Authors: William Bernhardt
The coroner activated a small tape recorder, then pressed a button on the wand. A blue beam of light emerged.
“What’s that?” Tomlinson asked.
To his surprise, Koregai answered. “Laser,” he muttered.
“What does it do?”
Koregai pressed the wand against the top left clavicle of the corpse. Slowly, methodically, he scanned her entire body, an inch at a time. “Theoretically, the synchronized laser light stimulates atoms so as to cause them to emit light in phase.”
“Oh really,” Tomlinson said. If the police academy covered this, he must’ve been absent that day. “And that’s desirable?”
“So I am told. It is supposed to make visible what would not otherwise be so.”
“I get it. Fibers. Trace evidence.”
“Exactly. Or fingerprints.”
“Wow.” Tomlinson stepped forward into the blue glow. “What a great gadget. It must be a tremendous help to you.”
“Hmmph.” Koregai’s gloved fingers moved the wand down the torso. “High-tech vacuum cleaner.”
Tomlinson observed the subtle note of disapproval and changed subjects. “I’m surprised this hasn’t been done already.”
Koregai paused for the barest of seconds, then proceeded with his examination. “I have already examined the corpse. Thoroughly.”
Tomlinson was beginning to catch on. “Then this rework wasn’t your idea?”
“No. Decidedly not.” Koregai’s fingers pressed against the flesh surrounding her pelvis, letting the light refract at a variety of angles. “They have become desperate, because they want this killer so badly. Unfortunately, they have no clues, no evidence. The killer is too careful. He has cleaned his victim, removed all trace evidence. That is why I found nothing before. That is why I find nothing now.”
This unwanted assignment might be a hassle to Koregai, but it was a blessing for Tomlinson. Angry, Koregai was uncharacteristically talkative. “You haven’t found anything of interest?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I just thought maybe if I knew what you knew, maybe I could find something in the field that would”—he straggled for words; obsequiousness was not his strong suit—“that would assist you in preparing your report.”
“Are you working on this investigation?”
“Uh…yes. Unofficially.”
“Unofficially?” Koregai’s forehead wrinkled, then he resumed his work. “Might as well. The official investigators need all the assistance they can get.”
Tomlinson suddenly shot forward, jarring the table. “What’s that?”
Koregai lost his balance and fell to one side. “By all that’s—” He muttered some words in a language Tomlinson didn’t understand. “I want you to leave im
med—
”
“I thought I saw something!” Tomlinson said hurriedly. “Something in the blue light.”
Frowning, Koregai returned the wand to the body. He was scanning the center pelvis, just above the pubic hair.
“A little higher.”
Koregai obediently elevated the wand. He moved it back and forth, then rotated it, letting the light sparkle and radiate. After a few more moments, he saw what had caught Tomlinson’s attention. With a small pair of tweezers, he removed a stray hair. He dropped the hair into a glass vial.
“What do you think it means?” Tomlinson asked.
“I…don’t know. Will have to run tests…”
Tomlinson could see that Koregai was disturbed. He was accustomed to being flawless. Now some stupid police sergeant had seen him make a mistake.
“Look, Dr. Koregai, I’m sorry I startled you like that. I’m sure you would’ve seen that hair in a second. In fact, you probably noticed it when you did your preliminary report. It just didn’t seem important enough to write down.”
Koregai stopped his work, shut off his tape recorder, and peered at Tomlinson. Gradually, his face relaxed; he realized a peace offering was being extended. “Is there…some way I can help…
you
?”
Tomlinson smiled. “I don’t know, Doc. Have you come across anything during your examinations of the three corpses that might give me a leg up? Something everyone else has overlooked, or didn’t think was important. It might be the most trivial detail in the world to you, but it might break the case wide open for me.”
Koregai stood for a moment, poised in thought. Without speaking, he turned back to the corpse and gently lifted her left breast with the wand. On the underside of the breast, in the blue glow, Tomlinson saw a small tattoo. It was a butterfly, with a garland of flowers across its wings.
Tomlinson knew that the coroner could determine how long ago the ink had stained the skin. “How old?”
“The tattoo is of recent origin.”
“Has anyone else seen this?”
