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Everything we hear is
an opinion, not a fact.
Everything we see is
a perspective, not the truth.
Marcus Aurelis
As the phone by her bed shrieked, Em wanted to bury her head and return to sleep, but couldn’t. Not in her position.
Susanna cracked one eye open and peeked at her from the shelter of a pillow. “Are you—?”
Em rolled over, grabbing the receiver. “I’ve got it. It takes me a minute. I’m used to waking at a specific time.” She leaned away from her girlfriend, trying to keep her voice pitched low.
“‘Alo? Detective Rules here.”
“Em, this is Mike Eddleson. I’m calling from my home. You need to get here immediately.”
“Mike? What the hell time is it?” She flicked her wrist, lighting her watch. “It’s only 5:20!”
The commissioner sighed, not ready to discuss nonessential details. “I like getting into the office before anyone else so I can prepare for the day without interruptions. If you knew how many I get, you’d appreciate it. But I discovered a bomb in my car. I’m about to call the explosives removal squad. If you want to examine the evidence before they demolish it, you’d best get here fast.”
Em sat up, her sleepiness flushed from her system. “A bomb? Was it attached to your car? How did you avoid setting it off?”
“It’s a bit involved, but it wasn’t fastened to the car. Instead, it was in the trunk. I’m guessing it was set to go off via remote control rather than through the ignition or a timer.”
Em was up and dressing. Susanna, having caught her outburst, sat up and rubbed her eyes, listening in. Being a detective, Em couldn’t keep from asking essential questions. “How’d you discover it?”
Mike sighed again, clearly not in the mood to humor her. “I was bringing my golf clubs to work. I like to visit Drive 495 near the office to work off my daily frustrations. I figured knocking a few balls would vent some of my annoyances with this case. I planned to take my private car and let Nathan meet me there. While wrestling the clubs in the trunk, I discovered a knapsack which isn’t mine or my wife’s. Not knowing who’d plant something in my car, I decided prudence was the best call and left it alone.”
Em sat while pulling on her pants. “No, playing with bombs is stupid. You did the right thing. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hopefully there shouldn’t be much traffic this time of the morning.”
“That’s why I called. Once you hang up I’ll phone the bomb squad. I’ve already cleared the area. It’s a mid-sized but heavy package. It won’t damage the house, but would have injured me if I was in the car when it went off. Grab a pen, here’s my home address. And use your siren; it’s important you get here before the evidence is compromised.”
He recited his address as Em entered it into her phone so she wouldn’t have to wrestle with a map.
“There’s a bomb? Why would they contact you?” Em was surprised by Susanna’s inquiry, but turned and spoke in low, calming tones, not wanting to awaken or upset anyone else.
“They called because it’s my boss’s car and may be related to my case.”
Susanna scratched her head, still trying to wake up. “Why would a murderer uptown plant a bomb in your precinct commander’s car?”
Em leaned in and kissed her as she finished buttoning her shirt. “I’ll explain when I get home. However, I need to head out. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. The explosives squad handles these kinds of things all the time.”
Susanna shot her a look, but shrugged and snuggled back under the covers. Finished dressing, Em tried to slip out without waking anyone else—which prevented her from turning on the lights.
“Ack!”
“Oops! Sorry Becky,” Em whispered, kneeling beside her niece. “I forgot you were lying here.”
“You stepped on my arm! But when I went to bed, I was over there,” she said, pointing by the couch. “These floors are slippery.”
“Normally, the only ones silly enough to sleep there are too drunk to notice.”
“Em? Is that you? What’s up?” Francine asked.
Sighing, Em fumbled for the lamp and switched it on. “It’s an emergency. A live explosive. I need to be there when they defuse it.”
“A bomb?” Francine asked, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Neat!” Becky exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Can I tag along?”
“Absolutely not!” her mother insisted. As the two argued about how appropriate it was for young girls to monitor explosives at crime scenes, Em slipped out, running down the six flights of stairs.
Em had no trouble locating the commissioner’s house, as it wasn’t far from the city. It was in an upscale set-aside in Astoria, Queens. As she drew near, she noted police cars with their lights flashing, cordoning off the block. Parking in front of a random house, she was exiting the car when an officer approached.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to park elsewhere. This area is closed due to a bomb threat.”
Em flashed her badge. “I’m the detective in the case. The commissioner’s expecting me.”
“Emma Rules? Yeah, he asked us to escort you in. He wanted you to examine the scene before the explosives squad sets it off.”
“They’re not going to defuse it?”
