Читать книгу Unfinished Business - C. A. Walters Walters - Страница 8

“Detective Wilson, Massachusetts State Police, can I help you?” The voice on the other end of the phone could have been any one of the dozens of others he had heard that day. Wilson’s partner, Ron James, listened to the half of the conversation he could hear, and chuckled to himself.

“Uh huh, yep, sure. Okay, I’ve written your information down; if we need anything else I’ll be sure to call you. Uh huh, um, okay. Yes ma’am, I’ll do that.” With that cryptic comment, Wilson hung up.

“Well, what did that fine upstanding citizen have to report that was so fascinating?” asked Ron.

“This one is a dilly; she says she saw what could only be a space alien out by the old nursing home last night, so they must be abducting people, though she couldn’t see their spaceship.”

“Oh, well at least she didn’t complain that she had been ‘probed’. It must be a full moon, we’re getting more complaints about spaceships, werewolves, all the crazies are coming out.”

“Yeah, either that or they’re giving one day passes at the loony bin. So, what exciting cases do we have lined up for us this week? The case of the mysterious missing cat? The husband abducted by space aliens who we found passed out behind the bar over on ninth street?”

“Funny man,” said Ron. “Nothing from the lieutenant, but he said he may have something for us by lunch time. He has leads on something, but it may just be some more loonies. I guess we’ll just have to go ask to find out.”

Almost as if it had been planned that way, Wilson’s phone rang.

“Wilson and James here”, Wilson said, as he put the call on speaker phone.

“You two clowns march on over to my office, so I can put you to work for a change.” The lieutenant said.

“Right away Captain.” said Wilson as he hung up.

“Well, here we go again, I can hear it now, the case of the mysterious disappearing donut hole!” said Ron, as the two detectives got up to walk across the hall to the Lieutenant’s office.

The pretty redhead the precinct had recently hired as a receptionist looked the two over appraisingly as they walked by. Wilson noticed, and said to Ron, “Hey, I think she likes you dude, you should try your luck.”

Ron replied “More your speed my friend; red hair, yours is strawberry blonde. You know what they say, red on the head, fire down below!”

“Yeah, but I think she likes the Latin look,” said Wilson.

“Nah, she keeps staring at those baby blues of yours. Besides, Mamacita would kill me for even thinking about it.”

When they got to the Captain’s office, the light banter melted away immediately. They could both see that the Captain. was all business, not happy at all.

“You two clowns hightail it out to the Sunnyside Rest Home. There’s been a murder; right up your alley. The car on scene called it in, the coroner is on the way, and we’ve got the placed closed off to keep the media at bay. So get on down there and see what the hell is going on.”

The detectives headed down to the garage, and got into Wilson’s Jeep Cherokee.

“Man, when are you going to get a new set of wheels, this old clunker looks like crap!” said Ron.

“This old clunker gets us out in the woods when we need to go there, and gets us through snow and mud like your pretty little euro trash car never could,” replied Wilson. Detective James drove a Triumph TR7, which led to lots of good natured ribbing from Wilson, whose idea of a vehicle had to have 4-wheel drive and big tires. The differences between the two men didn’t make them clash, however; rather it made them a very cohesive unit, given their different points of view.

Wilson was very much the Irish-Welsh mix his ancestry brought to him, with his strawberry blonde hair, fair complexion, and baby blue eyes. James had more of a Latin look, his mother had come from Spain, and his father was a Massachusetts born Yankee. Black hair, big brown “bedroom” eyes, and olive complexion. The two men couldn’t have been more different. They both knew that the banter between them masked any nervousness they had over the pending case. Not that death held any horror for either of them, both had served in the war, and had seen their share of atrocities. Not only that, but having been on the force for over 10 years, and partners for 6, not much could shake them anymore. But there was still the adrenalin rush, the sense of anticipation, wondering what kind of horror man had perpetrated on man this time.

The answer to that question was not long in coming. Soon enough they rounded the corner, and saw the flashing lights and chaos that always marked a crime scene. The news crews were out in force, microwave dishes rising above news vans like the arms of some gigantic insect. Parking on the side of the road, they got out and flashed their shields to the uniform manning the crime scene tape.

Mornin’ detectives, sorry to start your day out on a note like this.” said Officer Brown, the uniform on duty. “Yeah, well, sometimes it be’s that way, as B. B. King would say,” replied James.

They stepped into the parking lot where the crime scene techs were working, picked up plastic “booties” to put over their shoes, and rubber gloves. The techies had already marked various things on the ground, and one of the techs came over.