Koregai nodded. “It’s in my report. But they don’t know what to do with it. They attempted to trace it. Without success.”
Tomlinson beamed. “Thanks, Doctor. I really appreciate it. And if you get anything on that hair, please let me know.”
Koregai bowed politely, then returned to his work.
Tomlinson raced out of the X-ray room. He wished he could follow up on this lead right away, but unfortunately there was a switchboard waiting for him and he was already late. That was all right; he’d probably have more luck after midnight anyway.
He could understand why no one else knew what to do with the tattoo. They probably classified it as a detail that could confirm a suspected identity, but was of no value in identifying an unknown.
And that’s where they were wrong. Maybe the tattoo didn’t mean anything to the hotshot detectives, but it meant a lot to Torrdinson. Especially combined with what he had figured out already.
Tonight he was going to get lucky.
B
EN WAS SLEEPING, OR
attempting to, when he felt something cold and wet brush against his face.
“What the…!” His eyes opened. It was Giselle, the huge black cat Christina had gifted him with last year. She was standing on his chest, two paws around his neck, rubbing her wet nose against his cheek.
“Maybe you don’t understand, Giselle. I already have an alarm clock. And it’s not set to go off for another hour and a half.”
Giselle wedged her furry head into the crook of his neck and purred.
“What’s the urgency? I just fed you last night.” He sighed. “Oh, very well. I might as well have a baby.”
He hauled himself out of bed, threw on a robe, and walked into the kitchenette of his small apartment.
Giselle followed along, close at his heels. Reaching into the topmost cupboard, Ben withdrew a can of Feline’s Fancy and opened it.
The distinctively fishy aroma filled the room. Giselle raised her head and looked up at Ben expectantly.
“All right, Giselle, let’s try Stunt A again.” He patted his shoulder with his free hand. “Jump.”
He waited. Nothing happened. “Jump, Giselle. Jump.” He waited. Still nothing happened.
“Giselle, the idea is for you to leap into my arms. Then, as a reward, I give you some food. There’s no reason why you can’t master these simple tricks. Now
jump
!”
Giselle padded over to her cat-food bowl, plopped her considerable weight down, and waited.
“C’mon, don’t be so lazy. Work for your dinner. Jump!”
Giselle lifted her head ever so slightly and stared at him with wide, hungry eyes. A small, pathetic mewling emerged.
“Oh, all right then.” He bent down and scraped the cat food into her bowl. As soon as he was done, Giselle dipped her head in and began to eat. The mewling converted to a soft purr.
“Yeah, well,” Ben said, straightening his robe, “we’ll work on the jumping tonight. Next time, no exceptions.” He put a Christine Lavin CD on, then, from a cabinet beside his refrigerator, pulled down a cereal bowl and a box of Cap’n Crunch. On second thought, he dispensed with the bowl and ate it right out of the box. He plucked a mildly dirty glass from the sink and poured himself a glass of chocolate milk. In one satisfying swallow, he downed half the glass, then licked the brown chocolaty mustache from his upper lip.
There was a gentle knock on his front door. Ben checked the oven clock: barely six-thirty.
He opened the door and found his landlady outside.
“Good morning, Mrs. Marmelstein.”
“I understand you have a new job, Ben.”
“True. With the legal department of the Apollo Consortium. Looks like I finally made the big time.”
She sniffed. “I guess that explains why you didn’t come by to check my books last night.”
“Ohmigosh.” Ben tried to assist Mrs. Marmelstein whenever he could by managing her business affairs, such as they were. Mrs. Marmelstein had lived comfortably off her late husband’s oil holdings—till they gave out. Her wealth had long since been depleted, but she hadn’t quite figured that out yet.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Marmelstein. I had to work late at the office last night and—”
“And I was left on my own to deal with Mr. Perry.”
Mr. Perry was the downstairs roomer, a man Ben had never met. “What’s his complaint this time?”
“He says the air-conditioning in his room doesn’t work and he’s in a twist about it. Can you imagine?”
The ingrate, Ben thought. After all, it was only ninety-five degrees yesterday. “Did you call Jack Abel?” Abel was a local handyman Ben used whenever possible to keep Mrs. Marmelstein’s repair costs down.
“No. Mr. Perry was so aggravating I decided to call a professional.”
