IT LIVES IN THE BASEMENT (5 page)

Understanding what Pepper was implying, neither Reames nor Carter choose to respond.  However, Waltham blurted, “Shit, those other wetbacks probably ran like hell.  We’ll never learn who stayed here last night.”

Pepper said softly, “No, I don’t mean them.  I meant we can’t find his, er, private parts anywhere.”  With a sly smile, she lowered her eyes to below his waist.

Waltham said, “You mean someone cut off this guy’s coc--
.”  He stopped, blushing, staring at Pepper Kaslowski.

With a smirk
, Pepper said, “That’s right Sergeant, all his male equipment.  I’m not sure if they were cut off, but they sure aren’t here anywhere.”

Suddenly feeling very old, Lt. John Carter sat heavily in a chair next to the dirty, littered kitchen table.

Becoming professional again, Pepper continued.  “Well, I guess we should do a house to house and see if we can nail down anyone who was here last night.  They couldn’t have gone far, it’s too damn cold.  It looks as if they took their clothes and other belongings and left fast.  If our time of death is correct, the guy died about 2:00 or 2:30 am, so I doubt the immediate neighbors saw them leave.  But there are so many Mexicans around this area, we might luck out and find at least one.  C’mon Rickerman, let’s get going.  Okay, Captain?”

Reames no
dded, so the four Uniforms hurried out, stepping around the puddle of vomit on the front room floor.  The three Detectives in the kitchen heard one of the Uniforms mumble as he went out, “Christ, Waltham.  What a mess.”  Waltham’s face reddened.

Tiredly Carter asked, “Ray, why did you want me here?  This murder can’t have any connection to Flynn’s disappearance.  It
almost looks like a ritual or cult killing.”

Crossing the dirty kitchen floor, looking out the equally dirty, curtain-less, backdoor window, the Captain answered
, “I don’t know, John.  This is the same address.  I guess, I hoped you’d see something we weren’t.”

Waltham said with disgust, “Shit
.  There’s nothing to see in this pigsty but that mutilated body in there.”  Shuddering with revulsion, thinking they might have a pyscho on their hands, he asked, “Why would anyone want to rip off his cock and balls?  I’ve never heard of this before.  Shit.  There’s a hole big enough to stick this coffee cup in.”  He stared down at the cup in his hands.

The front door banged open and two men
wearing heavy, white coats barged in, pulling/pushing a stretcher cart.  “Coroner,” yelled one of the men.

“In here,” Waltham said waving, then added, “Watch out for the puke on the front room floor.”

But one of the men had already stepped in the vomit, and the gurney wheels were rolling through it.  The man mumbled a few curses as he wiped his shoes on the thread-bare, ugly, brown carpet.

Unlike the O
fficers still at the scene, the men from the Coroner’s Office didn’t seem bothered by the sight of the mutilated body, as they rolled it into a plastic body-bag and zipped up the gray bag.

Anticipating the question, Captain Ream
es answered, “Put Carols Doe on the tag, case #63145.  That’s all we have so far, and we want the results ASAP.  Okay?”

Writing on a tag, the first orderly wired it to the bag’s zipper, as he said, “All we do is pick em’ up and drop em’ off, Captain.  You gotta talk to the ME about autopsies.”

The second orderly asked, “No body parts?”

Reames gave a curt shake of his head, lips compressed.

The man exclaimed, “Wow.  Looks like you guys got a nutcase here.”

Maneuvering the gurney out the kitchen, the fir
st man theorized, “Probably flushed em’, Hank.  Who’d want em’ for souvenirs?”

The one called Hank answered at the front door, “You never know man, you just never know nowadays.  I remember one –.”  Then all the Detectives could hear was the banging of the gurney as the wheels thumped down the ice-covered steps.

Daylight had crept in.  Peering out the backdoor window, Reames could see footprints leading away from the house.  “Looks like maybe five or six people ran out this way.”  Turning back toward Carter, he told him, “I’m going back to the office, John.  I want to talk with Sergeant Alvarez.  He knows a lot about Mexican rites and rituals.  Who knows, maybe this murder is a ritual killing for some off-the-wall cult.”  As he started to leave, he asked, “Should I leave the coffee for you?”  When Carter nodded, the Captain handed him the silver flask, winked and left.