The officer shook his head as he guided her past the yellow tape bisecting the street. “They wanted to, but the commissioner refused. He said no one is gonna be injured on his watch and it’s better being safe than sorry. Lucky for you, the bomb squad is still setting up.”
Despite the shortened daylight hours, the sun had risen enough for Em to survey the neighborhood. The heavy rains had finally let up, and while it was still cold, the weather was clearing. The surrounding homes were older brownstones, which meant they were tightly packed and bordered the road. Although it was a side street, it got a lot of traffic. When they closed it to traffic, it attracted attention. There was a single news van as well as numerous gawkers from the community. Several people were milling around, held back by the police barricades, though many had their cell phones out, hoping to record some destruction.
“Commissioner,” Em called once she saw him.
He motioned her in. “I’m glad you’re here. They’re almost ready to go. Here, toss on a blast shield and see what you can spot with the device and the car.”
She waved him off. “No thanks. I’m sure the explosives squad has taken plenty of photos. You realize, allowing them to demolish the bomb might compromise evidence which might prove your innocence?”
“You’re right, but I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed officers to risk their lives just to cover my ass.”
“Your choice. It’s admirable, but I’m not sure how well you’ll do in jail.”
“I doubt anyone would leave anything proving my innocence right under my nose. That’s just too damn lucky to believe. There’s got to be more to this.”
“Maybe, I don’t suppose anyone dusted for prints?”
“No, the explosives technicians and I forbade it. I’m more interested in preventing casualties than preserving evidence. With luck, there will be enough left. My car is fully intact. They didn’t have any problems removing it from the trunk, but as you can see, they have it set to remotely detonate in front of my house.”
“It seems like a brand new generic bag. I doubt they’ll get anything useful from it. The best we can hope for would be chemical residues or pollen which will allow us to track it. With luck we can lift fingerprints from your car.”
“Yeah, but they probably used gloves when planting it, whereas they might not when packing the bomb. Don’t forget, you’re more likely to drop something wearing gloves than you are barehanded.”
“We’re set, Commissioner,” someone from the explosives squad shouted. Mike signaled he was ready. The cops stepped back while the crowd behind the barricades edged forward.
The bomb technician commander pressed a button, there was a bang and the bag popped ... but didn’t explode. Instead, something fluttered above it.
Mike shielded his eyes, staring hard at the scene. “What is that?”
“It seems like paper,” Em suggested. “I think—”
“It’s money!” someone shouted. Suddenly dozens of people behind the barricade surged forward and rushed towards the ruptured bag. The cops hesitated, caught between restraining the other onlookers and chasing after those advancing. The bomb technicians were stuck in the middle, forced to intercept the incoming rush instead of securing the evidence.
Em leapt forward to preserve their evidence. If everyone started grabbing bills, they couldn’t isolate fingerprints. She was wrestling with a couple of young men when the commissioner’s voice bellowed behind her. “Enough!”
Surprisingly, his low gravelly voice caught everyone’s attention and they paused long enough to listen.
“The cash you’re after isn’t lost. It’s part of a crime. Anyone taking it will be arrested for theft, obstruction of justice, hindering a criminal investigation and I’ll toss in being a public nuisance. Now back away and allow the officers to do their jobs.”
Everyone stood in limbo as the police involved considered how ugly the scene might turn, when a few of people backed up a couple of steps. That was the turning point. As others moved back, the others hesitated and more joined them. The first to hesitate shrugged and retreated, going back to their normal activities. Those at the front of the crowd realized they were merely a handful of individuals rather than a nameless mass of humanity. They too, backed down, hunching up inside their windbreakers as they hurried away.
As the citizens edged back, Em left it to the other cops to handle crowd control as she turned to the corrupted evidence. She peeled her jacket off and tossed it over the torn bag and then donned gloves to pick up the bills lying on the ground. She figured grasping for those fluttering in the wind wouldn’t accomplish much and would make terrific fodder for those anxious to humiliate the police. They would drift back to earth eventually. If they lost a few, it was beyond their ability to contain.
“You have this under control, Detective Rules?” Mike inquired as he stepped up behind her.
“Yeah, I think we do. Thanks for assuming command like that. I’m not sure the rest of us could have spoken so convincingly.”
“You can thank my deep baritone more than the public’s respect. The same thing happens when I sing in church. Everyone around me stops mid-sentence until they miss the remainder of the stanza, and hurry to catch up. It must have something to do with pitch shock or something.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute, sir. You’ve earned a lot of trust, or at least a healthy leniency. By getting the different warring factions to work together, you’ve restored the public’s confidence that the city can function. Despite how much everyone wants to get ahead, they have too much invested in a functional government to throw it away too lightly.”
