The Last Killer Standing
By
Edward J. Coburn
Smashwords Edition
EdwardJCoburn.com
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Copyright 2011 by Edward J. Coburn. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
Table Of Contents
Chapter 0
Robert Harrison sat on the bench seemingly waiting his turn for the batting cage. An ordinary man’s mind would have been sifting through any number of random thoughts such as reliving the day at work, how his wife’s going to be pissed because he stopped at the batting cage again instead of coming home right away, or, possibly, how cute his secretary looked today in that sexy, low-cut, dress. But Robert Harrison was far from ordinary. No such mundane thoughts were passing through his mind. Instead, he was thinking about the next step in his plan and carefully noting which bats were used most often, how many of the people using the bats were wearing no gloves, and where their hands were when they picked up the bat. He wanted to make sure at least some of the people picked up the bat by the barrel, not the grip.
The last man exited the cage on the left, but Robert didn’t get up immediately as that man took his bat with him. He wasn’t stealing it. Robert had seen him bring the bat to the cages with him. Thus, instead, he waited until the man in the cage on the right came out of the screened-in enclosure and put his bat back in the box that held the loaner bats. Instantly, Robert was up, retrieving that bat before anyone else got the chance to get it. He grasped it at the very tip with his gloved hand so as not to disturb any fingerprints on the barrel. He was careful to keep his head tilted away from the camera that was focused on that area. He’d seen the camera earlier and noticed that it was the only one at the facility, so he had nothing to be concerned about.
He entered the enclosure and put some quarters in the machine. That way he could take a few cuts with the bat so as to not look suspicious. After he hit several machine-pitched balls, he decided that was enough and surreptitiously glanced at the booth until the young punk who was working there was busy with a customer. Before he left the batting cage, however, he picked up a discarded baseball cap. He smiled to himself when he looked inside the cap and saw several hairs. A couple seemed to have the follicular tags attached that he knew to be important for DNA testing. Silently he wondered what had caused hairs inside a baseball cap to be pulled out by the roots. Perhaps the cap was too tight. Maybe that’s why the cap was discarded. In truth, he really didn’t care why. All he cared about was that the hairs were there. He stuffed the cap inside his pocket, exited by the gate farthest from the booth, and walked directly to his car. He threw the bat in the back and drove away, being careful not exceed the speed limit.
Chapter 1
Robert Harrison looked around to make sure they were absolutely alone and then said to the homeless man, “In the alley,”
“Why the alley?” Ian Vander asked the stranger.
“We have to have a little privacy or everyone will want a drink of your bottle.”
“Good idea.”
After they had walked about three quarters of the way down the alley, Harrison pulled a small bottle of whisky from his pocket and unscrewed the lid. “Here you go,” he offered the bottle to the homeless man while slipping his hand under his coat.
“Don’t you want some first?” Vander asked.
“Nope. It’s all yours.”
As soon as Vander put the bottle to his lips and tilted it back to take a drink, Harrison whipped out the softball bat he had stolen from the batting cage. He smashed Vander in the face so fast that it was done before Vander could react. He thought the bottle made a nice shattering sound much like it had been thrown down on a sidewalk. The smashing of the man’s head reminded him of the melons he used to pulverize with a stick when he was a kid. The spray of blood that erupted was remarkably satisfying, especially the spurt from his neck caused by a shard of glass severing the jugular.
Just before Vander crumpled to the pavement, Harrison hit him again. This second strike and the tear in the neck from the glass made Vander’s head settle on the pavement at an unnatural angle. The sharp crack of the bat against Vander’s skull had quickened Harrison’s pulse and made his blood run hot. So much so, that once the Vander was down, he hit him three more times. A slightly insane grin creased Harrison’s face as he said, “You deserve it for wearing that jacket.” He was referring to the sport jacket, with the checked design of dark red, orange, blue, brown, and possibly other colors.
“Sure is nice to have a job I enjoy so much,” Harrison thought, tossing the softball bat into the nearby dumpster.
He hoped he hadn’t smudged too many prints when he hit the homeless man. Even if he did smudge a few of them, there should still be enough fingerprints to drive the police berserk. He smiled at the thought.
He walked to the street and carefully looked around. There was still no one about. He walked back to the crumpled form, pulled out a digital camera, and took a number of snapshots as evidence of his kill. “Damn that stupid bastard and his rule of taking pictures of the body,” Harrison thought. The flash was the only part that made him the slightest bit nervous. That’s why he had picked this particular dead-end alley. It had only one way in and none of the buildings had windows facing it. There was no chance that someone might see what he was doing.
Satisfied he had the pictures that would please the “Bastard With All The Money,” he carefully checked the body for something unique. Not only did he have to take the pictures, but he also had to find some type of souvenir on his victim of which to take a picture. “Stupid requirement,” Harrison thought. But if he wanted his money, he’d better do what was demanded.
He had seen his victim wearing a rather distinctive ring. He looked at it closely, but in the dim light he couldn’t see it very well. All he could tell was that it had some big gem on it. He doubted if the gem was real, but he didn’t care about that. He just needed the proof.
Harrison moved the man’s hand so the ring was in plain view and then took a couple more photos. He made sure the man’s face could be seen as well as the hand bearing the ring. Then he snatched the ring. It came off easily, almost as if it were the wrong size. Harrison reflected that, at a different time in the man’s life, the ring had probably fit more tightly. While he was leaning over the body he noticed that the jacket seemed a bit fuzzy. Curious, he pulled out a small flashlight and shined it on the fuzzy portion. “Ah hah,” he said to himself. “Hairs.” The coat seemed to be covered with them. Since the guy was as bald as a billiard ball, the hairs couldn’t be his. “Perfect,” he thought, pulling out a small plastic zipper bag with a pair of tweezers in it. He used them to pick up several of the hairs, dropped them in the bag, sealed it, the then shoved it back in his pocket. Maybe the hairs would allow him to indulge in has favorite pastime which, without a doubt, was screwing with the cops. He absolutely loved it. He relished it. Even though he generally didn’t get to see or even hear about the problems the cops had, he reveled in imagining their tedious and fruitless searches based on the completely irrelevant clues he always left.
