Beneath the Cracks (32 page)

"Or the other obvious option.  We've
got a dirty cop working out of Downey Division," Shelly fumed and
paced a little more.  "Wouldn't that make the most sense?"

"I would imagine that if this man was a cop
in this division, one of you would recognize him, regardless of how
much of his face is visible.  Does anything about this man
seem familiar?  Anybody?  Is he moving in a distinct way
that reminds you of someone?  Is his height distinctive, or
weight?"

Nobody recognized him.

"Then the next logical step is to determine
how someone could acquire an authentic police uniform.  Who
supplies them to Darkwater Bay?"

"Hell," Tony grunted, "that place
distributes uniforms to everybody, from lowly Darkwater Bay all the
way up to OSI, the state police and the governor's special security
detail.  Ain't no way somebody got the uniform from them."

"All right, but for the sake of being
thorough, we should probably inquire with that company."

"I'm on it," Shelly said before disappearing
from the room.

"These uniforms – are they wash and wear?" I
asked.

"Dry clean only," Crevan said.  Light
sparked in his eyes.  "We have a system for disposal of the
uniforms right here at the division, Helen.  I mean, all the
divisions do the same thing."

"You use the same dry cleaner?"

"Nope, Commissioner Hardy thought it would
be fair if every division patronized a local business.  We use
a place right here in Downey."

"What's the procedure?"

"The uniforms don't leave the building
unless a body is wearin' 'em, or they're in a bag for the cleaner,"
Tony said.  "A guy comes off shift, or on, whatever, and goes
to the locker room to change.  When the uniform needs to be
cleaned, he puts it in a bag with one of them bar code things on
it.  That's how it works except for our dress uniforms, and
the guy ain't exactly wearin' his dress blues."

"The UPC is specific to that officer,"
Crevan explained.  "They drop off uniforms when they pick up
the dry cleaning.  So the guy signs out a bag from the desk
sergeant when he comes off shift, puts the dirty uniform in the bag
and drops it in this thing that sort of looks like one of those
data disposal units."

"It's locked?"

"Yep.  Three times a week, Monday,
Wednesday and Friday, the truck from the dry cleaner comes over and
delivers the clean uniforms to the desk sergeant for distribution
and picks up the ones that need to be cleaned."

"We need the name and address of that
company," I said.  "It's probably where our perp got his hands
on a uniform.  Crevan, get the information and get on the
phone to that company.  Tell them we need the owner over there
right away.  Tony, you go fill in Shelly on what we're doing
next."

"Where are you goin'?" Tony asked before I
was out the door of the tech room.

"I need to make a phone call.  This
whole thing just got more complicated, and I think it's time our
mutual friend got an update."

Tony grinned.  "Give him my regards,
Eriksson."

Chapter 28

If he answered the phone, what would I
say? 

Come home? 

I need you? 

I'm sorry?
 

I bit down on tender flesh in my
mouth.  Bad plan. 

Stick to the facts then. 
The case
is flying apart at the seams.  If we're going to muscle our
way into Dupree Farm, we'll need OSI to get the job
done
. 

And what if he didn't answer the
phone?  How much would I say, should I say?

Fingers trembled over the names in my iPhone
contacts.  Orion, Johnny.  I skimmed the screen lightly
and saw the numbers – home, office, cell.  One little
swipe…

"Orion."

Not a soft,  "Hi."  No,
 "Doc."  Just, "Orion."  All
business. 

I cleared my throat.  "It's me. 
Helen.  Eriksson."

"Oh, hey."

My heart ached for the comfort he offered,
but the brain reminded me that it was too little too late.  "I
should call Darnell and give him this information.  I'm sorry
I called you."

"Hey, hold on.  What
information?"  His tone grew achingly intimate.  "Baby,
you sound upset.  What's wrong?"

Christ, his voice.  It sucked stupid
words tumbling out of my mouth.  "Where are you?  When
are you coming home?"

"Soon," he murmured.  "Am I welcome
when I get back?"

