Blood Passage (2 page)

Hank turned around and looked at a young detective in his late twenties. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed and he wore jeans and a blue corduroy jacket over a yellow patterned shirt. His glasses had thin black frames and narrow lenses. His skin was the color of chestnuts. Hank looked at the departmental identification that hung on a lanyard around the man’s neck, he looked at the departmental accordion file in the man’s right hand with the white and red CCU label on it, and he looked down at the man’s shoes: three-hundred-dollar Reeboks. Now what would a twenty something up-and-comer from the Cold Case Unit want with him?

“
He’s Donaghue,” Karen snapped. “I’m Stainer. What do you want?”

“
Uh, Detective Waverman, CCU. Okay if I sit down?” Waverman sat in the visitor’s chair beside Hank’s desk. Next to his elbow was a nameplate with Hank’s name on it. He looked at it and hummed softly while opening his accordion file.

Patience is a virtue, Hank reminded himself. With a small movement of his hand he tapped the mouse button to minimize his half-finished report.

“
I’m sorry to bother you, Lieutenant.” Waverman removed a manila file folder from the accordion file and set it down on the corner of Hank’s desk. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the Martin Liu homicide. It was a case that belonged to Detective Joseph Kalzowski four years ago. It was transferred to CCU a year later, I believe after the retirement of Detective Kalzowski, and recently assigned to me.”

Hank picked up the manila file folder and opened it. “Liu?”

He flipped through the documents inside the folder. They were copies of various items from the murder book kept by Kalzowski during the original investigation. If CCU had received the case they would have the actual murder book, which was the entire file covering the case, so this was just a “show and tell” excerpt Waverman had put together to carry around with him to interviews.

There wasn’t much there. He looked at a couple of crime scene photos and nodded as it came back to him as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

“
Yeah, I remember. Kalzowski had the lead. I got called away a few minutes after we got there and Joe did all the leg work. We were pretty short-staffed back then.” He closed the folder and put it back down on the corner of his desk. “Not much I can tell you about it. Why?”

“
Do you recall any connection between the vic and out-of-towners, maybe from a university or college somewhere?”

“
Nope. Anything in the book about it?”

“
What’s this all about?” Karen interjected.

Waverman shook his head, still looking at Hank. “No, there isn’t. I got something today, though.” He took a piece of paper from the accordion file and passed it over to Hank. “An incident report filed by a beat cop early this morning relating to an assault near end of shift yesterday afternoon. A guy by the name of Joshua Duncan, a student from Thomas Gaines University in Memphis, was found beaten up in an alley over in Chinatown. He told the cop he was investigating the death of Martin Liu, or words to that effect.”

Hank scanned the document. An incident report was an electronic file sent through the department’s computer network. This one stated that the semi-conscious victim had been found by city sanitation workers who called 911. The responding officer questioned the victim, who said, quote, “I’m investigating Martin Liu, who was killed here four years ago.”

The victim’s wallet was stolen from his pocket, netting his assailants two credit cards and a couple hundred dollars in cash and travelers checks. The victim’s knapsack was found at the entrance of the alley. Missing were a notebook, an iPod, a hardcover book on early childhood development and a return airline ticket to Memphis. The victim told the officer he was a graduate student studying child psychiatry. He described his assailants as two Asian males, one wearing a dark blue sports jacket and red sneakers, the other wearing a black leather jacket and cowboy boots.

Hank leaned forward and fired the document across his desk at Karen, who snatched it up and looked it over.

“
The officer ran the Liu name,” Waverman explained, “saw it was flagged in the system as a cold case file and made a mental note to send a report to me first thing this morning. I’m on my way to the hospital now to see Duncan before he leaves but I thought I’d look you up first to see if you had any idea why a college student would be looking into a four-year-old homicide.”

“
We appreciate you bringing this to our attention,” Karen said. “Just have the paperwork done to transfer the case back to us.”

Hank looked at her, amused.

