A Simple Act of Violence (64 page)

The man had been bound tightly, his hands and feet behind him, the rope pulled taut so his back was arched. Some sort of covering had been put over his head, but this had charred and degraded with the heat of the fire, and what remained of his face was visible. A rictus expression of the most horrendous pain. His teeth were bared, his lips burned away, much of his nose gone, his ears and hair sort of glued together in a dark matted clump of blood and tissue that had appeared to settle across one side of his head and then dissolve down his cheek. The protection offered by the trunk itself had meant that instead of burning, the man had baked to death within. Nausea rose in Miller’s chest and throat.

Many of the kids had run away. The leader of the group stood there, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Two or three times he started to say something and then he just closed his mouth and said nothing at all.

Miller took out his cell phone. He dialled Roth, told him where he was, what he’d found. Roth asked him how he’d known, where the information had come from. Miller said he’d call later. Miller then called the Second, told them to get someone from the coroner’s office down there. Lastly he called Marilyn Hemmings directly.

‘Detective Miller,’ she said.

‘Hey there . . . I was gonna call—’

‘No you weren’t.’

‘Sure I was—’

‘What do you want, Detective Miller?’ Her tone was cool, a little dismissive.

‘I need your help, Marilyn . . .’

‘Again? What am I? The Detective Robert Miller Appreciation and Support Society?’

‘I got a body down here, burned to fuck in the trunk of a car, and I need an autopsy done now.’

‘Now? It’s getting on for five o’ clock on a Saturday evening . . .’

‘I know, I know . . . but this is really important.’

‘I’m very sure that it is really important, Detective Miller, but where I have agreed to be at seven o’clock this evening is also really important. After forensics have done whatever they need to do out there I wouldn’t even get the body until nine or ten o’clock, and that’s at the earliest.’

‘Can you come later . . . could you come in later? You know . . . after you’ve done whatever you’re doing at seven o’clock, could you come back and do this thing?’

Marilyn Hemmings was silent.

‘Marilyn?’

‘What the fuck is this, Robert? Who the fuck am I? You think I’m here to attend to your whims as and when you feel like it? This is my job, sure it is . . . but I’m off-shift at five-thirty, and then I’m going out, and when I’m done going out I’m planning on going home, and it’ll be late then so I’ll have some herbal tea and answer my e-mails and go to bed. That’s what I do, Robert . . . at least that’s what I’m planning on doing tonight, and no, I don’t have any interest in dragging myself back to work at ten or eleven o’clock tonight to look at the burned corpse of some poor bastard who got locked in the trunk of a car . . .’

‘Marilyn . . . Marilyn, I really need your help with this—’

‘Leave it alone, will you? Have the night shift guys do it. Who’s on tonight?’ Hemmings turned away from the mouthpiece and shouted for Tom Alexander. ‘Tom? Tom? Who’s on tonight?’

Miller heard Tom Alexander speaking in the background.

‘Urquhart, Kevin Urquhart. He’s as good as any of us. He’s on all night, Robert, and he can do your party favors for you, okay?’

‘Marilyn, seriously. I need this done by someone who knows what’s been happening here. This is a big deal to me, a really big deal, and I need your help.’

‘And why the fuck should I, Robert? Tell me that. Why the fuck should I go out of my way to help you yet again . . . seems to me you’ve gotten me into enough trouble already, and I really don’t know why—’

‘Are you pissed off at me because I didn’t call you?’

Marilyn Hemmings laughed - suddenly, abruptly. ‘I’m not having this conversation, okay? I don’t want to have this conversation with you.’

‘I’ll call you later,’ Miller said. ‘I’ll call you when the body’s back at the coroner’s office.’

‘Do whatever you like, Robert . . .’

The line went dead, and as Miller began wondering if he could have possibly managed to handle the situation any worse he was interrupted by the sound of vehicles, the sound of a siren, the flashing of lights as two unmarked cars and a coroners’ wagon started down along the road at the edge of the tenement block.

