WHEN THE MUSIC DIES (MUSIC CITY MURDERS Book 1) (24 page)

All was on schedule until three years ago when, during a citizen assist stop, a drunken motorist slammed into the back of his cruiser. The impact pinned Dean against the rear of the disabled car just as he was attempting to remove the spare for an elderly lady. The crash effectively amputated both legs and severely damaged his pelvis. Following a year and a half of surgeries and extensive therapy, Dean was found unable to be fitted for prosthetics and became confined for life to a wheel chair.

Rather than allowing the tragic turn to destroy his life, Dean analyzed his options and adjusted his goals. He called the Chief of Police and requested a one-on-one meeting. The Chief couldn’t say no to him after what he sacrificed in the line of duty.

He shared his original dream and gave the Chief his altered plan.

“I have the full use of my arms and hands as well as my mind,” Dean said. “There is no reason I can’t continue to make a contribution to the city of Nashville and the police department.”

He explained to the Chief he could assist in the A/V Lab and begin work to expand the department’s capabilities. The chief considered it and decided it was a unique opportunity for both Dean and the department. They were always backlogged in the labs and frequently limited on qualified technicians. Also, this would be a great opportunity for the MNPD to employ a disabled person. The Chief immediately approved the position, and Dean was back on track.

“Did you get a chance to look at the VHS tape from Cumberland Plaza?” Norm asked.

Dean looked at Norm like he had told a bad joke.

“I’m afraid so. That tape had been re-recorded so many times that all the images—hundreds, I’d guess—look like a horde of ghosts. The tape was so old and thin it was ready to break. I’m surprised it held together long enough for me to make a working copy on a DVD. I’m not sure how much help it’ll be, but I’ll show you what I was able to capture.”

“We could use a miracle, but we’re not expecting one,” Norm said.

“I appreciate you lowering your expectations for me.” Dean grinned. “Okay guys, here’s what I’ve got.” Dean began tapping keys and pushing buttons. “The dates and times here in the corner of the screen are only marginally reliable. If it wasn’t for Carol Spencer providing me with a digital still taken last night from the perspective of the elevator, I wouldn’t have confidence about much of anything on this video.”

Dean tucked the enlarged photo under the clip to the left of his large-screen monitor.

“As you can see in Carol’s photo, we’ve got three open parking spaces here on the left, then the white Chevy Impala, and the dark blue Denali on the near side of the victim’s Acura. Across the drive there’s a silver Camry, the red Mustang and these two, whatever they are.”

“This dark car is a Buick La Sabre, if I remember right. It’s in our notes,” Norm said, pointing. “And this one is a Honda Pilot.”

“Thanks Norm,” Dean said. “Once all the cars are in place on the video, you will be able to make out only a small part of the rear bumper of the Acura protruding behind the SUV, so key on the positions of the white Impala, the red Mustang over here and the SUV. The Denali is the last one to arrive. Okay?”

“Got it,” Mike said.

“I’m going to start the video here in the a.m. with level six empty.”

“It’s not empty. There’s an Explorer right there.” Norm touched the screen as Dean started the video, and the car disappeared. He jerked his hand back as if he’d made the car vanish.

“Like I said, there are a lot of ghost images due to the number of re-recordings.”

“I can tell this is going to be crazy,” Norm said.

“Give it a chance,” Mike said.

“I believe this image to be yesterday morning based upon its position on the tape at the time I received it. Tell me what you think.” Dean started the video.

“Wow, I think it sucks,” Norm said. “How are we supposed to determine anything reliable, the way the images keep jumping? And, what are all the fuzzy lines all over the place? Hell, they’re moving too.”

“Yeah.” Dean laughed. “Try to look past the quality, or lack of it, and key on watching for the cars in Carol’s photo. It’s going to be the only way we can feel any confidence that we have the right images. The blurry lines you asked about are spider webs across the camera lens moving in the breeze. I don’t get the impression this building’s maintenance team is all that concerned about security or the maintenance of their equipment.”

“How can we tell which image is from which date?” Mike asked.

“We can’t be certain. Sorry,” Dean apologized. “There are too many ghost images of the dates and times overlaying each other.”

“Then what good is it?” Norm asked.

“Be patient, detective,” Dean said.

“You can forget that, Dean. He doesn’t know how,” Mike said, smiling at Norm.

