The Night Gardener

'C'mon, Aardvark,' said Antonelli. 'Sign my eleven-thirty, will you?'

'Put your tongue in my tar pit,' said Bakalis, 'and I'll think about it.'

Bill Wilkins was seated before his computer, tapping at the keyboard. Ramone pulled a chair over.

'What do you have?' said Ramone.

Wilkins handed him a manila folder. Inside it was the ME's findings on the Asa Johnson autopsy. Ramone began to read it.

'The slug was a thirty-eight.'

'They're running it through IBIS?'

'Yeah. We'll see if the markings match to any other murder guns. He died of the gunshot wound to the head, no surprise there.'

Left temple, read Ramone.

'He wasn't asphyxiated or drugged or anything else. No foreign substances, alcohol, or narcotics in his body.'

'He was killed at the scene,' said Ramone.

'Looks like it. Probable time is on there.' Wilkins paused, watching Ramone, seeing his eyes flare and then grow dull. 'You got to it.'

'They found semen inside him,' said Ramone. His voice was weak. He was sickened, not only for the child but for the parents, too.

'Keep reading,' said Wilkins.

The ME had detected lubricant along with the semen. There were no signs of rectal tearing and there was only minor bruising.

Ramone read the entire report and dropped it on the desktop before him. He thought of the victims of the Palindrome Murders, the traces of semen found inside the kids, a baffling lack of violent entry, evidence of consensual anal sex.

On the other hand, the sex could have been initiated after the victims' deaths. Ramone had to consider the possibility that Asa might have been violated in this way as well.

'They found that stuff in him,' said Wilkins. 'Like KY jelly or something.'

Ramone stroked his black mustache. 'I read it.'

'It doesn't look like he was raped.'

'Doesn't prove he wasn't, either.'

'I'm only sayin.'

'Right.'

Wilkins let Ramone have a moment.

'I went through the boy's bedroom,' said Ramone, having collected himself. 'His locker as well.'

'Anything?'

'Nothing pertinent that I could see. He had a journal, apparently, but it seems to have disappeared. In light of this report, we need to prioritize finding that journal.'

'When I spoke to him, Mr Johnson said there was no cell phone.'

'That's right.'

'Did Asa have a home computer?'

'There was a PC in his room. I didn't find much personal stuff on it. The Sent and Deleted e-mail boxes were empty. His Favorites column had listings for games and Civil War sites. Nothing else.'

'Did you go into History?'

'Uh, no.'

'You got a teenage son,' said Wilkins. 'You better get hip to this shit. You can delete your e-mails and the Internet sites you visit and bookmark, but it's still in the computer, in History, unless the kid wipes it out. The really careful kids program their PC to automatically delete the history every day. Sometimes every seven days, or monthly. It's like brushing your trail away. But if Asa didn't do that, whatever he was into should still be in there, somewhere. It's pretty easy to dig it out.'

'For you.'

'I'll take care of it.' Wilkins tapped the eraser end of a pencil on his desk. 'What else you get?'

Ramone hesitated. 'Nothing I can think of right now.'

'This thing with the boy,' said Wilkins. 'Someone's gonna have to go over the autopsy with the family.'

'I'll talk to the father, the time comes.'

'I can understand if you don't want to. It's my lookout.'

'No, it's on me.' Ramone stood.

'Heading out?'

'Goin home,' said Ramone.

He stopped at Rhonda's desk and had a seat on the edge of it. Bo Green was gone, and Rhonda was looking at a mess of papers like they had been powdered with anthrax.

'That looks fun,' said Ramone.

'You got some paperwork on your desk, too, Gus. Not that you go by there anymore.'

'I'm hoping my secretary will do it.'

'You get up with Garloo?' said Rhonda.

Ramone told her about the ME's findings and described his day.

'Now you,' said Ramone.

'I ran Dominique Lyons. Our boy's got quite a history. Agg assault, which took, and attempted murder, which didn't. Scheduled witnesses did not testify; possible intimidation noted. He was a suspect in two other murders, but those never went to trial. No weapons recovered, no wits. So what I did was, I got a photograph of Lyons from out the files and took it and the photographs of Jamal White, our victim, and I drove down to that classy bar on New York Avenue where Darcia Johnson and Shaylene Vaughn, Ho Number One and Ho Number Two, dance nekkid.'

'I think they wear G-strings at the Twilight, if memory serves. Technically, they're not in their birthday suits.'

'They're close enough. So I go down there and have a talk with our police officer friend, Randolph Wallace. Man who works the door when he's not in uniform?'

'He's your friend now, huh?'

'We're not exactly backslappin buddies. But he was very cooperative. Seems our friend Dominique Lyons was in the club last night, and guess what? So was Jamal White. Officer Wallace knew of Lyons straight away because he frequents the Twilight and often leaves with either Darcia or Shaylene, and sometimes both.'

'And how'd he remember Jamal?'

'Jamal was seated at the bar. Dominique had some words with Jamal, more like a taunting kind of thing, and Jamal left out the place by hisself. About an hour later, Dominique and Darcia went bye-bye as well.'

'Together?'

'Uh-huh. I'm thinking Jamal took the bus down New York, transferred uptown to the Seventh Street-Georgia line, and was walking back home from Georgia Avenue when he was shot.'

'You like Dominique Lyons for the murder.'

'I liked him enough to put his name out on the sheets. And could be we got a witness in Darcia Johnson, too.'

'That would be nice.'

'I tried calling Darcia's cell number, but she's not answering the phone.'

'No shit.'

'What I also did was, I've got an officer placed over there by the girls' apartment, around Sixteenth and W?'

'Dominique knows we're looking to talk to him. You think he'd go there?'

'If Shaylene was trickin up in there last night, and it looked to me like she was, he's gonna want to get his money sooner or later.'

'Okay. You said you had something you wanted to see me about. So what else?'

'This is a long play, but look: the slugs recovered from Jamal White's body were thirty-eights. Garloo tells me that Asa Johnson also died from a thirty-eight.'

'And?'

'Same-caliber weapon used in killings just a few blocks apart within twenty-four hours. And you know a thirty-eight revolver is not the gun of choice for these young ones. I mean, it could be a coincidence, but it's worth looking into.'

'So, for shits and grins, you're saying we should compare the markings. See if the bullets came from the same weapon.'

'I ordered the tests.'

'What in the world would connect a guy like Dominique Lyons to Asa Johnson?'

'I'm not saying they are connected. But we might as well look at everything.'

'You tell Garloo?'

'I'm fixin to,' said Rhonda.

'Okay,' said Ramone with a long exhale. 'Okay.'

'You look like you could use a drink.'

'I could.'

'There's that place down on Second, got those booths. They play that Quiet Storm stuff at night. You remember that bartender, the one with the heavy hand?'

'I'm going home,' said Ramone.

'Suit yourself, handsome. Keep your cell on for further developments.'

Out in the parking lot, where he could get service, Ramone activated his cell and dialed the number he had gotten from Janine Strange earlier in the day.

'Hello.'

'Dan Holiday?'

'Speaking.'

'It's Gus Ramone.'

Holiday did not respond. Ramone listened to dead air and then took the lead.

'You want to come down to the offices and make an official statement?' said Ramone. 'Or should I send a car out to get you?'

'Neither,' said Holiday after another block of silence. 'You wanna meet someplace neutral, I can do that.'