The Dead Room (4 page)

Teddy guessed the man was Dennis Vega, the lead detective. In spite of the cool air, Vega was sweating. And from the tone of his voice, he appeared more than anxious.

Teddy moved closer, then flinched as he spotted the body stretched out on the dining room table. It was underneath a milky layer of plastic that had been formed into a tent enclosing the entire table. Teddy couldn’t exactly see the girl’s body, just its hazy form. A man wearing a gas mask was at the head of the table, lifting the plastic open. It looked as if a lamp had been rigged inside the tent, the light bulb fitted with an aluminum dish. Teddy watched the man squeeze something from a small tube into the hot dish, eye the body, then repeat the process. Several discarded tubes were laid out on a sheet of newspaper on the floor. Reading the labels, Teddy realized Powell hadn’t been kidding. The man was shooting super glue into the dish and watching it vaporize from the heat of the light bulb. The plastic was actually clear, the young girl’s body entombed in a dense cloud of noxious fumes.

The man gave the body another look. Then he lowered the plastic, sealing it to the table with a pair of spring clips.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice muffled by the gas mask.

The man dropped the empty tube onto the newspaper and opened a new one. As he straightened the drop clothes with his feet, Teddy noticed the blood pool on the floor underneath. He looked up and saw more blood sprayed all over the walls. Whatever happened to Darlene Lewis had been brutal. He took a step back, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Powell asked.

“It’s the fumes,” he said, lying. “I think I’ll have a look around.”

Teddy backed out of the living room, passing through the foyer into the kitchen. He’d been hoping for a glass of water, but someone had torn the sink apart, removing the pipes and garbage disposal. When he spotted the pantry, he swung the door open and found a canister of bottled water. The dispenser was an industrial model with hot and cold taps and a paper cup holder. Teddy poured a cup and guzzled it down. Then he poured another and moved to the open window, sucking fresh air into his lungs between small sips of more cold water. He could see the district attorney on the rear terrace, pacing back and forth with a cigarette burning and his cell phone pressed to his ear. Against the far wall, he noticed a beer keg packed in the snow. A squirrel was sitting on the keg, taking a shit and eating nuts as it kept its nervous eyes on Andrews.

Teddy turned away, his gaze resting on the disassembled garbage disposal. The delay in clearing the house had to do with the girl’s body and whatever they were doing with those tubes of super glue. That much was obvious. But tearing apart the sink seemed odd as well.

Tossing the paper cup in the trash, he returned to the foyer keeping in mind the house as he’d seen it from the street and trying to get a feel for the layout. The living room and dining room were on the other side of the stairs to his left. Behind a double set of doors to his right he found a study and stepped inside. Scanning the room quickly, it looked as though the Lewis family used it as an informal sitting room. The chairs were overstuffed and centered about a luxurious oriental carpet before the fireplace. Most of the furniture were antiques, and the room had a feeling of warmth and comfort. He noticed a painting above the mantel and crossed the room for a closer look. It was an N.C. Wyeth. Not a copy, but an original. Teddy knew the painting was worth a fortune. He turned, taking the room in with his back to the fireplace. On the opposite wall he noticed three more paintings which he recognized. Seurat, Gauguin, and Cezanne. He looked at the chairs again and realized one had been turned to face these magnificent works of art. No doubt the owner of these paintings spent a lot of time sitting in that chair staring at them. Clearly, robbery wasn’t the motive in Darlene Lewis’s horrible death.

It was beginning to get dark outside. Teddy checked the doors in the room, expecting a powder room but finding closets instead. To the left of the fireplace was an entryway to a library—a long, narrow room with books lining all four walls from floor to ceiling. Beyond the library was another sitting room, smaller than the first with a desk and computer, then a laundry room, a breakfast room and back to the kitchen.

Teddy returned to the foyer, eyeing it closely. A door was cracked open in the wall beneath the stairs he’d missed the first time around. Swinging it out of the way, he found just what he expected. The toilet had been lifted from the floor. When he opened the cabinets beneath the sink, the pipes were missing here as well.

He backed out into the hall, glancing at the living room as he climbed the stairs. No one was sitting around any longer, the waiting over. The crime scene techs had opened their cases and were rigging fluorescent light fixtures on stands and carrying them into the dining room. A man with a video camera was opening a fresh tape.

Teddy continued up the stairs and down the hall, passing the master bedroom until he found a common bath. He hurried inside, switching the lights on. The plumbing had been ripped apart here as well. The detectives had combed through the house for most of the day. The job had been thorough because they thought Oscar Holmes, the friendly neighborhood mailman, wanted to get rid of something. It seemed obvious that whatever that something was had everything to do with making the circumstances
unusual
as well.

Teddy stepped into the hall, looking for the girl’s bedroom. It was the third door down, and he stopped to take it in before entering. It was a teenager’s room. A room in transition furnished with hopes and dreams and the lingering mementoes of a childhood about to be left behind. The sadness was overwhelming because the evolution from girl to young woman had been destroyed.

His eyes came to rest on an old oak chest against the wall by the window. Spotting a series of photographs, he flipped the light switch and crossed the room. The pictures had been dusted for fingerprints, along with the brass handles on the drawers. One photo stood out, and Teddy picked the frame up by its edges, trying to avoid the dark gray powder that ADA Powell had warned him about. It was a family shot, taken while on vacation and probably recent. It could have been Rome, but Teddy suspected it was Paris. He looked at the faces, the smiles, guessing the eldest daughter had to be Darlene. She was pretty, even beautiful. By the way her father was holding onto her, Teddy could tell he thought so, too. Teddy’s eyes moved back to Darlene in the picture and he studied her face. She was more worldly than he expected, almost too sophisticated to live in this room.

