by Shawn Wilson
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“I know, I’m kidding. Personally, I don’t care what they call the team as long as they have a winning season.” Ron drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn green. “And, I think some people take the whole political correctness thing too far. I’m surprised they still call Notre Dame the Fighting Irish. Are you offended by that?”
“That’s better than the ‘Drunken Irish,’ which might be more accurate.”
Ron was still laughing as he pulled the cruiser into a parking space next to a medical examiner’s van. He took the keys out of the ignition and dropped them into his pocket. “This has gotta be my least favorite place on earth.”
Brick unbuckled his seat belt. “I thought that was Fed Ex Field.”
“You’re right. Okay, my second least favorite.”
Together they walked up the steps of the nondescript structure known simply as Building Twenty-Seven. Ron hesitated before opening the frosted glass double doors. He took a deep breath and motioned to Brick as he held the door. “After you.”
“No way. If I turn my back, you’re liable to bolt.”
Reluctantly, Ron led the way.
“Morning, boys.” Denise Jackson smiled broadly as Brick and Ron approached the receptionist’s desk. She was a large woman in her mid-fifties with a sunny disposition and a preference for bright colored clothes. Today’s outfit was a tropical floral printed dress that would be more appropriate at a luau. By the end of the day, it would probably smell like formaldehyde and other strong chemicals.
Brick signed in first. “You’re looking lovely as always.”
“Thanks. I bought this in the Bahamas last month.” Denise sighed. “Eleven months until the next vacation.”
“It’ll be here before you know it,” Brick said.
“You really think so?”
“No.”
Denise laughed as she put an “X” through another day on her calendar. “Still, it gives me something to look forward to. Working here, I need it.”
“Amen to that.” Ron took the pen from Brick. He looked at his watch and recorded the time before signing his name and noting his badge number.
“Let’s see, you’ll be in room—” Denise checked her computer screen “—three with Dr. Park.”
Brick was glad to hear that. Until Dr. Sammy Park was hired as Chief Medical Examiner, the office had been a disgrace. Botched autopsies resulted in acquittals that frustrated police and prosecutors. It wasn’t until an investigative reporter’s story that the deplorable conditions were revealed. Over breakfast, Washingtonians read about maggots and the stench of decomposing bodies. Recognizing this was a place where either they or a loved one could ultimately end up created a firestorm, the likes of which the city hadn’t seen in a long time. In less than forty-eight hours, the staff was gone and Dr. Park took over. Under his leadership, the turnaround was accomplished in less time than anyone thought possible.
Ron followed Brick into the assigned autopsy room—a stark, cold, impersonal florescent-lit temple of stainless steel where social status was no longer a commodity. Georgetown resident or street person, the procedure was the same. The technician placing a hard rubber body post beneath Maria’s back acknowledged the detectives with a nod but continued with his task. Once the body post was in place, he adjusted the white sheet covering her from just below her chin to above her ankles.
Brick had stood in this very spot more times than he cared to count. Normally he could detach emotionally as the body, usually that of a homicide victim, was subjected to necessary but extremely intrusive procedures. Not so under these circumstances. Even though he had never met Maria, knowing Jose placed him at one degree of separation from her. And now, staring at her sheet-covered corpse, Brick felt he was violating her privacy like some kind of voyeur. But he had no choice—this was his job. This was his case and he was required to be present.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
All three men turned as Dr. Park entered the room. He was carrying a clipboard, and, before proceeding, checked the tag attached to Maria’s big toe on her right foot. Apparently satisfied that the identifying information was correct, Dr. Park put on a pair of gloves and a headset microphone. He looked directly at Brick and Ron.
“Any questions before we get started?”
“No, sir,” Brick answered for both of them.
“Very well, let’s proceed.” With that as his cue, the technician turned on the audio and video recording devices.
Brick watched as Dr. Park studied Maria’s body for signs of injuries or trauma, stopping to take photos from different angles. He worked quickly until he zeroed in on a bruise on Maria’s left hip. He adjusted an overhead light and took several photos from different angles before setting the camera aside.
As Dr. Park reached for his face shield, Brick braced himself for what was coming next. He swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the excess saliva pooling in his mouth. He wasn’t very successful so he swallowed again as the buzz from the Stryker saw sent chills down his spine. He knew it would be used to cut through Maria’s ribs and collarbone so that her breastplate could be removed. Dr. Park was verbally documenting everything he was doing, but Brick couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on what was being said. Later, he could rely on the findings in the written report. For now, he spent much of the next hour staring down at his shoes. At one point, he glanced over and saw Ron was doing the same. Technically, they were meeting their attendance requirement; nothing said they had to watch every gory detail. One by one, the internal organs were removed and weighed. This was an indicator the autopsy was almost complete and for that he was grateful, but Maria’s brain still needed to be removed. Once again, the sound of the Stryker saw filled the room as the blade cut across the top of her head. There was no way Brick could bring himself to watch. Instead, he focused his eyes on the clock mounted on the wall across the room, mesmerized by the second hand’s orbit.
