Authors: Erica Spindler
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
11:05 a.m.
S
pencer looked at Patti. “What? You know who this is?”
“Tonya Messinger. It has to be. Yvette's friend, the one she said was missing.”
She hadn't been fabricating.
“Tonya who?” Tony asked.
Patti ignored him and looked at her watch, expression concerned. “I've got to go. Keep me posted. Every detail.”
“Go?” Tony frowned. “Captain, with all due respect, this is too big for you to step back from now.”
“I agree,” Spencer said. “Seems to me you need to call an end to your
leave.
I suspect full support will be available now.”
Tony looked at Spencer. “Support for what?”
He went on as if Tony hadn't spoken. “If this really is the work of the Handyman, Franklin's off that particular hook. And you know what that means.”
The chief would be out his jailed suspect. And be anxious to land another.
It changed everything.
“I'll think about it,” Patti said. “Yvette's still the best lead we have. And I made a promise to keep her safe.”
“We can do that better as a team than you can alone.”
“Keep who safe?” Tony asked, confused.
“Like I said, I'll think about it.”
Patti started off; Spencer stopped her. “I'm going to need to question her.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, you will. I'll make certain she's available.”
He watched her walk away, then turned back to Tony. “I suppose you'd like me to cut the crap and tell you what's going on.”
“I'd appreciate it, Slick. Now would be good.”
Spencer filled in Tony as best he could, skimming over facts that would prove troublesome for Patti. If Tony suspected he was still being partially bullshittedâwhich he probably didâhe was a good-enough friend not to say so.
When he'd finished, Tony said, “You need to question Borger.”
“Absolutely.”
“Mind if I ride shotgun?”
“It'll be like old times.”
They left the scene to the techs and coroner's reps. Once buckled into the Camaro, Spencer dialed Patti. “Tony and I are on our way. Where are you?”
“Yvette's apartment,” she answered.
“Twenty minutes,” he said, then hung up.
He dialed Elizabeth Walker next. “Big news. We've got ourselves a new Handyman victim. Or what appears to be one of the Handyman's.”
“You want me to evaluate the amputation?”
“Give the lady a gold star. When can you be here?”
“Three hours. That's the best I can do.”
“Call me when you're thirty minutes out. I'll meet you.”
He hung up and Tony sent him an amused glance. “What did we do before cell phones?”
“Don't know, man. Lived like animals.”
Tony chuckled. “Speaking of you being an animal, have you called Stacy yet?”
“Patti probably did.”
“Way to weenie out. She should hear it from you.”
He hadn't spoken to her since she moved out, a fact Tony was aware of. “What about my manly pride? My dignity andâ”
“Jackass stupidity? Seems a bit of crow-eating might be in order.”
Spencer scowled at him. “You suck, you know that?”
Tony laughed. “Just my opinion, Slick.”
Grumbling to himself, Spencer opened his phone and dialed Stacy. “Hey,” he said when she answered.
“Back at you,” she replied.
“I wanted to let you know, looks like you and Patti were right. Tonya Messinger turned up dead today.”
“Where?”
“Lower Ninth. Shot twice. Right hand severed.” He heard her sharply indrawn breath. “Yeah, things just got freaky. I'm on my way to interview Yvette. Patti's with her.”
“What are Patti's plans?”
“Don't know yet. What're yours?”
“What do you hope they'll be?”
Spencer angled a glance at Tony, who saw it and grinned.
“Tell her you love her,” Tony said. “That you're a jackass and want her back.”
“Is that Tony?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Being a jerk. I'll keep you posted.”
Patti buzzed them into the courtyard, then met them outside Yvette's door. “What's the latest?” she asked before they even cleared the threshold.
“Talked to Elizabeth Walker. She's on her way. Asked her to call me when she was close. I'll meet her at the morgue. The techs are finishing processing the scene now. They're giving this top priority.”
“Good. Anything else?”