He set down the picture and looked around. He noticed her clothes on the chair, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Then he crossed the room to the closet, reviewing her clothing. He spotted a pair of panties rolled into a ball on the floor and picked them up. As he opened them and examined them in the light, someone tapped on the bedroom door.

It was ADA Carolyn Powell, staring at him with a lazy smile and those blue gray eyes of hers.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.

Teddy froze, embarrassed. “She was sexually active,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“There’s a discharge. She had sex with someone, then put these back on.”

Powell’s eyes went to the panties, then flipped back to his face. “She was eighteen, living in a modern world. We could discuss it more thoroughly if you’d like, but I think they’re ready downstairs.”

Teddy nodded and tossed the panties into the closet. Giving the room a last look, he switched the lights off and followed Powell out the door.

FOUR

The dining room had changed in the last hour. Darlene Lewis’s body remained entombed in the smoke beneath the plastic, but an exhaust fan had been placed in the window and the fumes from the hot glue were much easier to handle now. Six fluorescent fixtures mounted on light stands stood off to the side, plugged into the wall and ready to go.

Detective Vega traded looks with the district attorney. After a moment, Vega nodded at the man wearing the gas mask, who then removed the lamp from beneath the plastic and set it down on the floor careful not to spill any glue that might have remained in the dish attached to the light bulb. The girl’s form underneath the plastic went dark, and Teddy tried to get a grip on what he was about to see. Then the man with the gas mask began releasing the spring clamps that sealed the plastic to the wood of the dining room table. Everyone took a step closer, whether they were conscious of it or not. The fan whirled in the background. The haunting sound of the man’s labored breathing through his gas mask was almost too much to take. Teddy glanced at Vega, the detective’s chiseled face beneath his short dark hair filled with hope and expectation. Then at the district attorney, all wound up like a spring.

The man in the gas mask gathered the plastic and pulled it away.

Teddy felt his heart skip a beat. The noxious smoke rose from the corpse like the plume from a mushroom cloud, the shock wave smacking everyone in the gut. Darlene Lewis was lying on the table completely naked, her arms and legs tied down with rags, her mouth gagged. Her eyes were open and bulging beyond their sockets, and her neck appeared bruised. From the hideous expression on the girl’s face, it looked as if she died screaming. But it was worse than that. Skin had been removed from her body, and when Teddy noticed, he shuddered in terror. A large patch of skin on her lower right calf, another just above her shaved vagina, and even more from the underside of her breasts. A thick, clear liquid was oozing from the breast wounds and collecting on the table. Teddy tried to look away, but couldn’t.

Unusual circumstances
. He knew what the words meant now.

“Bring in the lights,” Vega whispered.

Teddy took a step back with the others as the crime scene techs grabbed their lights and positioned them around the table.

“Close the curtains,” the detective said. “And turn off the house lights.”

The room went black. Teddy wasn’t sure he could deal with the darkness, then felt Powell take his hand, give it a gentle squeeze and let go as the fluorescent lights were switched on. They were black lights, casting the body in a deep blue, dream-like glow. The girl’s skin darkened and white-hot marks appeared all over its surface.

Fingerprints. Bite marks. Impressions left from the killer’s lips.

Vega moved closer, his eyes dancing over the dead body in amazement.

The super glue had somehow mixed with the moisture left behind from the murderer’s skin. What he’d done to the girl blossomed to the surface like flowers smoldering in the void. For Teddy, it was a leap into the darkness, almost as if he were watching the murderer at work before his eyes. The crime was in motion, yet he couldn’t stop it as he watched it unfold. The madman’s hands pawing at the girl’s legs, then moving up her body. Kissing her open thighs, feeling her arms and then grabbing at her chest until he finally reached her neck. It was almost as if his hands and mouth had been dipped in bright white paint, leaving a record of what they’d done. Now Teddy understood why Vega hadn’t wanted the body disturbed—why the detective had taken the chance and tented the body before it was handled or moved. Teddy couldn’t help but admire him. Even at a glance, the brilliance in the man’s dark eyes shined through.

“Bring in the cameras,” Vega said. “Video first, then stills. We’ll do prints and take samples later.”

The man Teddy had seen loading his camera with a fresh tape brushed by him and approached the table. After he recorded the body in wide shots, he moved in for a series of closer views. Vega stood by his side, pointing out where the killer had squeezed the girl’s breasts, pressed his lips into them, and then removed the skin with a knife that must have been as sharp as a razor blade or scalpel.

Teddy felt his stomach turn and thought he might vomit. He’d seen enough and slipped past Powell through the entryway. Not sure that he could drive just yet, he found a seat in the living room and sat down in the darkness. He wondered what kind of person could do this. We all share the same world and even breathe the same air, he thought, but what could be going through this person’s twisted mind? What brand of madness brought him to think it and desire it, let alone carry it through?

Someone entered the living room. Teddy looked up and saw the district attorney take a chair on the other side of the coffee table across from him. Andrews was a seasoned veteran. But Teddy could tell that what happened to Darlene Lewis was a mile or two beyond even the district attorney’s every day tour.

“You okay, Teddy Mack?”

Teddy nodded. The district attorney’s continual use of his full name irritated him, but not enough to say anything right now. He watched the man light a cigarette. Andrews must have sensed his need and offered him one. Teddy took it, leaning into the flame with a shaky hand as Andrews struck his lighter. Teddy didn’t smoke very often—one or two at parties—but the nicotine seemed to help quiet him down.

“What was wrong with her breasts?” Teddy whispered. “That clear liquid oozing out.”

“Implants,” Andrews said.

Teddy took another drag on the cigarette, drawing the smoke in and wondering why an eighteen-year-old girl who looked as good as Darlene Lewis thought she needed breast implants. He thought about what Carolyn Powell had said in the girl’s bedroom—Darlene Lewis in the modern world.