“
Hey, I’d be happy to,” Waverman said, standing up and quickly returning the manila folder to the safety of his accordion file. “I’ve got a full plate, believe me, but it’s not that easy, Detective. The CCU doesn’t hand back files that have been turned over to it. Politics and funding, you should know that.” He leaned forward and took the incident report from Karen’s hand. “I have to get over to the hospital before he takes off. He’s already been discharged. Thanks anyway.”

“
We’ll both go,” Karen said, standing up and pulling her jacket off the back of her chair.

Hank saved his work, logged off the network and stood up. “We’ll all go.”

Waverman looked from Karen to Hank and shrugged. “All right. I’ll drive.”

They trooped down to the elevator and Waverman pressed the button for the lower level where his car was parked. When the elevator arrived Hank stood at the back and looked at their reflections in the mirror-paneled interior of the elevator car. Waverman was short, about five feet nine inches, and weighed about a hundred and fifty pounds. He stared at the buttons on the control panel and quietly hummed something under his breath. Standing next to Hank, Karen caught his eye in the mirror panel and winked. Stay tuned, Little Ms. Mischief is in a mood.

Hank towered behind Waverman at six feet, three inches. He weighed a pound under two hundred and was a little round-shouldered. He had long arms with long, slender fingers, size thirteen feet, and a size 34 waist. He had frizzy brown hair that was starting to show some grey, he was clean-shaven with a dimpled chin and fleshy lips, and his heavy brow gave his brown eyes a brooding look. He was 44 years old and beginning to feel every last day of it. He remembered Liu clearly now, remembered staring into those sightless green eyes and thinking that something was wrong with the set-up. He remembered being a little surprised at the color of the victim’s irises. He remembered moving out into bright sunshine, aware of being alive while Martin Liu lay dead in the alley behind him. He remembered putting the sight out of his mind during the ride over the bridge back into Midtown.

He rode in the back of Waverman’s Subaru Outback while Karen sat up front in the passenger seat. As soon as they were out of the parking garage and into traffic she glanced over at Waverman.

“
How long you been on the force?”

“
Three years,” Waverman replied, eyes on the traffic ahead of him. “Graduated from the academy, finished probation, rode patrol for a while and then passed the detective exam.”

“
Where’d you go?”

“
Anti-Terrorism. Then an opening came up in CCU, I applied and got in. The Martin Liu file is part of my case load. This is the first time anything new has broken on it.”

Karen was not going to be diverted into discussing the case until her other priorities were satisfied. “Elspeth Williams is your captain there, right? What’s she like?”

Waverman shrugged. “Not bad. A little distant. Spends most of her time in meetings.”

“
I hear she’s a bitch. Can’t turn your back on her. The only six she cares about is her own.”

Hank watched in the rear-view mirror as Waverman’s eyes widened a little behind his glasses.

“
I don’t know,” Waverman said cautiously. “She seems okay to me.”

“
Y’all got five detectives in the unit, right?” Karen shifted in her seat to look at him. “Bill Ireland still there? He’s the only one I know of.”

“
No, there’s Amy Chin, Edgar Roberts, Sami Verdan, Maureen Truly and myself. Sami’s been there the longest.”

“
Must be boring,” Karen opined, “sitting around all day waitin’ on something to happen to cases that are deader than a fuckin’ doornail. I just came over to Homicide last fall from Family-Related. Christ, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve done a stint in Family-Related Crime. Can’t catch your breath.”

Hank listened to them swap a few more names until Waverman stopped at a red light. He leaned forward and asked: “What hospital is the Duncan kid in?”

Waverman glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. “Angel of Mercy.”

The light changed to green and Waverman accelerated smoothly through the intersection.

“
I see you carry the Glock 22,” Karen said, nodding at the holstered firearm that Waverman had unclipped from his belt and put in the well of the center console within easy reach of his right hand. “How’s that work for you?”

“
All right,” Waverman shrugged. “I’m not much for guns.”