Waltham complained, “He really gave us a shit case this time, John.  I doubt we’ll ever make heads or tails of this mess.”

Not acknowledging his partner’s grumbling, Carter sat, sipping his coffee, reading the two reports lying on the kitchen table.  The first report, from the crime-scene lab, indicated that several hundred fingerprints were found, many of them from the victim.  The remaining fingerprints would never be matched other than through sheer luck.  The second report was from Pepper Kaslowski’s notebook.  In her efficient way, without being asked, Pepper had made a duplicate of her report in her even, delicate handwriting, to leave with the Detectives. 

Good girl, he thought, Good cop too.

A loud banging noise alerted the two Detectives.  Looking into the front room, they saw Rickerman come into view, struggling with a short Mexican man who clearly didn’t want to be in the house.  Rickerman pushed the young man into the kitchen, who immediately stared at the bathroom door, eyes wide with fright.

Standing the Mexican up against the fridge, Rickerman asked, “Should I cuff him, sir?”

With raised eyebrows, Carter asked, “What’s up?”

“Well, as Pepper and I went next door, this guy and an
other man took off out the backdoor.  I caught this one ‘cause he fell on the ice.  Kaslowski’s chasing the other man now.  Even as fast as she runs, I doubt she’ll catch him.  These guys can really run, Lieutenant.”

As if to prove Rickerman wrong, the backdoor slammed open with a blast of arctic air that immediately removed whatever warmth had accumulated.  Shoving her way through the doorway entered Pepper Kaslowski, cheeks flushed, hair in disarray, holding the arm of a big man
, handcuffed and bleeding from his nose.  “Got him, Rickerman.  This guy sure can run.  I tackled him or he’d have gotten away.”

None of the male Officers mentioned the blood dripping from her captive’s nose, as she lined him up next to the first guy.

“They speak any English?” Waltham asked.

“I speak,” answered the man Pepper had tackled.

Carter noticed the big man’s eyes never strayed from the bathroom doorway.  “Were you here last night?”

“No, Senor.”

Pointing, Carter asked, “Was he?”

“No, Senor.”

Observant as always, Pepper asked him, “Then why are both of you staring at the bathroom?  Want to go in there awhile?”

Th
e answer was quick. “No.  Madre.  Ask Maria.”  The man spoke so fast, to Carter it sounded as though he spoke one word.

Pepper asked, “Who is Maria?”

In a hushed tone, staring at the floor, he said softly, “Carlos woman.  She next house.”

Rickerman was already moving as Pepper went out the backdoor
, saying, “Try not to make her run, Rickerman.  I’m already tired.”

Waltham asked the man with the bloody nose, “Who are you?”

“Martinez,” was his only reply.

Carter asked, “Martinez, what happened in this house last night?”

“Ask Maria,” came again.

Carter said to Waltham, “We know they’re illegals, Larry.  Guess we should call Immigration.”

With a sheepish look, Waltham asked, “Uh, John, can we wait for Rickerman and have him call Immigration?  Our car is still down the block.” Throwing his hands in the air with annoyance, he explained, “Shit.  The old man who lives there got pissed about his fence.  He wouldn’t let me move our car until an investigator showed up.  But I don’t think our car is going anywhere without a tow truck anyway.  I spoke with O’Bryan from IAD; because he’s the closest, he’ll stop and see the old man, sign a release and have the car towed. He’ll also have Unit 303 sent here for us, but on these streets, that could take a while.  Sorry.”

Reassuring his partner, Carter told him, “That’s okay; I don’t think we’ll be getting out of here very soon anyway.  By the
way, where did those other two Uniforms go?  Are they still on house to house?”

“No, I saw their patrol car leave
right after the coroner’s van showed up.  They must’ve had another call.”

Stamping his boots off, Rickerman came in the back door, followed by a young Mexican girl about seventeen, with Pepper right behind her
, holding her arms.

