Bouncer (14 page)

A niggling feeling lurked in the back of her mind that Thayne, even with his classic, bright red Mustang and expensive suits, was probably in the same boat as she. Somehow, she had to finagle her way into the Monroe Country Police Department’s good graces and be taken on as a permanent consultant. Maybe between that and the independent jobs she hoped a good reputation might generate, she could make it financially. But, did Thayne have the clout she hoped would propel her out of this jobless purgatory perpetuated by Monroe’s malevolent police chief?

Thayne rang at 9:00 p.m. “I’ve had a bit of luck. Mr. McKinney at Rose World is positive thorns from a bush rose called
Mr. Lincoln
are similar to the ones extracted from Thad Fisher’s feet. Unfortunately, that rose is found in nearly everyone’s garden.”

“Let’s check again at Chester Street for
Mr. Lincoln
roses tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you around nine a.m.”

“No problem. I will also have you know that our Presideo lover is balding, thin, wears an officer’s uniform, whistles when he walks, and drives a 2002 Land Cruiser, the color black.”

“Jeez. Another ‘drawing’?”

“Nope. A legitimate source. And you?”

“Soaked in the tub, removed the fur balls from my cat’s throat, and whipped up some minestrone soup. Now I’m just watching reruns of the
Joe Millionaire
. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a hunk as cute as you.”

Thayne slammed down the receiver, and Lea grinned. He’d been hoping for a compliment. Wait until he saw what she’d dug up.

Sunday morning

The shrill jarring of her bedside phone awakened her at nearly two a.m. It was the ever-pleasant Chief Rollins.

“I wouldn’t have called you,” said the Police Chief nastily, “but I can’t get hold of Nick Thayne and thought you might know where he could be.”

“And . . . ?” she said letting the word dangle.

“We received a tip-off and found Connie Judson’s body twenty minutes ago, and it isn’t a pretty sight. I need Nick to meet me off of Highway 106 as it heads towards the Agrit-Empire’s potato fields and turn right at the first dirt road. We’re waiting about a quarter of a mile down. We’ve got a dual homicide on our hands, and unfortunately one of our best suspects has just been found pushing up some rock. You don’t need to bother showing up, as it would probably make you sick.”

“I doubt it. I’ve lived with men,” returned Lea. “We’ll be there as soon as possible.” She hung up before he could retort. While Lea suspected Nick’s whereabouts, she didn’t have the number of the young woman from the diner, so she called his cell phone and left an urgent message.

Lea parked her Mazda under a huge oak tree and walked towards the group of grim-faced men standing over a shallow grave. A large spotlight slanting downwards from a makeshift pole revealed the cordoned-off area. Fox forced herself to study the deceased woman, whose auburn hair shifted slightly in the breeze. While no blood or physical wounds were superficially evident, a horrible grimace contorted Connie Judson’s heavily made-up face.

The woman lay perfectly rigid in a shallow grave, her high-heeled red shoes standing daintily beside her as if she’d been asked to remove them. Her slender arms were duct-taped to the bright crimson dress distastefully stained by dirt and struggle. Her legs, bound together at the knees by the fabric tape, were clad in expensive stockings that were savagely ripped and shredded. One small piece of duct tape covered her mouth but hadn’t managed to conceal the horrible grimace twisting her features. Her wide-open, jade-colored eyes glittered eerily in the unforgiving spotlight.

“Where’s Nick?” rumbled the chief.

“Coming. How did you find her way out here?” asked Lea.

Randy Phelps had also been obviously roused from his bed. His haggard face glowed greenish-white in the harsh lamplight around which a hundred moths fluttered.

Officer Phelps answered for the chief, who hesitated. “We received an anonymous phone call around 1 a.m. from someone who said they’d discovered what looked like a body in the field but didn’t wish to get involved. The guy had a Hispanic accent and is likely some wetback afraid he’ll be shipped back down south if we learn who he is.”

“How did she die?” asked Lea.

Randy seemed unable to answer, so the chief did it for him. “At first, we thought maybe she’d been strangled, but there are no contusions around her throat. Whatever it was caused her a great deal agony, if her facial contortions are any indication.”

Chief Rollins pointed a pudgy finger at Connie’s left hand. “They left the same calling card as the mayor.” Her slim ring finger had been removed.

Lea quietly studied the still corpse for a long while. If the horrible sight disturbed her, she gave no outward indication, and that fact alone irked the chief to no end

“You may find this interesting, girlie.” Chief Rollins bent down and pointed to a baggie Lea hadn’t noticed before clutched in Connie’s other hand. Inside, a hairy male finger still wore its huge gold nugget band. He paused for effect. “Gruesome, isn’t it?”

“Interesting, I’d say,” was her only response.

The roar of a well-tuned engine slid up the dirt road, and out of the red Mustang stepped Nick Thayne, his hair tousled and shirt askew. He swayed slightly.