* * *
“You okay, partner?” Ron asked as the two detectives walked down the hall toward the exit.
Brick nodded and exhaled for what felt like the first time in over an hour.
“Sure? You look a little pale. And that’s saying a lot because you’re one of the whitest white guys I’ve ever seen.”
“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a natural tan.”
“He shoots, he scores.” Ron’s hearty laugh echoed in the drab hallway as he tossed an imaginary basketball into an imaginary hoop. “Seriously, Brick, I get the feeling this one was tough for you.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. When I was in college, I almost flunked biology because I couldn’t dissect a fetal pig. So, when it comes to autopsies, they’re all tough.”
“I hear ya, but since you have a connection to the vic—to Maria—I don’t mean to be out of line here, but are you too close to this case?”
Brick stopped short of the exit. “To be objective? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Yeah, I guess I am. It’s just everyone in the squad knows you take your cases to heart, and since you’re sort of connected—hey, forget it.” Ron looked embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, it’s okay. The thought crossed my mind, and it’s probably why I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Brick stifled a yawn before looking Ron straight in the eye. “If I said this is just another case, I’d be lying. I’m counting on you to make sure I keep everything in perspective.”
Ron nodded. “No problem.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the keys to the cruiser. He handed them to Brick. “Let’s grab some breakfast before we head back.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Lieutenant Blancato will see you now.” His secretary delivered the words in the same robotic voice Brick had heard many times. He was beginning to think she had a limited repertoire of phrases and facial expressions. Whether she had a pulse was questionable.
Brick led
the way; Ron followed. They had decided beforehand Brick would do the talking unless Blancato specifically addressed Ron.
“Okay, guys, take a seat.” Blancato looked at his watch. “I’ve got a conference call at ten, and I need to bring everyone up-to-date at that time.”
“Who’s everyone?” Brick asked.
“The chief.” Blancato answered quickly. “And the uh … the deputy chief.”
Blancato wasn’t fooling Brick. He was sure there were others—the mayor, for one.
“No need to tell me about the brother’s murder. Travis has already briefed me, but how was it you were there?”
Brick was glad he had an opportunity to explain in case Travis Allen had misrepresented the circumstances, deliberately or otherwise.
“What are the odds?” Blancato looked first at Brick and then at Ron. “But like I’ve often said, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than smart.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, given a body with no ID and no hits on missing persons, she might have never been identified if it weren’t for her brother turning up dead.” Blancato twisted the cap on a bottle of Coke and took a swig. He got up and walked around to the front of his desk. “Who did her autopsy?”
Brick was still taken aback by what Blancato considered to be a lucky break, but he let it go. “Dr. Park.”
“Good. He knows what he’s doing, not like a couple of those medical examiners we used to have. Can’t remember the guy’s name, but he was so incompetent, he couldn’t find his ass with both hands.” Blancato took another sip of soda. “Anyway, I digress. What did Park find? Any surprises?”
“The autopsy confirmed she was dead before she hit the water, which is what we suspected.”
“So we’re dealing with a secondary crime scene.” Blancato glanced in Ron’s direction. “Double the fun.”
Brick suspected Blancato was spending too much time with Allen. “The way I see it, there’s at least three—the Tidal Basin, the apartment Maria shared with Jose, and the place where she was killed. Nothing at Jose’s apartment indicates she was killed there.”
“Well, if there’s a third crime scene—you need to find it.”
Brick was used to hearing Blancato state the obvious. He overlooked the comment just as he had done many times before. “According to Dr. Park, the hyoid bone was fractured. Cause of death was asphyxiation. Other than a bruise on her left hip, no significant trauma to the body. Dr. Park concluded—”
“Was she raped?” Blancato got up from his desk and started to pace.
Brick hated being interrupted. “That’s what I was getting to.” Despite his best effort, Blancato was starting to get to him. He took a second and tried to control the sarcastic tone he heard creeping into his voice. “There was no conclusive evidence that she was sexually assaulted. Pelvic examination indicated she was a virgin.”
“How old was she?”
“According to her passport, she was twenty years old.”
“And a virgin? Is that possible?”
Brick assumed that was Blancato’s feeble attempt at a joke. Neither he nor Ron laughed. “Toxicology results are pending.”
Blancato checked his watch again. “What’s your gut telling you—how did this go down?”
It wasn’t a question Brick was expecting. “It’s just over twenty-four hours since Maria’s body was pulled out of the Tidal Basin. Less time than that since Jose’s body was found. At this point, I don’t have a theory.”
“Okay, okay … it’s probably too early to figure out if there’s a gang or drug connection, but with them being from Mexico—”
“Guatemala!” Brick had had enough. He stood up so he would be at eye level with Blancato. “Do you think Travis Allen has ever looked at a map? There are several countries between Mexico and South America—one of them is Guatemala.”
Blancato smiled. “When Travis was in school, he was probably more interested in girls than he was in geography. Hey, I know you two don’t always get along, but you’re going to have to. You’ve got to play nice on this one. We need closure.”