Done with his pictures, Harrison placed the camera on the ground, a short distance away from the body, before walking over to the dumpster. He pulled off a black ski mask and shoved it under the bat. He smiled to himself again, visualizing the cops harassing the guy who had originally worn the ski mask. Then he walked to the other side of the alley and carefully pulled off the other ski mask that had been under the first one. This he stuffed in the black-plastic bag he had brought along for the purpose. He followed with the blood-splattered, long coat and coveralls he was wearing over his own clothes, being careful to transfer the plastic bag with the hairs he had gathered from the coat. Even the small leather harness, for holding the bat under his coat, went in the bag. He exchanged his shoes for ones he had left near the dumpster. The ones he took off went into the bag along with his rubber gloves. No fingerprints.
He retrieved the camera that slid neatly into his shirt pocket. He buttoned the pocket so there was no chance that he might lose the camera.
He smiled as he thought about what he could buy with the $10,000 cash that would, theoretically, show up in his mailbox in the next few days. He had faith that the money would appear, since everything else had been so carefully orchestrated. First, he had been paroled from his ten-to-life term after only two years when all reason told him that was impossible. Then there was the envelope he was given as he checked out of the prison. In it had been a pair of car keys with a tag attached that told him what car in the parking lot they would fit. The car wasn’t new, but was in excellent condition. He even discovered, when he drove it out of the parking lot, it had a souped-up engine. On the front seat was an envelope containing $5,000 in cash, a fake driver’s license with his picture in the name of Robert Harrison, several credit cards with the same name and a short note that said simply:
1. Drive to Denver, 2. Get settled into a nice apartment, 3. Call the enclosed number within three days.
The number was on a small card. There was also a list of suitable apartments and a list of references, including a job reference for the inevitable background check.
He had had no clue about what was going on, but had no other plans, so he did as the instructions said. He drove to Denver from Canon City, where he had been paroled, and chose an apartment from the list. It turned out to be much nicer than any he had lived in before. He discovered that the driver’s license, credit cards, and references worked like magic. He then rented a rat-hole of an apartment, in his own name. It was not much better than the prison cell he had been in.
He immediately called his parole officer, whose number had been given to him just before his release. The parole officer informed him of, as Harrison knew he would, the home visit within two weeks. Harrison gave him the address of the rat-hole. The parole officer said he would call before he came, to make sure he was at the apartment instead of out job hunting. He wouldn’t want to waste his time visiting an empty apartment.
Chapter 2
Josh Brayburn lay there for what seemed like hours, though, in actuality, it had only been a few minutes, deciding whether to answer the call of his bladder or succumb to the heaviness of his eyelids. Finally, he yielded to the inevitable victor, and rose to plod toward the bathroom. As he did so, he involuntarily looked back at the emptiness on the opposite side of the bed. This is where his wife of less than a year had lain. He sometimes thought he could see the shape of her body making indentations in the bed. Though it had already been over two years since Jennie had been killed, he could still sense her presence.
With a sigh, he turned to continue his trek. Flipping on the light, he winced at the sudden brightness. He knew where the toilet was and didn’t really need to see, but could still hear Jennie’s admonitions about his inaccuracies in the night. Thus, it had become such a habit to turn on the light he now did it without conscious thought.
He had dated now and again after waiting, what his friends claimed was, a suitable time. It was easy to admit he had met some nice women. Just none with whom he had felt that indescribable spark - that strange knowledge that one gets when he or she knows the other party is the one. So, after over two years, he felt his life was still incomplete. There had even been the occasional discussion with friends or colleagues who said he really didn’t need a female in his life to make it whole. But he didn’t believe that. He missed having someone in his life. It was much more than just the sex he missed, though he had to admit he missed that part too. What he really missed was the companionship, someone to talk to, someone to share his triumphs and troubles. He had many friends, some very close, but it just wasn’t the same. There wasn’t anyone with whom he felt truly comfortable baring his soul.
These were the thoughts streaming through his mind as the phone jangled, disturbing them.
“Brayburn,” he said as he picked up the handset.
“Danvers here,” said the voice of his frequent partner.
“Yeah, Tom,” Josh said, “What is it?”
“Sorry to call so early.”
“No problem. I was already up. Had to pee.”
“Regardless. You shouldn’t get called out at 4:00 in the morning.”
“But you’re going to anyway, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, unfortunately.”
“What is it Tom?” Josh sighed.
“A homeless person was killed downtown.”
Another sigh, “Okay.” Josh hated investigating such killings. They were seldom solved, as the homeless are notoriously closed mouth even when the victim is one of their own. Working on such cases almost seemed like a waste of time. He knew some of his police brethren gave them short shrift; sort of like the murder of a hooker. They just didn’t think such people really mattered in the grand scheme of things, and so the slaughter of one didn’t matter either. But it was his feeling that the homeless and the hookers were people just like anyone else and they deserved no less than all the police could do. He just wished the homeless and hookers would be a little more forthcoming when asked for help..
“How soon?” Tom interrupted Josh’s musings.
“It’ll take me about forty-five minutes. As I…”
“It’s okay,” Tom interrupted. “I’ll tell them.”
“Thanks, Tom. I’ll be there sooner if I can.”
“Understand, Sir.”
“Stop that,” Josh said. Even though he was Tom’s senior, he hated to be called Sir and Tom only did it to irritate him.
“Sorry, Sir.”
