The Chilling Spree (24 page)

“Did you talk to anybody that didn’t have an
alibi?” I asked.

“It appears that the fine folk from
Foundation’s Baptist all congregate every New Year’s Eve for a
prayer vigil that the end of days will begin soon, on account of
their belief that they won’t be around to enjoy the apocalypse,”
Tony said.  “Seems they can’t wait for all of us heathens to
bite the big one and go straight to hell.”

“Unbelievable.  They’re giving each
other alibis.”  I started pacing.  “I’ll need more
evidence than a bunch of hate mongers covering for each other’s
whereabouts.  Crevan, how familiar are you with this
church?”

“Twenty-two years of forced attendance.
 Why?”

Better question.  “Why on earth did you
keep going after you turned eighteen and became a legal adult?”

“Helen,” Johnny said gently, “not everyone
grew up with a parent who let them decide what they wanted to
believe or reject like you did.”

My eyes widened.  “Johnny?”

His hand scrubbed over his goatee. 
“Wendell, right?  Life sentence in Attica.”

It was unclear which was the source of my
chest pain – the sternum from being rammed so hard by my heart, or
my heart, not being able to leap through solid bone for more room
to dance its fearful staccato.  “Not now, Johnny,” I
rasped.

“But he’s right, Helen.  Dad held the
purse strings, and as long as I lived under his roof…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.  Your dad isn’t
ever gonna be someone I like, is he?”

Crevan forced a weak smile.  “The good
news is, the similarities between us end with genetics.  Think
of me as the good twin.”

“Excuse me?”

“Puppy, you didn’t tell Helen about your
daddy’s main gripe in life?”

“I don’t think it ever came up,” he
said.  Crevan shook his head.  “Apparently I was the twin
that survived childbirth that nearly ended my mother’s life. 
Dad was certain that the wrong child survived, or that God took the
good son that would’ve embraced the guidance of our father as a
test of his faith.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.  The more I
learned about Aidan Conall, the less there was to redeem him even
in some small way.  “What a fool.  I can’t imagine a God
that
would
allow someone exactly like your father to
live.” 

I noticed Tony’s conspicuous frown, but
didn’t ask about it. My lingering irritation dug in deep, and I
couldn’t bring myself to give a damn about his dislike of Crevan's
father.

“Uh, where’s this kid’s junk?” Johnny asked
with a pointed stare at the mangled groin.  He began a careful
examination of the crime scene.  “Have we talked to any of the
patrons?  Where’s the owner of the club?”

“Duty first,” Briscoe grinned.  “Nobody
saw anything out of the ordinary all evening.  The bartender
came in and found the body ‘bout half an hour before we summoned
the two of you over here.  He brought the pre-show toddy back
for the vic, and there he was.”

“Pre-show toddy?”  My eyes wandered
toward the empty vanity.  “Where is this beverage now?”

“I reckon he took it out.  At least the
guy knew better than to come in and tamper with the crime
scene.  For the record, Tippet’s beverage of choice was hot
chocolate, not alcohol.  As for the owner, he took the night
off.  Apparently, he really over indulged for the holiday and
hasn’t been able to shake the hangover.”

“He’s on his way down here,” Crevan
said.  He flipped open his notebook.  “Alex Waters.”

“
Dr.
Alexander
Waters?” 
I couldn’t conceive of such a thing.

“Do we want to know how you know the owner
of the night club, Helen?”

“Johnny, Dr. Alexander Waters is the chief
of vascular surgery at Metro State University Hospital,” I
said.  At his blank stare, I continued.  “When Journey
Ireland’s throat was slit, he’s the doctor that saved her
life.  He’s a very well respected surgeon, renowned
even.  I can’t imagine that he’d –”

“I don’t think that’s who I talked to,”
Crevan said.  “If you think about it, the name Waters isn’t
particularly unusual, nor is the name Alex.”

“Still, what’re the odds, speaking of
bizarre coincidence.  How long before he arrives?”

“He should be here any minute, Helen,”
Crevan said.  “The uniforms are keeping an eye out for
him.  Obviously we don’t want anyone else seeing what happened
in here.”

“Do we know who Tippet’s next of kin
is?”