The kids scattered, all of them except the leader, and when Miller looked at him he smiled his five-thousand dollar smile and shook his head.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Down here, man . . . hell, we might be fucked up, but least we don’t barbecue our people in their fuckin’ cars, you know?’ and then he turned, and before Miller could speak he too was gone.

Eight forty-eight p.m. forensics released the body to the coroner’s office. Miller had spoken with Roth once more, had told him that it was best he stayed out of it, that if anything came of it he would let him know. He was aware of the relief in Roth’s voice. Miller did not call Lassiter, did not relay a message to ADA Cohen. For now he wished for no-one but himself to be aware of the connection between John Robey and a burned-out Dodge Diplomat in the projects. There was also the fact that the forensics report on Natasha Joyce’s apartment had never been forwarded. He began to wonder if there had in fact been a forensics examination at all.

It was Greg Reid who called Miller, asked him where he was, what he was doing, whether he could make his way down to the forensics complex. Miller said he could, that he’d be there by quarter after nine.

Reid met him in the annexe corridor, indicated that they should walk down the side of the building and go in through the rear doors. Miller didn’t ask, didn’t need to ask; he knew that Reid would not have called him unless there was something of significance to relay.

He showed Miller into a laboratory in the furthermost wing, directed him to an examination table, on it some fragments of something, beside them a plastic evidence baggie with something unidentifiable inside.

‘This is not good,’ Reid said quietly. Even as he spoke he looked nervously toward the door through which they’d come.

Miller didn’t reply. His expression was all the prompting that Reid needed.

Reid snapped on a latex glove, and then with a pair of tweezers he lifted one of the small fragments from the examination table. ‘This,’ he said, ‘was found around the neck of the victim . . . as far as I can tell it was originally orange.’ Reid lowered the fragment to the desk, set the tweezers aside, and then carefully lifted the baggie. ‘In here, this small melted mess of whatever, is a collection of similar multi-colored items—’

He looked up at Miller.

‘Ribbons,’ Miller said calmly.

Reid nodded.

‘Same composition?’

Again Reid nodded in the affirmative.

Miller looked around for a chair.

Reid joined him, the two of them seated beside one another in silence for a good three or four minutes.

‘Who knows?’ Miller asked.

‘You do.’

‘When do you file your report?’

‘I have a week’s backlog already.’

‘Anything in the car or on the body that indicated who he might have been?’

‘Nothing in the car could have survived. Just luck that those fragments of ribbon weren’t ash already.’

‘Did you do the Joyce apartment?’

‘Another team,’ Reid replied.

Miller felt the agitation in his lower gut, the blood in his temples.

‘How did you know about the car?’ Reid asked.

‘I got a call.’

‘From?’

‘Anonymous.’

‘Was it him?’

Miller shook his head. ‘I don’t know who it was . . . they disguised their voice.’ He did not look at Reid; he was not a good liar, and he knew Reid would see right through him.

‘So what do you want me to do?’ Reid asked.

‘Do what you ordinarily do . . . though if you can handle your backlogged reports first it would be appreciated.’

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Reid said. ‘I’m supposed to handle the backlog in date sequence anyway.’

‘Appreciated.’

‘So what are you going to do now?’

‘Gonna try and get Hemmings to do the autopsy.’

‘Keep it in the family, eh?’

‘Meaning?’

Reid shook his head. ‘As few people as possible that are involved in this the better.’

Miller looked at Reid quizzically. ‘Why d’you say that?’

‘’Cause this is someone else’s Watergate isn’t it?’ he said. ‘This really is someone’s nightmare coming home, don’t you think?’

‘I was hoping not,’ Miller said. ‘With everything, I was hoping it wouldn’t be the case.’

‘You still working on it?’

‘Not officially, no.’

‘Unofficially?’

‘That’s the second question you’ve asked me that you don’t really want to know the answer to.’

‘Sure I do,’ Reid said, and he smiled sarcastically.

Miller rose to his feet.

‘Good luck, eh?’

‘Don’t believe in luck,’ Miller said.