Rickerman said, “Lieutenant, this is Maria Valesquez, at least that’s the name she’s using.”

Talking in English the girl said defiantly, “That is my name.  I’m an American citizen, born and raised in Omaha.  I live over on Seventeenth Street, a few blocks from here.”

Carter asked her, “How old are you, Maria?”

Before she could answer, Pepper held out a purse saying, “She’s sixteen, sir.  I have her license and ID.  She’s a runaway, listed on the sheet.”

W
altham said with disgust, “Shit.  An American runaway, teenager living with wetbacks.”

The girl said defensively, “Me and Carlos are goi
ng to California to get married.”

Rickerman said, “Yeah, kid.  He got all the way to Nebraska just to go back to California to get married.  I don’t think so.  You
were being used.”

“No.
  Carlos isn’t like that.  He isn’t,” the girl yelled.

Pepper
softly reminded her, “You mean he wasn’t, don’t you, Maria?  He’s dead, remember?”

Out came the tears, hot and heavy.  Carter, with a sigh, motioned to a chair
, so Pepper steered the crying girl to it, sitting her down.

“What happened here, honey?”
Pepper softly asked, with one reassuring hand on her shoulder.

In fits and starts, between heartrendering sobs, Maria told her
sad, short story.  She and Carlos normally spent the nights sleeping on the floor in the front bedroom, sharing the room with five other men.  If she and Carlos wanted to be alone, the other five men would find elsewhere to sleep for the night.  Last night she’d asked Carlos if they could be alone, but he refused.  He told her he was having pains in his rectal area, which felt like a hot ring of fire.  He tossed and turned, not able to sleep, keeping her awake.  She finally did fall asleep to be jerked awake by bloodcurdling screams.  Carlos was found, dead, on the bathroom floor, in a puddle of his blood.  Everyone panicked and ran, making her leave with them.  All she saw of Carlos was his legs as they dragged her out the backdoor.  She kept asking the men what had happened to Carlos.  One of the men, that shared the front bedroom with them, told her Carlos had been attacked and killed.  But none of the people staying at the house knew by whom.  Ending her story, Maria started crying in earnest again.

Sitting across from Maria, Carter, thought,
Well that little story certainly didn’t help explain the circumstances of Carlos’ death.  Who killed him and why?

Tur
ning back to Martinez, whose nosebleed had stopped, Carter demanded, “If I don’t get some answers pretty soon, I’ll turn you over to Immigration.  In fact, we’ll cordon off the neighborhood and round up all the illegals.  Now, one of you, start talking.”

Already feeling as if it were going to be a long day, John Carter was convinced even more.  Every answer led to more questions.  He felt as if he were running around in circles, like a puppy chasing its tail.  In frustration
, he ran his fingers through his thick, silver hair.

Everyone flinched as the dispatcher’s voice blared from Rickerman and
Kaslowski’s belt radios.  Carter stopped Rickerman as he started toward the front door to check in at their squad car.  He asked Rickerman to contact Maria’s parents, Juvenile Hall and Immigration.

Waltham said, “Well, if we never get anything else done here, at least we took one runaway off the street.”

Leaning against the backdoor, arms crossed, Pepper stated, “It won’t matter, Sergeant.  As soon as her Dad turns his back, she’ll be off and gone again.”

Carter amended
, “Not this one.  Not for a while.  She’s going to be held in Juvie detention, in protective custody as a material witness to a murder.  Same as these two illegals.  Immigration won’t get them until we release them.”

Waltham looked puzzled, but quick-thinking Pepper agreed, “I guess you’re right, Lieutenant.  Hell, the way this case looks, she could be held in Juvie protection until she’s eighteen.  It’s too bad we can’t get some real answers.  That’s a long time to be under Juvie protection, just because some pyscho is running loose.”

Eyes bouncing back and forth between Pepper and Carter, Maria protested, “You can’t lock me up.  I didn’t do nothing.  So I ran away from home. Big deal.  I’ve done it before.  I spend a few hours getting a lecture, then a caseworker, and I go home.  My dad will beat me and get drunk.  When he wakes up, I’ll be gone again.  So what?”