“Maybe, but if those people hesitated a few moments longer, we would have had a full riot on our hands, complete with live video of us bashing civilian heads in. We were lucky. That’s all there is to it.”
Em paused collecting spare bills to consider her boss. “Uh, I hate to ask stupid questions, but why would anyone put a bag of money in the trunk of your car?”
“If I knew that, I’d have called someone other than the bomb squad.”
“You realize everyone will assume this was some kind of pay-off, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand. A city official found with a large sum of unexplained cash always raises questions, and with good reason. Clearly, I have no clue why it’s there. If I’d put it there myself, why would I call the police to remove and examine it for me?”
Em stared at him for a second before the wind launched another couple hundred dollar bills into the air and she rushed to grab them. “Uh, because you realized you wouldn’t be able to hide it any longer and needed a convenient way to cover your ass?”
“That’s also not an unreasonable assumption,” he conceded.
“You know, I’m guessing this bag is about the right dimensions for fifty-thousand dollars in hundred dollars bills.”
“That’s a reasonable assumption.”
“That’s the exact amount Martha Adams removed from the bank before she went missing.”
“It’s more than a little strange. Seeing as we’ve just discovered it, I haven’t had time to consider a reasonable response. You’d best examine it and find some answers before I have to face a full investigation.”
“About time you showed up.” Doug smiled as he leaned back, swiveling to face his partner. “Must be wonderful having a cushy job where you can show up whenever you want.”
“Hilarious.” Em plunked the coffee she’d bought on his desk. “Were you able to run any of those bill serial numbers I emailed you?”
“Yeah, but as you suspected, nothing showed up. I know where they were printed, but they’re old with no recent accounting of their locations. All I know is that they weren’t stolen from any banks. Most likely, they’ve been used to launder foreign funds so haven’t been through many domestic banks.
“Although Martha’s withdrawal was large, it was electronic and we lost track of it after it was filtered through numerous banks in countries which don’t cooperate with us. We don’t know where the final withdrawal was made. According to Bob Wellis, the trail ended at a couple banks which refuse to comply with our request for further routing information. The banks, as you might guess, are in Russia, so the current political troubles with Washington aren’t helping our case. The serial numbers on the bills you picked up are older, meaning the currency’s been floating around the world for a long time. There’s no way to trace either one.”
“Damn politicians, always making things harder for us rather than getting anything accomplished.” Em sat behind her desk and took a sip of her cooling coffee. “So there’s no way to pin it on the commissioner or clear him?”
“None I can think of, though it’s unlikely anyone would channel money through so many sources only to cash it here in the city. If it was converted into dollars in Russia, it would eat up a huge sum, and shipping it back would be a logistical nightmare. Odds are the funds are separate, but they may be from the same people, essentially shoving the funds in one pocket while slipping an equal amount in the commissioner’s trunk.”
“Well, as well-connected as the commissioner is, he’s unlikely to have access to the Russian banking authorities.”
“I’m not so sure,” Doug cautioned. “He could have established connections with the Russian mobs here who could pull strings for him in Russia.”
Em snorted, waving her cup. “Yeah, I’m sure the New York City Russian mobs would go out of their way to launder cash for a public official with no financial incentive for themselves. Still, try running down the commissioner’s past cases and see whether he had any run-ins with Russian mobsters.”
Doug shrugged as he keyed in some commands into his computer. “They may not be case related. It could have been at a social function or even a fund raiser. We both know the Russian political elite likes to invest overseas. What better investment than purchasing the support of a rising political star?”
“Well, we can’t investigate every possible scenario, so let’s focus on the most logical connections. What about the other potential leads?”
Doug tossed a folder on her desk, almost spilling her coffee. “Frank Macks has a complete forensics report. One interesting finding; there were semen stains in Commissioner Adam’s office, along the staircase and mixed with the blood at the scene. It appears their play was pretty extensive.”
“Cute, but if there was semen in all those locations, it implies the murder was carried out immediately after Mike had sex with Martha. But we know the murderer took his time and was there for hours. It would make sense to toss on some pants or underwear. The fact the semen stains are there at all suggests they’re a clear plant, rather than extraneous evidence. I mean, would you hack someone to death with a machete in the nude?”
Doug squirmed, wrinkling up his face. “No. Aside from the mess, it would be too easy to do permanent damage to my favorite body parts.”
