Another Senseless Killing (17) The Englishman hesitated a moment, then nodded. This is a switch, I thought. “Gentlemen,” Carlson rubbed his hands together. “is it okay for him to leave?” Nick and I looked at each other. Nick spoke. “Yes --- for the time being, that is.” Carlson walked Lorence to the door. The boss and servant exchanged a few words before parting company. “You were a bit hard on him.” Carlson said, coming back into the room as pissed as I’ve ever seen him. “Really!” I was livid. “He’s lucky I didn’t --- “ “Senator Carlson.” Nick interrupted in a calmer tone. “Detective Gold could have sued your man for assault and battery --- among other things.” I was glad he stuck up for me. “I think he showed great restraint.” Nick added. “Lorence is generally a meek and mild person.” Carlson spoke bitterly. “He was only --- “ “Being loyal?” Nick finished his sentence abruptly. Then he added quietly, “Senator, meek and mild men do not go around attacking people.” Carlson started to speak but didn’t. It was just as well because I was tired of listening to him defend my attacker. One asshole defending another asshole! There were several more uncomfortable minutes of silence. “Senator.” Nick finally spoke. “What would make Lorence think you had anything to do with these murders?” “I --- I’m sure I don’t know.” Carlson shivered, then rubbed his hands together again. “I imagine he read about it in the papers and --- “ “And thought you did it?” Nick interrupted. “Well, Senator, maybe you did!” “I did not!” Carlson roared. “I --- I don’t believe Lorence actually thought I was guilty.” He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice. “Let’s just say he was protecting me until the real criminal was apprehended.” “At my expense!” I was livid. “You will see that the weapon you have removed from this case will not match the bullets in question.” Carlson spoke to Nick. “I sure as hell hope so --- for your sake.” Nick replied. It was time to leave. Nick read my mind. “Well, Senator. I think that’s all for now. We’ll be contacting you.” Carlson followed us as we walked to the door. Nick turned to him. “We’ll find our way out, Senator.” * XXV I parked on the street directly behind the patrol car. Nick was at Martha Bowden’s front door waiting for me. “Good timing.” he said. “I just got here myself.” “I hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.” I said, rushing up the steps. I was glad I had on a comfortable warm-up and good running sneakers. “So do I.” Nick loosened his tie and put a cigar into his mouth. “All I know is what I told you over the phone earlier. Martha called me and said it was urgent. She said she ‘remembered.’” “But she didn’t say what it was, right?” I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “She said she wouldn’t discuss it over the phone.” Nick knocked. “Sounds like a line from a ‘B’ movie.” A small van drove noisily by. We waited for it to pass. “Did she sound coherent at least?” I took two quick puffs and flicked the cigarette onto the lawn. Nick thought for a moment as he knocked again. “Yes. To a point.” We waited for what seemed like eons. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “The door seems to be hitting something.” Nick pushed harder. The door opened wider. We both saw it at the same time. First we saw the dirty feet, then we saw the skinny ankles. Nick drew his weapon and cautiously squeezed through the opening into the small entryway. I drew my gun also and followed Nick, closing the door quietly behind me. We stopped abruptly. There was just enough light to see Martha Bowden’s crumpled body lying in a heap between the front door and the stairs. Her wrinkled white flowered dress was hiked above her knobby knees. Her face was twisted as if she were in extreme agony. Her chest was one large mass of blood. We looked around. When it was clear that no one was in the immediate vicinity, we put our weapons away. Everything smelled of mold and dust. The only sound I heard was my own rapid heartbeat, which came in short spurts. I knelt at her feet and Nick knelt at her head. Then he placed two fingers against her neck. It wasn’t necessary. “Dead.” He spoke softly. “Her body is still warm.” “So it just happened.” “I’d say within the hour.” Nick stood up and put the cigar back in his mouth. “Christ!” I looked at the floor, the walls and the banister. “Blood is splattered everywhere.” “Manny, I’m gonna take a quick look around.” Nick carelessly tucked his shirt in over his large belly, then put the cigar back in his vest pocket. “Call Morales and tell him to get his ass over here. Then call the precinct and report this.” Nick left quickly. The phone was on an old coffee table next to where Martha lay. The table and telephone were both covered with dust. I took a clean handkerchief out of my pocket and held the receiver while I made the calls. Nick returned in less than ten minutes. “Did you call Morales?” “Yes.” I spoke to Nick, but I looked at Martha. Her colorless face and scraggly hair made her seem hundreds of years old. “Morales bitched and moaned about working on his day off. He finally agreed to come over, but only as a favor to you.” “I’m honored.” Nick said as he put his hands behind his back and joined me in staring at Martha. “He said he’d be here within the hour.” “What about the station?” Nick asked. “Sergeant Cahill said he would take care of everything.” Nick nodded. “Cahill is a good