Authors: Teri Riggs
“That was a
bu
st
.
The DNA from her nails didn’t match any at the NCIDD. The DNA results on the semen aren’t back yet.”
Wilder was tapping a pen on his pile of papers. “So it looks like we’re still waiting on results for Wendy Prentice’s nail scrapings and the semen found on both bodies.”
Kennedy blew on her mug and watched a small swirl of steam float away. “I’m guessing there won’t be any matches.”
“Jack-Off is right. We’re going to need a suspect to compare the DNA with.”
Kennedy set her coffee down and wrote notes on a few of the index cards piled on her desk, and then added the new cards to the murder board.
Wilder added the same notes to the murder book.
“And since we’ve got practically zip so far, we’re going to have to check out the murder scenes again.”
“I’d rather eat dirt than go out in this heat again.” Wilder took a final gulp of his coffee. “This guy’s a cocky bastard. His testicles must be the size of bowling balls. He’s got to be pretty damned sure he’s never going to get caught. Why else would he leave his DNA dumped all over?”
Kennedy raised an eyebrow. “Or he’s damn stupid. Either way, I’m not impressed. And, we’re going to take him down. Then we’ll see how big his balls are. I’m guessing they’re the size of a piss ant’s. Hell, he probably is a piss ant. What other kind of man murders women after he just paid to have sex with them?”
“You got a point. We might need a freaking magnifying glass to find his nuts.” That comment won him a smile.
Heat
shimmers rose from the pavement as Kennedy and Wilder canvassed the alley and surrounding area where Liz Clayton’s body had been found. They’d already taken another look at the garage where the second vic had been found. They were hoping to find clues or witnesses to the murders of either woman—or preferably both—they might have missed on their first pass through the crime scenes.
“There’s nothing we missed.” Wilder wiped at the sweat trickling down his neck. “We were pretty thorough the first time. So was CSU.”
“There’s got to be someone, somewhere, who saw something.”
“We had a few witnesses step up with information on Liz Clayton’s murder. The leads just didn’t pan out.” He took a final swipe at his neck and tucked his hankie back in his pocket. “You never know, someone may come forward. We’re still beating on doors, looking for anyone who might have seen Wendy Prentice and who she was with right before her murder.”
Kennedy paced back and forth in front of Wilder. “Damn. Where are all the busybody, nosey-ass, interfering people that are always hanging around when you don’t need them?” She threw her hands up. “What? Do we have the plague or something?”
His lips curled in a wide grin. “What we have is worse than the plague. We have shields.” He tapped on the badge clipped to his belt. “The job sucks sometimes. But hey, if it was easy, anyone could do it.”
She stopped moving. “That’s really deep. Bet you spent some major brain cells on that bit of philosophy. Was it painful for you?”
“Eat shit, Kenny.” He pulled out his handkerchief again and wiped at a new river of sweat rolling down his neck.
“You have such a way with words. Almost poetic.” She kicked at a candy wrapper, before reaching down with her gloved hand and picking it up. No telling how many people had been through the alley since the dead body was found. It was a long shot, but you never knew; it could be from the killer, maybe have his prints or something. And maybe it’ll snow in Vegas later today.
“Yep, I have many gifts. I try to share them with you mere mortals as often as I can. Helps control the jealousy factor and the Wilder-wannabe’s. Lord knows there are plenty out there.”
“Must be tough, having the hordes idolize you.” Kennedy laughed along with her partner as she dropped the candy wrapper into an evidence bag, and sealed it. “I can easily see how—”
Kennedy’s cell interrupted her. “O’Brien.”
Wilder
watched as Kennedy listened intently to the caller on the other end of the phone, nodding her head. He wondered if she was even aware her head was bobbing up and down as if the person on the other end of the line could see.
“That was Grandpa. He wants me to drop by the nursing home... oops... I mean the ‘Boys Club’, for a visit. He’s got a few ideas on the prostitute murders.”