“Not specifically,” Briscoe said. 
“Damnedest thing, John.  The bartender didn’t offer up any
names, but was real clear that his folks are gonna freak when they
find out Bobbi is dead.  Apparently they weren’t supportive of
their son’s lifestyle.”

“Not supportive as in, we wish he wasn’t
performing in drag, or not supportive as in the message scrawled on
this boy’s abdomen?” I asked.

“No clue,” Briscoe said.  “I don’t
suppose these guys see much of a difference.”

Crevan bristled.  “What the hell is
that supposed to mean?”

“Hate’s hate, Puppy,” Tony said. 
“Don’t matter much what the cause is.”

I tiptoed away from our truce, but didn’t
stray far before Johnny jumped in and prevented me from planting
both feet in my mouth.

“Which I’m sure you mean to say that it
doesn’t matter who our victims are, we go about the investigation
the same way every time, right Tony?” he said.

“Sure thing,” Briscoe squinted at Johnny
like he’d lost his mind.  “Pretty much what I said. 
Don’t matter why folks hate, it’s all the same to the guy on the
receiving end of the deal.”

“Doc, what do you make of this?” Johnny
gestured toward the victim and the absolute absence of signs of
struggle.

I drifted into the room and started to
absorb the environment with a calm sense of detachment.  “The
first thing that jumps out at me is that it seems unlikely that our
victim attaches his prostheses with glue.”

My index finger traced the air around one of
the breasts.  “It looks like there isn’t any irritation to the
skin.”

“Meaning?” Johnny prompted an
explanation.

“Histamine is the body’s natural response to
an irritant.  Believe it or not, the skin on even a man’s
chest is a lot more sensitive than say the fingers, which might
normally be exposed to something like adhesive.  If Tippet was
in the habit of gluing these on before every show, I’m thinking
that we’d see evidence of a rash, that histamine response to either
the glue or the solvent that would be required to remove the
glue.  If he was dead when they were applied, there would be
no histamine response.”

“Sounds logical,” Johnny said.  “What
else?”

“His makeup is perfect,” I said. 
“Damn.  I bet if you met this guy on the street, you wouldn’t
know he was a female impersonator unless he had a deep voice. 
Even his Adam’s apple seems less pronounced than our first
victim’s.”

I moved to the vanity.  “If he sat here
to get ready for the show, the mirrors would’ve given him a clear
view of someone approaching from behind or coming through the
door.”

“You think he knew his attacker?” Crevan
asked.

“I see no signs of a struggle,” I
said.  “Yet, if our theory that one of the protesters is
responsible for both murders, I doubt he’d sit here calmly while
someone attacked him.”

“We don’t know if hanging is the cause of
death,” Johnny said.  “He could’ve been drugged prior to the
approach of the attacker.”

“Highly doubtful,” Tony said. 
“Bartender says this guy is downright ritualistic about his
pre-show routine.  Nobody allowed in here, absolute solitude
while he prepares, and only one interruption is allowed.  That
cup o’ Swiss Miss fifteen minutes before he’s on stage.”

I scratched between my eyebrows.  “That
doesn’t preclude the possibility that he took something
voluntarily.  We’ll need toxicology to confirm or refute that
theory.  Let’s move on.  For whatever reason, he’s not
startled by the approach of his attacker.  Look around this
room.  Everything is in a place that is logical for a dressing
room.  Wigs are all aligned in a row except for the one he
chose to wear but hadn’t gotten around to donning prior to the
attack.”

“I think the dismemberment and message rule
out the possibility of suicide,” Johnny said.  “Otherwise,
that could be a plausible explanation.  The guy’s best friend
was murdered.”

“But we haven’t released that information
yet,” I said, “so how would he know that Kyle Goddard didn’t simply
disappear for a few days?”

“True,” Johnny said, “But I don’t think
suicide is an option.”

“Agreed.  Where’s the penis?”

Briscoe snorted.  “I was wonderin’ when
you might ask that.”

Crevan’s face was nearly ashen, and Johnny
looked like he wanted to guard the aforementioned body
part. 

I grunted softly. “For heaven’s sake. 
Have we looked for it?”

Briscoe said, “I did a once over, but saw no
sign of it here nor there.”

“Ew.  That’s just gross.  We’ll
leave that mystery for CSD to solve,” I said.