man. If he said he’d take care of everything, he will.” “Some people from the crime lab will also be here within the hour.” “Good.” “So.” I said turning to Foley. “Did you find anything?” “Yes.” He turned to meet my gaze. “The filthiest house I’ve ever seen. Every room is a fucking disaster. I bet this place hasn’t been cleaned in --- God knows how long.” “I guess she just didn’t care.” “She probably felt she had no one to clean for any more, so why bother.” “That’s pretty sad, Nick.” “Damn sure is. Martha just --- gave up.” “And being short on gray matter sure didn’t help.” “So, when Martha said her house wasn’t presentable --- she wasn’t kidding.” We turned our attention back to Martha --- or what was left of her. “Nick, why on earth would anybody want to kill her?” “Good question.” “I can’t see her as a major threat to anyone.” I said. Nick looked up. “Unless she knew something.” “What could she possibly know?” “Well --- “ Nick moved the soggy cigar to the other side of his mouth. “ --- she did live next door to where a homicide took place. Maybe she saw the murderer.” “And she just today remembered who it was?” “Manny, considering who we’re dealing with here, I don’t find that so unreasonable.” “I don’t know, Nick. I --- “ “Let’s suppose that Martha saw the person who killed Kate Blair.” “At the time the killing took place.” I added. “Yes. At the time the killing took place. And let’s further suppose that this same person just happened to be next door --- or somewhere in the vicinity this morning.” “Why?” “I don’t know.” “It could be important.” “It could be. But that isn’t the point. Let me finish.” “I’m listening.” “What if Martha saw this person --- again?” Nick went on. “And seeing him --- or her, or whoever the hell it is, maybe rattled her tiny little brain and helped her to remember. And what if this person noticed that Martha was watching them?” I started to respond, but Nick put up his hand to silence me. “And he --- or she suddenly realized that Martha might know more than they gave her credit for. She might know something incriminating.” “Like she knew they killed Kate.” “Exactly! Then this person panics and confronts Martha. And Martha, in her usual erratic manner, blows them away with what she knows.” “And,” I added, “they in turn blow Martha away --- literally.” “Uh --- something like that. Sure. Why not?” “And this is what she was going to tell you?” “In person, of course.” “And all this happened this morning?” Nick thought for a second, then he nodded slowly. “Yes.” “I’m sorry, Nick, but --- “ “I guess it’s possible that Martha saw this person yesterday --- or last week --- and either she or the perp waited before they took any action.” “Nick. That all sounds a little strange to me.” “No stranger than the victim.” I scratched the back of my head. “But that would mean this person --- the one who Martha allegedly saw --- had to have had a weapon on them this morning.” Nick shrugged. “So? Why not?” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know, Nick. It’s just so farfetched that --- “ “Manny, let’s not try to figure everything out yet. When all the facts are in we’ll get together with Morales and we’ll all think things through --- logically.” “I hope they’ll be here when they said they would.” I looked at my watch. “Baby sitting a corpse isn’t my idea of how to spend the day!” * Nick and I followed Juan Morales out of the house. Then we all stood quietly on the small front porch and watched as Martha Bowden’s body was placed in a police ambulance. “So, Juan.” Nick loosened his collar. “What do you think?” Morales rubbed his chin for several seconds. “My preliminary and unofficial judgment tells me that this was a violent vicious murder.” “Aren’t they all?” I asked rhetorically. As we spoke, the ambulance turned out of the driveway and headed for the morgue. “My preliminary and unofficial judgment also tells me that it occurred only a couple of hours before I arrived --- give or take a few minutes.” “I figured as much.” Nick agreed. “I’m sure you noticed that there was a cavity in her chest large enough for you to drive your fist through.” “Hard to miss.” Nick said. “It looks like someone blasted a cannon shell through her upper torso.” “Does your preliminary and unofficial judgment indicate where the crime took place?” Juan rubbed his chin again. “Since I saw no signs to the contrary, I would say she was probably shot exactly where you found her.” Three well-dressed young men from the crime lab waved to us as they got into a cruiser. Each carried a large plastic bag. “I would assume that all the splattered blood belonged to the victim.” I made it a statement, not a question. Juan thought a moment. “Probably.” “Juan.” Nick emitted a nervous and frustrated laugh. “You can be an evasive bugger when you want to.” “Hey! I don’t like to guess. I rely solely on facts.” Nick and I looked at each other. We both knew we weren’t going to get any more out of the coroner. “When I know --- “ Morales pointed his finger playfully at Foley. “ --- you’ll know.” “So now what?” I asked as I lit up a cigarette. “It’ll take a few days to get all the tests back and get everything organized. I ‘ll call you.” We both shook hands with Juan and he left, got into his Towncar and drove off. As I stood there smelling the fresh air and taking in the scenery, I suddenly wondered what Margo was doing. * Nick and I occupied the same seats as we did the last time we were in Morales’ office. The room looked neat and clean, except for an empty Wendy’s bag, a crumpled paper cup and some mutilated napkins, all stuffed into the trashcan next to the desk. Two white lab coats hung loosely on the metal coat rack in the corner. Assorted vials, bottles and surgical instruments occupied a glass table on the opposite wall. The familiar smell of a bacon cheeseburger was an improvement over the usual dense obnoxious odors. The door opened and Morales burst into the room. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.” “That’s okay.” Nick cleared his throat and asked eagerly, “So what have you got?” Morales put the overstuffed trash can under his desk and sat down. Then he took a large manila folder from the top drawer and opened it up. He studied the first page for a few seconds. “Martha Bowden, age fifty-eight.” “Really.” I was surprised. “I thought she was younger.” “Nope.” Morales read to himself for several moments. Then he looked up. “This just tells her age, height, weight, distinguishing marks like scars or moles --- et cetera.” He turned the page. “Okay, gentlemen.” He ran his fingers down the same page. “She was definitely shot. And judging by how her chest was ripped apart and the size of the hole, the perp emptied the pistol into her.” He looked up again. “According to ballistics, the bullets were fired from the same weapon that killed Warner and Blair. A thirty-eight caliber.” “You could tell that by --- “ “The matching powder burns.” Morales finished my sentence. “And one of the bullets was lodged in her left shoulder blade.” He turned another page. “You asked about the blood.” He moved his finger up and down the page. “It all belonged to the deceased.” Then he looked up briefly. “Type o positive, if you’re keeping score.” “What time was she shot?” Nick asked. “Around eleven o’clock.” “That’s an hour before we got there.” Nick said. “So you should have gotten there an hour earlier.” Juan grinned at the folder. “You guys could have captured the perpetrator and been big heroes.” Nick and I ignored the comment. Morales continued. “There was a huge subcutaneous hematoma --- “ He glanced up briefly again. The grin was gone. “Bruise to you --- on the front part of her left hip.” “Is that relevant?” Nick asked. The coroner shrugged. “It appears that someone forced the door open and the doorknob struck her --- very hard.” “And you can tell that by the bruise?” I asked. “The encounter between the doorknob and the hip caused the hematoma.” Morales thought a moment before he continued. “Since the floor height of the doorknob matches the floor height of the hematoma, and since the size and shape of the hematoma conforms to the contour of the doorknob --- “ “Okay, Juan.” Nick put his hands up. “We get the picture.” Then he put a cigar into his mouth. “What else?” “Well --- “ He turned another page. “ --- as I surmised, she was shot exactly where you found her. What you saw is what you got.” “Did you find any fragments of clothing, hair, fingerprints --- anything?” Nick asked. Juan shook his head. “Only Martha’s. The perp was very careful. He obviously wore gloves and watched every step he took --- “ Morales smiled proudly. “ --- except one. We did find a small tip of a shoe print.” “Really?” I asked. “And I might add,” Morales continued strongly. “you can thank a dirty dusty house for that discovery.” Then he leaned in and whispered as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Wasn’t that the messiest, God awful house you ever saw?” Nick and I sighed almost in unison. “Yes, Juan.” I could tell Nick was getting tired. “But is this footprint gonna be of any value?” “Well --- “ Juan thought about it for a second. “ --- we’re going to try and make a mold out of it.” “Sounds like a plan to me.” Nick added. “The only problem is, it’s so damn small that --- oh well,” The coroner grinned. “the impossible always takes longer.” “Where did you find this print?” Nick asked with renewed vigor. “It was just inside the front doorway. It’s a good bet it belonged to whoever zapped her.” “Juan,” I reached for a cigarette, then changed my mind. “we were all walking around in there and --- “ “No!” Morales shook his head. A serious face replaced the smiling one. “This print was made earlier. About the same time Martha was shot.” “You guys never cease to amaze me.” Nick said politely. “Well,” Juan stood. “that’s about it for now”. Nick and I stood to face him. “As soon as something else turns up,” the coroner continued, “I’ll contact you.” “Okay.” Nick responded wearily. We shook hands with Morales and quickly left. * XXVI “This building gives me the creeps.” I said, knocking on the door to 1B. “This whole damn neighborhood gives me the creeps.” Nick responded. I started to knock again. The door opened. A thin, almost emaciated old man with a short ratty white beard and invisible eyebrows stood in the doorway. He had very little hair that covered a large bald spot atop his odd shaped head. He had a long skinny nose, and his face and neck were covered with liver spots. His wire-rimmed glasses were covered with black tape at both hinges. He had on a faded purple bathrobe and no slippers. The veins in his feet were black. I noticed a slight tremor in his hands. “Mr. Parsons?” Nick asked. “Who wants to know?” He opened a toothless mouth, emitting breath that smelled like vomit.
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