“Enough, Tommy” Josh used the name he knew the other hated as much as he hated to be called Sir. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“All right. You win. Just don’t call me that!”
“Fair enough,” Josh hung up.
He threw on some clothes and then said, “Alright, Missy. Time to go out. Sorry about this, but I don’t know when I’ll be home.” With that, he opened the kennel door and the miniature beagle, who was about 6” high at the shoulders, took her time walking to the kitchen door to be let out, stretching every few steps.
“Come on, slowpoke,” Josh said to her. She looked up at him, read the look on his face, and moved a bit faster.
Missy had been Jennie’s dog. He had never been a pet person, especially since his job kept him away from home long stretches at a time. But he couldn’t bear to part with Missy. When he looked at her, he couldn’t help but think about Jennie. He waited by the door until Missy had finished her business and then put her back in her kennel. He didn’t always do that, but considering it was very early in the morning, he thought it best.
He grabbed a medium weight jacket on his way out the door. Even though it was only October, and not yet winter in Denver, the nights were still a bit too chilly for him if he didn’t wear one. Some of the guys at the precinct seemed comfortable when they were out, sometimes in short sleeves, but he didn’t believe in that macho crap. He would much rather be warm than show how tough he was.
Just as he was about to step out of the door, his phone rang again. He thought about ignoring it, but, unless he missed his guess, he knew who it was and she would surely know he was up. She always did.
Chapter 3
“Brayburn, here,” he said answering the phone.
“What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?” It was his neighbor, Mrs. Jessie Franklin.
“What are you doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I’ve been reading a book. It’s a good one and I couldn’t put it down. I’m guessing you got called in.”
“Yes ma’am, I did.”
“Why so formal, Whitebread?”
“Sorry, Momma,” he used the name he had adopted the year Jennie had been killed.
“That’s better. And I hope you weren’t planning on just sneaking away.”
“I’m not sneaking anywhere,” he said defensively. “I got called in, as you said.”
“But you ain’t leaving without a snack.”
“No, Momma,” he knew better than to argue with her. “What do you have in mind?”
“Why don’t you just come over on you way out and see.”
“I’m about to leave now.”
“I’ll be at the front door.”
He slipped on his jacket as he went out the front door. Then he walked the few steps to her house and started to knock, but the door opened before he had a chance. He was staring at a small black woman, so slim as to look almost emaciated. Many years older than his mother would have been, she still had a smooth, unwrinkled face that was split by an ever-ready smile. “What you got for me, Momma?”
She held the door wide, beckoned him in, and indicated that he should to sit on the couch. She turned and headed towards the kitchen.
“I can’t stay long,” he said as he walked to the couch, glancing at the picture near the door. He had seen the picture many times. It showed her, her husband, and their two boys on a beach, all smiling. “I’ve got to…”
She turned quickly and fixed her gaze on him, stopping him short. “You will take the time to eat a muffin or two,” she said in a tone he knew would brook no argument.
“When have I not taken time to eat your muffins? Blueberry?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment as she disappeared from sight in the kitchen. “What else would they be?” She handed him a plate with two large muffins and a cup of fresh coffee.
“Coffee?” he said quizzically.
“I made a pot for myself. I told you I couldn’t put the book down.” To illustrate the point she picked up a book from the table beside her chair and held it up. He recognized it as one written by the most popular author of the moment.
He nodded. “I’ve heard he’s good. I haven’t had the chance to read him yet, however.” And he took a big bite of the first muffin.
“Well, you can have it after I’m through.”
“That would be great,” he indicted the plate of muffins, “And these are great, too, as always.”
“Thank you kindly,” she smiled. “Happy to be of service to our boys in blue.”
“I’m hardly a boy anymore, and when’s the last time you saw me in uniform?”
“Beside the point,” she said with a dismissive wave.
“Anyway, these are wonderful, as is the coffee,” he said sipping the coffee.
“Glad you like them. Where you going?”
“Now, Momma. You know I can’t talk about it.”
“I didn’t ask about the case. I’m just curious as to where you’re off to.”
He knew there couldn’t be any harm in telling her just that. “Downtown Denver.”
“Bad?”
“I don’t know anything yet,” he took the last bite of muffin. “And, I’d better be on my way.”
“Want another muffin?”
“Trying to make me fat, Momma?”
“No chance of that,” she said, glancing at his muscular, 6’2”, 180 pound frame and passing over his Caucasian, 33 year old face as well. His face was blemish free and always had been. He had always freely admitted he had been lucky in that regard. Bright blue eyes sparkled above his medium-size, almost too-straight nose. Cavity-free teeth showed when the smile that came easily to him, split his face just above his square chin with just a hint of a dimple.
“There would be, if I ate too many of these luscious muffins,” he handed her his plate while taking his last sip of coffee.
“Some more coffee, at least?”
“No, thank you. But it was terrific, thanks,” he stood up.
“What’s happening with your love life?” she giggled softly. She frequently asked him such questions, even though he seldom gave her a straight answer.
“If I had been going out regularly, I’m sure you would know it.”
She feigned a hurt look. “You accusing me of being nosey?”
“No, Momma. I only meant…”
“That’s okay,” she interrupted. “You know I’m only teasing.”
He knew she was only partly serious. And he really was being a bit accusatory as she was indeed a bit nosey when it came to him. But she had taken him under her wing after his wife had been found murdered and had been more of a mother to him than just a neighbor and friend. That was actually when he had, jokingly, called her Momma for the first time. She had simply smiled and nodded at him and said, “That’s right, honey.” And from then on, it stuck. She had continued to take care of him during the funeral process and the long trial for Jennie’s killer afterward. She, as well as some of the other neighbors, had brought him more food than he could ever have eaten. He had been forced to take some of it to the precinct to share. She and the others had also provided constant support throughout the ordeal. In the last few months, she had even fixed him up with some of her friends’ younger daughters. A couple had been nice, and if he had even been the slightest bit interested in a long-term commitment, one of them might have been a good pick - especially since they had been interested in him if he was any judge of such things at all. “And Heather,” he thought wanly, “beautiful but careless Heather. Careless, that is, with their relationship. Almost as if she didn’t really want to be with him.”
