Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (4 page)

He shrugged. "It's better than nothing."

Gerry was quite for a moment. It had taken most of the drive
for her to read the notes. As they were about to pull into the parking area at
the morgue, she commented, "I didn't spend all night surfing the net, but
I think I have a good place to start."

"Oh?" Frank asked as he put the car in Park in an
empty slot near the front door marked "For Police Only." "And
what's that?"

"I got the clown's home address."

"What?"

She leaned closer. "Can you hear me now?" Frank
nodded.

"How in the hell did you do that?"

"Brilliant detective work. I looked in the phone book.
There he was under Hon Cu Loa. Actually, it was listed under the L's. Loa, Hon
Cu." She reached in her jacket pocket and withdrew a scrap of paper. She
unfolded it and read: "1269 Isabella Street, Apartment 40IB, It's an
apartment complex southeast of Highway 288 near Texas Southern."

Frank sat dumbfounded. They stared at each other. "We
need to get a search warrant right away," he said in halting, shaky voice.

Gerry reached in her pocket again and produced a folded
form. "I got in touch with the night judge last night. Early this morning
I called the desk sergeant and got the name of the officers that patrol that
area. I went through training with one of them, and he and his partner agreed
to meet us at the address at 10:30. That's all depending on your approval, and
if we get out of this cut and slice in time to get there."

Frank nodded again. "You do good work, partner."

"Got to make a sterling first impression. I really want
this gig, boss man."

"You got my vote, but stop calling me boss man. The
name is Frank."

                "Sure thing, boss man."

Al Shuman was waiting for Frank and Gerry when they entered
the morgue. Gerry glanced at the doors leading to the lab and chewed her lip.
Frank shook Al's hand. "Al, this is Geraldine Gardner. Lieutenant Barker
transferred her from vice in Kingwood to partner up on the clown case. Gerry,
meet the colossus of forensics, Al Shuman."

Al and Gerry shook hands. "I'm a tad nervous about
this," Gerry said. "I've never watched an autopsy before. I hope
you've got a bucket in there in case I need to dump last night's supper."

"I understand," Al answered with a warm smile.
"Don't worry about it. This will be routine and bloodless. If you feel
nauseated, leave. You don't need to excuse yourself." Al turned to Frank.
"I had Mike, my trainee, bring the body to the table already. If you're
ready, let's get it done."

Frank nodded, and the trio entered through the double doors.
The aroma was unmistakable, a sweet smell of death masked unsuccessfully by
industrial grade disinfectants. The walls were institutional gray with two
trough-shaped, steel tables in one corner: one on wheels, empty, with a
mechanism allowing it to be raised and lowered - this had been the cadaver's
transport to the room; the other flat, but with numerous holes to allow fluids
to drain into a tank below, and a smaller shelf, also perforated to drain,
suspended near the foot. Frank knew the perched shelf served as a platform for
small parts dissection. A scale hung from the ceiling near the head of the
second table. Secured to the nearest wall were a chalkboard and a corkboard,
the latter replete with memos and disclaimers, many yellowing with age. Hon Cu
Loa lay naked, gray and slack, awaiting his dismemberment. A cream-colored tag
hung from the big toe on his right foot.

Al indicated green surgical gowns and masks for Frank and
Gerry as he activated a tape recorder.

"This is the continuation of the autopsy of Case Number
03-16789, John Doe; preliminary identification is Hon Cu Loa."

"Uh. Hon Cu Loa is no doubt an alias," Frank said.
"Gerry says it means Monkey's Island."

Al gave Gerry an approving glance and continued his
narration. "AKA Hon Cu Loa. Previous observations were made when the body
was first brought to the morgue. Photographs at that time showed the body
clothed in a clown suit, and preliminary accounts, including fingerprinting,
were done in an attempt to discover the cadaver's identity. No scientific
disturbances have yet been made."

Al turned off the recorder. He glanced at both Frank and
Gerry. "You two ready?" They both nodded. Al turned the recorder back
on.

"The body is a well developed, well nourished male,
approximately 30 years old and believed to be Vietnamese. The body is 64 inches
long and weighs 143 pounds." Al moved along the body making external
observations. "Rigor mortis is resolved except in the extremities. The
skin retains normal texture, fixed lividity along the entire right side. No
blanching with pressure. The only apparent scar is along the left arm,
apparently due to surgery when the deceased was a child." Al moved to the
head and forced his little finger into the wound in the neck. "The only
external wound is a puncture in the neck below the right mandible of ten
centimeters diameter with a post shock tear of twenty-three centimeters upward
toward the right ear. The puncture appears to continue internally through the
temporal region and behind the cervical vertebrae. The wound is post
mortem." He withdrew his finger, lifted the eyelids and peered into the
nose and ears. "Eyes milky, spiders and mites are in residence in both
ears and nostrils. Estimated time of death is 48 to 60 hours prior to 0830,
October 31. The subject is a victim of homicide and will be rendered a full medical
autopsy."

