BLUE MERCY (3 page)

From the heat-tarnished chain dangled a medallion. St. Michael. Patron saint of police officers. A medal of protection.

Kay felt sick. She let the pendant drop. “Can we roll her?”

When Gunderson’s cell went off, the sergeant retreated to take the call.

“I’ll help,” Finn offered.

The bitterness of beer and bile rose to the top of her throat. Through the thin latex gloves Kay felt the residual warmth of the remains. Warmth from the flames, not life.

There was a low, sucking sound when they rolled her, as though an air pocket had been created between her back and the concrete. Black water swirled in to fill the place where Valley had lain. With his hand still on one charred shoulder, Finn propped her.

“Amazing,” he said, “how resilient the human body is, huh?”

In the glare of the lamps Valley’s hands were white, untouched by the flames that had consumed the exposed areas of her body. A yellow cord bound her wrists, and some of her clothing had also been protected: remnants of a pink leather skirt and a pale blouse. She wore no rings, no other jewelry, but her nails were long, sculpted, and polished by a salon, with glittering decals on each.

“The hands look good,” Finn said. “You’ll get prints to compare to her past prostitution record.”

Kay sat back on her heels. “It’s her.”

“How do you know?”

“The nails. Valley always had them done. She liked them long. Said they protected her on the street.”

Hell of a lot of good they did tied behind her back, Kay thought.

“And there’s this.” Kay caught the St. Michael’s medallion between her fingers again, angled it for Finn to see.

“That hers?”

“I gave it to her.”

A beat of silence, then: “I’m sorry about this, Kay.”

Finn’s discomfort radiated off him like the heat from Valley’s body. Kay had forgotten the awkwardness that came over him when confronted by genuine emotion.

Behind them, Gunderson jammed his cell into his coat pocket. “I gotta get back,” he said. “You two good here?”

Kay stood as Finn released the body. “What do you mean, ‘us two’?”

“I’m giving you this one, Kay. But like I said, this here’s a red ball, so you’re working with Finn.”

Kay caught the look that passed between the two men and knew arguing was pointless. The decision had been made before she’d ever set foot on the scene.

“Take it or leave it, Kay.”

Six years working under Ed Gunderson had taught Kay
just how far she could push the man. She got further than most of her peers when it came to Sarge, but Spencer’s death had taken the wind out of their relationship. Even though Sarge had fought for her when people needed someone to blame, when the brass needed to make an example of her, Kay would never forget the disappointment she’d seen in his eyes when he’d stood at her hospital bedside.

“I lost one good cop, Delaney,” he’d said when she’d tried to hand in her shield. “Don’t make it two.”

Kay had always wondered if there was more behind his hanging on to her. As though, in the midst of the calloused cynicism that came with working murders, she was Ed Gunderson’s last link to humanity.

She nodded.

“All right then,” he said, snapping the collar of his trench coat. “I’ll see you downtown later.”

Watching him navigate the debris, Kay knew she should be grateful. A month ago he wouldn’t have let her anywhere near the case.

She caught Finn studying her. “So, you’re the arson expert,” she said. “Tell me about this fire.” She bit down on the sarcasm too late and looked past the circle of light to the far reaches of the wrecked interior.

“Well, she was probably dead before the fire was lit.”

“And you can tell that how?”

“This scene’s got all the signs of someone trying to destroy evidence. And you can smell it.”

She took in a breath and immediately regretted it. “What exactly am I supposed to be smelling?”

“Gasoline. There’s traces of it just under everything else. He used it as an accelerant.” Finn circled to her, closing the comfortable distance between them, and pointed out the blacker areas around the body. “Our boy splashed
gas here. And here across the beam. But mostly over the body. The fire characteristically spread up from there. You can follow the path. From anywhere in the building I can show you how the fire originated from this one spot. See the
V
patterns?” He motioned to the wall next to Valley’s body.

“These show you the fire’s point of origin. And here, where the burning is deepest, you can almost make out the trail of gas he laid. Arson’ll talk to the owner, find out if there was fuel on the premises. If not, we can assume our boy came prepared.”

