Kesle’s divided its policing into fourteen Divisions. However, although each Division had a Detective squad handling most crimes, budget restrictions wouldn’t allow for each Division to have its own Homicide squad. Mann’s squad, operating out of Southfield Division, covered Southfield, High Park and the Bluffs.
Central Division, covering the oldest sections of the city, buffered Southfield from Downtown. Central’s Homicide squad looked after Central and Downtown. Those two Divisions accounted for over thirty percent of the murders in Kesle, double any other Divisions. If there was an opportunity, they would dump a case in a second.
And they got their chance when they identified the knife buried to the hilt in the victim’s back.
“OK, give me what you have,” Mann said, still looking at the blank alley.
Tetrault consulted his notes. He had spent the day looking at the gang angle, which Central had ignored up until then, while Kydd stayed with Gabel.
“So far, nothing gang related in her background,” Tetrault said. “She was straight as they get. Nothing connected her with the first victim. She lived in a different area, worked near here but not really in Gabel’s turf. Gabel and his boys would have been toast if they had wandered this far east of Spinner.”
Mann rubbed his eyes, looking from Tetrault to Kydd. “Same with your side?”
“Nothing more on the kid. If they knew each other, I don’t know how they would. I can’t find any common ground. Nothing but the fact that she had his knife in her back.”
“Tetrault, what was she doing here?”
“She was having a drink with her girlfriends at Jake’s. She was supposed to have left yesterday to get married in Jamaica.”
“Was she a regular at Jake’s?”
“Nope, never been there before. One of her girlfriends is and suggested it.”
“What about the fiancée? Could he be involved in some way?”
“Central cleared him right away. He has an alibi for each killing. He’s clean as far as the gangs go. Nothing there worth a second look.”
“Take another look. There has to be something.”
“Just the knife.”
“What about the knife?”
“The rest of the Intimidators say that Gabel would have had the knife on him when he was killed,” Kydd confirmed. “He was never without it. They even described the chipped blade. Happened during a game of Mumblety-peg.”
“How does it get from Gabel’s pocket into the girl?”
“The same killer whacked both,” Tetrault said.
“Why?”
The question went unanswered and Mann stared down the alley. “What about the other three in Gabel's gang?”
“All have good alibis.” Kydd shook her head. “And Garnham was right, they’re wimps.”
“And this is definitely right up there on the violence meter,” Mann said, flipping through the crime scene photos. “Makes the bashing that Gabel got look like he got bitch slapped and sent home to bed. What about the severed tongue? Could this be some sort of warning? We need to look into her business contacts. Could she have been blackmailing her way up the ladder? Was she some kind of a whistleblower?”
“ME says the tongue was partially severed by her teeth,” Tetrault said. “Then the job was finished with a sharp object, likely the knife.”
“She bit her tongue while she was being strangled? That doesn’t sound right,” Mann said.
“No, it was post. Looks like a blow to the chin. A kick would have done it.”
“Does this get any worse? Any physical evidence?”
Tetrault flipped open the file in his hand. “No prints but CSU found another footprint in the blood. We are working on a match for the print in the garden. But the garden print was useless. This one is for a Hush Puppy. Who the hell wears Hush Puppies, for Christ’s sake? They got some blood, type O positive, off the strap he used on the girl. It is definitely not her blood so we might get a hit on the DNA.”
Mann looked at his own hands. “Make sure you ask the boyfriend for a swab. Make sure he knows about the blood. If he says no, we’ll turn up the heat on him. Check his hands for cuts. It would be good to clear him. So, our boy didn’t wear gloves but he did take the time to wipe everything. What about this yellow strap?”
“They use them to bundle the Daily. There is a drop between here and Jake’s. There are a bunch of them in the gutter and next to the building. He likely picked it up on the way.”
“No gloves and he used a piece of garbage for his weapon? It looks very spontaneous with not much planning. Any signs of rape?”
“No rape. And that doesn’t make sense,” said Kydd.
