Daddy's Little Killer (9 page)

"What time did your flight land, Doc, and
how fast did you get through the airport, claim your luggage and
get to your car?"

He made a point.

"Add to that rush hour traffic, which even
on a Tuesday night is pretty heavy, and two hours gets devoured
pretty quick."

"I'll need Crevan's last name." I'm not sure
why, but I felt the need to dare him to lie to me again.

"No you don't," Orion chuckled.  "You
already figured it out, Doc.  Crevan Conall, one of the
detectives who brought you here tonight, had dinner with me at
seven."

"When did you leave the restaurant?"

"Eight forty-five."

"And from there?"

"Straight here," Orion said.  "Gwen and
I were meeting at nine-thirty."

"And what happened when you arrived?"

"The lights were out.  I figured she
was running late."  His voice hardened and tension radiated
from his pores.  "So I used my key and let myself in the
house.  That was when I found her."

"You have keys to all your friend's
houses?"

Orion clamped his mouth shut.

"I'm afraid we'll have to confiscate that
key, Mr. Orion.  The crime scene must be secured."

"Do I get to leave now?"

"We'll have to verify your alibi
first."  I slid out of the car before he could comment
further.  The cell I brought from D.C., gave me access to
Northwest's website and I was easily able to confirm that flight 21
did land at four fifty-two Tuesday afternoon.  That didn't
mean Orion was on the flight.  Someone from the police
department would have to verify that.  I had no legal
authority to do anything at the moment.

"Detective Conall?"

He stepped around the car.  "How is
he?"

"Pissed."

"I can't blame him.  I told Haverston
that he's been out of town at a convention for the past few days,
that we met for dinner tonight out on the island after his flight
got in.  He won't believe me, says he can't let Johnny leave
until Chief Lowe authorizes it."

"That's bullshit," I agreed.  True
enough, the information needed to be confirmed by more than Orion's
best friend, but that could easily be done without arresting
Orion.  Gaining his cooperation seemed to be exactly what
Forsythe predicted it would be.  I beckoned to Haverston with
a crooked finger.

He rushed toward me.

"Could you do something for me,
officer?"

"Name it," he grinned.

"I need you to contact Northwest Airlines
and get the passenger list for a flight that landed Tuesday
afternoon, flight 21.  See if Orion was a passenger.  Who
are the other officers milling around here?"

"Taylor, Adams, Thieg.  You got
something for them too?"

I stepped closer to Haverston and laid one
hand on his arm, effectively cutting Conall out of the
conversation.  "Both Orion and Conall are claiming that they
had dinner together at some casino out on Hennessey Island. 
Ideally, we should verify that alibi before cutting Orion
loose."

"But we can't –"

"Officer, we don't have cause to hold Orion
simply because he found the victim.  Does it make him a person
of interest?  Absolutely.  But my experience at the FBI
tells me that if we confirm his alibi, we'll build enough rapport
with him that when a stronger case based on hard evidence is built,
he won't be so reluctant to cooperate.  That's how you catch
someone with experience in law enforcement.  If Orion is the
perp in this case, you've gotta realize that he's at least ten
steps ahead of where we are right now.  If we try to charge
him before we have a solid case, we run the risk of shooting
ourselves in the foot.  You get where I'm going with
this?"

"I'll have the guys go out to Hennessey
Island right away," Haverston said.  "And we'll get that
passenger list before you leave the scene."

I hoped that would be in about thirty
seconds.  Apparently not.  "You should also have someone
start taking statements from our audience."  I cast a sidelong
glance at several neighbors out on their lawns in robes and
slippers.  "You never know if one of them saw something that
could provide leads in this case."

"What about Orion?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the van
from the medical examiner's office arrive.  "Let me talk to
Dr. Winslow.  The sooner she can give us an estimate on time
of death, the sooner we'll know if Orion's alibi even applies to
the window we're looking at for the commission of this crime."

"Right.  We're on it, Dr.
Eriksson."

"You're having them verify the alibi I
provided?" Conall hissed incredulous words into my ear. 

