Fine Blue Steele (Daggers & Steele Book 4) (3 page)

Tim’s tight-lipped snarl said he didn’t.

“Very well,” I said. “Hang tight, then, Sergeant. I’ll be back.”

4

I had to wait a few moments for Steele and Quinto to finish questioning their charges, so I filled the time by pouring more coffee down my gullet, but only one cup. Any more than that and I might soon be the one in the alley relieving myself, and I wouldn’t want to ‘slip and fall’ in a puddle.

I glanced at Shay as she continued to interview PFC Chavez. The curl job my partner had inflicted on her hair had given it some much needed body, and the teal jacket she wore did a fair job of doing the same for her waist and hips.

Beautiful Shay might’ve been, but curvaceous she was not. It still amazed me how much her influence alone had changed my tastes in women. I’d always found my eyes straying to the parts of ladies that stuck out the most. Even as far back as grade school, I’d joked to my instructors that I’d rather score a pair of D’s than A’s any day. And although my love for the greatest of female organs would never fade, Shay had at least shifted my perspective. The elegance and grace of her long, lean form were second to none—although for work-related reasons, I still felt she’d be prudent to add some extra muscle to her frame.

I thought I caught a glimpse of Phillips staring at me as I stared at my partner, so I forced my eyes from Shay’s slender backside over to the female army recruit. She wasn’t anywhere near as attractive as my partner, but thankfully my peepers weren’t put to waste. As I inspected her fatigues, I noticed a few telltale signs that had previously escaped my attention. With the new knowledge in hand, I glanced at Drake and made a few more mental notes.

Eventually, Steele and Quinto returned.

“Took you two long enough,” I said.

“Apparently we’re more thorough than you,” said Steele.

“Not a chance,” I said. “I’m just abnormally efficient in processing information.”

Quinto grunted. “Unless said information is in regard to the color, size, and shape of a bathrobe that you throw on to answer the door.”

Shay snickered.

“Give it a rest,” I said. “I was half-asleep. So, give me the run down. What did Kelly and Drake have to say?”

“Well,” said Steele as she crossed her arms, “Kelly’s story goes something like this. She and Drake went out for drinks last night at the suggestion of Sergeant Holmes, who thought it might be a good team building exercise.”

“Squad,” I said. “But go on.”

“What’s the difference?” asked Steele.

“I have no idea,” I said. “But Tim does. You could talk to him if you want the details. I don’t recommend it, though. He’s not super friendly.”

Shay raised an eyebrow. “Right. Anyway, Kelly says they all had too much to drink and stayed out way too late. At the end of the night, they started to head back to their base and stopped at this alley because Sergeant Holmes had to pee. Holmes went into the alley, and she and Drake waited here at the mouth. Then they heard a thump and went to investigate. Apparently, Tim had fallen. They helped him up, but as they did so, a crazy guy—” She pointed at the corpse. “—ran out of the dark yelling and screaming. They tried to get him to slow down and make sense, but he bounced around like a pixie in a pickle jar before eventually collapsing in the mud. They tried to resuscitate him, but without success.”

I nodded to Quinto. “And what did your guy say?”

“The same thing, basically,” he said.

I snorted. “Well, at least they were smart enough to get their story straight before talking to us.”

“I take it you don’t believe them?” said Steele.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “Have a look at Sergeant Timmy over there. He has a gash above his eye that requires medical attention, and that bruise on his cheek is going to look spectacular in a few hours. In addition to that, he moved as if he got put through a meat grinder. Now, you tell me. A big, strong guy like that…you think he suffered those injuries from a fall?”

“Not unless he fell off the roof of this thing.” Quinto jerked his thumb at the tall, leaf-topped building at our backs.

“Exactly,” I said. “Steele, you’re observant. Did you notice anything about Kelly? Was there anything she didn’t mention?”

“You want the emotional or the physical?” she asked.

“Um…why not both?” I said.

“She’s pissed,” said Steele. “Part of it is her personality, I think. She seems like a no-nonsense kind of gal—which she’d have to be as one of the army’s first female recruits. But there’s something else there, too. A resentment. And pain—but of the emotional variety.”