Mann motioned her to continue and Kydd shrugged. “I saw her picture – the before picture. She wasn’t gorgeous but good looking. If this was a gang, they would have done her for sure. Pretty, white, twenty-something. She would be pretty hard to resist. They took time for everything else; they would have taken time for that. Especially if they were trying to leave a message for the boyfriend.”
“She’s got a point,” Mann said. He turned to Tetrault. “What makes you so sure that it’s a gang hit?”
“What else could it be with the knife, the kid and the sign?”
Mann had saved the sign for last. He flipped the file open and looked carefully at the design carved into the back of the girl. On the next sheet, the ME had sketched a rough version of the circle with a half circle intersecting the top. “You’ve ran this?”
“First thing Central did. Nothing. Not related to any gang in the country.”
“Why wasn’t it on the kid?” Mann stared at the ceiling again. “What’s your theory, Shane?”
“No gang, sir. Except for the fact that Gabel was part of an insignificant gang, there is no other connection. Yeck had no connection at all with street gangs. My guess, she hardly even knew gangs existed. Except for what she saw on the news, gangs wouldn’t even be in her world. Even this neighborhood isn’t really gang banger turf.”
Sensing her hesitancy, Mann prodded her. “And?”
“A psycho, sir.”
Mann wasn’t surprised, just worried.
“That, I don’t need. I hope you’re wrong but we need to consider the idea. For now, I want that design, whatever it is, kept quiet. I don’t want to read about it in the papers. I’m not saying we do – and I don’t want this repeated – but if we do have a psycho on our hands, we’re going to get another body. I’ll get on to Central and make sure it stays quiet. Too many have already seen it and it might be too late. But if we can contain it, let’s do it. I want to be able to identify our man.”
“Could be a woman.”
“That might explain no rape,” Tetrault agreed.
Mann stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. “Who had that case a few years back, the one where they thought it was devil worshipers?”
Kydd shrugged but Tetrault, who had been at Southfield for five years, spoke up. “The sacrifice thing? Greer. It wasn’t a sacrifice though boss, just two girls getting rid of some rival on the cheerleading squad. Thought they could throw everything off them – good Christian girls that they were.”
Mann looked at his watch. He was running late. Brant Davis wanted him to come to the hospital to discuss something about Davis’ nephew, Cliff. Mann knew the boy had been tossed out of the police academy a couple years ago and disappeared. Davis had sounded pissed. If Cliff was back Mann thought he better get there before Davis got any angrier.
“OK. I’ll just see if Greer recognizes anything. You two stay with what you have. Keep checking for any connections. Check out this boyfriend. Canvas the bar and the neighborhood. Come back tonight for the bar. Pull in the Intimidators and see if there is anything more there. But don’t mention this latest victim, the sign or the knife. They’ll mouth off all over the street if they find out that Gabel’s knife was used. Just see how far their territory extends or at least how far they roam. I’ll talk to Greer. I want to see if we should be worried about some
kind of cult angle. If we’ve got a crazy on our hands, we had better move fast.”
Really fast, Mann thought, before The Hill decides a gang killing is politically less damaging than a serial killer.
Chapter 12
Preston threw the paper down and cursed.
You killed the wrong one.
He looked at the paper on the floor. “Who the hell is Christine Yeck?”
That would be the woman you killed in the alley, idiot.
“I killed Sandra Kew,” Preston shouted.
Louder, I’m not sure they heard you all the way downtown!
How could it not be Sandra? It looked so much like her. He would have sworn it was her.
He went to the bookshelf and pulled out a thin book. He carried it to the dining table where he sat staring at the book. His rush of anger quickly faded into fear. He never understood why he kept the book. It meant nothing but pain. But now, he was beginning to understand.
Rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants, he got up and walked to the kitchen. His eyes never left the book as though it would suddenly open and all his worst fears would spill out. He reached into the refrigerator and felt for the milk carton. He carried it back to the table but made no move to pour the milk.