“I guess this is one way to get out of a high school reunion,” he slurred mildly to the chief, who only frowned.

“Glad you made it so Miss Whodunit can get back to her knitting.”

“So, this is Connie.”

“Yep. Used to be quite a looker.”

Nick spotted the baggie and knelt down. “Talk about orchestrated by the killer. Jeez. How’d you find her?”

“Anonymous tip.”

“Any tire tracks?”

“We’ve isolated some over there and already took some plaster of Paris castings, but they watered the field tonight so the imprints have run. Hard to tell if they’re from a picker’s truck or car. From the looks of her, she’s been here at least two days. Hey, Fox, get away from that body! Jesus, can’t you keep her on a leash?”

Lea’s fingers froze while lifting Connie’s red hair at the chief’s bark.

“The coroner coming?” asked Nick seeking to distract the irate Rollins.

“Should be here any minute.”

“May I see those tracks?” Nick asked.

Lea rose as Chief Rollins pulled Nick over to examine the tire treads. As soon as they’d moved out of earshot, she called to Randy Phelps.

“Do you have a rubber glove, Officer Phelps?”

“Of course,” he said, fumbling in his pocket.

Lea pulled it over her slim hand and lifted up Connie’s hair, frowning intensely.

“Does that look like a piece of paper tucked atop her ear, Officer Phelps?”

He squatted beside her. “Why, it sure does.”

She carefully tugged at the dirty paper less than three inches long and folded in half. Lea squinted in the glaring light and read the simple words aloud.

“
The red-nosed reindeer is next. Unless
. . .” She peered across at Randy. “Unless what?”

“That can’t make any sense. It’s nowhere near Christmas time.”

“Give me the baggie.” She ordered and slipped the soiled paper inside.

Lea examined the bottom of Connie’s feet for several seconds before noticing a scratch and puncture on the right hand side of the slain woman’s trim ankle. She’d bet her eyeteeth the wound had been caused by rose thorns. Lea took out her mini digital camera and snapped several flash photos before leaning over the corpse.

“What’s that awful smell?” Randy Phelps shook his head, unable to identify the pungent odor.

“I’m not sure, but I’ve smelled it before. You okay, Officer?”

“I’m fine Inspector Fox.” He suddenly lurched away from the scene and vomited at the dark perimeter of the crime scene. “Sorry, sorry,” the young rookie gasped.

“Stand away for a while and get control of yourself, Randy.” Lea sniffed again. The odd pungent odor permeated the woman and Lea leaned closer to the dead woman’s lips and sniffed again. “It almost smells like ammonia.”

“What are you up to, Ms. Fox?” snapped the chief placing his hands on his beefy hips.

Lea glanced up at the belligerent man. “This woman has been poisoned, and in a particularly gruesome way. Our killer left us a Christmas card. I sure hope Dr. Koh doesn’t mind an early wake-up call.”

Chapter 13

As it happened, he didn’t. Dr. Koh organized the careful bagging of the once-beautiful woman under Nick’s watchful eyes. Lea observed the proceedings silently, keeping her distance from Chief Rollins.

“You still here?” he snapped, glimpsing her in the shadows. Lea’s baggy green sweat pants hung so loosely they threatened to fall off at any moment, and she wore a faded blue t-shirt and worn trainers without socks. Her tangled nutmeg hair hadn’t been combed, and her glasses needed a good cleaning.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Chief.”

“You can take off any time. Things are well under control.”

“Are you positive about that?”

Rollins growled and cornered Thayne away from the glare of the spotlight. Steven Koh removed his thin rubber gloves and watched his assistant push Connie towards the ambulance.

“Hello, Lea,” he said gently. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

“Been steering clear of homicide. It’s bad for my mental health. I’m particularly not fond of the insects it attracts.” She pointedly glanced towards the chief.

Dr. Koh’s assistant, Daniel, deposited Connie inside the coroner’s van and signaled to Steven he was ready to head out.

“Meet me at my office. I have something I need to speak with you about.” Dr. Koh motioned to Daniel he was ready and swung his thin frame into the passenger seat.

Nick indicated he had a few loose ends to wrap up, so Lea trailed Dr. Koh’s white van to the County Coroner’s. She watched silently as he and his groggy assistant prepped the body. It didn’t take Steven long to find out the cause of death.

“See the severe inflammation of her upper torso?” Mottled scarlet patches covered Connie’s ample chest. “If you tap here, you can hear the fluid. But not just any fluid. Check out her tongue.” Connie’s normally small, pink tongue was swollen and bright red. His stoic assistant snapped a photo.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said David.

“I haven’t seen anything like it since med school. We used to work on cadavers, many of them pickled in formaldehyde. From the smell, combined with the swelling and odd color of her tongue and chest, I’d suggest she may have been forced to ingest the preservative.”

