Falling Into Place (15 page)

“Yes, do you know her?” Father Thomas said. “A lovely woman. She’s been running our grief counseling program for the past few weeks. Very good turnout. People seem to really like her. I hope she can bring some comfort to Mr. Sheppard.”

“I do too, Father,” Mancini said. “Thank you. We appreciate your help. If we need anything else, we’ll be in touch. Have a blessed day.” The two detectives walked down the aisle toward the exit of the church. “I take it you’ve read the CSU report since I saw you last?” he whispered to Crawley.

“Yeah, it’s weird, right? Ava Vazquez is somehow linked to Emily’s death and now her mom is reaching out to Kurt? What do you make of it?” Crawley whispered back.

“We both stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago. At least, as they pertain to murder investigations. Something is going on here.” They opened the doors and walked out into the sunlight. “We need to find Kurt right now. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.”

“You and me both, partner,” Crawley agreed.

Mancini and Crawley coordinated and briefed all the other police officers at the church about Kurt. Despite it not being an official police emergency, the brotherhood of blue was more than happy to help out their comrades in arms. Crawley called in a BOLO to alert all units in the vicinity and Jeff supplied a picture from happier times he kept on his cell phone. Then the two partners began their own search, starting at the Vazquez home. No one was home. Yolanda’s neighbors admitted they hadn’t seen her for a few days. They searched for Kurt Sheppard all afternoon, stopping at all his usual haunts: his home, Cooper’s Ale House, Brian’s Tavern and any other place that occurred to either of them. They came up empty. No one had seen him.

Having exhausted any and all ideas, and with nowhere else to go, the two detectives were sitting on the steps outside the Sheppard home as the sun set in the west. They’d bought some dinner from a local Chinese restaurant and two cold beers from the bodega on the corner. Mancini and Crawley sat there eating, talking, and trying to take their minds off this bitch of a case. A half hour later, both their phones suddenly went off simultaneously, which they knew from bitter experience was never a good sign. A quick call to dispatch told them to return to the precinct immediately and they were off like a shot. They rode in silence, each trying to shake the feeling that something terrible had just happened. Upon arriving, Caroline Mooney met them outside the building. She had a look on her face Mancini had only seen twice before in his life.

The first time was during his first month on the job when he assisted at a burning building in the South Bronx. The building couldn’t be saved so he saw dozens of families watch their entire lives go up in flames, the looks on their faces indelibly etched in his mind. The second time he saw that face was just a few days ago when he accompanied Kurt to identify Emily’s body in the morgue. It was a look of total despair, of loss so profound the mind couldn’t cope with the emotion of it all. Caroline Mooney now wore that visage.

“What’s the matter, Caroline? What happened?” Mancini asked, his genuine concern for this woman all over his face.

“I – I – She’s gone, Jeff. I’m so sorry,” Mooney replied. “I don’t know how this happened.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Who’s gone?” Crawley asked before his partner could.

“Emily,” Caroline said, barely audible. “Her body. It’s gone.”

“No! Oh God, No! How?!” Jeff screamed as he ran into the precinct, Crawley following closely behind. When they got to the morgue, they found Sasha Montgomery and the CSU techs searching for clues. Mancini stood in silence, his head spinning once more at this latest turn of events. Sasha turned to the two detectives.

“Gum, where’s Maggie? Is she okay?” Crawley frantically asked, cutting in front of Mancini.

“We don’t know,” Montgomery said. “She wasn’t here when the theft was discovered. We’ve tried her cell but it goes right to voicemail. Either she’s missing or...”

“Or what? What? You think she did this? You think she
could
do something like this?” Crawley screamed. “No fucking way you pin this on Maggie! We need to find her! She could be in trouble or hurt or...or...oh, God, no. Please, no.” Crawley suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

“How could this happen, Sasha?” Mancini asked, his voice weak.

“We’re trying to figure that out, Jeff,” the sergeant replied. “There are no extraneous prints, particulates or evidence at all. Someone couldn’t just waltz into a police morgue and take a body without leaving a trace. We checked the surveillance video and it was...well, it was...honestly, I don’t know what it was. You’ll have to see it for yourself.”