“What if all these people park in the same exact spaces everyday? Then how are we going to know the image is from yesterday?” Norm asked.

Dean looked up at him. “If they do, then I’d say this is a futile exercise and we’re screwed. But, let’s try not to be that pessimistic.”

“Let’s assume that’s not the case,” Mike said, with a look that asked Norm to cool it.

“Thanks. I came in at 0500 this morning, and I’ve viewed this tape now for over three hours in order to cull out what I’m showing you. I did not see all of these vehicles in place and matching Carol’s photo except during the section I’m leading up to now.

“Here’s the empty garage yesterday morning. Now the people are arriving for work. See the shadows? The camera over the elevator faces south, so the sun’s rising to our left on the other side of the garage. The shadows will be our only confirmation of the time of day.”

“Camry,” Dean pointed at the monitor. “Impala—Buick—Pilot.”

“Hey, the Pilot and Buick are in the wrong spots,” Norm said.

“Maybe this is where they parked in the morning,” Mike suggested, looking down at Dean for verification. “I’ll bet they’re in the positions in Carol’s photo after they return from lunch.”

“Good thinking, detective.” Dean looked up, smiling at Mike.

“I’m guessing these cars must belong to the hourly folks since most of them arrived within a few minutes of each other. The Mustang and Denali arrive later.”

Dean increased the speed of the video and the shadows moved more quickly.

“There is the red Mustang now. Okay, it’s after lunch and all the vehicles are in the same places as in Carol’s photo except the SUV, and the victim’s car. I’m going to increase the speed a little. Watch the shadows lengthen.”

“We know the victim didn’t arrive until around seventeen-hundred,” Mike said.

“You’ll see the Acura arrives first in the video,” Dean said. “There he is. Poor guy.”

As Daran Hamid walked under the camera, Dean stopped the video.

“That’s him,” Mike said.

The three men stared at the monitor in silence, as if to pay homage. Daran was smiling and listening to his iPod, the bright white ear buds contrasted against the dark complexion of his ears. He looked to be enjoying his new citizenship, and sadly unaware of what would face him in the next hour.

Dean restarted the recording. After a time, he slowed the playback.

Within seconds, Norm spoke up, “Denali.” The big man leaned over Dean’s back for a better look as the large dark vehicle passed across the screen and pulled into the space blocking almost all of the Acura from view.”

An attractive blonde in a dark business suit exited the SUV carrying a black briefcase. As she walked toward the elevator, she held her keyless remote over her shoulder and pressed the button to lock the Denali. The lights flashed.

“Shit, Norm said. “She had to park that big bastard there.”

Dean allowed the video to run for a few moments, then stopped it and turned to the detectives.

“I’m not sure how valuable this is. I’ve tried to clean it up, but beyond some tweaking, there isn’t a lot I can do with it.”

“I’m sure you’ve done your best, Dean,” Mike said.

Norm slapped Dean on the back. “Let’s do this.”

“I’m going to run it forward to the point just before the victim gets off the elevator, then I’ll cut it to half-speed. After Hamid walks from under the camera and toward his car, keep an eye here in front of the SUV,” Dean pointed, “and then between it and the Chevy. Watch for a dark image that moves around the near side then behind the SUV, toward the Acura. He’s real hard to see until he comes around the back of the Denali.”

Daran walked into the image from the bottom of Dean’s monitor screen, stopped briefly, and then he started toward his car.

The detectives watched as he fished his keys from his pocket as he walked. He moved behind the SUV, then turned and went out of sight on the other side.

“There he is,” Norm said, as the hooded image moved to the rear of the Denali and then disappeared. “Was that it? I thought you said he—”

“Hang on,” Dean interrupted. “When I ran it this morning, the image was jumpy. I had to record this part eight times to even get this much of an image. This is part of what you get with recycled VHS. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s just frustrating for us,” Norm said.

“It is for me too. On one of the passes this morning I saw something you’ll want to see. I patched it here. There were two frames of it, but I captured them.” Dean continued to work the keyboard as he spoke. “It’s just as he comes from behind the SUV; his right hand swings out away from his side a few inches. There. That’s it.”

“Freeze it,” Norm said.

“I did.”

“Print it.”

“I did, Norm.”

“Where is it?” Norm said.

