“You’re my best friend, too. Twenty years now.”
“We were such babies when we met.”
Patti laughed. “You were such a baby. Remember, I’ve got ten years on you.”
June didn’t smile. “I don’t know if I could have managed all the curves and bumps without you. And I mean that.”
Tears stung Patti’s eyes. “Now you’re just getting maudlin. And you’re making me that way, too.”
June released her hand, then wiped a tear from her cheek. “Must be premenopausal.”
“Been there, done that, it sucked.” Patti’s cell phone vibrated. She saw that it was headquarters, sent June an apologetic glance and picked up. “Captain O’Shay.”
“Patti, it’s Tony. Thought you’d want in on this. Looks like we have another Handyman victim.”
52
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
9:20 a.m.
The lower Ninth ward had been one of the hardest hit by Katrina. Water had topped the levees in some areas by more than twelve feet. Rebuilding here had been at best sporadic. The current population of this parish stood at about twenty-five percent its pre-hurricane population. It was a tragic wasteland-but a smart place to dump a body.
Patti picked her way around the piles of building debris, slick from the previous night’s rain. She ducked under the scene tape, aware of the crime techs arriving behind her. The press wouldn’t be far behind once word leaked that the Handyman had struck again.
Spencer and Tony stood beside the badly decomposed victim. They looked her way as Patti approached. Spencer didn’t smile.
“Hey, Captain,” Tony said, holding out a jar of Vicks VapoRub.
She took it and applied a smear under her nose; it helped mitigate the stench of the corpse. “Detectives. What’ve we got?”
She could see the basics already: female, white, quite dead.
“Found by a couple of sightseers on a ‘disaster tour.’ Saw more than they wanted to, that’s for damn certain.”
“ID?”
“Nope.”
“Cause of death?”
“To be confirmed by autopsy, but she was shot in the chest. Twice.”
Patti frowned. “That’s not the Handyman’s MO.”
“True. But that is.”
She followed the direction of his gaze. Right hand missing.
“No sign of the hand?” she asked.
“Nope. That’s not to say a dog or wild animal couldn’t have carried it off, but there’s no doubt it was ‘removed’ first.”
Patti fitted on latex gloves and squatted beside the victim. When dumped, the victim had been fully dressed. Like her body, the garments had begun to deteriorate in the hot, humid air. Patti moved her gaze over her, starting with her head, forcing herself to go slowly. Long, bleached-blond hair-she’d needed to have her roots done. Dangly earrings, flashy. Two necklaces, both gold. She had indeed been drilled in the chest. Point of entry for both: her left side.
Patti lowered her gaze. Wearing thong panties and low-cut blue jeans. “No sexual assault is my guess.”
“But maybe sex. Then a ride and bang bang, tomorrow never comes.”
She nodded. Wouldn’t be the first time some guy got rid of his honey after enjoying himself one last time.
But was that the Handyman’s way?
Until now, they’d never had enough of a victim to know.
Patti shifted her gaze. Left hand intact. Long, square-tip nails, most probably synthetics. Red polish. Half dozen bangle bracelets adorning the wrist.
“Hello, friends.”
Deputy Coroner Ray Hollister had pulled this one. Lucky him.
He looked at the victim, then scowled up at the sunny sky. “Nobody can convince me global warming doesn’t exist. It’s too damn hot for May.”
As if on cue, they simultaneously murmured their agreement. He slipped into his gloves. “Somebody want to fill me in?”
Patti did, quickly. He nodded
He examined the victim’s left hand. “No defensive wounds. Nails all intact. Bet they’ll come back clean.”
“Means she didn’t fight,” Spencer said.
“Most probably didn’t see it coming.” The coroner frowned, studying the wound. “Interesting entry point,” he said. “Her left side. Gun was quite close to the victim when fired. Notice the tattooing.”
Sure enough, a telltale “tattoo” circled each wound. Upon discharge, particles of burned gunpowder and primer exploded from a gun’s barrel, depositing on both shooter and victim. Much could be learned from the amount and patterning of the particles, including the angle and distance of the shooter. The tighter the circle, the closer the gun.
“First shot,” he said, pointing to the smallest circle. “Second,” he continued, indicating the other.
Patti agreed. “We’ll need to take a good look at the bullet’s trajectory.”
“Wonder why he didn’t shoot her in the head,” Tony murmured.
“Maybe he thought it was too messy,” Spencer offered. “Or too visible.”
Patti nodded. “What if they were in a car? He’s driving, has a gun tucked in a handy position-”
“Pardon the pun.”
“-and squeezes off a shot before she knows what’s happening.”
“No big mess for the world to see.”
“The shot doesn’t kill her. She slumps in her seat, he rips off another one.”
“It does the trick, if not immediately, soon enough. He drives on. Nobody notices a thing.”
The coroner carefully examined the other entry point, then glanced up at her. “From what I’m seeing, your scenario could work, Captain. But so could others.”
Lucky them. “How long’s she been dead?”
“My ‘in the field’ guess, four or five days. It’s been hot. We’ve had a couple good rains and she’s totally exposed. Give me some light.”
Spencer directed his penlight beam to the spot the coroner indicated-one of the wounds. The light revealed a squirming world of activity-bugs, doing their part in the decomposition dance.
“Ultimately the insects will tell the tale.”
The lab’s entomologist would collect samples of the insect life on the corpse and provide an estimated time frame based on the stage of growth or development of the larvae.
“A Bug’s Life,” Tony quipped. “I’ll never look at that kid’s movie in quite the same way.”
“What about the missing hand, Ray?”
“Gone,” he deadpanned.
“We need to know if this is the work of the Handyman. Can you compare this sample to the originals?”
“I’ll do the best I can, though I specialize in flesh, not bones.” He suddenly looked impatient. “Mind if I get to it? I’m about to get sunstroke.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, simply set about his business.
Patti looked at Tony. “Get Elizabeth Walker. I want her to compare this victim’s severed wrist bone with the samples found in the Katrina refrigerator. ASAP.”
She shifted her gaze to Spencer. “We need a name. The sooner we ID her, the sooner we-”
“I think I can help there,” the coroner said.
They looked down at the man, crouched beside the body. Very carefully he eased a gloved finger under one of the woman’s necklaces and lifted it away from her shirt.
The sun caught on the gold pendant. Gold twisted into curving, ornate letters. They spelled Tonya.
53
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
11:05 a.m.
Spencer looked at Patti. “What? You know who this is?”
“Tonya Messinger. It has to be. Yvette’s friend, the one she said was missing.”
She hadn’t been fabricating.
“Tonya who?” Tony asked.
Patti ignored him and looked at her watch, expression concerned. “I’ve got to go. Keep me posted. Every detail.”
“Go?” Tony frowned. “Captain, with all due respect, this is too big for you to step back from now.”