“A professional job?”

“Not likely. This guy didn’t try to conceal the fact that he was setting a fire. Now that doesn’t mean he didn’t know what he was doing. See, either this guy was incredibly stupid, thinking he could destroy a body with fire, or he’s got a different motive for the arson.”

Finn seemed to scan the darker recesses of the burned shell. “I’m betting he torched this place to destroy evidence. An arson scene is an entirely different ball game than anything you’ve investigated. Often you’re looking at minimal or no trace evidence. You’ve got temps of a thousand degrees ripping through here. Flames and smoke, falling debris. And then you’ve got your fire crews trampling every last square inch of the place. Doesn’t leave much chance for solid evidence. I’m guessing our guy knew that.”

“But why not make it really tough on us then?” she asked. “Why did the son of a bitch just leave her purse like that?”

“Because it’s not
her
identity he’s trying to conceal with the fire, Kay. It’s his own.”

KAY SCANNED THE DESTRUCTION AGAIN.
Finn was right. It
was
unlike any other scene she’d worked. It was foreign. Nothing here spoke to her. Nothing cried out with answers.

Her gaze stopped on Finn. It was the first time in months she’d really seen him. He looked rumpled. It wasn’t just the creased and smudged suit that his dry cleaner on Broadway would curse him for bringing in. His eyes looked tired and he needed a shave. Between his Latin complexion and his sleek, black hair pulled into the usual ponytail, he looked more like a hit man for a Colombian drug cartel than a forty-year-old, black-Irish murder cop from Baltimore.

She regretted shutting Finn out, Kay realized then. Regretted not letting him be there for her. Of everyone, Finn understood what it was like to lose someone,
and
to feel responsible for that death.

Kay averted her gaze when he caught her stare.

“Any thoughts on whether this could be related to Eales?” he asked her. “With his trial starting in the next couple weeks …”

Kay shook her head. “I just don’t see it. Eales doesn’t have the money or the brains to arrange something like this.”

Kay looked to the body.
Valley
. Almost a year ago the girl had finally agreed to meet with Kay. Out on Calvert Street, just down from the glitz and squalor of The Block, the young hooker had shivered in a halo of breath vapor as she accepted Kay’s own scarf and gloves. How many times had Kay told the girl she was doing the right thing by testifying? Assured her she’d be safe?

“Then maybe it’s random,” Finn said. “She could have been hooking again and got picked up by the wrong john.”

Kay didn’t want to believe it.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” he asked.

“Couple months, I guess. I got her a job in the State’s Attorney’s Office. Filing. Answering phones.”

“Well, hooking certainly pays better than a city wage.”

Kay hoped he wasn’t right.

“What about family?” he asked.

“There isn’t any. Mom bailed, and father died when Valley was six.”

“Adoptive parents?”

“No. She was in and out of foster homes.” Kay shook her head. “Damn it, Finn, this girl pulled her life together.”

“Detective Delaney, at long last.” Niles Fischer sloshed toward them, his assistant carrying a litter. They stopped within the circle of light, and Fischer cracked her a dry smile.

“How are you doing, Niles?”

“Complaining never got me nowhere. Seen everything you need to see?”

“Pretty much. Can you tell me anything about her?”

The ME’s investigator shrugged. “Not much. Victim was probably deceased before the fire started. Not sure how though.”

“What is that, you figure?” Kay pointed to the four-inch gash along the top right side of Valley’s skull. The thin layer of flesh beneath glared pink against the seared skin. “Is that a laceration from a blow?”

“Could be. More likely a heat rupture though. With temperatures this intense, the soft tissue splits. Especially tissue close to bone.” Fischer arranged the heavy plastic sheet around the body. “They’ll x-ray her, look for corresponding
fractures. But there’s no telling for sure till you let us get this girl downtown.”

“All right, then, she’s all yours. But bag her hands.”
I hope you took a piece of the bastard with you, Valley.
Kay turned to Finn. “Gunderson said they found her purse?”

“Yeah, over here.”