“It’s printing.” Mike shook his head. “Chill out.”

“Geez. You’re right, Mike. For a detective, the man has no patience.”

“Yeah, bite me,” Norm said, attempting to defend himself from the dual criticism.

Dean laughed.

The whirr of the color printer produced an upside down sheet while they waited. Dean pulled the paper from the tray, turned it over and handed it to Mike.

The long curved silhouette of the knife was visible as it hung by the killer’s right leg before he vanished behind the SUV and used it.

“We have to see the lieutenant,” Mike said. “We need the fingerprints back, now.”

“Wait,” Dean said. “We still haven’t seen the disc from The Bakery across the street. Sergeant Hill said there was something on it. An officer delivered it a few minutes before you came in.”

“I forgot all about it,” Norm said.

“Give me a minute,” Dean said, “and I’ll have it on the screen.”

Mike focused on the dark printed image. He estimated the killer’s height at 5’ 8”, maybe 5’ 9” with a medium build and about one hundred and seventy pounds. The oversized black hoody cloaked his key features and would easily disguise any blood spatter that may have caused him to be noticed when he left the building.

“Okay, I’m ready to run this DVD.”

Dean tapped a few keys and then dramatically popped the enter key to finish.

“This camera is obviously suspended over the front counter facing the customer entrance. The clock says it’s—1804 yesterday.”

“That’s good. Run it,” Norm said. “At least this one is clear.”

“This is copied from a digital video recording. The quality is better than the VHS technology.”

Dean ran the recording and they watched the parking garage exit in the distance, visible through the window above the reversed word Bakery. No cars came out. Unexpectedly, a man dressed in all black came strolling from the first floor garage entrance as the clock showed 18:11.

“Is that him? Slow it down,” Norm said. “The son of a bitch is walking? That’s balls.”

They all watched as the killer reached the sidewalk and stopped.

“What’s he stopping for?” Norm asked.

“Who knows,” Mike said.

Just then, the man looked directly at The Bakery.

“Freeze it,” Norm shouted.

Dean stopped the video, but the hood pulled low over the killer’s head kept his face dark; too dark to make out any features.

“He must have smelled the bread,” Dean suggested.

“I lower my window every time I drive by the place,” Norm said. “Clear that up some so we can see his face.”

“I can’t,” Dean said.

“You can’t?” Norm asked. “Isn’t this a digital image?”

“Yeah, but this image was shot through a storefront window with a mass-produced off the shelf camera at about three hundred and fifty to four hundred lines of resolution. It’s not meant to produce the kind of clarity we need at over eighty yards away.”

“Well, shit,” Norm said, defeated.

“That’s about what it is if you’re looking for clarity at this distance.” Dean started the video.

The killer turned away from the camera, looked up and brushed the hood back off his head.

“Dark hair. Same build,” Norm said. “Mullins.”

“Maybe. Too far away to tell,” Mike said.

With his hands back inside the hoodie’s front pocket, the killer walked up the sidewalk and away from the camera. The man’s image grew smaller on the monitor as he strolled up the hill and away from The Bakery’s camera.

The video reminded Mike of how many similar suspects over the years had committed murder so easily, even violent murder like this, and simply walked away. He thought of one monster in particular and the toll that murder’s actions had taken on his life.

Dean’s desk phone buzzed.

“A/V Lab.”

“It’s for you,” Dean said, offering Mike the handset.

“Mike Neal.” Mike listened. “Good. Thanks, Sarge.” Mike turned to Norm. “We’ve got our warrant.”

Vacant Parking Lot

Nashville, Tennessee

Wednesday Morning

Cris was convinced something was wrong with Jack Hogue. He couldn’t contain his passing thoughts. He was always mumbling incoherently, salted with an occasional brief outburst. Cris wondered if he might be suffering from some form of Tourette’s syndrome. His attitude, as well as the quality of his thinking, had been in the toilet since Gil Murdock’s retirement—now this.

Hogue’s forehead rested against the passenger side glass of the unmarked cruiser as he and Cris Vega sat in the lot next to The Daily Donut Shop. Cris was reviewing reports and Hogue was staring at a beautiful young woman in tight jeans and a low-cut top as she bent over and climbed from a bright yellow Corvette. Hogue couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was as if he was unaware of his surroundings. His judgment of her appearance flowed from his tactless lips.