“What about Marian?” she didn’t give up easily. “I heard she really liked you.”
“Marian was a beautiful woman, and we did get along well.”
“Well then?”
“I’m just not ready, Momma. Besides, I work too much.”
“She knows who you are, what your are, and how much you work and is willing to overlook it.”
“And just how do you know that?” he snapped, and immediately wished he hadn’t. After all, she really hadn’t done anything wrong.
He continued in a softer tone, “How are Ben and James doing?” He knew asking about her sons was a safe subject, and it would get her mind off of him and his love life, or lack thereof.
She knew what he was up to. “They’re just fine,” she continued with that small giggle of hers. “Trying to change the subject are we? Pretty slick, Whitebread.”
“Yes, I was,” he admitted. “Besides, I’ve got to go, and you need to get some sleep. You have to stop letting those books keep you awake.” He almost added, “And you need to keep your nose out of my business,” but…
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing to get up for anyway.”
“That may be, but you still need sleep,” he said as he opened the front door.
“Yeah. I suppose so,” she said, tilting her cheek for a kiss.
He obliged, planting a brief kiss on the proffered cheek. “Thanks again,” he slipped out of the door.
“Any time,” she guided the door closed and gave him a small wave.
He returned the wave, but just to the door. She had already closed it.
Chapter 4
Josh worked for the downtown district, but he actually lived in Brighton, a few miles north of Denver. Before he was married, he’d lived in downtown Denver, but Jennie wanted to live outside the city. He had to admit, after living there for the past couple of years, he actually enjoyed being away from the traffic and crush of people.
While on his way, he called in to get the precise address of the killing and arrived about thirty minutes after leaving. As he pulled up, he immediately spotted his partner. Tom saw him arrive and waited until he approached.
“What we got, Tom?” Josh said, as he drew near.
“Homeless, and it’s bad.”
Josh nodded, and they walked into the alley together. One cop car had pulled into the alley to provide lights for the scene. There were also several tripods bathing the area not illuminated by the headlights. Josh spotted Harold Spivak, the head medical examiner, leaning over the body, as well as one of the CSI techs, Katharine, or Katie, Keys taking multiple pictures.
“What do we have here, Harry?” Josh said.
Before he could answer, someone about halfway down the alley hollered, “I think I’ve got something here!”
Josh, Tom and a couple of patrol officers all walked over. Katie, and her boss, Joe Cummins, also walked over to the dumpster, where the cop had been standing when he had called out.
“What you got, Farley?” Joe asked. Farley Burgins shined his flashlight into the dumpster. There, on the top of the trash, they could all see a softball bat with blood on the barrel.
Joe said, “Looks like you may have found the murder weapon.” Katie immediately took several pictures of the trash container - a couple from the front and a couple from each end.
“How do we get it out of there without disturbing anything else in the dumpster?” Josh looked at Joe.
Joe looked directly at Katie. “I guess someone will have to go dumpster diving.”
“And that someone would be me, I presume” Katie said with a half smile.
Joe shrugged. “You presume correctly. It is your turn after all.”
“Yes,” Katie sighed deeply, “I suppose it is.”
She handed her camera to Farley then went back to her car and donned protective coveralls. Joe and Josh helped her over the edge of the dumpster. She then maneuvered as well as she could over to where the bat lay on top of the trash. Gingerly she picked it up by the knob below the handle.
Joe shined his flashlight on the bat and said, “It definitely looks like blood, and a lot of it. As I said before, I think we may have found our murder weapon. We’ll bag it and tag it, and get it back to the lab. We’ll let you know what we find out,” he said to Josh and Tom. He held out a large evidence bag into which she promptly dropped the bat.
Katie shone her light where the bat had been. “There’s more blood here.”
“Take pictures, Farley,” Joe said.
“Absolutely.” He snapped several pictures of the area where the bat had been and nearby as well.
“There’s a black ski mask with what looks to be blood spatter on it,” Farley said to Katie.
“Already saw it,” she said. “Open an evidence bag and I’ll drop it in.”
“Right away,” he said as he handed the camera to Joe.
“Anything else of interest?” Joe asked as she cautiously picked up the ski mask so as not to smear any of the blood.
“Nah,” Katie said, “But I think we had better print the entire dumpster. Who knows? We just might get lucky.”
“Good idea,” Joe agreed. “Farley, why don’t you take care of that?”
“Will do, Sir,” Farley began walking to the CSI van to get his kit.
“And,” Joe added, almost as an afterthought, “you better bag the rest of the trash to see if there’s anything else with blood. You can process it better back at the lab.”
Katie glared at Joe for just a moment before she said, “No problem,” even though it was problem for her since she was knee deep in the trash already and would probably stink for hours.
Josh walked over to the body again. “What have you got for me, Harry?”
“Well,” Harry said, looking up as he pulled the temperature probe out of the body, “I would say he died about two hours ago, which,” he looked at his watch, “was about 2:30. And, though I wouldn’t be willing to sign a paper to that effect, I’m pretty sure that the cause of death was blunt force trauma.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” Josh said as he leaned over the body to get a better look. “How many times was he hit?”
“That’s hard to judge at this point,” Harry said, “But I would guess at least three or four times, and with quite a bit of force.”
While they were talking, a patrolman walked up and said, “Yuch.”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “Pretty gruesome, isn’t it?”
“It is,” said the newcomer, “but I was actually referring to the jacket.”
“Watch it,” Harry said. “I used to have one just like that.”