They shook their heads, and she led them into the living room. There, they found Yvette huddled in a corner on her couch.
“Hello, Yvette,” Spencer said. She didn't reply and he introduced Tony. “This is Detective Sciame.”
She flicked her gaze over him, then went back to staring at the wall.
“I'm sorry,” Spencer went on. “I know she was your friend.”
“I told you,” she said, meeting his eyes, tone accusing. “You didn't believe me.”
“No,” he admitted, “I didn't. But I do now.”
“You called me a liar, Detective.”
“I did. I'm sorry.”
“Sorry
so
doesn't cover it.”
“I understand. I need your help, anyway.”
“Fine.” She drew her knees tighter to her chest.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything about the Artist.”
“You mean all the stuff I already told you and you didn't believe?”
“Pretty much.”
She looked frustrated but did as he asked. Everything she told him, he had heard before. It began when she received a love note from someone calling himself the Artist. She received four in all, one containing five hundred dollarsâthe exact amount of money Marcus owed her.
“Tonya delivered the note. She saw the money and I confided what was going on. She recognized Jessica from the picture in the paper and also remembered that some guy had sent similar notes to her.”
Patti stepped in. “Tonya was already missing when I came on board. Judging by what we saw today, she was most probably already dead.”
Yvette brought her hands to her face. He saw that they trembled. “It's my fault,” she said. “She tried to help me. Now she's dead.”
“It's not your fault. You didn't kill her.”
“I wish I could believeâ¦if she hadn't agreed to help meâ”
“But she did,” Patti said firmly. “Let's not let this bastard get away with it.”
“When's the last time you heard from the Artist?”
“Tuesday the eighth I woke up and found a note he'd left.”
“In your apartment?”
“Yes. And a locket.”
“A locket?” he repeated, frowning.
“Tonya's. Her picture was in it.”
“Just hers?”
“Yes.”
Spencer and Tony exchanged glances.
“I know that's weird, but maybe she broke up with some guy, got rid of his picture, but kept the necklace.”
Spencer frowned slightly and looked at Patti. “Tuesday the eighth. Wasn't that the date you began your leave?”
She said it was, and he turned back to Yvette. “And you haven't seen or heard from him since?”
Patti answered for her. “No. Not here or through the club. I have the locket and note.”
“I don't feel so good,” Yvette said, jumping to her feet.
They watched her hurry from the room. Spencer glanced at Patti, saw her concern. “She okay?” he asked.
“She does that a lot. It's starting to worry me.”
“What about security tapes from the Hustle?” Tony looked from Patti to Spencer. “Could be our guy's picturedâ”
“Already been down that road,” Patti said. “They flip 'em every thirty-six hours. Besides, Tonya was the only one who knew what this guy looked like.”
“And she's dead.”
“What's our next move?” Tony asked.
“Twenty-four-hour protection for Yvette,” Patti answered. “We get Captain Cooper's okay to make Stacy's living arrangement here official. Get a team to Messinger's condo. I want it searched, pull out all the bells and whistles. We also need a positive ID on Messinger. See who you can find. Family, boyfriendâ”
“Borger.”
“Too involved.”
“She might have a record,” Tony offered. “That'd put her prints on file.”
“Check it out, ASAP. If so, talk to Hollister. See if he can get a couple good prints from her.”
Spencer looked at Tony, who grinned.
She glowered at them. “What?”
“Kinda bossy for a person on leaveâ”
“âa person who's too stressedâ”
“âdare we say overwhelmedâ”
“âto perform her duties.”
“Can it, clowns. Captain Patti O'Shay is officially back in the saddle.”
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
2:00 p.m.
S
pencer stood in the doorway to Patti's office, watching her. With a series of phone calls, she had spoken to the chief and was officially back in charge of ISD, had arranged round-the-clock protection for Yvette, gotten Stacy “officially” installed as Yvette's roommate and ordered an investigative team, which included Tony, to Messinger's condo.