"Tom Denton is dead."  A shaky hand
swiped at the moisture that drizzled suddenly from my nose. 
"Shelly's upset, understandably, since he died while in custody at
Downey Division.  And I swear to God she's having flashbacks
or something."

"Whoa, slow down.  Why was Denton in
custody?"

"We caught him out recruiting homeless guys
Friday night."

"And this is a criminal act because…?"

"We were using what Tony calls his material
–"

"Witness gag," Johnny groaned.  "You're
right, Helen.  You need to get Chris involved in this right
away.  I wish I could drop what I'm doing and come home, but
I'm in the middle of something pretty important."

I wanted to stomp my feet and demand to know
what could possibly be more important than something so dire that I
almost admitted that I needed him here.

"You haven't answered my question yet," he
continued.  "Am I welcome when I come back?"

"Yes," I whispered.  "Johnny, you know
you are."

His voice dipped so low my toes
curled.  "I will be there as soon as I possibly can.  I
promise."

"Where are you?"

"It's a case, Helen.  I can't get into
it right now, but I want you to know that I've been thinking about
how we left things every minute that I've been gone.  I want
to make this right, make it work.  I hope you're telling me
the same thing right now, in your usual evasive way."

He laughed, but I heard the nervous tremor
in his voice.

"You can't smother me, Johnny.  You
have to let me do my own thing, even if it makes you worry. 
I've been on my own for a very long time, and I'm not used
to…to…"

"People giving a damn what happens to
you?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but permission has
never been in my vocabulary."

"There's room for compromise in here
somewhere," the audible smile was relaxed now.  "I miss
you."

"Me too."

"God, I wish I was there right now."

"Why?  It's not like you'd be where I
am for the foreseeable future.  We've got to figure out how
somebody got a police uniform, slipped into Downey, poisoned Denton
and got back out without leaving any evidence of how the deed was
done.  And I have zero shot at getting a look inside that
research building now that Denton is dead."

"I can see I've missed a lot of details
since I left town."

"You're not the only one who feels that
way.  I'm right in the middle of this and I feel like
something I should see is staring me in the face."

"Close your eyes."

"Johnny –"

"Humor me.  Close your eyes." 
After a moment's pause,  "Did you do it?"

"Yes."

"Take in a slow, deep breath…relax…"

"I'm –"

"No talking.  Just listen to my voice
and keep breathing.  Let all the little bits of the case fall
away.  Stop thinking about what you suspect and focus on what
you know.  Are you doing that?"

I held my breath.

"You can answer."

"Yes."

"What's the first thing that comes to
mind?"

"The common link in this case is substance
abuse or the appearance of substance abuse and bodies dumped in the
trash."

"What else, Helen?"

"In an odd way, it sort of fits that Denton
was poisoned.  Cox was given an overdose against his will, but
in order to kill Denton, they had to be more subtle."

"So your focus on this case is…"

The image of our police impersonator flashed
on the backs of my eyelids, right down to the unusual sheen of his
skin.  My eyes shot open.  "Johnny, you're a
genius!  Hurry home.  I'll fill you in on everything when
you get here."

"I love you too –"

I disconnected the call and ran out of the
interrogation room.  "We've got to go to the dry cleaner's
place now.  I think I might've recognized something about the
man on the video.  Can we get a print out of the clearest shot
we have of him before we leave?"

Within minutes, my foot was pushing against
the floor of the back seat of the sedan trying to will Crevan to
drive faster.

"Calm down, Eriksson.  Even if we get
there in two minutes, it don't mean the boss of the place will be
there yet."

"I know," I said, "but I'm pretty sure I've
figured out how to link Denton's death to the guys behind the
others, specifically Detective Cox."

"You could share that information with us,"
Crevan suggested.

"Okay, but let me get all the way through
this.  When I was talking to Johnny, it occurred to me – why
are you two grinning at each other?"

"Oh, nothin'," Briscoe turned his head and
smirked.  "It's just nice to know you two are on speakin'
terms again."