Ten minutes later, Mancini, Crawley, Mooney and Montgomery were huddled around the desk of IT technician and police officer, Victor Nieves. He cued up the video from the morgue to the proper time and waited for the go-ahead.

“This is set up to begin about 5 minutes before it gets weird,” Nieves said nervously.

“Just show us,” Mancini said, irritated.

Nieves clicked his mouse and the video began. The surveillance cameras didn’t have audio so the five police officers watched in silence, the only sound filling the room their own staggered breathing. Maggie Brelan sat at her desk, working on her computer in the morgue alone when she was distracted by something. She reached into her pocket and retrieved her cell phone. After a conversation of no more than 20 seconds, she moved to the compartments where the dead bodies were stored and opened one. She removed the body of Emily Sheppard and, with the help of a gurney, moved it to the main autopsy table. She checked the upper torso for a few minutes, paying specific attention to the baseball stitching from the autopsy performed by Caroline Mooney three days ago.

“What is she doing, Mooney?” Crawley asked caustically. Nieves paused the playback.

“I’m sorry, Crawley, but I have no idea. There is absolutely no reason for her to be working on that body,” Caroline replied. “We were waiting for word from the family as to where the body would be sent: a funeral parlor or for cremation. That authorization would not have come to her cell phone.”

“So she’s obviously up to something shady? Is that the implication, Mooney?” Crawley said through gritted teeth.

“Caroline didn’t say that, Kev. Calm down. Nobody is accusing her of anything,” Mancini said, putting his hand on his partner’s shoulder. He whispered in his ear, “Keep it together, man. We’ll figure this out.”

Crawley looked at Mancini and his face softened. He nodded. “Okay, sorry. Let’s get on with it,” Crawley said to the room. Nieves started the video again.

After another few minutes of examination, Maggie removed the shroud covering the body, balling it up and placing it in the proper container. She removed the toe tag and placed it in her pocket. The morgue assistant then stood in the center of the room and looked around hesitantly, as if going over a checklist in her mind. Finally, she went back to her desk, retrieved her purse and left the morgue. The IT tech paused it again.

“The hallway cam shows Miss Brelan taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as she leaves the building. It’s logical to assume she simply went out for a smoke break,” Nieves stated, hoping to ease the tensions in the room.

“Are there cameras outside the building?” Crawley asked.

“None that cover the smoke area,” replied Nieves. “However – and don’t shoot the messenger here – Miss Brelan is not seen on any camera after leaving and never comes back into the building from any entrance. I checked.”

Crawley snorted derisively at the tech. “That doesn’t prove a God damn thing,” he muttered to himself.

“Is this what you considered so weird, Caroline?” Mancini asked.

“No, not even close. Keep watching,” Mooney replied, deadly serious.

The video began again. For long moments it showed nothing but the nude, lifeless body of Emily Sheppard. It was a slow form of torture for Jeff Mancini, forced to stare at his friend like that. It was almost more than he could take, so Caroline took his hand, innately knowing he needed support in that moment.

As the five officers stared intently at the video feed something truly unexpected happened. Emily’s body disappeared! It was there one second and gone the next.

“What the fuck just happened?” Mancini yelled, pulling his hand away from Caroline’s.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Mooney replied. “It’s like some kind of horrible magic trick.”

“Has the video been tampered with?” Jeff asked frantically.

“No, sir,” Nieves said. “I’ve been over it front to back. There is no way anyone tampered with the surveillance tape. She’s just there one moment and gone the next.” “That’s fucking impossible,” Crawley said.

“Obviously,” Sasha said. “There has to be a logical explanation. This isn’t Harry Potter where magic and invisibility cloaks are the norm, but I’ve never even heard of something capable of doing this.”

“Even if the technology existed, why would someone use it to steal a dead body?” Mancini asked rhetorically, his right hand nervously rubbing his forehead. “As if this case wasn’t fucked up enough. Now it’s gone to Twilight Zone levels.”

“I know, right?” Montgomery said. “It’s beyond bizarre. How can we be looking for a possible serial killer who can not only drive a car or enter a room without leaving any evidence behind but now seemingly also has the ability to make bodies disappear? It’s friggin’ crazy.” Her words hung in the air as the group of officers struggled to come up with an even semi-plausible explanation for what they’d just seen.