Departmental policy gave officers the ability to choose their service weapon from an approved list that included the Glock 22 and a number of other alternatives.

“
Off-duty weapon?”

Waverman hesitated and then understood her question. “Oh, I only have this one.” He glanced over at her, knowing he was expected to reciprocate. “What about you?”

Karen shrugged blandly. “My court gun is this Browning High Point nine mil with burl wood grips I’m carrying right now, since that’s where I was at this morning. My normal duty weapon is the SIG Sauer P226, more expensive but a lot more gun for your money. I fire the forty S and W with that, and it’s a very nice piece. My oh-shit backup is a Kel-Tec P11 nine mil, the little 10-plus-one shot, my off-duty is a Beretta Px4 Storm and my barbecue gun is an ass-kicking Smith and Wesson M66 .357 magnum revolver with ivory grips. Mean-assed sweetie.”

Waverman frowned. “Barbecue gun?”

A smile flitted around the corners of Karen’s mouth as she rolled her eyes and looked out the side window. This was too easy.

Hank leaned forward again. “A barbecue gun is a gun that you carry to barbecues in order to show it off. She’s from Texas. Barbecue guns are big in Texas.”

“
Okay,” Waverman said perfunctorily.

He was obviously not very interested in the subject, so Karen pressed it.

“
What’d you score on the academy course?” she asked, referring to the shooting course that all academy participants were required to pass with a minimum score of 280 out of 400 in order to graduate.

“
Three thirty-six,” Waverman replied. This score was middle rung but good enough to qualify him for the minimal marksmanship bonus on his bi-weekly paycheck.

“
Did you shoot the bonus course?” It was possible for departmental officers to shoot an additional course after graduation in order to improve on their academy score and qualify for a higher paycheck bonus. Very few of the newer officers bothered with the bonus course these days, though, as the department had instituted an annual requalification system a few years ago despite vigorous resistance from the union. The requalification test was a “no miss” pass or fail course that almost everyone found either very stressful or a nuisance, and since it took priority over the academy bonus course, very few officers now bothered with the latter.

“
No,” Waverman shook his head. “Did you?”

Karen scoffed. “Hell, yeah. I shot a 396 academy, but I was hung over that morning and felt like shit. Shot a perfect 400 next time.”

Waverman raised his eyebrows. “Wow, Four Hundred Club.”

“
Yeah, membership currently at five.” Karen nodded at Hank in the back seat. “The Lou back there shot a 397 academy but never shot the bonus. I’ve watched him practice with that boring Glock 17 he carries and he’s definitely Four Hundred material. Won’t shoot the bonus, though.”

“
I don’t like to play with guns,” Hank said.

Karen laughed and looked out the window.

The car remained silent until they turned into the hospital parking lot. Karen had had her fun, and was now probably brooding about the case from her previous assignment that had dragged her off to court this week. It was a child molestation case that had taken an ugly turn, and despite her hard-boiled exterior Karen was upset. Just the same, Hank was grateful for a little peace and quiet.

They went into the hospital and up to Josh Duncan’s room. As they approached the door, Hank glanced at the glass of an emergency fire hose cabinet. It was a habit developed over a lifetime, finding and using reflective surfaces. He caught a glimpse of Waverman’s left hand and saw that it was clenching and unclenching, betraying his nervous tension.

They found Duncan sitting on the edge of his bed, already dressed, zipping up his knapsack.

Waverman went through the door first. “Joshua Duncan?”

He looked up apprehensively. “Yes?”

“
I’m Detective Waverman; this is Detective Stainer and Lieutenant Donaghue.” Waverman held up his badge. Karen pushed in behind.

Hank, bringing up the rear, slipped off to the side and up along the bed to the wall so that he was positioned on Josh’s left. He put his hands on his hips, moving his jacket aside so that the young man could see the ID and badge clipped to his belt. He saw Josh glance at his sidearm and then look down at his feet.