“How the hell does Tommy know what’s going on with our case? We don’t even know what’s going on yet.”
She held up her hands, palms out, and shrugged. “You know how Grandpa is. He knows everything, and if he doesn’t have the latest scoop on what’s up, one of the other retired cops will. Even if we were to pull all our informants together, that group of retirees would each have more connections and snitches feeding them info than we do.” She added the evidence bag to her purse. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had more contacts than all of Metro combined. The ‘Boys Club’ is a machine. A little computer spitting out data faster than rabbits can multiply. The department should think about using the old guys as unpaid consultants instead of ignoring them.”
Wilder couldn’t agree more. “Bring it up to the Lieutenant or Sheriff Taylor sometime. See what they think.”
“I know exactly what Sheriff Taylor would think. He’d never ask Tommy or the other guys for help. If it isn’t his idea, it isn’t a good one. Taylor’s a good cop, but he likes to be the only ‘idea man’ in the department.”
Wilder nodded. “Taylor is a control freak.”
“Lieutenant Hazelwood, on the other hand, would jump on it. The man’s done his time on the streets. He knows how valuable a good informant can be.”
“I agree with you again.”
“Of course you do.”
“Do you mind if I tag along? I haven’t seen Tommy since last month’s wake for Jon Miles. Hell of a wake, that one was. I drank so many brews that night, I was still pissing beer foam three days afterwards.”
“Yeah, it was a fine wake. I think we all drank a wee bit too much.”
Wilder saw the distant look in her eyes, followed by a slight smile, and knew she was remembering too.
She said, “Now it’s my turn to agree with you.”
“Don’t sound so shocked. Most people do agree with me.” He wiggled his brows.
“Jon would have liked the grand send off the guys gave him, all the crazy reminiscing. They’re going to miss him.”
“He was one of them, the elite retired.”
Kennedy stopped so suddenly, Wilder almost knocked into her. “Their stories were exaggerated, weren’t they?”
Wilder smiled. “Greatly exaggerated.” “Good to know.”
They returned to the car.
“Grandpa gets impatient if I keep him waiting too long. He says at his age he never knows how long his thoughts will keep or if he’ll be alive long enough to tell me.”
Wilder snorted. “Sounds like something Tommy would say.”
“He says he’s going to get one of those watches with a built-in tape recorder to store his brilliant ideas as he comes up with them. He tried using a notebook to jot down his thoughts, but swears he could never remember where he kept it.”
“Definitely something Thomas O’Brien would say.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
TOMMY O’BRIEN HAD BEEN LIVING AT THE RETIREMENT HOME FOR THREE YEARS, MOVING IN RIGHT AFTER KENNEDY’S GRANDMOTHER HAD PASSED AWAY.
He swore to anyone who would listen that he loved living at the ‘Boys Club’, as he insisted it be called.
He’d told Kennedy many times, “My Irish ass will never be put in an old age home. I’ve still got my service revolver and I still know how to use it.” Then he would smile and say, “Of course, I’m not opposed to moving into the ‘Boys Club’. Retired cops gotta stick together.”
A decent sized group of retired cops, eleven after Jon went on to that big precinct in the sky, lived at the ‘Boy’s Club’, and within six months of moving in, Tommy O’Brien had become their unofficial leader.
The ‘Boy’s Club’ was a vast pool of knowledge and experience all tucked in together at one address. Kennedy was never too shy to tap into that pool when she was on a case. Even if she didn’t ask, she got the free advice anyway.
The ‘Boys Club’, aka The Shady Arms Adult Living Community, was nestled in the middle of six small shade trees on twenty acres of desert just outside the city. Because of the drought, a ban on landscape watering was in force and the leaves on the trees were brown and drooping.
“Jeez,” Kennedy said as they pulled into view, “The shade trees are drying up faster than Old Mother Hubbard’s ovaries.”
“Old Mother Hubbard’s ovaries? I’m impressed, Kenny. Sometimes you almost seem like you have a sense of humor.” He smiled at her. “I guess this place will have to change its name when the trees finally die from heat stroke.”