“It appears that he came out of the building, going to his car to go home from work. As he reached the car, you can see there is blood spatter on the car next to it, so we figure he was hit on the head as he reached for the door. The perp then must have carried him into the woods, there are no drag marks. We have marked and photographed the location of any footprints, and we’re making casts of the prints in the edge of the woods. The body shows blunt trauma to the side of the skull, the throat has been cut, and it has been eviscerated. Not a pretty sight.”

“Who found the body?” asked Wilson.

Officer Johnson, the C.S.I. on scene answered “Groundskeeper, he was checking the trees for loose limbs, and saw the body hanging.”

“Any witnesses see or hear anything?”

“Nah, the folks in the home are too old, or senile, and the nurses’ station is on the other side of the building.” said Johnson. “Whoever did this seemed to have planned it pretty well, dark area of the parking lot, late at night, and away from anybody who could have heard or seen anything.”

The two detectives walked around the crime scene, looking at it from all angles. The body had been taken down from the tree, and the rope used to hang it up had been put into evidence. The footprints near the base of the tree were all marked, and had been casted. Farther from the tree, all sign of footprints disappeared. Looking closely at some of the loose dirt, one could see where the mud had been raked over to hide whatever prints had been there. It was nearly a quarter mile from that point to the nearest road, and there were no tire tracks visible anywhere between the scene and the road. Of course, the perpetrator could have come up the road in front of the home, and parked in the same parking lot as the victim. At this juncture, there really just wasn’t any way to tell. Returning to the lot, Wilson and James walked up to the techie they had talked to before.

“We’ll have to start learning all we can about the “vic”, then we’ll go from there. I guess we’ve got all we can from here, we’ll get your report at the station.” said Wilson.

Ron added, “Yeah, we’ll go talk to the people in the nursing home, then head back to the office. This place is so secluded; there isn’t another building for a quarter mile in either direction.”

The two detectives made their way into the nursing home, and indeed, there was little to be gained there. Approaching the reception desk, detective Wilson flipped open his I.D., and said, “Detective Wilson, Boston P.D.” The nurse at the desk looked scared, so he told her, “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Ms. - Roberts, is it?” We’re only here to get as much information as possible.”

“How do you know my name?” She asked.

Wilson smiled his disarming smile and said “that’s what it says on your name tag.” She blushed, and relaxed a little bit.

“We’ll need to see the manager, is he in his office?” asked Ron.

“Yes, sir, he was called as soon as we called the police. Right this way.” She led them left down a short hallway to an office door with a nameplate that read, Dr. William Olafson, Director. As she opened the door, the Doctor looked up from his computer, where he had been typing something.

“Just composing a statement for the media, gentlemen. Come in, have a seat.” said Dr. Olafson.

“We won’t take up too much of your time, Dr. Olafson”, said Ron. “We just have a few questions.”

“Now, the name of the victim was…”

“Jim, James McCutcheon.” said the doctor. “He had worked for us for about 3 years. Quiet sort, didn’t really socialize with the other workers, just kind of stayed to himself.”

“Did he have any problems while he was here?” asked Wilson.

“No, he was a pretty good worker, well, there was one incident when a nurse wrote him up for being abusive to a patient, but she moved out of state, and nothing ever came of it.”

“We’ll need his personnel record, and any other records of that incident”, said Wilson. “I hope I won’t need to get a warrant…”

“No, of course not”, replied Olafson. “He’s deceased, so there’s no problem providing his record to the police. We want to co-operate fully.”

“That’s fine, Dr. Olafson”, “We’ll take the papers, and get out of your way. I’m sure you have a media circus to deal with,” said Wilson.

“Here you go, detective. The complete personnel record on Mr. McCutcheon. If there is nothing else…”

“We’ll be in touch, Dr. Olafson. Just don’t leave town suddenly.” Wilson chuckled when he said that last, so the Doctor would know he was trying to lighten the mood a little.

The two detectives got into the Jeep, and taking one last look around, drove off to go back to the office. In each of their minds they were starting to plot the strategy they would need to try to solve this case.

Wilson grabbed a cup of what passed for coffee in the precinct house, roughly a cross between motor oil and whale piss. Walking to his desk, he smiled at the receptionist.

Sitting down, he turned to his computer monitor, to see what e-mails he had. Various spam, somehow getting through the filters. A message from his sister, asking him to come to a family picnic that weekend. And a message from the L.T., telling him that the forensic reports were available for him, and that the tox screens and M.E. report should be in by noon.

Wilson took a sip of his ersatz coffee, grimacing in imagined pain at the taste. Just then, Ron came into the office they shared.