I turned into the angry blast.  Sea
green sparks arced in his eyes for a moment before he took a quick
step backward.

"It's par for the course in a murder
investigation, detective.  If you don't like it, perhaps you
should consider narrowing your circle of friends.  Your word
alone isn't enough to give Orion an alibi for the evening. 
Now if you'll excuse me, I see an old colleague I'd like to talk to
before she gets too busy to answer a few questions."

Chapter 8

Maya Winslow stopped dead in her tracks and
stared for a moment.  She shook her head lightly and rubbed
her eyes.  "I don't believe it."

"Nice to see you too, Dr. Winslow."

"Jesus Christ and General Jackson.  Who
called the feds in on this one?  Not that I'm complaining or
anything.  I'm … stunned.  How are you, Eriksson?"

People don't really want the truth when they
ask that question.  It's a social nicety.  Look at
me.  I care enough to ask how you are.  Do me a favor and
lie.  Say "fine" or some other placating nonsense.  I
really don't want to get sucked into your world.

As a different breed, I grinned at
her.  "Same shit, different day.  How did you end up in
Darkwater Bay?"

"Power," she slammed the back door of the
van and gave a stern look to her techs.  "Don't touch anything
until I get inside.  Got it?"  I noticed that she added a
wink after the harsh order. 

"You're in charge out here?"

"You're looking at the chief medical
examiner."  She struck a Marilyn Monroe-esque pose.  "How
do I wear it?"

"I figured you'd be in Maryland
forever."

"No chance of promotion," she said.  "I
got to leap from the lower middle rung all the way to the top by
relocating out here.  Never mind that I've delved into the
ninth circle of hell."

"I wasn't aware there were nine of
them."

"Probably more.  I just have uncovered
nine of them since I moved here six months ago.  So this case
warrants a federal intervention, eh?"

I noticed the ears around us perking with
interest.  "Walk with me," I said.  My voice lowered to a
scratch above a whisper.  "It's not common knowledge yet."

"What isn't?"

"I'm not with the bureau anymore, Maya."

"Since when?"

"Monday morning."

"No shit?"

"How well versed were you on water cooler
gossip before you left Maryland?"

"Please," Maya stepped through the front
door of Foster's home.  "I had more work to do out there than
most.  I didn't have time to play telephone with the
drones.  Why?  Did I miss something good?"

"This probably isn't the best place to
discuss it.  In any case, here I am.  George Hardy asked
if I'd be willing to consult on a few cases from time to
time.  I didn't realize I'd be dragged to a crime scene
straight off my flight."

"Billy gave me the run down on this one on
the way over here."  Maya crouched beside the corpse. 
"Everything photographed, Forsythe?"

"We're done with this room."

"Good."  Maya started moving the
truncated right limb.  "She's barely in rigor.  This is a
fresh kill.  Six maybe seven hours tops.  Of course I'll
have to do a lot of other things to pin it down to something more
definite than that, but for now, I'd say we're looking at five,
maybe six last night for time of death."

"And theories on cause?"

Maya looked up at me.  "You're joking,
right?"

"Not really."

"I can tell you she didn't die from
exsanguination.  I estimate blood loss at three liters
tops.  Unless she's got some super absorbent carpet padding
under this shag, what you see is what you get.  This blood
seeped out postmortem due to gravity.  So dismemberment wasn't
the cause."  Maya lifted the hem of the skirt as I had done
nearly an hour ago.

"Billy?"

"Yeah boss."

"Help me with this."  She repositioned
one leg enough to provide a better view of the external
genitalia.  "Ouch."

"Trauma?"

"Looks like it," she said.  "Though
rape itself won't turn out to be the causation, it might've been a
factor in the motivation for murder.  She fights hard enough,
he kills her." 

She refocused her attention on the
neck.  "Clean cut.  I'll have to examine the tissue under
a scope to be certain but …"

"But what?"

Maya glanced up at me.  "One blow
severed the head.  I see no evidence of a serrated blade so
far.  Spinal column and cord were cleanly dissected.  I
see no bone chipping.  Huh."  She grunted softly.

"What?"