“A cactus survives in this kind of God-awful heat a whole lot better,” Kennedy said as they pulled into the center’s circle drive.
“They could change it to Cactus Arms Adult Living Community. Kind of has a ring to it.”
“I guess I don’t have a sense of humor after all, because I didn’t think that was funny.” She got out of the car and headed towards the center’s entrance. Wilder blew raspberries behind her back.
They walked through the large, wood and glass front door, and she marveled at the fresh, clean smell of the place. No piss smell like most nursing homes had. The décor was nothing to do a happy dance over, but it was bright, uncluttered and clean. And the place had cable TV. Three hundred and fifty-two channels of cable TV. Something she didn’t have at her apartment. Something that wasn’t in her budget right now.
The furnishings were updated and comfortable. There were no plastic covers on the chairs and couches. The dining room tables always had fresh flowers on them. To the left, just past the dining hall, was Grandpa’s favorite room. The game room. He spent hours in there playing poker and bullshitting with the rest of the guys.
And that’s where Kennedy and Wilder found him. He was elbow deep in a hot game of poker with four of his aging cop buddies. From the look of Grandpa’s large pile of poker chips and the smile on his face, he was winning big time. Kennedy cleared her throat, caught his attention and he motioned them over.
“Okay, you old farts,” Grandpa said to his buddies. “Time to pay up. I’ve got business to take care of now that Kennedy’s here.”
He held out his hands, palms up, and wiggled his fingers. The four men he’d been playing with each pulled fifty cents out of their pockets and, grumbling, plopped the quarters into his outstretched hands.
“Let’s not be such sore losers. Remember, you can’t take it with you.” He winked at her. “It’s why you never see a luggage rack on top of a hearse.”
“Hi, Grandpa.” Kennedy wrapped her arms around her grandfather and squeezed. He was the only person she hugged or permitted to hug her, with the exception of Wilder, who was allowed an occasional hug, strictly off-duty.
“Hello to you, my lass.”
She loved the Irish lilt in his voice. Her own Irish accent deepened a little in response. “Don’t you feel a little guilty taking money from your friends?”
Sarcastically, he said, “Yeah, lass, I’m mortified that I’m beating the ever-lovin’ beans out of them in a poker game. The guilt is killing me.”
“Always a tease, aren’t you Grandpa?”
“Why, lass, it’s what makes my life worth living. The only thing that could make me happier is if you would let me order one or two of those blow-up girlfriend dolls off the Internet. Va-va-va-Voom!”
“You’re crazy, Grandpa. Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made me blush like a little girl.”
“Hey, lass, who’s this old fart shuffling in behind you?” Tommy squinted until his eyes looked closed and then opened them wide again. “Why I do believe that’s Wilder. By God, it is!” He stood, shook hands and then patted the younger man on the back. “Where’ve you been hiding out, Wild Thing? I ain’t seen your ugly puss since you got so damn shit faced at old Jon Mile’s wake. And a fine wake it was.”
Wilder shot back, “I recall that you were a few sheets to the wind that night too.”
“Like you could remember anything from that night.” Tommy’s chest puffed out. “I handled myself quite well, as usual. I’m a manly man, you know.”
“Tommy, I could drink your ass under the table anytime and you know it.”
Kennedy grinned as the only two people on Earth she cared for teasingly tried to out-man each other. She had to raise her voice to be heard. “The testosterone in this room is choking me to death. It’s so thick, I’m having trouble breathing.” She forced a few short coughs. “Testosterone poisoning.”
The two men looked at her.
“You are both so full of bullshit!” Kennedy patted Grandpa on the back. “You’ve got some information on my murdered prostitutes, or better yet, have you solved the case for me?”
“Nope, I haven’t solved it yet, but give me a wee bit more time. I got me a guy, who knows a guy, who’s been hearing some stuff from the friend of another guy on the street.”