He wiped his palms again and then slowly opened the book. The spine of the book let out a loud crack, startling him. He laughed uneasily. What did he expect? He had never opened the book since he got it the twenty-five years ago.
Who the hell would he want to sign his Year Book? He didn’t even have a picture in the book. He had been sure to be absent that day since he had a swollen eye from one of his father’s “lessons”. His only picture was with the band holding his flute – the worst possible instrument.
Carefully, he paged past the message from the Principal and the pictures of all the teachers – useless bunch of turds. They could barely teach and they sure couldn’t protect him from his tormentors. Most of them were as afraid of the bullies as he was. And the rest were even bigger bullies. His hand was shaking by the time he was at the page titled “Graduates”.
The first pictures generated memories of fear and hiding – years of absolute hell. The hours he spent with the layout of the school, carefully planning alternate routes to avoid this hall or that area. His bladder nearly bursting but never daring to venture into the washroom. Always walking with his eyes down, praying he would not make eye contact. Nothing but pain. All because of THEM!
As he saw more pictures, the memories of the tortured years flooded back. The fear changed to anger. Anger became rage, rage for those wasted years. Rage for the happiness twisted into agony. Over twenty-five years later, he still felt the burning rage. Now it was a rage that could kill.
And now, he could make them pay. He had killed. He can kill, can’t he? He can make them pay. Just like Sandra had paid.
But it wasn’t Sandra, was it?
Sandra’s picture was on the fourth page. He studied the picture carefully. He was sure it had been Sandra.
Looks just like her, doesn’t it?
Yes, everything is the same.
What year is it, genius?
What does that have to do with anything? It is… Oh!
Ya, Oh! So who’s the dumb one now?
Of course. She would be older now. He flipped back to his band picture and studied the changes. He was still himself but there were more changes than similarities. Even heavier, more lines, saggy and tighter all at the same time.
No, that hadn’t been Sandra in the bar. It looked like her but Sandra would be older now. That woman wasn’t Sandra.
That doesn’t really matter, does it?
She had been laughing at me just like Sandra.
That’s right. They’re all the same, aren’t they?
It might not have been Sandra but she was just as bad. They all had that same look. It was the look. He’d just forgotten to account for age.
The milk carton caught his attention. How long had it been since he saw those missing children’s pictures on milk cartons? You never saw them anymore, did you? A whole generation of kids had gone missing since they stopped putting pictures on milk cartons. Not that it mattered; it was the technology that he needed!
Chapter 13
As Mann reached the hospital room, he could hear Davis’ stern voice all the more dangerous for the low tones. He eased through the open door but Davis didn’t even notice him.
Davis towered over the smaller man in the hospital bed. Mann had to look twice at the kid lying in the bed before he recognized Davis’ nephew, Cliff Degget. He remembered Cliff as a fresh faced recruit in the police academy before he quit in some quiet scandal three years ago. Instead of the clean-shaven young man, Cliff had longish hair in half-assed dread locks. A scar now marred the right side of his face, running from below his eye to his jaw, making the scruffy beard Cliff now wore almost non-existent in a straight line on his right cheek.
“All I’m saying is, you could have trusted your family. You know what your Aunt has gone through the past three years?” Davis said.
“My trainers all drilled it into me, stay with my story all the time, mon. If I was going to be successful I had to be the guy they created for me,” Cliff answered.
“And what the hell is with the Jamaican accent?”
“Sorry. I’ve been speaking that way for the past three years,” Cliff said, obviously struggling to keep the accent out of his voice. “My trainers beat it into me. ‘You live your legend or you don’t live’ is what they always said.”
Mann coughed from the doorway and both Degget and Davis looked over at him.
“Uh, hi Cliff,” Mann said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”
“Hi Lieutenant. Sure I remember you. How’s it going? It’s been a while.”
Mann scanned for tubes. “You OK, kid?”
“Ya, sure. I just wrenched my back when I fell out a window.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Davis interrupted before Mann could respond. “Who were these trainers? It sure as hell wasn’t the Academy. I never believed that you cheated on that test. Breaking into the instructor’s office the night before a test?”