Al turned off the recorder again. "Do either of you
want to add to the description of the external examination?"

"Are you saying that the puncture wound isn't the cause
of death?" Frank asked.

"Definitely not. I'm not saying anything yet. At this
stage the cause of death is still unknown."

"Let's get on with it."

Al turned on the recorder and reached for his surgical
.instruments. "I am now making the thoracic-abdominal incision and will
continue from the xyphoid process with a midline incision extending to the
pubis."

As Al made his "Y" incision, Frank looked at
Gerry. He was surprised to see how pale she had become and imagined he had a
similar look. Her eyes were wide, but fixed on the cadaver, showing
determination not to miss a single movement of the scalpel. Although Frank had
witnessed dozens of autopsies, it was at this point when he experienced the
rise of both gorge and rage. A "well-proportioned Vietnamese male," a
living, laughing healthy human being reduced to such indignities and intrusions
because of the disdainful arrogance of some scumbag who thought he had the
right to end another man's life. It was the reason he insisted on witnessing
autopsies; it provided him with more motivation to remove the murderer from
society, one way or another.

When he looked back at the table, Al was cutting through the
ribs and cartilage to expose the heart and lungs. He watched as Al lifted the
heart, lungs, trachea and esophagus out en bloc and moved the mass to the
scale. He knew how the procedure would continue, and allowed his attention to
drift off to a secret closet where he pulled out details of previous cases and
searched for comparative events that would help him organize the investigation.
More than an hour later, Al pulled off his gloves and moved his head,
indicating they were finished and should go to the office and discuss the
findings.

In the outer room, Al offered coffee. Frank accepted, Gerry
passed.

"I'll do follow-up procedures and have the official
report delivered to your office by noon Monday," Al commented. "I can
give you unofficial opinions now if you like."

"That would be good, Al," Frank answered.
"Gerry discovered an address for Hon Cu Loa, and we're meeting the patrol
units there around 10:30."

Al nodded. "I'll call the weekend standby team and have
them meet you there." He pulled a pen from the pocket of his lab coat and
jotted down the address Gerry provided. He replaced the pen and leaned back in
his chair, his hands laced behind his head. "The body was clean of any
trace substance. The killer went to great pains to remove any clues. The only
evidence he missed were a few fibers of carpeting in the victim's left ear.
Since the lividity indicates he died lying on his right side, I'd guess he
thrashed around on the floor as he was dying."

Frank made a note of the existence of the fibers. "Do
you have a guess about the COD?" From previous experiences with Al, Frank
knew that his guess would most likely be confirmed in the final report.

"I think he was poisoned. His stomach was empty,
indicating vomiting. There was evidence in his limbs of pre-mortem paralysis.
Death came from respiratory arrest. Had the dose been larger, cardiac arrest
would have occurred before his lungs shut down. I imagine him experiencing
giddiness, collapse, visual disturbances and finally coma before he
expired."

"How long would that have taken?" Gerry asked.

"Several hours. A nasty check-out."

"The killer watched?"

"Most likely. He or she couldn't take the chance that
the victim would recover."

Both Frank and Gerry looked at the floor. Gerry shook her
head in slow motion. Frank was the first to recover from thinking about the
horror the victim must have endured.

"I know you can't get all that without having an idea
of what poison was used."

"I'm guessing, but I think we'll find vast amounts of
quinoline in the liver and blood. I've never seen this potion used before
except during a toxicology class in medical school. I think it was Cinchona
ledgeriana derived from Cinchona bark. The bulb of the plant is more toxic than
the bark and could be mistaken for an onion. Oddly, this plant does not grow
anywhere in the western hemisphere except in the Andes Mountains. It's also
known in Java, India and East Africa. I'll need to check that, but if my memory
serves me, I think it grows in parts of Australia also."

"Vietnam?" Frank asked.

"Possible. I'll check that too. I know you can buy it
in tablet form in Mexico. It's often used to terminate pregnancy. I recall that
a young girl died in Mexico City in 1971 from an overdose."

Frank made notes before looking at Al. "Let me try out
a possibility and see if you agree. The victim knew the killer... Sometime
Thursday afternoon, a large quantity of the poison was administered, probably
as food or a 'special' narcotic. The victim became ill, thrashed about,
vomiting and convulsing for several hours before death. The killer left the
body for another six to eight hours, then hung it up somewhere, cleaned the
body, painted the face, dressed the dead man in a clown costume and transported
it to the parking garage, then dumped it where it would be found early Friday
morning."