She was, quite simply, amazing.
“Glad to be back under your command,” he said. “Even if I'm pissed at you.”
“Sorry, but I had to play it the way I did.”
“You didn't trust me.”
“I'd trust you with my life. But I won't jeopardize your career.”
“That's not for you to decide.”
She smiled slightly. “And that, Detective, is bullshit. I'm your immediate ranking officer and your aunt. I would never take advantage of my position that way.”
“I'm still pissed.”
“I can live with that.”
His cell phone went off, keeping him from retorting. “Detective Malone.”
“It's Elizabeth Walker. I'm thirty minutes out.”
“Great, I'll meet you at the morgue.”
The morgue had not been built with comfort in mind. No warm, fuzzies here. Just stainless-steel tables and work stations, cold tile floors and refrigerated cadaver drawers.
The job brought Spencer here way more than he liked. Frankly, even after all these years on the force, the place still gave him the creeps.
He and Elizabeth arrived at the same time. “Thanks for dropping everything and coming in,” Spencer said, falling into step with her. “We've waited a long time for another crack at this guy.”
“Fill me in.”
“Woman. Dead four or five days. Shot. Right hand MIA.”
They entered the building and crossed to the attendant. Though the woman recognized them, she asked for ID.
“Here to examine the Jane Doe brought in today,” he said.
“Which one?”
“Lower Ninth ward.”
She nodded. “Sign in. I'll tell Chris you're on your way.”
In his twenties, Chris was tall, thin and pale. His communication skills ranked up there with those of a rock, and Spencer decided he spent way too much time with dead people.
“She's right here.”
The process was extremely efficient. Chris rolled the examining table into the refrigerated room where the bodies were stored on stainless-steel, racked trays. The trays rested on rollers and the shelving was totally adjustable, which allowed the bodies to be stacked, basically, one on top of another.
As they watched, Chris raised the table until it was the same height as the fourth shelf, then rolled the tray out onto it.
On the tray lay Jane Doe's remains, zipped nice and neat into a black body bag.
“Where do you want her?”
“Under the lights, please,” Elizabeth answered.
She snapped on gloves, crossed to the table and adjusted the surgical lamp. “Before I left, I took a minute to review my findings on the City Park Jane Doe and the original samples. I brought my notes and photos. Let's see what we've got.”
She unzipped the bag. Her expression didn't change; her attention went immediately to the amputation site.
He left her to work and wandered over to where Chris sat inputting data in a computer. “Kind of quiet down here.”
“Deadly dull,” he shot back, snickering at his own joke.
Autopsy room humor.
“Detective?” Elizabeth motioned him over. “You're not going to like me very much. But there's a good chance this is the work of a different killer.”
He had called her for confirmation, thought they would get it and move forward with the investigation. Instead, he was left feeling as if the rug had been yanked from under his feetâagain.
“Talk to me,” he said, hearing the frustration in his own voice.
“First, this killer used a much less effective tool. Maybe a small garden saw or even some sort of kitchen utensil.”
“He was in a situation where he had to use what was available.” Even as he offered the explanation, he discounted it. The Handyman had planned his acts carefully, not leaving things like tools to chance. That much had been obvious.
Elizabeth went on, expression sympathetic. “This cutter was obviously uncertain of himself. Look here.” Adjusting the light and magnifier, she used clamp tweezers to draw what was left of the tissue away from the bone. “See those marks on the bone? They're false starts.”
“In your opinion.”
She lifted her gaze. “My expert opinion. Yes.”
“What else?”
“The amputation shows no skill, the cutter just sawed and hacked away. The City Park Jane Doe's was slick, very professional.”
Spencer frowned. “A couple of the original samples displayed the same unskilled cuts. Could be he's gotten rusty in the past couple of years? That along with not having his usual quality equipment, could account for the clumsiness, couldn't it?”