“Why would you try to drink that swill?” he asked as he set down a box and two large glasses from a local donut shop. “You got to have a death wish, man.”

“Just too lazy to stop on the way in, pal. Thanks for the coffee” said Wilson, as he reached for one of the cups. “I was just on my way to forensics, to see what they’ve figured out so far.”

“Let’s go then”, said Ron. The two made their way to the fourth floor, to meet with the forensic specialist assigned to the case.

Arriving at the lab, they spotted their old friend Simon looking at something in a microscope. “Must be a micro picture of a porno movie, if he’s that locked into it!” said Ron.

“Hardy har-har, funny man” said Simon Goldberg, their friendly neighborhood forensics specialist. “I bet you’d be a laugh riot at a bar mitzvah! Anyway, here’s what we’ve got so far.” Simon handed each of the detectives a copy of the report he had created.

Putting his reading glasses on, Wilson read: Forensic report on the demise of one “James McCutcheon”. Approximate time of death: between 2300 and 2400 hours, Friday, April first 2008.

Cause of death: exsanguination due to severing of both carotid arteries, both jugular veins. Contributing factors: evisceration, blunt trauma to the left temporal region. Sufficient to cause short to long term unconsciousness, but not death.

“So our vic bled to death, that’s what all the mumbo jumbo says, huh” asked Ron.

“Yes, that’s what all the “mumbo jumbo” says”, replied Simon. Then whoever did this gutted him like a deer. The cut across the throat was made in one motion, very efficient.”

“So our man is trained in the use of edged weapons. Martial artist, former military. Something like that.” said Wilson.

“Probably a good guess, until we get more evidence” said Simon. “Your victim was approximately 5’10, weighed 182 pounds. So whoever picked him up and carried him into the woods wasn’t exactly a wimp, either.”

“Great, so we’ve got some sort of strong, trained killer running around. Just what we needed to make the spring complete” said Wilson.

“At least it’s not just some teenager holed up in a cabin getting a little nookie, and making mama all frantic that her “angel” has been kidnapped by terrorists” said Ron.

“I just hope this is an isolated incident, and not part of something bigger”, said Wilson. He had a bad feeling about this one, his gut was telling him it’s not exactly going to be like a case on C.S.I., find some clues and everything falls into place like a demented jigsaw puzzle.

“Any other clues from the scene?” asked Ron.

“Nothing, really. The perp apparently wore some sort of moccasin, or homemade shoe, the tracks were all smooth, no heel print, no tread The shoe size measures out at around a size 13 though, so that’s a start, but there’s one weird thing.”

“What’s that”, asked Wilson.

“Well, in the area where the ground was soft, and kind of muddy, the perp apparently smoothed the ground out after he stepped on it, but in the more solid areas, he didn’t bother. Almost like he didn’t care if we got his prints. I guess since we can’t get a tread, he was right, it didn’t matter” said Simon.

Yeah, except where we could see a good impression of his foot in the shoe, thought Wilson. This guy seems to have all the angles covered. Older building, no surveillance cameras in the parking lot, secluded, no witnesses. I sure hope he left something forensics picked up on.

“Woolgathering detective?” asked Simon.

“No, just putting it all into perspective in my mind. Did we get anything else from the scene?”

“Not that I can gather, you’ll have to check with the guys in the M.E. lab, see if they got any hair or fiber or anything from the body.”

“Thanks, Simon.” said Wilson, “if you get anything else give me a call or send an e-mail.”

“Will do, boss” said Simon. “This is one for the books, huh?”

They left Simon to his machines and data analysis, and trekked on over to the M.E.’s office. The Medical Examiner was an older man, four years in the marine corps, then out to complete medical school.

Why he opted for this particular specialty, nobody really knew, but his reputation showed him to be one of the best in the Country. Sometimes, it seemed he could work magic, even with little to nothing to go by.

“Well, what have you got for us on the nursing home murder, Frank” Wilson asked. Wilson and Frank Richey had been friends since the day Wilson had joined the force.

“Well, as we thought, cause of death was obvious. There was blunt trauma to the temporal region of the cranium, but that didn’t lead to death. It was, however, struck before his throat was cut.” Replied Richey.

“The slash across the throat was done with precision. Straight across, deep enough to get both carotids and both jugulars at the same time. Whoever did this knew what he was doing.”

“Yeah, we figured that. Martial artist, Military, Hunter, something. But is there anything else?” asked Ron.

“The shape of the wound, the depth of the abdominal wound, and the cleanness of the edges of each wound show that the blade was extremely sharp, almost like a razor.” said Richey.

