34
“What’s he doing?” Swift asked Baxter, under her breath. “Listening to the room.”
“What?”
“Don’t ask.”
The two female law enforcement officers stood silently and watched as Mike stared off into space-or at least as far as it was possible to stare in this small and sordid public rest room. Crime scene technicians swarmed around them. A man in yellow coveralls was on his hands and knees picking up bits of trace evidence with adhesive strips. Another was rubbing Luminol on the tile as if it were floor wax, looking for errant blood traces in a sea of red. And Mike appeared oblivious to it all.
“How long does this usually take?” Swift asked.
“No telling. Until he comes up with something. Sometimes not long. And sometimes… well, let’s just say we might want to adjourn to that deli I spotted outside and get lunch. And dinner, if necessary.”
Swift grimaced. “I hope it doesn’t take that long. This place smells.”
“Most murder scenes do.”
“Thanks, Sergeant, I have worked a crime or two. But this joint is way above average on the stink scale. It probably smelled bad even before it contained a corpse. But now we have that all-too-rare combination of urine, decaying flesh, and copious amounts of blood. A whole can of Glade couldn’t freshen this place up.”
One of the local Chicago crime techs, a man named Grayson, perked up. “Actually, it isn’t any of those things. It’s the cranial gases.”
“Cranial gases?”
He nodded. “Released when the gunshot blew off half the guy’s head. Stinks to high heaven. Worse than colon dissections.”
“So we’re all carrying around little stink bombs in our heads?” Baxter pulled a face. “Remind me not to put a gun in my mouth.”
Swift approached Mike and gave him a slap on the shoulder. “All right, Yoda. Enough communing with the universe. Whaddaya think?”
Mike slowly diverted his gaze to her. “He thought he was safe.”
“Come again, slick?”
“He thought he was in the clear. He knew someone was out to get him, but he thought he’d managed to escape whoever it was or whatever he’d done. Probably going to catch the first bus out of town and never come back.”
“I can confirm that,” Grayson said, pointing at the materials he had carefully removed from the victim’s satchel and wrapped in plastic. “Bus ticket. Unused.”
Mike nodded. “Must’ve been a hell of a shock when he turned around and saw… whoever.”
Baxter’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know he did?”
Mike pointed to a red smudge on the steel flush handle above the right-side urinal. “Blood-but no fingerprints. He must’ve been standing right here, facing away, when the killer smashed his head back. Probably taking a leak, turned around-and there he was. He recognized his killer.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because he didn’t scream immediately. If a stranger had come this close, he would’ve shouted. But he recognized the assailant. He probably tried to talk his way out of it. Didn’t work. Judging from the lacerations on the jaw and the chest, the killer knew how to fight. He put the victim out of commission fast. And then blew his head off.”
“Okay, Sherlock,” Swift said, “I’ll buy all that. Got a theory on why the poor slob was killed?”
“If I knew that, I’d know who did it. Unfortunately, I don’t.” Mike thumbed through the contents of the dead man’s travel bag. “Twelve-inch ruler. Zircon-studded dog collar.”
“Guy must’ve had a big dog, judging from the collar,” Swift said. “My mama always favored Great Danes, herself.”
Mike didn’t reply. He turned to Grayson, who was testing something with his pocket-size lab kit. “What’s that?”
“A white creamy substance I found inside the victim’s satchel.”
“Yes, but what is it?”
“I can’t be sure. I’ll need to get it back to the lab.”
“Grayson, I saw you test it. Tell me what it is.”
“I can’t be positive until-”
“Grayson.”
“My professional integrity requires-”
“Grayson!” Mike jerked the man toward him by the collar. “Are you aware of how much I outrank you?”
“Sir… you’re not even a member of our force. You’re out of your jurisdiction.”
“Which won’t help your sorry ass one little bit if I tell your supervisor you disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer. Understand me?”
“Yes. Sir,” he added.
“So I’d appreciate it if you’d answer my question. What is it?”
“Nonoynol-9,” he answered sullenly.
“And what the hell is that?”
“It’s… most commonly used as a spermicide.”
“Thank you, Grayson. Dismissed.”
Grayson left the bathroom as quickly as possible.
“Bit hard on him, weren’t you?” Swift asked. “Since he was basically right. You’re out of your jurisdiction.”
“Details, details…” He grabbed Baxter’s arm and pulled her over. “Let’s test your deductive reasoning powers, Sergeant. What did this poor schmuck do for a living?”
She stared at the contents of the bag. “Dog collar. Ruler. Little bracelets.”
“And spermicide,” Mike added. “They all add up to?…”
She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“That’s all right. It’s not a sign of inferior detective skills. More like a sign that you’re a wholesome person. Now, Special Agent Swift here probably got it a long time ago. Am I right?”
Swift grinned. “My mama didn’t raise her girls in a convent.”
Baxter looked annoyed. “So spill already. What does it all add up to?”
Swift batted her eyelashes. “Sex, sugah.”
“Sex? I mean, I get the spermicide, but-” She stopped short. “Ohhh. I am so embarrassed.”
“I would say kinky sex,” Swift added, “but that’s so judgmental.”
Mike smirked. “You may recall that Shelly-the bartender at Remote Control-told us about a chicken? A male prostitute, for the unenlightened. Charlie, I think she called him. She said he was at the bar the night Tony Barovick was killed. Left not long after Tony did.”
“Just like Manny Nowosky.”
Mike nodded. “These people are all linked-and not just by the fact that they’re now dead. They’re being systematically picked off because they are all connected to… something. And the most likely candidate?”
Swift agreed. “The Ecstacy ring.”
“Wait a minute,” Baxter said, trying to catch up. “If the victims were all involved in a drug ring, that would mean that Tony Barovick-”
“Was not exactly the saint the popular press has made him out to be.”
Baxter’s eyes widened. “If you’re right, a lot of protesters currently camped out in front of the courthouse are going to have to repaint their placards.”
“Yeah. And find a new martyr.” Mike grabbed his trench coat. “Come on, gang. Let’s check out this loser’s apartment.”
“Right behind you, tiger.”
“Oh, and Baxter?”
She stopped at the door. “Yeah?”
Mike smiled. “Those weren’t little bracelets.”
She covered her face with her hand. “Oh, geeeez…”
35
As Christina hurried down the long courtroom corridor, she listened intently to the words coming over her cell phone.
“I really do think there may be a connection, Chris. Between Tony Barovick, and the drill bit through the head guy, and this new victim. I know the evidence is slim, but my instincts tell me there’s something there.”
“Like what?”
“I have no idea. But I intend to find out. So let’s stay in touch with each other, okay? And exchange information. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for keeping me informed, Mike. I really appreciate it.”
“Least I can do. Hey-do me a favor. You and Ben be careful.”
“Okay. Why?”