A Study in Sin (8 page)

“So what is your theory for the murder then?” asked Remy.

Lambert sat up straight on the couch, an arrogant smirk running across his face, as he feigned deep thought.

“My theory is that Thomas Chapman couldn’t let the pass at his very beautiful girlfriend go unpunished, especially from a fat little drunk like Cormack. He grabs his umbrella for a weapon and goes out after him. He follows Cormack down past Stanton Park and over onto Tenth, where he finally confronts, and most likely assaults, the man. We haven’t located the umbrella yet, but based on his girlfriend’s description, one hard blow to the temple or maybe to the gut, could have been the cause of death. Chapman then sees the signs of the house being renovated, drags the body inside, and leaves all the extra clues to try and throw us off his scent.”

“And what of the blood? Or the flashlight that was on the mantle?” Remy said with a smile of her own. “Chapman drags a body inside, turns on a flashlight so it’s more likely he’s seen, and then leaves it on when he takes off?”

“He probably found it inside. It could have been left behind by one of the workers. Maybe he turned it on to verify that Cormack was actually dead and then forgot to take it with him. And we’ll get his blood to see if it matches.”

“Lambert, I must admit, you are absolutely unique in your abilities. To get from where we were Wednesday morning to where you are now is… well, it’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you very much Ms. Moreau,” Lambert said back, oblivious to the sarcasm in Remy’s voice. “It’s just another one of those times where diligence wins out over insight. People act brashly, and then they fall apart afterwards. I’ve come to realize that all I need to do is position myself to be in the right spot and most criminals will come with outstretched arms, asking for me to lock them up.”

“Well that’s insightful,” I said. Lambert turned his attention towards me and opened his mouth to respond, but the phone at his hip rang, interrupting his thought. He smiled at the two of us as he answered it.

“Detective Lambert…Yea, he’s down at the station right now waiting for his lawyer…Why’s that?...Yea, I remember. Why?...But I’ve already – Wait. What?”  Lambert shot up from his spot on the couch. He was silent, listening, as he looked off across the room. “I got it. I said I got it.”

“Is everything alright, Ian, you’re looking a little flush?” Remy asked

“Arruda found out that McKeague has a place here in DC. He caught up to him.”

Lambert’s face didn’t move. He looked like a statue as he stared down at the phone in his hand.

“McKeague is dead. He was murdered sometime early this morning.”

Chapter 7
The Spark Before the Fire

“Ha!” Remy erupted, “Perfect. Serial murders. I love it.” She paced around the apartment, excited at the news, while the detective and I watched dumbfounded.

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” Lambert said, slowly shaking his head.

“Come on, what are we waiting for? To the scene of the crime gentlemen.”

Now I was the one shaking my head. “Seriously? Who says that?” I wondered aloud.

Lambert drove us across town towards West Glebe, south of Crystal City. Lambert and I sat silent the entire ride as Remy squirmed in excitement and blabbered on about early Irish immigrants and the gangs they formed in nineteenth century New York. He told her four times to buckle her seatbelt; she never did.

After the longest twenty minute car ride ever, we eventually found ourselves pulling up in front of a house as unassuming as a freshly baked loaf of bread. The house was all white, with white shutters and white flower bushes out front. It sat back from the street behind a small white picket fence. A footpath led to the front door, the only part that wasn’t white, which just so happened to be a bright shade of lipstick red. It stood welcoming us to the slaughter we were to find inside. Detective Arruda met us out front.

“See you brought the whole crew,” he grumbled.

“Detective Arruda,” Remy said, “You know, for once, I’m actually glad to see you.”

“That makes one of us.”

“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to make a quick phone call,” she said. Arruda offered an audible harrumph in response.

I stood near the front gate and waited, as Remy spoke with someone on her phone and the two detectives huddled together discussing what had happened. A few moments later, Remy joined them and motioned for me to follow.