“Also, with the particular markings on the bony structures of the neck, and a nick on the bottom of the sternum, I can say with pretty good certainty that this was a particular kind of knife, known as a ‘Tanto’ knife, used by special forces, SEALS, etc. We found some residue in the bone, and after running it through the mass spectrometer, it came back as high carbon steel, the particular formula known as ‘Solingen’ steel, made in Germany.”

“Okay then, that gives us something to work with. How many places can you get a knife like that?” Wilson said.

“Only a few hundred” replied Ron. “Very popular design, sold in most gun stores, sporting goods shops, and flea markets.”

“Gee, thanks a lot Mr. Doom & Gloom. I guess that really doesn’t help much at this point, but it’s still important information Frank, thanks for all your help.” said Wilson.

“Any time. I’ll keep looking, but this seems like a pretty straight forward case. Particulate matter, plant particulates, all come from the area around the murder site.” “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, guys”

“That’s okay, Simon, you’re still the best. Maybe we’ll get lucky and this will be a one-time thing, jealous husband, drug deal gone bad, something like that.

As they were driving back to the office, James remembered the strange phone call that morning. “Hey, Detective Wilson, what about the lady who said she saw an ‘alien’ at the nursing home last night, I wonder if the two things are related.” He said.

“You know what, you may have something there, I’ll get her address, and we’ll go pay her a visit.” Replied Wilson. As it turned out, the address was one of the houses not too far from the very nursing home where the murder occurred. Driving up to the house, they could see the edge of the nursing home parking lot, off in the distance. There were some trees in between, but because the Home was on a hill, it was still visible. Most of the intervening space was covered in trees, and very hard to see. Knocking on the door, the detectives stood and waited in the afternoon sunshine. A woman’s voice called out “just a minute!” from inside the house. Then, “Who is it? If you’re selling magazines, or religion, you can just go away, I don’t want any!” called a raspy female voice.

“Detectives Wilson and James, State Police, Ma’am” replied Detective Wilson as he held his badge up to the peephole in the door.

“Oh, well, do come in!” The door opened, revealing a lady obviously on the far side of sixty, dressed in a lovely green dress, with a strand of pearls around her neck. Silver hair curled over her shoulders, and a black and white cat sat looking at the two men from its perch on the shelf above the couch.

“Welcome, I’m so glad you came. Shenanigans like this, I tell you, those aliens just won’t leave us poor old folks alone.”

After leading the two men into her living room, she offered them coffee and homemade cookies. Not wanting to insult her, they accepted her kind offer. Then the wonderful aroma of fresh coffee and chocolate chip cookies preceded the lady into the room.

“Now ma’am, can you tell us exactly what you saw last night?” asked Wilson, as he bit into a little taste of heaven.

“Well, around 10:30, I took precious outside so he could do his duty before we went to bed. When I looked up the hill, I saw an alien sneaking around, coming out of the woods and walking toward the parking lot of the home on the hill. He was around 8’ tall, and all sparkly, like he was wearing a space suit or something. There was a pack on his back, probably whatever the aliens breathe, and something in his hand, I figure it was his ray gun.” Ms. Jennings seemed truly thrilled that the police actually took her seriously, and didn’t just treat her like some crank just looking for attention.

“Did you happen to see what direction it came from?” asked James.

“Not really, just from the woods. I can show you where, when we go back outside again. I’m so glad to see you boys enjoy my cookies!”

“Yes, ma’am. They’re great, and the coffee is wonderful.” Said Wilson.

After they finished their coffee, the three went outside, and the lady pointed out where she had first seen the “alien” come out of the woods. Noting the spot, so they could find it from the vantage point of the home, they thanked her for her help, and assured her that if her information helped the, she would be hearing from them again.

“You boys come whenever you can, I don’t get much company, and it feels good to take care of some boys again. Besides, you’re kind of cute! She said”, as she slipped her arm around Detective Wilson, and gave him a little hug.

“Yes ma’am, we’ll do that” said Wilson, giving Ron a look that promised much pain and suffering if he said anything. Ron just gave him innocent eyes, and turned to cough into his hand, being only partially successful in hiding his sudden laugh.

The two detectives returned to their office to start the paperwork, and to start charting the evidence they had. Wilson got on the internet, seeking information on the nurse who had written the complaint on their victim. It was time to wear out some shoe leather, start talking to the friends, neighbors, acquaintances, etc. of Mr. McCutcheon, see if there was anyone with a motive, and the training and ability to commit the crime at hand. It looked to be a long week…