The newcomer looked at the medical examiner with a rather startled expression, but didn’t say anything. He simply moved off, presumably to see if he could help someone.
“Well,” Josh left the subject of the jacket alone, “I think we found the murder weapon. There was a baseball bat over there in the dumpster with a lot of blood on it.”
“Sounds plausible.” Then, turning to his assistant, “Let’s get him out of here.”
“Yes, Sir,” Johnny Blevins, Harry’s assistant said.
“Be careful so as not to disturb any evidence that we might have missed, since the lighting isn’t too good here.”
Johnny looked insulted for just a moment before it passed. After all, he was fairly new and Harry sometimes bordered on over-cautiousness. He said, “Of course…”
“Who was first on the scene?” Josh said.
“That patrolman over there.” Harry indicated a tall, slender, uniformed patrolman standing off to one side.
Josh nodded and moved off in that direction. “You were first on the scene?”
The patrolman nodded, “My name is Alex Lender, and this is my beat.”
“Did you know the victim?”
“About as well as I know any of these people down here. His street name was Bowler.”
“Bowler?”
“Yeah, he had a ring that is usually only awarded to people who bowl a perfect game, but I didn’t see it on the body. He was very proud of it, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have willingly parted with it.”
“Well, maybe that’s why he was killed, to get the ring,” Josh said.
“Well, I suppose that’s possible. But I really don’t think so. The ring was pretty worn and I doubt if it would really be very valuable to anyone anymore except Bowler.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I used to bowl, and I know those rings are pretty valuable; worth about a thousand bucks or so. Keep your eyes open. See if anyone shows up with that ring.”
Alex just nodded and then they were interrupted by Harry, “Josh!”
“Yeah?”
“I think we may have found the cap to the bottle under the body.”
“Good. Joe!” he called, turning in the direction of the dumpster, “Can you handle the bottle cap that Harry found? I’m going with Alex here.”
“Of course,” Joe turned to where the victim was being carefully placed in a body bag.
“Tom!” Josh called.
Tom looked over from his discussion with the CSI people. “Yeah?”
“Alex and I are going to see if we can find anyone who might know what happened. See you back at the station.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No, you finish up here. Alex and I can handle this.”
“Okay.”
Josh turned from the scene and noticed someone at the end of the alley. “Oh great. The fourth estate is here.”
“Sir?” Alex said.
“Please don’t call me that. Lieutenant or just Lieu or even Josh will do.”
“Yes si…,” he started to say and then changed it to “Lieu.”
“To answer your question. The fourth estate refers to newspaper reporters.”
“And that’s who that is?” Alex pointed to the person they could now make out plainly to be a woman at the end of the alley.
“Yes. I know her. She works for one of the local newspapers still surviving.”
“Hello, Josh,” she said as they approached. She was tall, slim, and had long blonde hair, near as Alex could tell.
“Hello, Heather. What are you doing here?”
“Well I’m a reporter, and this looks like news to me. Who is it?”
“No comment.”
“Come on, Josh. That’s no way to talk to a friend.”
“Friend? Are we friends?”
“Ouch,” she said with a half smile. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Maybe it is.” After all, he had gone out with her several times, even if it had been a while back. “Okay,” he added. “A homeless person has been killed. That’s all we know right now.”
“Okay. At least that’s something.”
“The captain will probably hold a press conference about it in the morning anyway. How did you get here so soon, and before the rest of the vultures?”
“Now let’s not be nasty. You know I have a police scanner.”
“I remember,” he said. And he did remember, as it was one of the reasons they only went out a few times. Every time they seemed to be getting close, either his pager would go off or, more often than not, she would jump up to turn up her scanner to catch a call. “I imagine the others have scanners as well. Why are you the only one here?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe I’m the only one listening to it at three in the morning.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Well, maybe I’m just more on the ball then the others are.”
And then their attention was diverted by the screech of brakes as a television van arrived at the scene.
“See,” she pointed to the van.
“I guess you’re right. But I’m out of here.” He crooked his hand to indicate he and Alex should get out of there. “Lead the way Alex.”
“Yes si…Lieu,” he caught himself again, and took off down the street at a brisk pace, Josh close behind.
Chapter 5
“What do you know about Bowler? Do you know who he hangs out with?” Josh said.
“As I said. I know him about as well as I know any of the guys down here. I think he generally hangs with a guy named Whitie.”
“Have you seen Whitie tonight?”
“Nope. But he doesn’t necessarily hang out in this area. He usually stays about four or five blocks from here.”
Together, they walked up 17th Avenue. They were both looking, but neither saw any street people, much less the one Alex was looking for. After they had gone about five blocks, they turned south on 12th Avenue and walked to a small park with a fenced-in baseball diamond where there were a lot of cardboard boxes with people curled up in them. Their feet were generally ticking out, generally covered to their waist or lower by a coat or jacket or ratty-looking blanket though some just seemed to be covered with newspapers. There were also a number of them leaning against the fence.
“Is he here?”
Alex looked around and shook his head. “No Lieu, I don’t see him anywhere.” Then he walked over to a large cardboard box where someone was sleeping under a red blanket. He gently prodded the person’s foot, who rolled over and groaned. “Alright Dobbins, get up. We’ve got some questions for you.”
Dobbins groggily sat up, wiped his bleary eyes and said, with very slurred speech, “Whad ya want?”
“Have you seen Whitie tonight?” Alex asked.
“I da know. I don’ ‘member.”
Alex pulled a one-dollar bill out of his wallet and pointed it at Dobbin. “Would this help your memory?”
Dobbins brightened a little, but shook his head. “Sorry. I really don’ know if I saw ‘m.”
“Alright,” Alex handed him the dollar, “Go back to sleep.” Dobbins grabbed the dollar and lay back down. “This is where he and Bowler usually stay. I’m not really sure where else to look, but we can wander around the neighborhood if you like.”