“Of course, I didn’t cheat on any test. This is all your fault, Uncle. This hasn’t exactly been easy on me, you know. You and Auntie practically raised me. Because of you, I knew all the statutes while I was still in High School. Thanks to you, I was a better shot than most of my instructors. That’s how they picked me for this. They washed me out and finished my training in Virginia.”
“Virginia?”
“Langley.”
“All part of the new happy family that 9-11 produced. They’ve been training deep undercover operatives for all the alphabet soup and some of the police forces too. They make me bandulu Lenworth, zeen?” Cliff said, dropping into his Jamaican. “I know Patois ca I flexing with my bredren from Ja for a lang time. Ya nuh see it? Tap bein Babylon. Ku pon dis. I brin Lambsbread to Angelino, mon. Til informa su-su to the fat jacket.”
“What?” Mann asked.
Cliff smiled. “They turned me into Lenworth, a drug dealer from Jamaica. I learned Patois, Jamaican, when I was in school. A bunch of the guys on the track team were from Jamaica. I stopped being part of the police, Babylon. Look at me, would you even recognize me? I came back into the city and nobody even gave me a second look. I got this scar in Jamaica while I was still trying to establish myself. I was bringing in marijuana to Angelino’s operation in a big way. And then someone turned on me and told him I was a cop.”
“You know who?”
“No. But I am going to find out. I was under for two years without so much as a sniff. Only two guys in Narcotics even knew about me. Then, I get close to Angelino and my CO, decides it is getting too political. He brings in the SOCU just before my big meeting with Angelino and two nights later, I get three shooters in my apartment. I don’t believe in coincidence. Somebody in SOCU is dirty.”
Davis looked at Mann who shrugged and spoke
. “Could have come from anywhere but the timing is suspicious.”
“Unless somebody in Narcotics was just waiting to find a scapegoat.”
“I swear, nobody but the two guys knew. They could have had me taken out anytime. It came from SOCU.”
Davis nodded. “OK. What’s your plan?”
“I need to be somewhere I can investigate SOCU and figure out who ratted me out. Basically, I need somewhere to lay low but I need access to the department main frame. I need information.”
Davis raised his eyebrows at Mann. It was Mann’s turn to nod.
“Ya, I want this guy as much as you do,” Mann said. “And if we can take down Angelino at the same time, I got no problems with that. I can get him into Southfield somewhere. I’ll talk to Walsh. Won’t be our squad but we’ll still be around to keep an eye on the boy.”
“Bumboclot,” Degget muttered.
Mann just looked puzzled, not realizing what Degget had said. “I’ll set up a meeting with Olinyk. He’s retired but he was in SOCU for about two years. He’ll give it to you straight.”
“Where are his loyalties?” Degget asked. “Sorry, but I’m a little paranoid.”
“Don’t worry. Nothing will get back to SOCU. There wasn’t much love lost there. He didn’t so much leave as was forced out. We’ll set it up when your back is better and you are out of here.”
Before Degget responded, a nurse walked in the room.
“Sorry gentleman, I need some time with my patient.” She said, all but pushing Mann and Davis from the room.
“Wa’ppun goodaz,” Degget said, falling back into his Jamaican accent.
Chapter 14
“Yes, si...si...sir, your pictures are ready,” Bert Haynes stuttered out to the man in front of the counter. “I th...th...think your High School reunion group is going to be very happy with th...th...them.”
He watched the man carefully flip through the eight by tens. Each had turned out even better than he had hoped. Aging pictures from old black and whites was always more difficult than color pictures with their lack of subtlety and depth. Normally, he did this for missing children but it was becoming more of a novelty item, especially for reunions. Attendees would compare their aged photo and see how different they were to reality. There were automated services online but they lacked his skill and finesse. Obviously, it was worth it to this customer to have the best. Haynes could see he was pleased.
Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) Page 6