"That's pretty much the way I see it," Al
responded.

"Pretty elaborate plan," Gerry added.

"The murderer is ridiculing both the victim and the
police," Frank added. "He's saying that the victim is contemptible,
and scorning the police for not being able to figure things out."

"He's left bizarre clues, but hid normal
evidence," Gerry snarled. "He's taunting us."

The trio remained silent, each staring into the distance.
Frank snapped his notebook shut and stood. "We'll get the son of a
bitch." He extended his hand to Shuman. "Thanks, Al. Good work as
always."

Al shook Frank's hand and nodded to Gerry. "Nice to
have met you, Detective Gardner. I imagine we will be seeing a lot of each
other in the future."

Frank and Gerry left and walked to the car in silence.
"You drive, Gerry," Frank instructed. "You've earned the
right."

When Frank and Gerry reached the Isabella Apartments, they
saw a blue-and-white parked near the entrance. Two officers in uniform leaned
against the car, smoking, one a redhead that looked like a football guard -
a crew cut that was extra short, stocky build, about five foot ten. The other
was an Afro-American who must have played on the opposite side of the line: six
foot five, muscular and dark complexioned. Neither man gave the impression that
they would tolerate being trifled with.

The black man pushed off the side of the car and approached
the newly arrived squad car. He broke into a broad smile when he saw Gerry.
"Hey, beautiful. You in control already?" He nodded at Frank. The
redhead was only a step or two behind his partner.

"Naw, I'm still learning the ropes. Frank, this is
Roger Harrington, and the honkey over there is Chad Sherman. Chad shot Gerry
the bird and held out his hand to Frank. "We know this guy, G.G. We worked
a case with him last year up in the Woodlands. Good to see you, Detective
Rivers." Roger murmured a greeting and turned his attention back to Gerry.
"Is HCSI on the way?"

"Should be here soon," Frank answered. "We
can talk to the office personnel until they get here." He hated to admit
it, but he felt slighted, the way the uniformed officers snubbed him and
rallied around Gerry. He chided himself and strode towards the Office door.
Surely he was not such a prima donna that he needed to be the center of
attention. Was he reacting to Sumbitch's assessment that his days of
"Super Cop" were over?

Frank was the first to the door, and he watched as a woman
looked up from her desk with a beaming smile of anticipation. Young and blonde,
her expression looked like hundreds of others he had encountered under similar
situations. There must be a school somewhere that taught neophyte agents of
apartment management how to greet potential customers. The host was suited in a
sleek ensemble of navy slacks and jacket with a white shell top beneath. It
appeared to be a uniform, lacking only the company's logo and a tag that said,
"Hi, I'm Jill." When the girl registered the nature of the visit, her
expression decayed into astonishment with a backdrop of quizzical fear. Frank
kept his "Cop" face firmly in place when he showed his
identification.

"Oh!" 'Jill,' who turned out to be named Tami,
responded. "Homicide?"

"My name is Detective Frank Rivers, and we have a
warrant to investigate one of your tenants. Mr. Loa, Hon Cu Loa."

Tami smiled when he mentioned Hon Cu Loa in spite of her
apprehension from four stern looking police officers. "That would be Mr.
Nguyen." When Tami uttered his name, it sounded like "win."
"Nguyen Qui Mang. He's such a funny man. He told us his real name, but
asked to be listed as Hon Cu Loa."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Why's that? Is Mr. Nguyen
hiding something?"

Tami actually laughed. "Oh, no." Then she looked
confused. "At least I don't think so. He said it was his stage name."

"Stage name?"

"Yes. Listen, Detective, I'm new here. I've never been
approached by the police before. Do you mind if I call my supervisor?"

Frank already knew he had intimidated the employee. He did
not want to delay the investigation of the apartment. He decided to lighten up
and try to convince Tami she did not need backup. "It's really a routine
process, Tami. I'll leave a copy of the warrant, then all you have to do is
lead us to apartment 40IB, then you can return to your duties. We'll take it
from there." He failed to mention that the forensic team would be
disturbing her quiet Saturday inside the hour, and that they would no doubt
render Apartment 40IB a chaotic unusable mess for who knew how long.

Tami looked longingly at the telephone on her desk and
chewed her lip. "Well, okay, if it's only routine." She looked up at
Frank and the others. "Has Mr. Nguyen done something wrong?"

"I'd rather not say at this time. Not until after we
have a look at his apartment."