“Well we’ve heard Lambert’s theory of the case,” she said, smiling at him, “Turns out he missed a few details. Why don’t you tell us your view of it, Arruda? Maybe I can play mediator between the two of you and rule on who’s better situated to win that bet of yours.”

Arruda started leading us towards the front door as he told his side of the story.

“I thought McKeague was our guy,” he started, with a hint of disappointment in his voice. If Arruda really was just hanging around for the pension, he at least took some pride in besting his young partner. “We know they were together at three thirty on Tuesday because they missed their flight. Twelve hours later, we find the body over in Capitol Hill. So where is McKeague during that time? I’ve spent the last forty eight hours trying to figure that out. The search of the hospitals didn’t help. On a hunch, I did some property research to see if either Cormack or McKeague owned a house in the area. That’s when I found this place. McKeague bought it a few months ago.” Arruda seemed years younger as he talked. I had the feeling Lambert hadn’t been completely truthful about his partner.

“I drove over hoping to find the man at home, but not expecting much. I walked up to the front door, gave it a rap, rang the bell. Nobody comes. So I lean over this rail here and checked in that front window and saw the pool of blood on the living room floor.”

We gathered on the front porch and waited for Arruda to catch his breath from the twenty five foot walk. He continued.

“I reached for the handle and it was unlocked. The first thing I saw upon entering was the blood. Blood everywhere,” he said as we walked through the front door.

I took two steps and almost retched. The place was like the set of a horror movie. The white on white motif from outside had been brought to the interior as well. White carpet, white walls, white furniture, white in every direction. Or at least it would have been, had the entire room not been splattered in scarlet red. It looked like someone had filled a water gun with paint and took to creating some abstract piece of artwork. And, there, directly above the largest stain, was the same word, CAPITAL, scrolled in blood on the ceiling. The four of us stood for a moment taking in the scene.

I was struck by the brutality of the whole thing. The backdrop of the red stains covering the sterile white interior faded as the image of Cormack’s rigid and twisted body flashed in my mind. Was this what being a detective was like? Scene after scene of viciousness, just enough time to catch your breath from one gruesome murder before the next one beckons? And why the fuck would Remy enjoy this? Because she did enjoy it. Even as the four of us stood and thought about the crime in front of us, only one of us had a sparkle in our eye. Remy was the only one who felt more alive, somehow more human, when faced with such horrid death. I was still thinking about what made her tick as she broke the silence.

“Did you find anything in the room?”

“Nothing. This place is like a model home.”

“What about in the other rooms?”

“No, nothing. Nothing that could help us at least. There was a glass of water on the coffee table, and a bottle of prescription pills, but other than that –”

Remy started to laugh.

“What the hell is so funny?” Arruda growled.

“The pills, do you have them?”

“They were bagged.”

“Excellent job, Arruda. Seems you’ve gotten at least one thing right today,” she said, still laughing to herself, “You know, I have to thank you Watts.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because if you hadn’t pestered me into looking into the Capitol Hill matter, I would have missed out on such a fun little case,” she said.

“Fun?” Lambert said, turning to look down at Remy.

 “Absolutely. And, I’ll tell you what, since both of you were off on your first guesses as to who the killer is, why don’t you give me your second choices. Then I can tell you which is
more
wrong and the other walks away the winner of the bet. How does that sound?”

“And I suppose you have all the answers?” Lambert asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do. It was quite simple really.”

“Fuck you,” Arruda snapped.

“Ok. How about a new bet then? I’ll bet you a hundred dollars each that, not only do I know who the killer is, but I’ll personally deliver the person to you before the end of the day.”

 “You three can jerk each other off all you want, I’ll be outside.” Apparently, Detective Arruda was done wagering for the day.

“Do you really know who did it?” Lambert asked after Arruda had had exited.

“Take the bet and find out.”

“Damn it, Remy!”

“Yes,” she shot back. “From the time the two split up at the airport, until Cormack’s body was found; from the beginning until this very moment, I can see the entire thing as if I was there when it happened. And I will tell you all of it, so there’s no need to get upset.”