After a few moments, Sasha picked up a file folder from Nieves’ desk and handed it to Mancini. “Not to change the subject but maybe we all need it right about now. Anyway, here’s something decidedly not crazy.”

“What is it?” Crawley asked.

“We finally got the results back on the trace amounts of petroleum I found in the mud from Emily’s car,” Sasha said. “Turns out it was airplane fuel, specifically gas used for small prop planes. Victor here narrowed down the possible locations to 9.” Montgomery slapped Nieves on the back.

Mancini looked over the file for a moment before saying, “and I’ve just narrowed it down to one. St. John’s Cemetery in West Babylon. That’s where Ava Vazquez was buried.”

“The key word being
was,
” Crawley added.

“Let’s go, Kev,” Mancini said “Maybe this time we’ll get some answers.” Mancini headed out the door. Crawley followed close behind.

It was after 9 p.m. when the detectives arrived in West Babylon, which meant the cemetery was closed to the public. St. John’s was located on a desolate stretch of road linking two major thoroughfares, but traffic was minimal at that time of night. It was Crawley’s suggestion to sneak in, just in case the killer was still using the cemetery as a base of operations. No sense alerting him to their presence by causing a scene at the main entrance, he reasoned. Mancini parked his unmarked police cruiser outside the west gate and the two of them used the hood to scale the 7-foot fence that surrounded the grounds. They decided to begin their search at the grave of Ava Vazquez.

As they walked slowly through the dimly lit graveyard, Crawley tried texting Maggie. Mancini covered his partner’s cell with his hand as he said quietly, “Dude, let’s not send up a flare, okay?”

“Sorry, man. I’m just out of my mind about where she could be,” Kevin whispered back, putting the phone back into his pocket. “I swear, if this is what it’s like to care about someone, it sucks. No, thank you.” He gave Jeff a half-hearted smile.

“I don’t believe that for a second, Kev. When you love someone, you do whatever it takes. It’ll all work out, you’ll see,” Mancini replied, trying to buoy the other man’s spirits. “At least, until you manage to screw it up somehow on your own.” Crawley kept oddly quiet, not even acknowledging Jeff’s attempt to lighten the mood.

Mancini had no time to dwell on it as they came over the last crest to the left of Ava’s gravesite. He recognized the wide headstone which stated:
Here lies Ava Vasquez, Beloved Daughter. Taken too soon.
Both men soundlessly drew their weapons as soon as they saw someone standing near the grave. Quietly, they worked their way down the hill and stopped behind a large tree about 40 yards from the unknown figure. Mancini used hand signals to inform Crawley to circle around a mausoleum to their right, while he took a more direct approach.

“NYPD! Don’t move!” Mancini yelled as he trained his weapon center mass on the shadowy figure’s back. The detective could see the gravesite was dug up, the empty coffin plainly visible within the hole.

The figure turned toward Jeff with hands raised. As she lifted her head, Mancini saw it was Yolanda Vasquez. She said in a quiet, steady voice, “This is where you promised to get justice for my Ava, Detective Mancini. You were standing right where you are now when you swore you would bring peace to her soul.”

“Mrs. Vazquez? What are you doing here?” Mancini asked, dumbfounded.

“Do you remember your promise?” Yolanda asked calmly.

“Of course I do. I’m trying to do that right now,” Jeff said. “Now tell me why you’re here and where is Kurt Sheppard?”

“I’m right here, Jeff” came a voice from behind the detective. He twirled around and there, standing in the shadows of a large oak tree, was his oldest friend in the world, Kurt Sheppard.

So relieved he was okay, Mancini rushed to his friend and hugged him. “Kurt! Thank God. I’ve been looking for you all day. What happened to you?” It was then that Jeff noticed Kurt wasn’t hugging him back, simply standing there motionless with his arms at his side. That’s when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

“Drop your weapon and move away from Mr. Sheppard, Detective Mancini,” Yolanda Vazquez said, calmly but firmly.

Jeff did as he was instructed, “Why are you doing this, Yolanda? This is insane.”

“No, Detective. Insanity is putting your trust in someone who pretends to care. Insanity is believing the false promises of a man like you,” Mrs. Vazquez replied with no hint of emotion in her voice. “Isn’t that right, Kurt?”