“I’m afraid so. Let me make this next part easy for you, okay? No, I didn’t do it. And, yes, I know I have to step far, far away from your investigation. After we’re done here I’ll give you all of my notes on the Dorset Flasher case. Every suspect I’ve looked at. We can sit down together over at Town Hall.”
“Is that the place that smells like mothballs?” he asked.
“Always.”
“Every time we set up there I swear I’m visiting my grandmother’s house.” He looked at Des uneasily. “We’ll have to notify your barracks commander about this. You may be chained to a desk for the duration. Which sucks, but it is what it is. ”
“I know this, Rico.”
“Okay then.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Let’s have a look.”
The death investigator was crouched over Augie, whose body was exactly as Des had found it. The bloodied baseball bat remained in the weeds nearby.
“This Louisville Slugger has seen a lot of honest playing time,” Soave observed, bending over it for a closer look. “Handle’s all nicked up. Ain’t exactly current issue either-it’s a freaking Mickey Mantle 125.”
Yolie whipped out her Blackberry and went Googling. “You got that right, boss man,” she said after a moment, peering at the bat for herself. “It was manufactured some time between 1964 and ’72. The Mantle bats made prior to ’64 had the trademark insignia under that oval label where it says Hillerich and Bradsby Co. This one here has the trademark in that circled ‘R’ after the words Louisville Slugger. It’s a collectible. Worth north of two hundred in perfect condition. Beat up like this one maybe seventy-five.”
“Augie was a native New Yorker,” Des said. “And the right age to have been a Mantle fan. This could have been his bat. That totally works except…”
“Except what?” Soave asked her.
“I’d swear he wasn’t carrying a baseball bat.”
“So how did it get out here?”
“Good question, Rico.”
Soave turned to the death investigator and said, “What can you tell us?”
“The victim suffered two blows,” he answered cautiously. “One blow’s to the left side of his head. The striking pattern’s horizontal, suggesting that his attacker swung at him pretty much the way you would if you were hitting a baseball. That blow, I’m guessing, stunned him and sent him to his knees. The second blow, which was the fatal one, is an overhead chop. His attacker wielded the bat like an axe.”
“Any idea about the attacker’s size?”
“The blows are substantial. Not the Incredible Hulk, but no weakling either. As to height, that’s difficult to gauge. If the victim was sneaking his way through the brush in the dark then we have to assume he was hunched over, not upright, which will significantly impact our calculations concerning the angle of the first blow. All I can tell you so far is that his attacker need not have been someone tall. Hopefully we’ll know more after we get him on the table.”
“So we’re talking about a man of average height and weight,” Soave concluded, shoving his lower lip in and out.
“Which happens to match the general description of the Dorset Flasher,” Des said. “Unless… could his attacker have been a good-sized woman?”
“Don’t see why not,” the death investigator replied. “If she surprised him.”
“Oh, I’d say Augie was good and surprised. Did you find a black ski mask on him?”
“No ski mask.”
Soave moved away from the body now, Yolie and Des trailing along. “We’ll search the neighborhood trash cans for that ski mask. And undertake a more thorough search of the grounds at daylight.”
“I’d pay particular attention to the riverbank if I were you,” Des advised.
“Will do,” Yolie said.
“You folks ready to head over to Town Hall now?”
“First give us the short version,” Soave responded. “If Augie Donatelli wasn’t the Dorset Flasher then who are you liking for it?”
Des stood there, hands on her hips, mulling it over. “Persons of interest do come to mind. One is Hal Chapman. I’d crossed him off my list, but based on his behavior earlier this evening I’d have to put him back on.”
“What kind of behavior?”
“He went semiballistic at a cocktail party over at the Captain Chadwick condos. I was there. You see, a childhood friend of Mitch’s is getting-”
“I knew it!” erupted Soave, who’d never had any use for the unlikely civilian in Des’s life. “I knew Berger would end up in the middle of this.”
“His friend, Kenny Lapidus, is engaged to marry a local yoga instructor named Kimberly Farrell. Her father is Dex Farrell. The Dex Farrell.”
“That thieving bastard cost me almost thirty grand,” Soave grumbled. “I’d like to punch him out.”
“You and everybody else. The Farrells live in the Captain Chadwick House. So does Kenny’s mom, Beth.”
“Is this the Beth Breslauer who the victim was hassling?” asked Yolie.
“The same. Hal’s a trainer at Kimberly’s fitness center. I knew he had a history-exposed himself to a girl back in high school. I also knew he was a major player with the ladies. But I didn’t know until tonight that he’s seriously into Kimberly. And has a major temper.”
“Okay, who else do you like?” Soave pressed her.
“You’ll also want to look at a local housepainter-slash-garbage head named J. Z. Cliffe,” Des answered, not bothering to mention the source of this particular lead. “J. Z. has a grudge against the rich old ladies in town. His girlfriend works nights. And he used to be married to Kimberly.”
“Sounds like this girl’s smack-dab in the middle of it,” Yolie said.
“I never trust yoga teachers,” Soave blustered. “That whole mellow act of theirs is a complete crock.”
“Time out…” Yolie whipped out her notepad and pen. “Sometimes I just have to write this stuff down.”
“And then there’s Kenny,” Des went on. “He’s a big-time computer geek up in Cambridge. Comes down every weekend to see Kimberly. Before tonight he didn’t strike me as a likely candidate to be our Flasher. But he’s in play now. I saw him out on his mother’s porch getting busy with Kimberly shortly before the attack. Once I took off after Augie, who knows where Kenny went.”
“Kimberly would know,” Yolie said.
“I saw something else just before the attack-Beth slipped out of the building and headed down Dorset Street alone on foot.”
“Was she carrying a Louisville Slugger by any chance?”
“Just her purse, Rico. And she was headed in the opposite direction of the crime scene. Still, she was out and about when this went down. And she was feeling harassed by Augie. And here’s one other thing you ought to know: Augie suggested to me that Beth Breslauer isn’t who she appears to be.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Well, who does she appear to be?”
“A well-heeled doctor’s widow from Scarsdale. When Mitch was a kid in Stuyvesant Town she was his neighbor. Her name was Lapidus then.”
Soave thumbed his moustache as he considered all of this. “Des, let’s be straight about one thing-do you or do you not believe that Augie Donatelli was the Dorset Flasher?”
She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “No, Rico, I don’t.”
“You’ve changed your mind about him?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re standing here looking at him, that’s why.”
Later, she climbed the narrow stairs up to Mitch’s darkened sleeping loft and crawled into bed next to him, stretching her naked self out against him.
“Gee, mom, is it time for school already?” he murmured.
“Very funny.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after three. Go back to sleep, baby.”
“Not a chance.” He kissed her, running his hands up and down her back. “Just give me ten more seconds to wake up and I’ll go fetch the lavender oil.”
“Not tonight. Go back to sleep, okay?”
“Something’s happened. What is it?”
“Somebody beat Augie Donatelli’s brains in. I found him in the bushes next to Rut Peck’s house.”