I recalled Steele’s first day on the job. Her attitude, her hard exterior, her fiery demeanor. As the precinct’s first female homicide detective, she’d carried a similar burden on her shoulders as PFC Chavez. I could only imagine the pressure she felt. Proving one’s own worth was hard enough, let alone trying to carry a flag for an entire race or gender at the same time. Hopefully, Quinto, Rodgers, Cairny, and I had lightened the load for her somewhat through our evolving friendships.

Steele continued. “On the physical side of things, she has a couple tears in her fatigues. One on the side of her shirt, another on the inner thigh of her pants, which she was trying her best to hide. And she’s missing a couple buttons.”

That’s what I’d been looking for, though I’d only noticed the buttons and the tear in her shirt. “Now, I don’t know a ton about the army, but I do know they’re sticklers for proper dress. I can’t imagine they’d stand for sloppiness of that nature. Quinto, what can you tell me about Drake?”

Quinto shrugged. “He’s quiet. Reserved. Didn’t seem particularly comfortable talking to me.”

“I was looking for more physical cues,” I said.

Shay answered for him. “He’s bruised, too. Hard to see under his beard, but it’s there. And his hands are swollen.”

“Right,” I said. “Now take another look at our formerly-breathing vagrant friend on the ground here. Remember what you said about how he died?”

“By blunt force trauma,” said Steele.

“You see where I’m going with this?” I asked.

Steele nodded. “Yeah. I was more of less coming to the same conclusion myself.”

I eyed Quinto. He looked back at me blankly, then at Steele, who gave him a double eyebrow raise.

The big guy eyed my thermos, which stuck out of my coat pocket, and frowned. “Her, I’ve come to expect this out of, but you, Daggers? What in the world did your guy use to brew your drink?”

“Just coffee beans, to my knowledge,” I said. “But that’s enough. It’s a miracle drug, I swear. Want some?”

“No thanks,” he said. “I’ll settle for an explanation of whatever it is you two are thinking.”

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s assume much of what of what our three GIs said was true. But what if, instead of Tim heading into that alley to pee, it was Kelly who had to go instead. Or perhaps they all had to go, but Tim and Drake went first and Kelly second.”

“Which brings us to the dead man,” said Steele. “I think we’re all in agreement he was a vagrant. Chances are he lived in this alley, or at least spent last night here. Then he sees Kelly wander in. Alone. She drops her pants, and his baser instincts take over. He tries to cop a feel, or perhaps worse. I’m guessing the latter, based on the tears in Kelly’s clothes. But Kelly fights back, and she screams, bringing Tim and Drake running.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Her two buddies figure they’ll teach the bum a lesson, so they start to wail on the guy. But he’s big, and they’re drunk, and he fights back. The sexually deviant hobo gets a few good licks in on Tim before the tide starts to turn. And now Tim and Drake are
really
pissed, and they go to town on the guy. Deliver an epic beating. A little
too
epic.”

Quinto rubbed his chin. “And the guys dies. Yeah, it’s plausible for sure. But it’s just a theory. We’ll need solid evidence if we want to put a case together.”

“Well it sounds as if there were other witnesses,” said Steele. “They may not have seen what happened, but they may have heard something. And there’s the issue of a murder weapon…”

I nodded. “Yeah. Cairny might be able to prove otherwise, but it does look like they beaned the guy with something.” I drummed my fingers on my chin. “Maybe we should check the alley? If there’s a weapon, it could still be there.”

Steele and Quinto voiced their agreement, and we wandered into the dimly lit muck.

5

Back in the halcyon days of my youth, the city embarked on a fairly serious campaign to rid New Welwic of homelessness. Tens if not hundreds of thousands of crowns were raised through new taxes and private donations to help solve the problem, but in the grand wisdom of political groupthink, it was decided that said monies wouldn’t be used to fund meal centers, half-way houses, and vocational facilities where the homeless could learn skills that would help them feed and house themselves. Instead, the crowns were spent in the hire of teams of roving mercenaries who would impound the homeless, load them onto carts, and drive them into the countryside where they’d be unceremoniously dumped.