"A butcher, a hunter, someone with skill
took her head and hands.  Check out the arms.  We've got
neatly sliced tendons between the carpals and radial-ulnar
joints.  Same type of cutting.  Clean, decisive, very
practiced."

"So on some creature, be it animal or human,
our perp has dissected in this manner before?"

"Without a doubt," Maya said.  "You'll
have to figure out why he took her.  Do we know who the victim
is?"

My answer drowned out Forsythe's "No."

"Gwen Foster, age 34.  I guess whoever
George decides is investigating this case will have to run down the
vitals on her."

"When was she found?"  Maya rose and
pulled off her gloves.  "Billy, make sure you and Hector
remove the section of carpeting and padding she's on.  Cut a
wide berth around the body.  There could be fluid seepage
underneath that extends beyond what we can see here." 
Refocused on me, she lifted her eyebrows.  "Well?"

"Nine-thirty," I said.

Forsythe piped up again.  "We didn't
get the call until quarter to ten.  CSD was on scene at
ten-fifteen, gained access to the premises an hour ago."

Maya rolled her eyes.  "The three
amigos ride again, no doubt."

"I think there has been some debate over
which division is investigating the case," I said.

Maya clasped her hands and lifted her face
toward the ceiling.  "Please let Briscoe and Conall
investigate this one.  I'll never sin again, God."

"You're not a fan of Central Division?"

"No," she said.  "I've got about a
trillion lab hours ahead of me on this one, Helen.  Why don't
you give me a call tomorrow and we'll make a date for a good old
fashioned chat, catch up on everything we've missed over the past
few years.  Deal?"

I scribbled my new cell phone number on a
scrap of paper.  "Call me if you learn anything that might
point to motive in the autopsy."

"Other than the fact that someone hated her
enough to make off with the head and hands?"  Her irreverence
at crime scenes had become the stuff of legend in the greater
Baltimore area.  "Maybe we should send Rogers and Daltry out
to frisk anyone carrying a bowling bag.  That's about the
right size for the contraband."

"Jesus," Forsythe muttered.

"They're not used to my coping mechanisms
yet, Helen," she whispered loudly.  "If we can figure out the
cause of death, I'll call.  Where are you staying?"

"Some hotel downtown.  The Montcliff
Hotel, I think."

Maya whistled low through her teeth. 
"Swanky.  If it gets too pricey, let me know.  I've got a
guest room.  It's not high society but the sheets are
clean.  At least I think they're clean."

Haverston beckoned from the front
door.  "We've got the passenger list from Northwest, Dr.
Eriksson."

"Is he on it?"

He nodded.  "Should I cut him
loose?"

"Yeah, but ask him not to leave town," I
said.  Magic words, ones that Agent  Mark Seleeby failed
to invoke before I fled D.C.  "Get an address and phone number
where he can be reached, Haverston.  When do you go off
shift?"  I followed him out the front door and into the
yard.

"Seven thirty, doctor."

"Do you go back on at eleven tonight?"

He nodded.  "But if you need extra
hands on this, sarge already said you can use us for whatever you
want."

"Sarge?"

"Our sergeant, Tim Carter."  Haverston
lowered his head.  "He answers directly to Chief Weber."

"Another chief?"

"Weber is chief of police, ma'am."

"Call me Helen."

Haverston grinned.  "All right. 
We'd be happy to help out in any way while this other thing gets
settled between Lowe and Hardy."

"That's not a bad idea, Haverston. 
After you guys finish the canvass with the neighbors and confirm
the dinner Conall and Orion claim they shared, do you think you
guys could dig up a little information about Gwen Foster?"

"Is that the victim's name?"

"According to Orion.  If we can verify
home ownership, maybe track down her tax returns and find out who
her employer is, see if she's got a spouse we should be talking to
or kids … you know the drill."  I watched Haverston's chest
puff with pride.  Not so much that he knew his job, but that
someone else realized it and asked for help.

Was this part of the cancer in Darkwater
Bay?  Clues died on the vine while detectives squabbled over
turf.  Criminals didn't worry about being apprehended because
of in-fighting in the department.