“Might as well. I’d like to find him before we go back to the station.”
“Let’s go this way then. There’s another place where the homeless congregate.”
They walked a couple more blocks, and there was another cardboard town. Alex wandered amongst the cardboard boxes as Josh watched, and in a few moments he signaled Josh over. There, sitting with his back against a building, was a man with the whitest hair Josh had ever seen.
“No wonder they called him Whitie,” Josh thought.
Alex leaned over and shook Whitie’s shoulder. “Wha…?” he said, coming half awake.
“Did you see Bowler last evening, Whitie?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know. Leave me alone.” He closed his eyes again.
“Come on Whitie, wake up. We’ve got some news for you.”
“Huh?” Whitie opened his extremely blood shot eyes to glare at Alex. “What ya got ta tell me?”
“Only that Bowler’s dead. He got himself killed earlier.”
“Say what?” Whitie came a bit more awake now. “Ba… Ba… Bowler’s dead?”
“That’s right, Whitie, somebody killed him. Did you see him earlier?”
Whitie scratched his head and said, “Nooooo… Wait a minute, yeah, I did saw him earlier. Some guy come up to us and offered Bowler a bottle if he’d go with him.”
“And so he just went?”
Whitie nodded.
“What’d the guy look like?” Josh said.
“Who he?” Whitie said, seeming to notice Josh for the first time.
“I’m Lieutenant Brayburn. Do you know what the guy looked like that Bowler went away with?”
“Naaaa. I didn’t pay no attention.”
Alex shook his head. “The guy was waving a bottle around, and you didn’t pay any attention?”
“I wasn’t feelin’ good.”
“You didn’t see them leave?” Josh said.
“Naaaa. I weren’t payin’ no attention. I just wanted ta sleep.”
“So you have no idea what the guy looked like?”
“I said, ‘I didn’t pay no attention,’” Whitie closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.
“I don’t think we’re going to get anything out of him,” Alex said.
“No I suppose not. Think anybody else around here saw anything?”
“Oh, that’s hard to say. Somebody might have seen the guy with the bottle. Who knows?”
“How many of these people do you know?”
“Quite a few. It’s mostly the same crowd. Take Mary over there,” Alex indicated an old lady with her arm wrapped around the leg of a shopping cart. “She’s been here as long as I’ve been on this beat. She knows just about everybody and pretty much all their comings and goings. I can ask around if you want to go back to the station, or you can hang around, and we can ask together.”
“Let’s ask Mary.”
They walked over to her. Alex leaned over and started to shake her shoulder, but she shrank back. “Sorry, Mary. Did you see Bowler tonight?” She didn’t say anything. “Mary,” Alex said gently, “Someone killed Bowler tonight.” Still she said nothing, but her eyes widened. “If you saw Bowler tonight, it would be very helpful if you would tell us about it.”
“I seen him,” Mary said, so softly that she could scarcely be heard. “He left with a man. A big man.”
“Big how, Mary?” Alex said.
“He was taller’n Bowler,”
“What else, Mary? Did you see his face?”
“Nah. I only seen him from behind. He was with Bowler, and they went that way.” She pointed south. “Man had a bottle.”
“Yes. We know about the bottle. Are you sure you don’t know anything about the man?”
She shook her head.
“What was he wearing?”
“He was dark. Dark coat, dark pants, darks shoes, or least ways I think they was dark. Course it was dark out. He had a hat or a hood, so I didn’t see his hair neither.”
“Okay, Mary,” Josh said, “That’s fine. Thank you very much.” And he took out a dollar and gave it to her. This brought out a smile, and they could see her crooked, broken, and yellowed teeth.
Mary seemed to notice Josh for the first time, even though she had snatched the dollar from him, and looked up at him suspiciously.
“He’s okay. He’s with me.” Alex straightened up indicating they should be moving on.
“Anyone else you know that might be able to give us any information?” Josh said.
“I doubt it. Mary’s about the most observant of all the homeless. It’s always possible, but we would have to interview every one of these people.”
“I think perhaps we should. I’ll get the captain to assign a few more men to help you. Why don’t you hang here for a while and get started. I’ll have the other men join you soon. Meanwhile, I’m going to head back to the station and see what the ME has to say.
“Will do, Lieu. I’ll let you know if I find out anything at all.”
“You do that,” Josh said as he walked away.
When he got to his car, the body, and most everyone, was gone. There were a few techs left, and Katie and Farley were still emptying the dumpster into several large trash bags. Farley noticed him and gave a slight wave of acknowledgement, Josh waved back, got in his car, and carefully backed out on the street as the morning traffic was starting to arrive.
He drove straight to the precinct.
Chapter 6
As Josh approached the autopsy room, Tom came out. “We printed him, and I have the five card. I’ll go see if we can figure out who he is.”
Josh nodded. “Good idea. Let me know.”
As Tom continued on his way, Josh went into the autopsy room.
He grabbed some rubber gloves and pulled them on before he asked, “Got anything new, Harry?”
“Just one thing. I found this,” and he held up an evidence bag containing a long, brown hair. Josh squinted at it and together they glanced down at the bald pate on the body with the rim of short, mostly white hair. Harry cocked one eyebrow at Josh and added, “I’m fairly certain it isn’t his. I’ll send it to trace.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Nah. I haven’t done the autopsy yet, but I find it hard to believe that anything killed him but the head trauma. Of course, I’ll have to remove the glass fragments before I can make that determination.”
Josh nodded and then asked, “Can you tell how many times he was hit?”
“Well, not precisely yet, but I still think it was at least three or four times. Someone was very angry. He was hit fully in the face and then a couple of times to the side of the head.” He paused for a moment and then added, “I sent a blood sample off to tox. I’m pretty sure he had something to drink before he was killed. But, of course, I might be getting that sense because of the residual from the broken bottle. Did you find anything, if I may ask?”