Lambert stood staring back at her, waiting for her to continue.

“The prescription pills, the ones Arruda found on the table, that’s your murder weapon in the Cormack case. Have the lab run tests and compare them to toxins that come back from Cormack’s autopsy. They’ll match, I promise. Your partner was actually pretty close when he blurted out that it was a suicide back at the original scene. Except, this was more of a forced suicide. I believe our man stood there and made Cormack take the poison. He probably attempted the same thing here, but found a less willing participant.”

“How?” Lambert asked, more under his breath then aloud.

“How what?”

“How can you possibly know who did it? We have all the same information; I’m more confused now than I was at the start.”

“I can see how this new murder might be disorienting, but your confusion stems from the fact that you failed, from the beginning, to latch on to the one key piece of information that really mattered. What you missed, I saw. And because of that, every additional step has thrown you more off course, where it has only solidified my hold on what I knew to be the truth.”

“What was the key piece of evidence?”

“Patience, Ian, I’ll get to that,” she said, quickly getting back to her point. “People panic when faced with too many options. Go to a restaurant and present two different menus to two different groups of guests; the first with only three choices, while the second has page after page of options. The first group will always leave happier and with better reviews, since they will feel more content with a well-made decision. The latter group will spend the rest of the night wondering if they shouldn’t have chosen another dish. You fell prey to the same phenomenon; I don’t blame you, it’s just what people do. I have faith that in time, you may learn to see through to that which truly matters, and disregard everything else. What I find amazing is that, in instances like these, it is the shear absurdity of the crime that makes it so simple to solve. Had you called me to help with a case where you found a man stabbed in the park, his wallet stolen, I’m afraid I would be no better to you than your chain-smoking partner.”

By this point in Remy’s lesson, Lambert had moved past confused and dumbfounded to steaming and pissed.

“Look, we all get it, you’re some kind of savant. You’re smarter than all of us. So stop with the lectures and tell me who I need to be looking for so we can put this guy behind bars before he kills someone else.”

“Oh, don’t worry, there won’t be any more murders. He’s finished; it was just these two he was after.”

“Who? Who is he?” Lambert asked, clearly frustrated.

“The question of
who
is definitely an important one, but the question you should be asking is
how
, as in how do we actually find and arrest him. I suspect that our killer is a very smart man, and that he’s not working entirely alone; both of which have been clearly demonstrated. If that’s the situation we find ourselves in, any sudden movement on our part will most likely alarm him and send him fleeing,” Remy said as she started to move towards the front door.

Lambert and I followed her out onto the front porch and down the steps. She spun on her heels to face us.

“Let me attempt to apprehend this man for you?” she said.

“No, absolutely not. I’ve had enough of this bullshit Remy. Look, I appreciate your perspective, I always do –”

“I know.”

“Now it’s time you let me do my job. Tell me who this guy is and I’ll take it from here.”

Remy stood on the concrete path, looking back at Lambert.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, as she turned her back on us and walked towards the street.

“Remy, I swear to God, I’ll charge you with interfering with an investigation.”

“You asked me here, Ian, how do you think that will work?” she called back, never stopping to turn around.

“Remy!”

“Ah, my cab is here,” she said, passing Arruda.

I hurried down the path to catch up. “Remy, what are you doing?” I asked once I was by her side.

“I have a very important matter to handle,” she said, smiling at me, that same coy grin I had become accustomed to seeing.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Lambert yelled. The anger in his voice had piqued the interest of his partner, who was now moving in our direction. He looked like an old trained dog, ready to attack, waiting for the slightest hint of a command.

Remy leaned into the passenger side window of the cab. “Can you come around and open my door,” she said to the driver.

I still couldn’t believe the two detectives were ever going to let her leave, but based on the way Arruda was approaching, I thought it might be better if she did. I went to open the door for her, but Remy stomped down on my foot and shot me a “back the hell off” look. The cab driver, a tall well-built man, slowly rose from behind the wheel and made his way around the car to Remy’s door. She spun around to face the three of us.