He wheeled out his seat and pointed to a molded plastic chair next to his desk. It looked like something from a discarded seventies era dinette, and I suspected it would be even less comfortable than it appeared.
“Something like that, and yeah, she brought me home a plate. It was my breakfast.” I rested my mug on the corner of his workspace as I sat down and glanced quickly at my watch. “Of course, I expect she’s on the road by now. Had a photo shoot for a client today.”
“On a Sunday? I thought she went freelance so she could set ‘er own hours.”
I held my hands apart wide in a one-that-got-away type of gesture. “Really big client.”
The answering bob of his head told me I needn’t say any more. “Ahhh, much wampum. I get it. Well, at least she has a choice in it.” He sighed as he looked around. “Some of us have a crazy fuck makin’ the decisions for us.”
I mimicked his swiveled head scan of the room, and his reference dawned over the sleep-deprived fog that clouded my mind. On a normal Sunday morning, the homicide division squad room was relatively still and near lifeless. Today, however, with the advent of the emergency meeting and the fact that the Major Case Squad was using it as a base of operations, it was slowly coming to bustling wakefulness.
Phones were beginning to add their annoying jingles to the vanishing silence as calls were transferred from the main switchboard into the squad room. Bleary-eyed detectives with vacant faces were cradling handsets against their ears; some while lethargically scribbling notes, others while just leaning back in their chairs and pretending to listen.
The petite thud of a hurried pair of cross-trainers against aged linoleum started softly at the door and grew louder as their owner came breezing in. Making her way through the grid of desks, the tousled-haired federal officer shot us a quick good morning without so much as slowing down.
“Sorry I’m late. I overslept,” Agent Mandalay announced as she strode past us with an oblong white box in her hands. “Hope you like glazed. It’s all they had fresh.”
“Don’t tell me,” Ben offered, “Rachel’s Donut Hut down on Chippewa.”
“How did you know?” she asked as she deposited the container on the table next to the other box of morning sweets.
“Great minds think alike.”
“Okay, I’ve heard that before, but what’s your excuse, Storm?”
My friend chuckled a muted expletive at the playful jibe but, other than that, elected not to reply.
Constance unzipped and shrugged off her coat while at the same time surveying the scene in front of her. When she turned back to face us, we could see that over her denim jeans she was wearing a slightly faded sweatshirt emblazoned with a steeple like logo, the lower portion of which disappeared into a line of stylized text that read, Cornell University, Ithaca, New York. The tail of the garment was tucked behind a worn leather holster clipped to her right side, and high on her hip rode a forty caliber Sig Sauer. I knew from the experience of having seen her in action that this young woman could be much more dangerous than was boasted by her rumpled college co-ed appearance.
She swept her hand back at the disorderly mess and frowned. “Sheesh, don’t you guys ever clean up after yourselves?”
“It’s not that bad,” Ben grunted then sipped his coffee. “Besides, ain’t my turn.”
Agent Mandalay rolled her eyes and proceeded to remove the visitors badge from her jacket and clip it onto her belt before finding a place to hang the garment. “Is everyone here, or am I not the only late one?”
My friend rolled his arm up and peered over the rim of his cup at the watch face on his wrist. “Just you’n Deck. He called about fifteen, twenty minutes ago, so I expect him ta’ be walkin’ through the door any time now. Doc Sanders is here, but she ran down the hall for a minute. Other than that, I think we’re all accounted for.”
“I didn’t sleep too well last night.” She let out a small sigh as she dragged over a chair similar to mine and dropped her petite frame into it. “What about you guys?”
I looked at her and shook my head.
Ben simply shrugged and took a pull at his cup of java then said, “Me neither. Nightmares. Of course, it’s not like there was an overabundance of time for sleepin’ anyway.”
“I know what you mean. The alarm went off way too early,” she agreed. “Either of you catch the national news this morning? That video byte got picked up by the wire services.”
“Don’t tell me…” Ben muttered the rhetorical question.
“Yeah. The ‘Ghoul Squad’ is national news.”
“Were they at least a little more selective about which part and how much of the tape they showed?” I asked.
“Not the station I was looking at,” she returned.
“Figures,” Ben spat.
“Ben, Connie, Rowan,” Carl Deckert’s gruff voice met our ears as he trudged in, holding a box of donuts in one hand while working the buttons of his overcoat with the other. “I hope you guys like glazed. It’s all they had fresh.”
“So we’ve heard,” Ben answered and raised an eyebrow at Constance.
“Rachel’s Donut Hut over on Chippewa,” she chuckled.
“How’d you know?” Carl continued fumbling with the last button and gave them both a puzzled expression. After a moment, he began eyeing the carton on all sides, presumably in search of a telltale marking.
“Table,” Ben answered and pointed to the other boxes near the coffee.
“Maybe I shoulda called or somethin’,” Carl stated apologetically as he added his offering to the pile. “That’s an awful lot of donuts.”
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” I quipped. “I mean we are sitting in a room full of cops and it’s only a few dozen donuts. What are the odds that there will be any left over by the time lunch rolls around?”
“Ya’know, you civilians have gotta get over that whole cop slash donut thing,” my friend returned, verbalizing the punctuation as he spoke. Then he let out a small laugh.
“Sure, whatever you say, Ben. But tell me this, am I right?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he answered with a broad smile. “Now shut up.”
“So I’m sure everyone is aware that our boy was real busy last night. For those of you who were on the scenes, this may be a little bit of a rehash. For those who weren’t, or who just got assigned to the MCS, we’ll try ta’ bring ya’ up ta’ speed as quickly as possible.” Ben was sitting on the edge of his desk in the squad room addressing the attentive assembly of detectives attached to the Major Case Squad. “Last night we got three bodies…” He held up his hand and displayed three fingers to the group, turning his hand front to back. “…Three in one night, people. Two fittin’ the M.O. of our bad guy from the Walker and Miller cases. The third was one of the latest victim’s husband, and it looks like he just might’ve been in the way. Most of ya’ are familiar with the first two victims, those that aren’t, everything we have is on the handouts I just gave you.” He waved a sheaf of papers at the group.
“Now, some of ya’ have prob’ly already heard the theory that the husband wasn’t the only screw up for our boy last night. From all indications, Christine Webster was not a Witch and in fact didn’t actively practice any religion at all, much less an alternative one. Well, the good news is I think we’ve solved the mystery behind this break in the M.O.”
Ben had already told me this simple revelation upon my arrival at the MCS command post, but from the attentive stares he now commanded, I could tell that this was new information to most everyone else present.
“As you’re aware, we’ve been operatin’ on the assumption that the killer is workin’ off a list. This list contains the names of several women who are members of a local Witches coven. All of the victims up until this point have been on that list. Now what we believe we are dealin’ with on the most recent victim is a case of mistaken identity.”