The plan had only a couple minor problems. The first was that the homeless, despite their excessive quantities of hair and dubious aromas, were a crafty folk. They realized they had appendages attached to their hips, known as legs, that would allow them to walk back to the city. The second problem was that the city hall-sanctioned thugs roaming the streets realized their pay would cease as soon as the hobo infestation cleared, so they began to drop off the impounded bums closer and closer to the city to ensure their continued employment.

Of course, the city eventually caught word of the scam, so they cancelled the program altogether, which only made things worse because the majority of the mercenaries then joined the ranks of the homeless.

I wrinkled my nose as I walked into the alley, greeted by the ever-too-familiar aroma of stale urine. It was at times like these I wished the city’s efforts to eradicate the homeless had succeeded, but then again, if our nation’s finest couldn’t even be counted on not to relieve themselves against lonely brick walls, what did it matter?

I heard a rustling, and a couple street people at the far end of the alley made themselves scarce, darting into a cross street. I grunted. We might have to round them up later. One of them might’ve seen or heard something of significance.

At my side, Shay dropped to one knee to inspect a wall. A mask of impassiveness shadowed her face, which was no small feat given her sense of smell was notably better than mine.

“I don’t think you’re going to find the murder weapon embedded in that abandoned bar’s exterior grout,” I said.

Steele ignored my jab. “Seeing as we’re dealing with red brick, I’ll forgive you for not noticing, but there are blood splatters here.”

I leaned forward to get a better look, but I honestly couldn’t make out a thing. I did notice a patch of dirt at my feet that seemed darker than those surrounding it, though. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Shay leaned over to a scuff mark on the wall and gave it a rub with her thumb. I walked over to a collection of trashcans, where I found Quinto standing, staring at them, with his hands on his hips.

I clapped the big guy on the back. “Ah, the joys of police work. Am I right, old friend?”

“Yeah,” rumbled Quinto. “Nothing gives me more joy than sifting through piles of stinking refuse in search of bloody instruments of death.”

I grabbed a can and tipped it over, spilling its guts all over the alley floor.

“Hey, Steele,” I called. “You going to come over and help?”

“Sorry,” she said, her voice oddly melodious. “I’m busy with these scuff marks at the moment. Besides, my elite observational abilities would be wasted digging through trash.”

I couldn’t see her face as she had it pressed against the wall, but I was sure she sported a malicious grin.

Quinto snorted and adopted a similar smile as he dumped another can’s contents on the ground. “I think she means our skills, on the other hand, are ideally suited to rifling through garbage.”

“Hey, I can live with that,” I said. “It means I have job security. There’s always a demand for guys like me. Guys willing to get dirty in the line of duty.”

I dug Daisy out of the interior of my coat and gingerly used her to poke through the trash, making sure to keep my fingers clear of the gross rubbish.

Quinto shook his head. “Have you ever looked up ‘hypocrite’ in the dictionary?”

“There aren’t any pictures, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I said. “I learned that early on in life while looking up ‘gullible.’”

The big lug nodded at my nightstick. “How’s Daisy feel about being used in such denigrating fashion?”

“She knew what she was getting into when I liberated her from that construction site all those years back,” I said. “Besides, it’s not the worst thing she’s been subjected to.”

“Creepy,”
said Steele in a high, undulating voice.

Right. I shut my yapper and kept sifting. Amidst the refuse, I found plenty of the usual: old newspapers, spoiled food, a few tattered rags that might’ve once been clothes, crumpled flyers for local bars and peep joints, and a rat that was very much alive and unhappy about its current housing situation. But there were also some oddities: the cracked remnants of a ceramic vase, a bent metal plate that looked as if it had served one too many tours of duty, and a fair amount of ashes, either from wood or charcoal. The latter wasn’t particularly odd, except for the fact that the spent fuel emitted an interesting aroma. A floral one, and not unpleasant. Considering the alternative, I didn’t complain.

Quinto finished sifting though his share of the garbage, and despite his mockery, I’d noticed he’d primarily used his feet.
Who’s the hypocrite now, big guy?

“Find anything?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. “You?”

I shook my head. “Not unless you count the remains of this vase, and I don’t think Tim or Drake asked their assailant for a break, dug around in the trash for an urn, smacked the hobo over the head with it, and then stashed the scraps.”