“Of course you can ask. You know you can always ask me anything. And yes, we found another derelict who told us that someone had offered this guy a bottle, so he probably did have some of it before he was killed.”
“Maybe, but it’ll be next to impossible to tell just how much of this particular bottle he drank before it got smashed into his face.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter what booze he was drinking, or what bottle he was drinking it from.” Josh said.
Harry nodded his ascent. “Not if, as is pretty obvious, he died from blunt-force trauma.”
“Well, give me a holler if you find anything else of interest and when you’re sure about the cause of death.”
“Absolutely,” Harry said as he went back to his work.
Josh went back upstairs and strode purposefully to the CSI section rather than his office. Tom was there talking with Megan Harris, who stood about 5’10”, had long brunette hair, and reminded Josh of some actress, though he couldn’t remember just which one. He had considered asking her out, except for his hard-and-fast rule against dating anyone he worked with. It was his considered opinion that nothing good could ever come from an office romance.
“Anything yet?” he said.
“We just put them in the system. It’s searching now,” Tom said.
A few seconds later, the computer beeped a few times. “We have a hit,” Megan said.
An image of Bowler appeared on the screen with his vital statistics. “A missing person,” Megan said. “Name was Ian Vander. Seems he was a runaway from a retirement community.”
Josh nodded. “Yep, that’s him. His face was damaged, but I’m sure it’s him.” He took out the small notebook he used during interviews, and wrote down the name of the business and the address. Then, turning to Tom, he said, “Let’s go grab something to eat. Then we can go to the retirement community to talk to them about Vander. Find out what we can.”
“Good idea,” Tom said. “I’m hungry.”
“Let’s go to Adele’s.”
“That would be nice, but they’re so slow. Maybe fast food would be better so we can get in and out quick.”
“You know I don’t like fast food. But maybe you’re right. We should try to make it quick and Adele’s does take a while. Especially at the time of day.” Josh led the way out of the squad room.
“We’ll take my car,” Josh said.
“Whatever you say, Lieu,”
During their quick breakfast, they just made small talk. Tom talked a little about his two kids and how the older one had started basketball practice. “He’s really good.”
“I would think a little less of you if you didn’t feel that way. Even if it isn’t exactly true,” Josh finished with a small smile.
Tom faked a hurt look, “How can you say something like that? Of course it’s true. My son is a young… A young… Well I can’t think of any basketball players’ names.”
“Okay,” Josh held up in hands in mock surrender, “I give. Your son will be the next Michael Jordon.”
“Well, maybe not quite that,” Tom admitted, taking the last bite of his breakfast. “But good.”
Josh didn’t say anything else, finishing his breakfast instead.
“That’s the place,” Tom said as they arrived at the retirement community.
Josh craned his neck right and left, and then said, “Do you see anywhere to park?”
“You can park in one of the handicapped parking spots. Even if you did get a ticket, they’d just take one look at you and tear it up.”
Josh gave him a side-long look, “This is a retirement community. They need those handicapped spots and I’ll not take one unless there is absolutely… Never mind,” he added as he drove a few rows away where he had spotted an empty, non-handicapped, parking spot.
Tom rolled his eyes. Josh never got his jokes.
They got out and went inside the first door but were stopped by the second door, which required a code. “Just a second,” Tom said as he squinted at the numbers before he punched them into the intercom by the door. It was designed to connect to all the rooms in the community so that an arriving guest could call the resident, who could then come to the door.
“Yes?” the resident manager answered Tom’s call.
“Police,” Tom said. “We have some questions.”
“What’s this about?” the lady at the other end of the conversation asked.
“We’d prefer to talk in person. Please send someone to let us in.”
“My, my. I’ll be right there.”
They had to wait only a minute or two before a very frail, short, and wizened-looking lady with rather frizzy silver hair appeared on the other side of the glass door and pushed a button to open the sliding glass door, so they could enter.
“What’s this all about?” she asked for the second time, in a strong, vibrant voice that belied her appearance.
Josh blinked rapidly at the sudden incongruity but Tom seemed not to notice.
“Do you have someplace private we can talk?” Josh said.
“Follow me.” She led them a short way to a large room with two sets of double doors to allow easy access. The room was spacious. It had several tables for people to sit and eat or play games, and several large couches and chairs facing two big-screen TV’s spaced several feet apart. There was no one else in the room.
She closed both sets of doors before leading them to one of the tables and indicating they should sit.
Josh held her chair for her until she was seated, then took a chair opposite her and beside Tom. He pulled out his identification. He was actually surprised she hadn’t asked to see it before she let them in. “I’m Lieutenant Josh Brayburn. This is Tom Danvers, my partner.”
She nodded and said, “And I’m Sarah Donner. What can I do for you?”
“Well,” Josh began, “I’m afraid we have some rather sad news.”
She looked almost frightened. “Oh dear. I wonder what it could be. Did someone from here do something bad?”
Josh almost smiled in spite of himself. “Nothing like that, ma’am. I’m afraid one of your tenants was killed last night.”
“One of our people? We haven’t heard anything this morning. Besides,” she said with a twinkle, “We’re all old. Are you sure this person didn’t just die?”
“Yes, ma’am, we’re sure. And I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. The person isn’t someone who is living here now, but someone who has apparently been missing from your midst.”
“Oh God,” she said, covering her mouth in alarm. “Not Ian? Surely not Ian? He was such a sweet person.”
“Are you referring to Ian Vander?” Josh said.
“Yes. Was it him?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say. How did you know it was him?”
“Well, we don’t have that many walk-aways, especially those that we don’t eventually find. He has been the only one in quite a while.” She paused for a few seconds, and then added, “Did you say he was killed?”
