child. It's just me. Me and granddad, now. But he's in a nursing home." A thought crossed his mind, and he quickly looked up. "My granddad - he doesn't know, does he? I mean, he's basically completely out of it, but every once in a while... I don't think we should say anything to him, not just yet, anyway. I don't know if he understands, but..."

  She nodded in agreement. Just me and granddad now, she noted.

  "Anyone else? A friend, or neighbor?

  "Yeah. Mike. Mike Peters. He's a friend of mine."

  "Would you like me to call, or do you-"

  "I'm okay. I can call him." He pulled out his phone and looked down. It looked like he was having a hard time dialing, then she noticed him trying to wipe his eyes without anyone noticing. He pressed a single key and held it a moment, before bringing the phone to his ear. He held it, silent, for quite a while before he spoke.

  She looked away, but listened to the call.

  "Mike - Mark. It's important. Real important. Can you meet me at my parents' house right away? Something's happened. I'll tell you when you get here. Call me. Thanks, buddy." He put the phone away and looked up again. "Voice mail."