“What I know is you’re getting your revenge for that thing that happened with the foster kid, right?”
“If that were true, the department wouldn’t let me make the collars.” Boyd gritted her teeth with suppressed irritation, which was her usual response to Homicide Detective Byron Wurdalaka.
“I have to tell you, Boyd, we can’t figure out how you’re doing it.
“There’s no big secret, Wurdalaka.”
“Don’t hand me no bullshit about good police work. You got some sort of hincty inside deal going, don’t ya?”
“Nope. No inside deal. I just bumped into the right CI, is all there is to it.”
“Well, fuck all, I hope you’re paying that shitbird some decent money, so he keeps coming across with the goods.”
“I do my best to keep him happy, if happiness were even a thing with him, which it isn’t.”
“You’re fuckin’ him, right?”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“I feel you, LT, he’s a doper though for sure, right? You’re passin’ him baggies of skag from the evidence locker, ain’t you, you fuckin’ hot ticket?”
“You know I shouldn’t say.”
“Aww, c’mon, LT, just between you and me. I gotta know.”
“I’m not gonna let you steal my goddamn, CI, Byron.”
“Alright, but still, it’s righteous amazing what this guy, if it even is a guy, gave up. What, five solid kiddie porn busts in, what, two weeks’ time? Each one an uncontested confession, no question of undue duress, no brutality complaint. No surveillance, no nothin’. They just open up the freakin’ door, you walk right in, they confess right off the bat, then let you cuff ‘em, Mirandize ‘em, walk ‘em right out the freaking door with you like zombies and then they confess again, no trouble at all, write everything down, everything they did, gave up the kids, payments, cam feeds—fuckin’ beautiful! You know you got one stone bonnaroo CI, and that’s no joke. What the fuck did you do—sell your soul to the devil or somethin’? It’s freakin’ eerie.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Do I even wanna know?”
“You’re the one asking the questions, Byron.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. So. what brings ya down to homicide? Miss my pretty face, did ya?”
“Only so I could get close enough to kick it with my boot,” she replied with an unforced smile. “Maybe I could ram one of these steel toes squarely up your ass too, while I’m at it.”
Wurdalaka chuckled at this, with a thin slit of a grin bisecting his crinkled-up face. “Funny stuff. What’s funnier is if they actually certified you as fit for duty there, Mary freakin’ sunshine.” The grin evaporated.
“Ya, genius. Like I made those collars on my own time.”
“What if I double check that recertification?”
“What if I choke you out on the floor?”
“You are a testy—”
“Don’t call me a bitch, Byron.”
“Fine. But you are.”
“Sure, but don’t call me that.”
“Fuck all, Boyd, if you’re still out on medical, what the fuck are you doing here bugging me for? Don’t you have a few more classes to audit at the laughing academy or something?”
“No, you fucktard. I’m not out on medical. Those five busts were goddamn righteous. Just ask any one of the ADA puppies prosecuting down at Suffolk. They’ll probably piss up your leg with enthusiasm.”
“Ouch, LT, you really know how to hurt a guy who’s got nothin’ but good intentions on ya.” Wurdalaka took it down a notch. Let the grin be a smile that split his face. “So, you wanna introduce me to this mutt, or what?”
“You wanna fuck off and die, or what?”
“Okay, okay, so tell me what it is already.”
“What what is?”
“Just spit it the fuck out, LT!”
Boyd cleared her throat, adjusted her posture while Wurdalaka slouched leaning against a gray, gunmetal desk. “I’m here to ask you about some unsolved homicides. Anything you got in the files recently stick out for being maybe a bit odd—hincty as you say—no evidence onsite you could run, no witnesses, strange victimology?” She paused for a moment, watching the wheels turn in Wurdalaka’s head. “Like maybe a bunch of ‘em, maybe?”
“Seriously, LT, for once you ain’t asking such a stupid question. We got a few in the backlog of cold cases, nothing new except just one that fits your bill exactly.
“Just one. That’s it?”
“Yeah, but it’s a big it.”
“How big?”
“Mass murder.”
“Come again?”
“One of those high mucky muck city officials with an office on the same floor as the mayor’s. The whole division’s working it and we ain’t got diddley yet.”
“Really? Who was it?”
“You know Joe Finnerty? Code Enforcement?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, some professional hitter took him out a few weeks back. Killed him and his entire security down at One Boston. A fucking bloodbath.”
“Why do you think it was professional?”
“Fucker didn’t miss a trick. Came in light, went out heavy. Whacked the principal, then exited in broad daylight, taking out every man on security and maintenance without a thought, no misses—used some freakin’ fancy German sidearm on the exit. Ballistics had it as a hack something.”
Boyd’s expression brightened for a moment. Her face was a little bloated, and rum blossoms were beginning to show about the nose. “Heckler and Koch P7, maybe?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Registered to Finnerty it turns out, so he got it off him. You a gun freak too, LT? In addition to being a freak?”
“No, Byron—I’m just that savvy.”
“Sure you are, LT and I fart nickels.”
“I hate that expression.”
“I saved it especially for you.”
“You’re sure it’s even a guy?”
“We at least got that. The witnesses who saw the mope leave down in the lobby also watched him pop the brains out of some stockbroker. They all swear up and down it was a little guy with a funny walk, overcoat and hat hiding his features. Walked right by the uniforms coming to nab him and they didn’t even notice – funny walk and all.”