Lea shook herself. It was hard to imagine the agony Connie must have felt in her last moments.

“Why don’t you go type up your notes in my office, Lea, while I examine the corpse more closely?” Kindness was evident in his tired voice.

“Before I retreat, you had something to tell me?”

“Daniel, if you’ll give us a moment.” His sandy-haired assistant moved silently beyond hearing range.

Steven’s eyes shone coal black in the florescent glare. He removed his glasses and stared at them for a while as if reluctant to continue. “I’ve heard something about Nick Thayne that disturbs me.”

“Go on.”

“Either he’s been sleeping with the enemy or is involved in something else because he always seems to have the inside scoop. He was fired because of suspected collusion and possible receipt of bribes.”

“I know that.”

“And you still agreed to work with him?”

“
Work
is the key word. I don’t have much, remember?” She plucked at her wrinkled t-shirt dejectedly.

“Because of Rollins,” he surmised.

“And my own endearing personality.”

“I don’t think you’re so bad.”

“Then you’re the only one. As for Thayne, don’t you worry about me. I know who I’m dealing with.” She eyed the sanctuary of his office. For some reason, his close proximity made her nervous. “I noticed a scratch on Connie’s ankle, Dr. Koh. Thought maybe she had a close encounter with a rose bush like Thad Fisher.” She normally called him Steven.

“I’ll check into it, Lea, and forward the results to you as soon as possible.”

Nick scuttled in just as she departed, and Steven Koh sighed after her retreating figure.

Nick stared at the once-beautiful Connie; she was now ghostly pale and puffy, her scarlet fingernails hideous in their mockery.

“Just getting started?”

Steven Koh ignored the question. “So, you’re working with Lea Fox, Inspector Thayne?”

“Just for now. And please, call me Nick. Fox had some information on the Peebles’ case I needed. It’s a relationship bred by necessity.”

Dr. Koh picked up the baggie and felt the severed male finger through the plastic. “Her father had reopened that particular case just before he was murdered. Has she . . . spoken at all about her father’s death?”

“Not much. I know both her father and brother were murdered and hanged from a tree about 50 miles from here.”

“That partially correct. Actually three men were killed and two by hanging. The other, their assistant, John Weinberg, was shot as he waited in the car. The case, technically outside the jurisdiction of Monroe County, remains unsolved to this day. Lea had to identify the bodies. Being there and know how excruciatingly painful it was for her. Everyone she loved was murdered that night, and since then, she’s retreated into a bitter shell. Lea’s still astute and prickly like always, but definitely changed. I suggest you tread gently with her and if you ever get a chance, see if she’ll talk about it.”

“Hell, I’m no psychiatrist. Shit, I can’t even come to terms with my own personal hang-ups.”

“Well, believe me—you’re probably relatively healthy compared to her. She’s a top notch detective but tough; too tough. She’ll help you solve this case if you’ll only let her. No matter what Lea says that’s personally inhospitable or downright rude to you, just ignore it. Don’t rise to the occasion, and for God’s sake don’t let your male ego intervene in any way. She hates men on principle—perhaps justifiably so—and you’re a man’s man, which in her mind is akin to a bad virus.”

“At least I don’t seem to hold the top position for her rancor. That honor belongs to Chief Rollins.”

Dr. Steven Koh sighed as he studied the handsome Eurasian face before him. “He couldn’t or wouldn’t help solve either of the crimes that interested her most. I’ll have this report to you as quickly as possible.”

“Send it to Fox. She can plug it into her little gizmo.” Nick nodded towards the corpse. “So, you’re going to work on her now?”

“I think our Connie deserves prompt attention, don’t you?”

Nick’s cell phone screamed at seven a.m.

“Formaldehyde,” repeated Nick, grimacing as he listened to Fox’s unemotional voice. “So Dr.

Koh verified it. It must have fried her from the inside out.”

“It did. Traces of blood were found in her urine and feces indicating she didn’t die at once. Dr. Koh says it probably took about 15 minutes. The bizarre thing is that she must have been forced to ingest the chemical via a straw since her mouth and lips were not burned.”

“No wonder her eyes displayed such horror.” This was Freddie Kruger type cruelty.

Lea agreed. “Someone wanted her to die a painful death, but for what reason? Could it have been a wife’s jealous rage, or some diabolical serial murderer who removes the finger of one victim and places it in the hand of another?”

“Either could be right, Fox,” said Nick, “and my gut instinct screams that Trish Fisher had nothing to do with this murder.”

“She certainly had enough anger and motive,” mused Lea, “but I’m inclined to agree with you. Both murders reek of purpose, suggesting a serial or ritualistic killer. And let’s face it. Serial killers don’t harbor remorse after a murder, they just pick up the pace. This community won’t handle the idea of a possible serial killer on the loose well. And the note is a distinct threat. It promises more to come.”