“I’m afraid so,” Josh said.
“Where? Where was he living?”
“He was killed in a downtown alley, and he had been living on the streets not too far there.”
“Poor Ian.” It appeared as if she was trying to muster a tear or two, but couldn’t quite manage. “He was such a nice man.”
“Yes ma’am,” Tom finally spoke up, “I’m sure he was. But what we need to know is, do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm him?”
“Oh my, no,” she shook her head. “I’m sure there wasn’t anyone like that. As I said, he was a nice man. But, honestly, I didn’t know much about him.” She seemed almost embarrassed to admit that. “We staff try to leave our residents to their own lives and not intrude. Besides, I haven’t been at this particular facility that long. I used to work at a community in Canon City.”
“I’ve been to Canon City,” Tom said. “It’s a nice place, and has a great small-town atmosphere, but, didn’t it make you nervous knowing there were so many prisons nearby?”
“Oh my, no,” she said. “I never even thought about it. There was hardly ever an escape and other than that, the prisons weren’t in the news.”
“That’s probably right,” Josh said, and then added to get the conversation back on track, “Did Mr. Vander have any relatives?”
“Indeed he did,” she said, standing up. “Follow me, and we can look them up in the records. We require that kind of information just in case something happens to one of the residents and we need to contact someone.”
“I figured,” Josh said as he and Tom followed her down the hall to a small office with flyers posted on cork boards covering virtually every square foot of wall space. She dropped into a chair in front of a desk so cluttered with papers, it was anyones’ guess as to how far down the surface actually was. The papers themselves gave every indication as to having just been tossed there randomly.
She pulled out a right-hand drawer and said, “Here it is… Yes.” She studied a paper inside a manila folder for just an instant and then said, “He had a daughter and sister that visited him every once in a while.”
Josh pulled out his notebook. “May we have their names and contact numbers, please?”
“Most assuredly. His daughter’s name is Suzy Vander-Daws. Her phone number is,” and she read off the phone number as Josh copied it down.
“And her address?”
“We don’t have that kind of information since it isn’t necessary. We only need a contact phone number in case of an emergency. His sister’s name is Terri Vander. She is a librarian, and, as I understand it, was never married.” She finished by giving him the sister’s phone number.
“Okay,” Josh said. “Thanks for the information. We need to be going now, so we can break the bad news to the sister and daughter. Please do not contact them until we have a chance.”
“Of course not,” she looked surprised that he would even suggest such a thing. “I couldn’t…”
“But you must have to break such bad news to family members every once in a while, considering the place where you work,” Tom said.
She nodded. “I do. But I tell them what they frequently are already expecting. Not that the person they loved met with a violent end.”
“How do you know it was violent?” Josh said.
“You said he was killed, and in downtown Denver. Is it such a stretch to arrive at the conclusion that he didn’t go peacefully into the great beyond? And, if it wasn’t peaceful, what else is left but violence?”
Tom did a little bow with a flourish that came far too close to Josh’s crotch for either’s liking, and said, “We yield to your superior logic.”
“But surely you aren’t going to give them the news over the phone?” she asked.
“Not if we don’t have to,” Josh said. “We should be able to visit with the daughter since she is local, but the sister may be more of an issue, since her number has as Illinois area code.
“You got every code in the country memorized?” Tom said.
“Hardly,” Josh said. “I have a friend that lives in Illinois and I recognized that area code.”
With that, he pulled out his cell phone and, looking at the number he had written in his notebook, he called Suzy Vander-Daws. “Yes, ma’am,” he said into the phone when she answered. “I’m Lieutenant Joshua Brayburn of the Denver PD. I need to talk to you for a few minutes. Are you home now, or will you be home anytime soon?” He paused for a few moments while he listened to her ask the typical questions like: “What’s this all about?”, “What do you want with me?” and “Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”. Josh responded, just as typically with, “No, we can’t discuss it over the phone. We really need to meet with you.” He listened for a few more seconds and then said, “Yes ma’am, I understand, and that will be just fine.” Then he wrote her address in his notebook and repeated it back to her to make sure he had it right. “We can easily be there by noon.” And finally, “See you then.” And then he closed the phone and put it back in its holder.
“Let’s go, Tom,” he turned to Sarah and added, “Thank you for your invaluable help, ma’am. We need to go right now in order to make it to her house by noon.”
“Yes, Sir. Follow me. I’ll show you out.”
Josh and Tom followed her to the door they’d come through first and paused as she pushed the button to open the door. They both nodded their thanks as they went out the door. Almost immediately, she turned and headed back into the room where they had talked, while the door closed automatically.
“Why didn’t you tell her not to call you Sir, Sir?” Tom asked with a big grin.
“Shove it, Tommy,” Josh said good-naturedly.
Tom frowned but didn’t say anything else.
Chapter 7
Josh and Tom conversed in small talk while they made the drive to Bowler’s daughter’s house through the always-heavy Denver traffic. They arrived at the house in one of the newer, upscale neighborhoods.
“Nice house,” Tom said as they stopped in front, got out, and walked to the double doors. They were heavy wood with an inlaid wrought iron design that, to Josh’s eyes, held no particular meaning. There were also large, stained-glass windows in each door with tiny glass peepholes underneath.
Josh pushed what he thought was the doorbell and was rewarded with what, to him, was a strange sound effect.
They waited a few moments before someone said, through such a thick door they could barely hear the rather soft voice, “Yes?”
“Police,” Tom said simply.
“Could you please hold your ID up so I can see it,” the voice said.
They complied and gave the voice several seconds to examine them through the peephole.
“Keep them out as I open the door, please.”
They did so as the door cracked open. They caught sight of a face with a shock of silver-blonde hair; the tips of which seemed to be wet. She examined the IDs for a moment or two more before opening the door wide and waving them in.
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