Читать книгу Bath House Murders - Logan Masters - Страница 6

Seated and leaning toward her computer screen, Angelina took a quick sip of cold coffee from a white paper cup. She appeared to be oblivious to the fact that it had gotten cold. Charlie walked up to her desk with steam rising from a cup of coffee in his hand. All around them was the hustle and bustle typical of the downtown Phoenix Police Station.

“How about a fresh cup?” She nodded to accept the offer. He placed the steaming cup on the desk in front of her.

“All computer records and receipts are now secured,” he said.

“And our friend, Carl Morrison?”

“His lawyer just contacted our office. It seems the attorney is not happy over how we treated his client.”

“Did you tell him it was a matter of cooperation, or the lack there of, that caused his client grief,” Angelina smiled big as she said this, not taking her eyes off the monitor.

“His lawyer is Adam Speck,­” Charlie waited for a response.

“The Speck, of Harold, Wiggins, and Speck?”

“Yep, the same.”

“Somebody’s got some deep pockets to be able to get those uptown attorneys on board for a case like this,” Angelina said. “That’s very interesting.”

With the remarks, the wheels inside her head obviously were sent spinning.

Angelina’s success within the department had been founded on her efforts at doing thorough research and great detective work for each of her cases. She, in fact, went looking places other detectives could easily miss. Determined efforts had paid off several times in her career. In particular, she had gained significant notoriety in solving a triple homicide. A city official, in the high profile case, had been brought to justice for instigating a hit on three gang members who were competing with him over drug territory. The news stories from that case found her being referred to as “the City’s Angel.”

“Charlie, look at this!”

He bent down to cast his eyes on the screen. Immediately, he pulled reading glasses out of his pocket.

“There was a murder in a bath house in Houston two months ago. It happened on a Friday night and the victim, a man in his twenties, was strangled to death.”

Charlie, stooped over, to glance at the news story from the Houston Chronicle, the city’s newspaper. After reading a paragraph or two he asked, “You think it’s a coincident?”

“Look.” Excitement was in her voice.

Charlie bent over again.

“At a bath house in South Florida, five months ago, there was confusion over a death in a bath house. ‘The police department felt there might have been foul play; however, there was enough cocaine in the victim’s system to contribute to his death. The DA has not ruled out the possibility of strangulation as the cause in the death.’”

“Angie, you thinking we are dealing with a serial murder?” He straightened up as he said this.

“And look,” even more excitement registered in her voice. Charlie bent over to look at the monitor yet again. “About eight months back there was an investigation begun in Chicago. A man in his mid-twenties was strangled to death at The Unicorn, a bath house located in the city’s predominantly gay area. The detective doing the investigation is fellow named Detective Robert Moskowitz.”

Charlie quickly read Angelina’s mind.

“Think he’s working on a Saturday?”

“It’s worth giving a try,” she instantly responded.

Wasting no time, she pushed a button on the dial. “Hello Roberta. Please connect me to a Detective Robert Moskowitz with the Chicago PD.”

Before she could say another word a female officer, carrying a plastic box, walked to Angelina’s desk. She put the box down.

“Here’s the deceased’s valuables, I retrieved them from a locked box at that creepy bath house,” disdain sandwiched her words.

In the box were a set of car keys, a wallet, and a high school graduation ring.

Charlie fished the ring from the box.

“He graduated from the high school where my niece goes.”

Angelina picked up the wallet. She opened it. There were no photos inside. There was a driver’s license, a couple of credit cards, and a student ID card for Arizona State. Some cash was in the wallet, a couple of twenties, a five and three ones. And there was a baseball card! As Angelina took hold of it, the picture caught Charlie’s eye.

“Let me see that.”

He adjusted his glasses to examine it closely.

“This guy’s a pitcher for the D-backs. The best they’ve got. I’ll be damned it’s got his signature on it.” He nodded to himself, then speaking more to himself than Angelina, he continued, “It’s a hell-of-a valuable card that kid was carrying!”

Angie looked at the address on his driver’s license.

“The victim lived near State.”

The phone rang. Angelina picked it up.

“This is Detective Ramos.”

“Hello,” spoke the voice on the other end. “I’m Detective Rob Moskowitz, with the Chicago’s P.D.”

“Detective Moskowitz, I’m with the Phoenix P.D. Thank you for returning my call,” Angelina said rather excitedly.

“Detective Ramos, what is so important that you would hunt me down, at my favorite bar, on Saturday afternoon?”

In the background Angelina could hear a sudden outburst of cheering.

On the other end of the phone, half way across the country, in a poorly lit bar in Chicago, and seated on a barstool was a virtual hunk in his mid-thirties, wearing a Notre Dame cap backwards. His cell phone was up to his ear. A television set was squarely before him, where his eyes were glued as he sat amidst a host of other like-minded Notre Dame fans.

“What’s all the noise?” asked Angelina

“The Irish just got a first down.”

“Thanks for the scoring update, detective,” Angelina looked at Charlie and rolled her eyes.

“Can you hear me detective?” her voice raised.

Moskowitz, eyes pointed at the television, said, “Oh yeah, I hear you.”

With that remark, he grimaced as the Fighting Irish’s QB went down under a sack.

“Go ahead. What’s this about?”

“I’m sorry to bother you. But you had a case about eight months back, a murder. The victim was strangled in a gay bath house called The Unicorn.”

“Okay,” he took a swallow from a new glass of beer just placed in front of him by a cute hostess. He looked her up and down as she scooted away.

“We’ve had a murder here that happened last night.”

She paused.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“Several things: There appears to be some potential similarities between the murder there and the one committed here. And detective, did you know there have been at least two other bath house murders since the one there in Chicago, not counting the one here?”

He took another drink. He studied her comments for a couple of seconds.

“No, I was not aware of the other cases. A gay guy dying in a bath house here doesn’t get top billing. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, those guys get into some pretty kinky stuff. Somebody gets carried away. Somebody dies. It can be as simple as that. Beyond that, members of the community here are pretty tightlipped. Cops are outsiders. Not at all high on their list of guys they trust. The case here remains unsolved.”

He downed another swallow of his brew.

“Detective, since this is at least the fourth murder we know about, in a span of a short eight months, I would like for you to come here and collaborate with me on this case.”

Just as he is about to take a final drink, he stopped short and said, “You want me to do what? Come there? Are you kidding?”

“Detective, where I live we solve cases. That very well may not be the case in the big city of Chicago, but in Phoenix we…”

Charlie got a puzzled look on his face as he listened to the lecture she was giving the detective from Chicago.

Before she could say more, he interjected, “Listen, lady, I don’t need you to sing me an aria about doing my job. You don’t need to go getting on some damn high horse! I’ll take this up with my lieutenant on Monday and get back with you.”

“That will work, Detective.”

“Monday, then.” He closed the cover on his cell phone.

He shook his head, indicating disbelief.

The commentator on the television announced, “That’s yet another sack for the Irish quarterback.”

He looked at the screen. “Damn, it’s not bad enough I’ve got to go baby-sit a crusading cop who lives in the middle of nowhere!”

Charlie looked at Angelina for an explanation right as she closed her cell and took a swallow from the fresh cup of coffee.

“Well?” he said.

“Detective Moskowitz said he would love to come to Phoenix to help out!”