Nick agreed. “I sincerely hope Chief Rollins can keep it out of the papers.”

The dailies served it up with breakfast.

At 10:00 a.m., Lea waited impatiently in her office for Nick, and by ten-thirty was thoroughly disgruntled by his tardiness. She made herself a strong cup of tea and opened the Sunday
Times
for her ritual review. Hand jerking, she spilled some of her Darjeeling tea right across the aggressive front page. Thad Fisher’s pudgy face, in all his mayoral glory, grinned back at her. Beside him, in a complete foil to his soft corpulence, Trish Fisher tilted a perfectly coiffed head. The headline screamed:
Mayor’s Wife Implicated in Murder—Steamy Love Triangle Revealed.

“Good God!” burst out Lea to the empty walls of her wood paneled office. “You would think this were a London tabloid, not a sleepy newspaper from some Podunk town. And how did the paper get this info so fast? It had to be Rollins!”

The article would have been hilarious if it weren’t so pathetic. Much of the story was simply he said/she said gibberish, which completely misguided the entire piece and was clearly written for effect not substance. Lea threw the paper down in disgust. One particularly nauseating paragraph suggested Trish Fisher had hired a private hit man through the mob to rub out her husband. It, of course, was followed with the clichéd disclaimer of ‘from a refusing to be named source.’

The phone jarred her from her less-than-ladylike thoughts, and she grabbed up the black receiver.

“Sorry I’m late, Fox, but I’ve got some bad news for you. Philemon Jenkins was arrested early this morning. I’m down at the police station. When can you get down here?”

“Now.”

Thayne waited solemnly at the station, his head and fingers throbbing, partially from too much drink coupled with too little sleep, but mostly from the ‘gift’ he so despised. The precinct was livelier this Monday morning than it had been in years as Fox entered through the swinging glass door. Nick grabbed her before she had time to so much as say good morning to the plump dispatcher, who was dusted with sugar powder from the massive donut she was consuming, and dragged her into a vacant conference room.

“There’s something bizarre going on here. Philemon Jenkins was arrested at home before 8:00 a.m., read his rights, handcuffed, and dragged to the station after being accused of first-degree murder. I’m positive there’s something Phil
forgot
to share with us.”

Lea handed him the paper and he scowled, growling, “Goddamn dailies. This is a fine kettle of fish.”

“My feelings exactly. You sick? You look like hell.”

“Thanks. I see you dressed up for the occasion.” Her mind-altering green outfit made him want to shudder. Unfortunately, his head throbbed too much to allow himself that pleasure.

“Thanks, it’s one of my favorites.”

Jesus! “Do you drink soda, Fox?”

“I never touch the stuff. All sugar. Did you know that teeth decays 250 times more quickly in soda than in water?” She hesitated in her condemnation of soft drinks. “That’s a mighty strange question.”

Thayne looked strangely disconcerted and shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. “Just thought you just might prefer cream soda or something. It’s nothing. So, here it is; the key reason for Philemon’s arrest was those hand clippers found in Mrs. Simms’ shed. A speck of blood has been discovered on them, which bodes ill for our gardener friend.”

“Wow, and all this
just after
the morning paper hit the street. This was preplanned, Thayne. I wonder how long before the mayor gives her prepared speech thanking the department for their speedy work. But why all the rush?”

“Chief Rollins wants this case wrapped up and us out of the picture before we stumble on something he prefers remains buried. He’s waiting for us now in his office.”

Chief Rollins looked like he’d slept in his clothes, and his icy blue eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue.

“Sit down,” he ordered, slapping down a thin manila folder before the pair. “I would have thought you’d have done your homework a sight better than this, Thayne. To tell you the truth, I’m quite disappointed in you. Disappointed, but not surprised, considering the company you keep.”

Nick ignored his tirade and scanned the first page, his almond eyes widening. He pushed the file closer to Lea.

“A convicted felon,” blurted out the Chief, “living and working here right under our noses. Not only that, he’s been connected to the Marcelli Mob in Detroit, and while the cops were never able to nab him, it’s suspected he was one of Teddy Marcelli’s elite hit men for the last twenty-five years.”

Chief Rollins reeked smugness.

“Mr. Jenkins said he worked for a major auto company,” said Nick quietly. “And I believe him.”

“Oh, he did, he did,” returned the Chief. “But that was just his cover, and a perfect one, at that. I’m amazed you didn’t at least run his fingerprints after taking his statement.”

“I agree. We
should
run the prints of anyone African-American. Just on principle, you know,” countered Nick sarcastically, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling.

“Wise ass, ain’t ya? And I don’t need a civil rights lecture from you. You missed an important fact, and luckily for us, I was smart enough to check the gardener out!”