"Cox died of a drug overdose, and Maya is
sure it was forced on him against his will given the ligature of
the wrists and ankles and the absence of evidince of chronic drug
abuse."

"Right."

"And our five vics from Downey and Darkwater
proper all were substance abusers of one sort or another, so Maya
wasn't surprised when their tox screens lit up positive for
methamphetamine."

"I follow," Briscoe said.

"Denton was probably given a fatal dose of
cyanide in whatever the fake cop carried into Downey Division at
six this morning."

"Right, Eriksson, but cyanide ain't exactly
a street drug."

"I agree.  What did this guy have when
all the other victims died, if our theory is correct and all of
this leads back to a single source?"

"A big ol' farm out in the middle of
nowhere," Briscoe said.  "We ain't stupid, Helen."

"And what didn't he have when Denton
died?"

"Privacy," Crevan said.  "So he had to
use something that could be given to Denton without his
knowledge."

"Bingo.  In food or drink," I
said.  "But this is what links him back to the other
crimes.  He wore a police uniform."

"You think our perp is a cop after all?"

"No, Tony.  I think he somehow gained
access to Downey's uniforms, but that if we can find that specific
uniform and test it –"

"We'll get his DNA."

"Not just his DNA, his sweat.  Did you
notice in the video?  It was the single obvious characteristic
on the tape."

"The sheen of perspiration," Crevan
said.  "I wondered if there was something wrong with the
video.  He looked…shiny."

"And how does this help us?  I thought
there was no DNA in sweat and saliva."

"There isn't, but –"

"CSD can drug test the sweat," Crevan
said.  "And if it pops for the same substance in our prior
victims, there's the link between Denton and all six this
time."

"And if the guy this picture sort of
resembles happens to work for the dry cleaner –"

"How the hell do you think you recognize
somebody off such a piss poor photo, Eriksson?  And where'd
you see this guy anyway?"

"If you add a few day's growth of beard, a
whole lotta grime, take away the cap to reveal a shiny bald head,
slap him in leather, and he looks an awful lot like one of the men
who threatened me the other night."

"So all of this links back to Uncle Nooky's
place?"

"I never said that.  But somebody in
that bar admitted that Preacher was a regular.  Somebody in
that bar corroborated that Denton was hiring homeless men."

"Ergo, someone at Uncle Nooky's might be up
to this to where his eyebrows should be if he had 'em."

"The problem with the guys at that bar is
that they don't use their Christian names," I said.  "Sort of
like the difficulty we had identifying the John Doe victims."

"Hold on a second, Helen.  We might
actually get somewhere searching for aliases of bikers, especially
if they've got criminal records."

"True enough.  Unfortunately, the bald
eagle didn't even give me his biker name."

"The helpful one did, though, didn't
he?  That Batshit Crazy guy."

"Yeah, he was the one who was helpful."

Tony grinned at Crevan again.  "What
say after this list business is done and we figure out if we can
find the pilfered uniform, we let Eriksson take another run at the
guys at Nooky's?"

"Johnny will have our hide if we do."

Tony shrugged.  "We gotta get the
dude's name."

"First," I pointed at the dry cleaning
business, "we've got to cross our fingers that the man who took
that uniform was stupid enough to return it for processing. 
I'm assuming by the pissed off foot tapping that the guy in the
parking lot is the one waiting for us."

Ben Karen started out defensive at even the
suggestion that a uniform could've been plundered from his tight
ship.  He insisted that every uniform checked in on Friday was
present and accounted for.  These were the only soiled Downey
uniforms in the building.  Wednesday's pickup had been cleaned
by close of business Friday and would be delivered Monday.

"So what you're telling me is that Friday's
pickup won't be cleaned until Monday, correct?"

"Yes, Detective Eriksson.  I can assure
you that if every uniform we picked up did not match the check-in
roster that the first call I would've made would've been to
Sergeant Middlesex.  Our system is automated, and the few
employees I have are of the highest caliber.  I trust their
integrity completely."