“Helen, what do you think about all of
this?  Beyond the general observations you made.”

“I need more information.  My gut says
he might’ve recognized the person who attacked him and didn’t feel
threatened at all.  Like I said, we’ll need to know if he’s
got any substances in his system that might’ve made him easy
prey.  It’d be a hell of a lot easier to make sure someone got
tainted drugs than it would be to slip in here and defy a ritual
without causing a scene.  Since nobody claims to have seen
anything out of the ordinary, I’d start looking at how the perp got
in without being noticed.  I need to talk to people who know
Mr. Tippet’s friends, what his life was like, if he was in a
relationship with –”

“Gotcha, Eriksson,” Briscoe stood at
attention and saluted.  “I expect the owner any minute, so I
think I’ll make sure we steer him to wherever you need to chat
right away.”

“Crevan, did you talk to Mr. Waters?”

He nodded.

“Is he aware of the reason you called?”

“Not the specifics,” he said.  “He
knows that it relates somehow to Tippet.  Based on his
response, I think he’s expecting that there was another altercation
with protesters.”

“All right.”

“In the meantime,” Johnny said, “there’s no
way in the world that we can possibly take full statements from
everybody in this bar tonight.  We need names and contact
information for everybody and to instruct them to come over to OSI
to give formal statements.  Start scheduling them for
tomorrow. We’ll only break for Ned’s funeral.”

“Johnny, do you think we should send them
out to OSI?” Briscoe asked.  “I mean, if we wanna keep the
link to the murder at that concert under wraps, it might be better
if we funnel these hooligans through Downey instead.  Plus, we
got a lot more manpower over there to conduct the interviews and
run them through a script of questions we need answered.”

Johnny gritted his teeth.

It was my turn to intervene on his
behalf.  “Let’s start with getting the contact information,
and before anybody leaves, Johnny can let them know where the
interviews will take place.”

“Right,” Johnny rasped.  “Doc and I
need to have a moment alone to discuss this script for questioning
potential witnesses.  We’ll be out in a minute, if you
wouldn’t mind closing the door on your way out.”

Johnny was prowling his agitation before
Crevan pulled the dressing room door shut.  “I should’ve
thought of that,” he muttered.

“Hey,” one brave step blocked his
path.  I laid my hand on his chest.  “I didn’t stop to
think about keeping these cases specifically unlinked in the press
either, Johnny.  Tony may never be my favorite person in the
world again, but he proved his worth to me by considering something
that I hadn’t thought of first.”

Doubt shrouded his face.  “But I
should’ve thought of it, Helen.  I think ordinarily I
would’ve.  Do you know how long I was undercover, always on
the alert to maintain the integrity of the case we were
working?”

“Johnny, you’re being too hard on
yourself.  Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Second guess every word that comes out of
your mouth.  Let it go.  Walk out there and ask that
these guys make themselves available at Downey tomorrow and refocus
on the case.  Believe me.  Of all the people in this
city, Tony Briscoe is the last one who would ever say something
with the intent of making you feel incompetent.  Sometimes I
wonder if he loves you more than I do.”

“I’m not sure what to do with that,
Doc.”

“You know what I’m talking about. He’d
defend you with his last breath.”

“Thanks for bailing me out.”

“Right back at you,” I said.  “I was
ready to jump down his throat a minute before his uncharacteristic
flash of brilliance.”

“We seem to fill in the gaps for each other
pretty well.”

I nodded.

“So… Wendell.”

“Johnny, this probably isn’t the best time
to have that conversation.”

“Will you answer one question?”

“If I can.”

“Why do I know what he looks like?” Johnny
asked.  “Or is it only what I imagine he looks like?”

“You met him,” I said, “but believe me when
I tell you that conversation is way too heavy to get into right
now.  We need to stay focused on this case, these murdered
boys.  It won’t happen if I delve into why you met my
father.”

“He loves you, that much I know.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have any reason at
this point.  Johnny, please.  Let it go for now.”

“What sort of script should we devise for
the troops at Downey to use?”

“The very basics, I’d imagine.  How
well did they know Tippet.  Did they see anybody giving him an
unusual amount of attention, anything that made them feel
uncomfortable, did they see anyone out of place, that sort of
thing.”