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Dan saw Sergeant Enriquez posted outside the door to Harrison Coleman’s office in the rear of the theater. A sure sign that clue collection was in progress.
He made an imaginary tip of the hat. “Morning, Paul.”
Enriquez returned the nod. “Dan.”
“Jake okayed me to go inside.”
Enriquez held up a hand. “Not to me he didn't.”
Could nothing be easy anymore? “Have I ever lied to you?”
Enriquez tilted his head. “I wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘lied.’”
“Then what?”
The cop pondered a moment. “Stacked the facts to your advantage?”
“That’s my job description.”
Enriquez almost smiled. “Which is why I can’t let you in without—”
Kakazu appeared in the doorway. “It’s fine, Paul.” He winked. “I’ll keep a close eye on the shyster.”
Dan stepped forward. “I’m offended by your use of the word ‘shyster,’ Jake.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. It’s racist. Against lawyers. I prefer, ‘pettifogger.’”
He bowed slightly. “As you wish.”
The office buzzed with CSI personnel. He spotted videographers, fingerprint analysts, DNA scrapers. Two people on their hands and knees scrutinizing the carpet. Probably the hair and fiber team. All wore blue booties and matching blue gloves.
Kakazu handed him a pair of booties. He slid them over his black dress shoes. “Are these to protect the crime scene or my snazzy footwear?”
“The crime scene. I could care less about your overpriced shoes. You shouldn’t even be in here.”
“I appreciate you making an exception.”
“I’d rather let you in now than hear you whine at trial that you were excluded from the crime scene so the police could plant evidence.”
“I would never do that.” Pause. “Unless it was true.”
Kakazu escorted him to the center of the room. “I can assure you nothing untoward has occurred. This is completely open and shut. The victim scratched your boy’s name in the foggy mirror.”
“Or someone did.”
“No one else was seen coming in or out.”
“But for that matter, no one saw my client coming in or out.”
“So far. We’re still interviewing potential witnesses.”
“The name on the mirror is Ossie. You arrested ‘John Doe.’”
“Well, Coleman had to call the kid something.”
“Or someone did. The lawsuit will determine whether he inherits in time. This murder was unnecessary.”
“Greed makes the calmest of minds impatient.”
“Are you quoting Seneca or some Oxford thing?”
“No. I just made that up.”
Time to change the subject. “Isn’t this theater doing a Shakespeare series?”
“Indeed. The goal is to perform all thirty-eight plays in six years. But I suppose the Bard of Avon isn’t really your cup of—”
“Don’t you mean thirty-seven?”
“Uh...what?”
“Surely you’re aware that current scholarship suggests Shakespeare did not write Henry VIII. At least not most of it.”
“I...uh...”
“Maybe they didn’t cover that at Oxford. What was the play the night of the murder?”
“The Scottish play.” He smiled happily. “It’s considered bad luck amongst theater folk to say—”
“Macbeth. Yes, I know. But I’m not superstitious. Do you think the murder occurred toward the start of the play or the end?”
“Don’t know. Why?”
“At the end, Birnam Wood moves to the castle and a huge battle ensues. Lots of noisy sword fighting, I imagine.”
“I did see swords backstage...”
“Producing a tremendous racket. I noticed an orchestra pit out front. Did the play have music?”
“Yes.”
“Overture?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s at least two perfect times to commit a murder. No one would hear anything happening back in this office.” He crouched beside the chess table not far from the desk. “Looks like Harrison had a game in progress.”
“Yes. The question is, who was he playing. My forensic team only found the victim’s prints on the pieces. Both white and black.”
It looked like an endgame position. White had a rook and a pawn, in addition to the king. Black had only a rook. “He was playing with himself.”
“Uh, excuse me?”
“It’s a thing eggheads do. Particularly the ones without many friends. They play both sides of the table. This is going to end up either a white win or a draw, depending upon who plays next and how they play it.”
“You can’t assume just because there are no fingerprints—”
“You think his opponent played wearing gloves? This is the kind of perfectly balanced game you only get from two equal rank grandmasters—or a guy playing himself.”
Kakazu looked annoyed. “I doubt it matters much to the murder. The clues—”
“Show me the mirror.”
Kakazu waved him toward the bathroom. “We took lots of pictures while the message was fresh. All the climate controls in the world can’t keep a smear on a mirror. We used a powder to set it as we found it, but even that won’t last forever.”
He could see the letters were fading, but they were still legible. They appeared to have been hastily scrawled—as if by someone in a hurry. Or someone dying. But they definitely spelled OSSIE.
“Look, Dan, I know your job is to find—or create—some kind of defense, but even without all the other evidence, this mirror is proof positive that your guy—”
“Was framed.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t interrupt—”
“I wasn’t sure before, but I am now. All the other evidence is inconclusive. But this mirror makes it clear that the murder was a deliberate attempt to frame Ossie. To cheat him out of his inheritance.”
“You think he was likely to inherit? Come on. Your boy’s story was thin from the start. An heir to millions suddenly appears out of nowhere after fourteen years?”
“It happens. People escape. Resurface. Amanda Berry. Gina DeJesus. They were teenagers when Ariel Castro abducted them. They were kept in captivity for more than a decade before Berry escaped.”
“That’s a one-in-a-million.”
“So is this one.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“Yet.” But he was convinced it was true. “Do you have a cause of death yet?”
Kakazu gave him a long look. “You’re joking, right? The body was destroyed.”
“I know the medical examiner well enough to know that won’t stop him from investigating.”
“It might slow him down a step or two.”
“Can you give me any details on how the body was destroyed?”
“We’re still investigating. But if you want the big picture—bio-cremation.”
His lips parted. “That’s a real thing?”
“It is. Lye mixed with water, basically. Will destroy a body in about sixteen hours.”
“Then how do you know it was Harrison Coleman?”
“DNA traces. In the powder.”
He winced. “I know I’ll regret asking, but—how does this bio-cremation occur?”
“Not by accident, if that’s what you’re thinking. Dr. Zanzibar can give you more details, but basically, the killer would have to strip the body naked. Drag the naked body to the tub. Turn on the water, hot as it will go. Toss in several scoops of lye. Cover the tub with something secure—like a rubber sheet. Seal it firmly with duct tape or something similar. Then let science work its magic.”
“In sixteen hours?”
“Or less. The bio-cremation would break down skin, tissue, muscle—even the poor man’s teeth. At the cellular level. What little is left behind—in liquid form—you eliminate by draining the tub. Bone chunks would be so soft you could mash them into powder with the sole of a shoe. Nothing left but dust.”
“Yet you could run DNA tests on that powder?”
“Ask the experts. They can tell you all about it. All I know is it wasn’t easy.”
He wiped his mouth. This was hideous. Whoever committed this murder seriously wanted to eliminate all traces. Why? Given the location, there was little doubt about who the murder victim was. What was the killer trying to mask?
And worse, what kind of monster would resort to something like this?
And what would he do to anyone who got in his way?
“Despite all this weirdness, you’re determined to blame Ossie?”
“Well, given the state of the remains, I think we can rule out suicide.”
Very funny. “Let me know when the doc comes up with a cause of death.”
“I will. But what makes you think it isn’t the obvious?”
“The...obvious.”
“The lye. Eating away at his skin.”
“I assumed...he was killed first. Then dragged to the tub—”
“And I hope you’re right. But maybe not. Maybe he was restrained. Or drugged. And then destroyed. Lye eating away at his skin. Seeping into his internal organs. Cooking him by inches. While he was still alive.”