Ben groaned. “Who’d you call?”
“Air. Professionals. They’re professionals, you know.”
Yeah, and they bill like professionals, too. Oh, well, Ben thought, what’s done is done. I’ll find some money to pay them somewhere.
“I suppose this is the shape of things to come,” she said sadly. “Now that you have this big important corporate job, you won’t have time to look after my unimportant little problems.”
“That’s not true. It’s just that I had to stay at the office so late—”
“Save your excuses. I’m sure I seem very insignificant next to those cigar-chomping fat cats at Apollo. From now on you’ll spend your days whizzing around in corporate jets and cavorting with well-endowed floozies.”
“Well,” Ben said, “I don’t want anything to do with corporate jets.”
“If I see you at all in the future, it’ll probably be in the company of your police buddy—”
Ben’s ears pricked up. “Police buddy?”
“He’ll be tramping through my garden, dragging the nasty element into this nice neighborhood.”
Ben was certain Mrs. Marmelstein was the only person in town who would describe this low-rent district on the North Side as
nice
. “What brings my police buddy to mind?”
She shrugged her shoulders lightly. “He’s outside.”
“Mike? Mike is here?” He rushed past her and started down the stairs.
She sniffed again. “Soon you won’t be able to tell the people who belong here from the pimps and the pushers.”
Ben bounded down the stairs and opened the torn screen door. Mike glared at him, looking very impatient.
“About time, Kincaid. I thought I was going to have to get a search warrant.”
Over Mike’s shoulder, Ben saw four other men, two in plain clothes, two in uniform. There were two police cars parked on the street; a red beacon swirled around, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the police officers.
“I take it you aren’t all here to escort me to work,” Ben said.
Mike shook his head. “We found your corpse.”
“Hamel?”
“That’s the one.”
“And he’s dead?”
“Very.”
“Boy, that was fast. You guys must be great detectives.”
“I wish we could take credit for this, but we can’t. Someone else discovered the body. We received an anonymous phone tip.”
“Well, however it happened, that’s great news.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Ben’s enthusiasm clotted in his throat. Why did Mike have such a grim expression on his face?
“Where did you find the body?” Ben asked slowly.
“In the alley behind this boardinghouse,” Mike replied. He pointed toward the back. “You know. Where you park your car.”
“Behind this house?” Ben found himself repeating the words, but not assimilating their meaning. “How did it get
there
?”
Mike exchanged a look with the police officers on either side of him, then turned back to Ben. “Well, the popular opinion is that he arrived in your car, given the copious quantities of his blood and hair we found there.”
Ben felt a sudden tightening in his stomach.
The large man standing to Mike’s left stepped forward. “Mr. Kincaid, I’m Chief Blackwell, Chief of Police here in Tulsa. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
B
EN GAZED AT THE
imposing figure of Chief Blackwell. He was a thick, strong man. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he spoke.
“A—a few questions—?” Ben stuttered.
“Just a few harmless inquiries,” Blackwell said nonchalantly. “You can imagine how we might be somewhat curious.”
“I want to see the body first,” Ben said, trying to remain calm.
Blackwell flipped open his notepad. “All in good time. I want to ask—”
“I don’t see any harm in letting him see the body,” Mike said. “Sir. After all, it’s just around the corner. Maybe a quick look-see will illuminate his answers.”
Mike grabbed the sleeve of Ben’s robe and pulled him through the door before Blackwell had a chance to protest. Blackwell grunted, obviously annoyed to have his authority usurped.
The alley behind the house was usually just a rough patch of gravel and weeds where Ben parked his aging Honda Accord. Today, it was a hotbed of activity such as Ben had never seen before. At least ten different officers, some uniformed, some not, swirled around the crime scene with tweezers, cameras, and magnifying glasses. Three interns had lifted Hamel’s body onto a stretcher, which they were now loading into an ambulance.
Ben stifled his natural revulsion and looked at the body. It was just as it had been when he had last seen it. There was no visible mark anywhere on Hamel or his clothes. He was just dead, that’s all. There was a certain peacefulness about him—perhaps even a suggestion of contentment. If Ben hadn’t known better, he might’ve suspected Hamel was just sleeping.
“What killed him?” Ben asked.