He led her through the flame-licked doorway and into the main area of the warehouse. Finn trained his police-issue Maglite across the concrete floor, stopping when its beam caught a slightly charred Coca-Cola can and what might have been foil gum wrappers. It was amazing to Kay how some areas of the building appeared almost untouched by the devastation.

“Right here.” Finn pointed. “We already bagged the purse. Looked like it had been gone through. Could get lucky and get a print.”

“Yeah, and you could win the Big Game jackpot tomorrow too.” Behind them, from the back room, the sound of the zipper on Valley’s body bag ripped the silence. Kay hated the sound.

“Face it, Kay. What we got here is a stone-fucking whodunit.”

WITH THE FIRE DEPARTMENT’S
pumpers gone, Luther Street was clogging with press vehicles and TV-satellite trucks. Kay tried to ignore the small crush of media. Several officers monitored the border of crime-scene ribbon that snapped in the breeze. Inside the taped-off corral, more uniforms scanned the ground, systematically working a grid up the side alley and the back.

“Anything?” Kay asked the closest patrol.

He shook his head, kept his eyes to the ground. She saw the end of his cigarette flare as he sucked on it.

“Hey, Slick.” She waved him over, snatched the fizzling butt from his lips, and flicked it past the yellow tape. “Don’t smoke on my crime scene, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Detective.”

In his exhale, Kay savored the traces of nicotine that hung in the damp air. It had been a year since she’d last lit up. She had Bernard Eales to thank for that. He’d put her in the hospital for a week, and during that time it had required too much effort to drag herself to the elevator, ride the car down, and limp to the main doors for a smoke. Later on, it seemed senseless to start up again.

Besides, when you’d faced death that closely, when you’d smelled its breath, there was no way the experience didn’t change you. It was natural, her shrink had told her, to want to alter things about your life after something like that. And Kay had. Smoking wasn’t the only habit she’d given up since the beatdown.

She looked at Finn, his shoulders hunched against the steady drizzle. The harsh blue strobe of a radio car’s light-bar washed his face in erratic pulses. Kay wondered how he’d been in the past few months. Seeing the outline of his body beneath the damp jacket and the creased slacks made it hard to forget what they’d shared before that nightmare on Eales’s porch, before Kay had pushed everyone away. Especially Finn.

In many ways, she missed him. But it was better like this. She didn’t want anyone counting on her again. Ever. It was good that he’d given up leaving messages on her answering machine.

“We’re not going to find any eyewitnesses,” Finn said. “There’s nothing down here.” He nodded to the dark windows
of the neighboring warehouses, broken panes, and boarded-up frames.

He was right. Luther was a narrow, potholed side street T-ing north off Boston, the main drag that swept out of Fells Point and along the eastern shore. An industrial wasteland.

Finn followed as Kay ducked under the police ribbon and crossed the street. Directly opposite lay a fenced-in lot. Twelve feet of rusted chain-link circled a graveyard of parked trailers and flatbeds, junkers and random piles of sheet metal. Kay felt an involuntary shudder as her eyes searched the murky maze of skids. Her heart skipped when metal clanged and she spotted movement back in the farther reaches. A stray dog, most likely. Nothing more.

The dark made her uneasy now. Made her think thoughts no cop on the street could afford to think. Used to be she was the first one through the door in any situation. Now she didn’t know if she could do it. Didn’t know if she’d freeze up. And she hated not knowing, hated not trusting herself. Mostly she hated Bernard Eales for stealing her courage.

She turned to study the Dutton warehouse. The three-story, crumbling structure looked hollow. Flames had licked up the east wall through the first-floor windows, blackening the brick.

“So why did he choose this place?” she thought aloud. “Was it convenient or significant?”

“It was empty. And it was isolated.”

“Yeah, and so are half the warehouses down here. Why this one?” She pointed to the alley alongside the Dutton building. “You can’t see the side entrance from the street. He had to have known it was there. That it was open.”

“Lucky guess?”

“No. The building means something. He was familiar with it.”

“Come on, Kay, we’re getting soaked. We’ll come back in the daylight. Rattle some doors. By then Arson will have something for us. We may as well get started on the paperwork.”