As if we don’t strive for closure on every case, Brick thought. “Then how about some extra resources?”
“You know my hands are tied because of the budget.” Blancato checked his watch. “I’ve got my call in five minutes—we’re finished here.”
Ron headed toward the door, but Brick hesitated. “Doesn’t cost anything to have recruits from the Academy scour the grounds around the Tidal Basin. They might find something that belonged to Maria.”
“You’re talking needle in a haystack. I don’t think that’s how we should be using our resources.”
“Why don’t you run it by the mayor—see what he thinks.”
Brick had made his point. There was no need to wait for a response. He and Ron headed back to the squad room.
“What just happened in there?” Ron asked.
Brick ushered Ron into his cubicle and kept his voice low. “It’s what I call QB—quintessential Blancato. Cases like this with the potential to be high profile screw with his head because he probably figures they could make or break his career.”
“Good to know because I was beginning to think either he forgot to take his meds or he took too many. And, by the way, I need to correct something I said back at the ME’s office.”
“What’s that?”
“I was wrong about you being the whitest white man—your face has more shades of red than a jumbo box of crayons.”
Brick laughed now even though he had felt his face flush and his blood pressure rise while he was in Blancato’s office. And at this moment, his cubicle felt claustrophobic. “C’mon, let’s go for a ride.”
* * *
This time Brick drove and Ron rode shotgun. Their destination was Jose’s apartment building. They got as far as Connecticut Avenue and K Street before traffic ground to a halt in all directions.
“Know what this means?” Brick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Yeah … motorcade.”
Both detectives used the delay time to check their phones. Brick listened to a message from the prosecutor’s paralegal about an upcoming trial. He’d return the call later. He slipped the phone back into his pocket just as the sound of sirens would have drowned out any conversation he might have been having anyway. A convoy led by three MPD cars sped north on Connecticut Avenue. A black limo with small flags attached to either side of the front of the car was next in line.
“Decoy vehicle,” Brick and Ron said in unison.
An identical limo was right behind. Five SUVs, a hazmat vehicle, and two press vans flew through the intersection followed by an ambulance serving a dual function as a caboose. Taillights sped away, but it would still be a few minutes before the roads reopened to regular traffic.
“Man, they could save the taxpayers a lot of money if they just drove him around in a Fed Ex truck,” Ron said.
Brick gave his partner a skeptical look.
“Think about it. How many Fed Ex trucks do you see on any given day?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, you have to agree, they’re a common sight.” Brick nodded, mostly to appease his partner. “If the President was in one of them, who would know?”
“Good point. If Blancato becomes head of the Secret Service, why don’t you suggest it?”
“Whoa … is that really a possibility?”
“I’ve heard rumors mentioning that or the Capitol Police.”
“He’d leave MPD?”
“For a job with the Feds—in a heartbeat.” Brick noticed a uniformed officer removing the sawhorse-type barricade that had blocked the street. “Looks like we’re about to start moving.”
What should have taken fifteen minutes took twice that, but finally, Brick pulled into an alley behind Jose’s apartment building. His options were limited forcing him to park behind a dumpster. Before getting out of the car, he checked where he was about to step. He wasn’t taking any ch
ances. It had already been a dog shit kind of day.
Brick stood where Rory had several hours ago and entered the manager’s code into the intercom. “Does it feel like déjà vu all over again?” Ron asked.
“Yeah, in some ways it does.” Brick didn’t get a chance to elaborate.
“Who there?” Carlos answered on the third ring.
“Detective Kavanagh.”
“Si. I be right there.”
While they waited, Brick looked around to see if there were any security cameras recording people entering and exiting the building. He wasn’t surprised to see that none existed. The intercom system was about as state-of-the-art as a manual typewriter.
Carlos appeared a few minutes later wearing the clothes he had worn the day before, and his hair had the same wild look. He opened the door and motioned for the guys to enter.
“Since what happened, I tell everyone not to buzz people in. They need to be sure who they let in.”
“I understand.” Brick stepped into the lobby and Ron followed. “This is my partner, Detective Hayes. We’ve got a couple of questions for you.” Just then the elevator door opened. A young woman pushing a stroller exited. A crying toddler clung to her leg refusing to go any further. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Carlos nodded. “Si.” He led Brick and Ron down the hall. On the last door on the right, the nameplate below the peephole read “Manager.” There was no mistaking the pride in his voice. “My office and casa.”
Cops get to see how people live much more so than the average person. Usually, as in this case, it’s an unannounced visit, and what lies beyond a front door is anyone’s guess. Given that Carlos looked like a walking unmade bed, that’s what Brick expected to see. He was wrong. Instead, the studio apartment reminded Brick of an interview he once conducted at the Marine Barracks. Carlos would have easily passed a white-glove inspection. Even the floor looked as if it had recently been mopped and waxed.
“Have a seat.” Carlos pointed to the folding chairs surrounding a small round table. “You want coffee—is fresh.”
“No thanks, I’m fine,” Brick said.