“It might,” she conceded. “But here's the kicker. I think this killer's left-handed, not right.”
This just got worse and worse.
“Sorry, Detective, just calling it as I see it.”
“Show me.”
She retrieved seven photos from her briefcase and spread them out on the nearest work station. “Here are photos from all the previous victims. These first three represent the ones we assumed were the Handyman's earliest attempts. Notice the false starts.”
“Just like this victim.”
“Yes, but with one difference. Do you see it?”
He studied the images, frowning. “You're the expert, you tell me.”
“Here, the cutter pulls the saw from left to right. That's evidenced by the depth of the cut, where it starts and how it finishes. Let's look at today's victim again.”
Spencer saw what she meant right away. “Dammit!”
“Sorry. Really, I am.”
He searched for an explanation. “Could this be bogus?”
“I don't understand.”
“Could he have used his left hand even though he was right-handed?”
“That would certainly explain some of the clumsiness. But why?”
“To throw us off. To make us question whether he was the Real McCoy or not.”
“Anything's possible, Detective. Although I think it's a stretch. On many levels.”
“Such as?”
“Keeping in mind that my specialty is bones, not behavior, the human animal is one who falls back on the automatic or innate.
“Being right-handed or left-handed is innate. The killer would need an incredible amount of control to consciously use his âwrong' hand, especially during a time of elevated adrenaline or excitement.”
She was right.
In addition, serial killers were creatures of ritual. The Handyman took his victim's right hand. He would do it exactly the same way each time, refining the ritual as he went. The act, the way he played it out, was meaningful to himâemotionally and intellectually. Often sexually gratifying as well.
So what now? It didn't mean Tonya hadn't been a victim of the Handyman, but it certainly wasn't the slam dunk they had expected.
“When can you have an official finding?”
“I'll coordinate with Ray. Certainly within the next couple of days.”
He nodded. “Until then, can we keep this between us?”
“Absolutely.” She frowned slightly. “What's going on?”
“I'm not sure. But this is an especially sensitive case, and I want to make certain all my ducks are in a row before I present anything to the brass.”
Elizabeth agreed and stayed behind to catch up with the pathologist; Spencer headed to his car. As he slid into the Camaro his phone vibrated. It was Tony.
“Pasta Man,” he said. “I was just going to call you.”
“Great minds, Slick. Got news. Jessica Skye's family has been located. Small town in Alabama. Daphne. They've not heard from her since before Katrina.”
“Have they tried to find her?”
“Got the sense that wasn't high on their priority list. Apparently Jessica and her family weren't on great terms, though her mother sounded really shook up when I asked if she'd be willing to look at a photo, see if she thought it was her daughter.”
The forensic sculptor's reconstruction.
“She agreed to do it?”
“She did. I contacted the Daphne PD,” Tony went on. “Promised me they'd do the honors as soon as they received a jpeg image of the reconstruction.”
“I'm heading in now, I'll do it. You got a name?”
“Detective Fields. You want the number?”
“I'll look it up. How's the condo search coming?”
“Progressing. So far, nothing's jumped up and bit me in the ass. The techs are applying Luminol now.”
The chemical mixture, when sprayed on areas where blood was suspected but not seen, reacted with iron in the hemoglobin and fluoresced. Many a criminal thought he had expertly mopped up the scene of the crime, only to be tripped up by Luminol.
“By the way, there's a photo of Messinger on her bathroom vanity wearing the Tonya necklace.”
“It'll do until we can get a positive ID. I have news, too. Messinger may not have been killed by the Handyman.”
“You're shitting me, right?”
“Wish I was. Dr. Walker found some major differences between the old amputations and this new one. The most stunning, she believes the original samples were made by a right-handed killer, this one a left-handed.”
“You going to tell the captain this happy news?”
“Actually, I was going to let you.”
“Fat chance, Slick. You're family, she won't kill you.”
Before Spencer could argue the truth of that, Tony hung up.