‘Maybe you should start.’

 

Miller called Marilyn Hemmings at ten after eleven.

‘I’m at home,’ she said.

‘Tell me where you live . . . I’ll come pick you up.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘Your office.’

‘Is Urquhart there?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘So get him to do your autopsy . . . I’ve been out. I went for a meal and had some drinks. My hands aren’t as steady as they should be. Besides, what the hell does that even matter, I’m not at work. It’s nearly quarter after eleven. Leave me alone.’

‘Marilyn . . . I need you to do this one. I need you to do this for several different reasons, and I wish I could tell you what they were but not over the phone. Let me come and get you and bring you over here, okay? I need to know who this guy is—’

‘Tomorrow—’

‘I might not have tomorrow—’

‘Oh come on, don’t give me that shit. What kind of melodramatic crap is that, huh?’

Miller was taken aback. ‘I don’t know what I did, Marilyn—’

‘You don’t know what you did? You’re not listening to yourself are you? You don’t know what you did? How about theft of evidence or collaboration to withhold evidence . . . how about employing a city official to assist you in the theft of evidence . . . how about that for starters?’

‘Look, I know . . . I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to put you in this situation, but right now there are only about three or four people who really have any kind of an idea about what’s going on here and I have to keep it that way. I cannot allow this thing to get out, Marilyn. I’ve had the entire case taken off me by the Feds—’

‘You what?’

‘You didn’t know that the FBI are now running the entire thing?’

‘No. God, when the fuck did that happen?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘So . . . what? So, what you’re actually telling me is that you’re off this case but you’d like me to come in and do an autopsy anyway, an autopsy on someone who might very well be directly connected to the case that you’ve just had taken from you by the FBI?’

‘As it stands they are not connected, Marilyn—’

‘Is that the same way the last favor you asked of me was not connected to this case, or is this some other way it’s not connected?’

‘Okay,’ Miller said. ‘We haven’t even been out and already we’re fighting . . .’

‘This isn’t a joke, Robert.’

‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to be a joke. I’m just a little puzzled why you’re so upset with me.’

Marilyn Hemmings said nothing for a moment, and then she sighed audibly. ‘How bad is this thing?’ she asked.

‘I don’t want to speak on the phone, Marilyn, I really don’t. It’s late. I’m sorry for troubling you. I’ll get Urquhart to do it.’

‘Are you in trouble . . . I’m asking now, seriously, Robert, are you in some kind of trouble?’

‘I don’t know, Marilyn . . . I really don’t know what we’ve got here.’

‘Do you know . . .’ She paused. ‘Hell, what am I thinking? It’s after eleven. God almighty, Robert Miller, the shit you have gotten me into . . . I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ll be there in half an hour.’

She hung up before Miller had a chance to reply.

 

Miller waited for Hemmings in the foyer of the building. Without authorization he was not permitted access to the coroner’s laboratory. As she walked down the outer corridor toward him she did not look up. She seemed subdued, and when she took him back of the reception zone there was something amidst the myriad ways she looked at him that told him that she was angry. With the situation yes, but more than that she was angry with him.

‘I don’t like this,’ she said coldly. ‘I have done something that I should not have done. Now you’re calling me in out of hours. What do I do, Robert? Do I log my hours and then come up with some sort of explanation as to why I’m here at this time of night, or do I say nothing, file the report, and then wait for someone to put two and two together and come and ask me what I was doing here. I saw Urquhart. I told him I’d left something behind. That sounds good, eh? Oh, yes, I left something in my office, so important I came in after eleven. And while I was here I figured I’d do everyone a favor by doing an autopsy while I had a few moments.’

Miller didn’t speak.

‘Where did you find the car?’

‘The projects.’

‘Same as the black woman?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then they’re connected.’

‘Assume so.’

‘And this anonymous call you got . . . it wasn’t anonymous was it?’

Miller shook his head.

‘Was it him?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re telling me that you’ve been taken off of the case, the Feds have assumed complete control over it, and you’re not reporting this to them.’