A limp, thought Boyd with a chill of realization. Fucking Null.
“Security tape showed that, too. Sound familiar to you, LT?”
“No, not at all. So, what do you figure?”
“You wanna try and steal my case while I’m trying to steal your CI? Too fucking much!”
“You can have it, I just wanted to know—
“I fuckin’ know what you want to know, lady, right goddamn now. And I wonder just why it is that you want to know it so bad.”
Boyd stayed calm, went with it. “So then, is it true or not?”
“Yeah, it’s fucking true. You knew it before you crossed the threshold.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, LT, no denying, but you got good instincts.”
“I don’t think I can link it to my five KP busts.”
“It’s just a rumor. But I made cases before on rumors less good.” Wurdalaka sighed. “We came up empty at the scene, and it was his private office, not the one at city hall. Should have been a fucking treasure trove. Too many prints, most of them smudged, and the ones that weren’t were nobodies who never even hit the system.”
“Not even one?”
“Why? You were hoping for someone?”
“I never hope. It was a pro hitter, right?”
“Well, it wasn’t no fucking jealous girlfriend, that’s for sure.”
“So maybe you’re thinking it’s related to my collars after all and want to horn in.”
“Why would you say that?”
Boyd poked Wurdalaka hard at the collarbone. He made a slight wince of discomfort. “Because you didn’t mention that the laptop was missing, and it would have to be missing because that’s where all the evidence of KP would be, wouldn’t it?”
Wurdalaka gently seized Boyd’s hand and put it aside. “We didn’t find no ledger either.”
“There wouldn’t be one. It’s all on the missing laptop.”
“You’re still running this down?”
“Fuckin’ A, Byron.”
“The Captain on board?”
“For once, he loves something. A gang of KP collars gets good ink. So, I’m good.”
“When are you coming home to OC? Once this CI runs dry or gives himself a hotshot, whichever comes first?”
Boyd smirked. “I think he prefers meth.”
“That makes him a dead bang short timer, then.”
“Probably, but as for OC, I’m still doing that. I haven’t left but for my, umm—”
“You mean your period of adjustment?”
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
“Fuck, you actually think this fucking thing—this CI even—is part of an organized ring? A network of dark web KP goofs?”
“That could very well be.”
Wurdalaka stood up straight and hitched his pants, kicking the toe of his boot against a stout leg of the gunmetal desk. “Borrow me in on it, then, LT. I’m useful. Never mind stealing your CI. I want in. Tell Parseeman you need him to mandate me in.”
“You’re serious.”
“Deadly, baby.”
“You can dream it, but you sure as shit can’t be it.”
“You’re saying no?”
“I’m putting my foot down.”
“So, it’s still that way?”
“It’s never going to be any other way, Byron.”
Boyd started to draw away from the homicide detective, but he stopped her. “Just wait a fucking second LT, think about it. And while you’re thinking about it, I got a little tidbit for you for free. A gesture of good will—a olive branch maybe.” The face-bisecting grin reappeared.
She moved yet further away down the hall from where Wurdalaka stood by the door, turning her head. “Yeah? Whaddaya got?”
“A whacko missing persons down in Southie.”
“Why whacko?”
“Nobody in homicide can make heads nor tails out of it.”
“Hit me.”
“Some company, a sub-chapter S Corp. called Tiresias or somethin’, just disappeared. No other filings on it, no paperwork or permitting anywhere—all aliases if anything at all, and all pointing back to the company address which is as vacant as the president’s brain. The place was obviously cleaned, not even a single desk in sight.”
“Blood evidence?”
“Bleached clean. Whatever happened, it was another pro job—or just a fluke—but pretty fucking crazy.”
“Okay, so?”
“So, this, LT. Fifteen human beings seem to have disappeared right along with the company—no blood, no bodies, no debris, no nothing. And get this. None of their cars are anywhere to be found, even the ones with Lo-Jack. Poof—gone.”
“Disappeared?”
“Gone as in loved ones calling up all verklempt gone.”
“And who’s workin’ it? Who’s the primary?”
“Nobody. Missing persons kicked it up to us after the fifteen reports were filed, all saying the exact same thing, and they couldn’t get nothin’ from it. They figured, anyone disappears like that, they must all be dead. So, they gave it to us and we put it in cold case. There wasn’t nothin’ for us to work. No witnesses, no blood evidence, no corpses, no nothin’—nada! Fuckin odd, wouldn’t ya say?”
“I would. You givin’ this one to me?”
“Shit yeah, LT, take it if you want. It’s all yours. Maybe your C-I knows somethin’ about this too—tie it in neatly with all them easy kiddie porn bust leads.”
“Sure, I’ll take it off your hands, if you want.” She moved down the hall toward her own office, but not too fast. She could feel there was more coming. And there was.
“Hey, LT, your CI ain’t really that zombie fuck Null, is it?”
Boyd froze. Swallowed hard.
“Of course not. He’s dead.”
“Great. Maybe he can look up the missing fifteen while he’s down there visiting hell.”
Boyd turned to face him, seething. “Maybe he’ll visit you too, while he’s at it!”
Wurdalaka crossed his arms over his heart, cast slit eyes skyward, clearly mocking her. Then he intoned it like a holy chant:
“Oh babe—lemme tell ya somethin’. I’m counting on it!