“Exactly, plus, it was freezing that night. The brownstone’s heat was old and couldn’t adapt to the changing temperatures that fast. If he was truly nude for that long, he’d be hypothermic before the actual crime occurred.”
Doug nodded. “Good point, but still, it’s like the cash. Those details don’t clear him, while their mere presence hurts his reputation and implicates him in everyone’s mind.”
“Anything else of importance?” Em pushed.
“Yeah,” Doug lifted and tossed over another manila folder. “The city’s Domain Awareness program provided a list of possible vehicles leaving the areas. Those are the addresses for each. Most are locals. The local cops are tracking down the others. It doesn’t make sense for us to do it, as several of them are across the city and would take us days to track everyone down, especially if they’re not at home at the time.”
“Jared Dubrowsky? Pardon me for being cultural insensitive, but that doesn’t sound like someone from the neighborhood. I’m sure if they were snooping around, someone would have noticed.”
“That’s a decent potential. A couple cops from the Bronx checked the house. The car’s nowhere to be found and the elderly couple claimed it was stolen several days ago, the day of the crime, though they didn’t report it until after we broadcast news of the murder. They explained they didn’t realize it was gone since they don’t use it much. It’s a 1970 AMC Gremlin.”
Em made a face. “Yeow! You’d have to be from another country to think that’s a typical American car. You’d need to be oblivious to ignore the stares it would generate.”
“They say they bought it third-hand around the mid-1990s. I’ve got a title history here somewhere with the exact dates.”
Em waved his efforts off. “The specific dates aren’t important as long as they’re being honest. Still, such an ugly car is an odd choice for a getaway vehicle, especially if it originated that far from Manhattan. I can’t imagine anyone thinking they could slip by unnoticed in such a monstrosity.” She bounced her pencil off the desk on its eraser a couple times. “Unless, its sole purpose was to distract us from the actual vehicle involved. If someone asked you what cars you noted a day ago, would you list an indistinguishable newer car, or an oddball clunker which doesn’t fit with the neighborhood or any of the residents?”
Doug smiled. “That’s why we’re still investigating the other leads.”
“Still, that’s dozens of man-hours flushed down the tubes on yet another false lead.” Em’s thoughts were cut off when her phone rang. “Hello? Detective Rules.” She listened for a few moments before responding. “Thanks, that’s useful. We’ll be there in about, let me guess, maybe twenty to thirty minutes?” She hesitated again. “No, thank you. It must be hell fielding all those calls. That’s why asking for the public’s response is so difficult. We end up attracting all the crackpots as well as the misinformed.”
After hanging up, she stood and grabbed her coat. Doug followed her. “Another lead?”
“Yeah, they found the Gremlin in Jamaica Bay, beside the Gil Hodges Memorial Bridge by Floyd Bennett Air Field off Flatbush Avenue.”
Doug struggled into his jacket as they headed out. “Makes sense, I can’t think of a more isolated place to dump a car where no one would notice.”
They hadn’t gotten more than a few feet towards the door when the phone rang again. Since he was closer, Doug grabbed it this time. “Detective Wei.” As her partner listened, Em checked her wristwatch, trying to calculate traffic to and fro. “Don’t bother calling a forensics team, we’ve got our own.”
“A body? I’m afraid to ask.”
“Yep, they found Martha’s body. Only, it appears to be a suicide. She was discovered hanging in a motel in Melrose in the Bronx.”
“That makes sense if she’d murdered her husband. Still, why go to a region she’s unfamiliar with to do it? Why not seek out a friend or somewhere in Manhattan?”
Doug raised his eyebrow. “Do you think it’s a coincidence these events occurred at the same time?”
“I think the timing of the phone calls was happenstance, but I don’t think the discoveries were accidental. That was part of the plan with the news release. Since we didn’t immediately blame the Commissioner, as a guilty party would expect, it put pressure on whoever committed these acts to step up their game. They have, in spades, by framing the commissioner with the cash yesterday, dumping Martha’s body and the Gremlin. You notice how they were each carefully placed in different areas of the city.”
“I was thinking that before this last call. Like they want us spinning our wheels investigating dead-ends instead of pursuing more sensible leads.”
“I agree. Unfortunately, we have no choice but to investigate each piece of evidence. Still, it doesn’t make sense having us both check each site. Since I expect the Gremlin to be a dead-end, let’s leave it to the local cops in Brooklyn while we examine Martha’s body. That’s our most immediate concern. The public will demand answers about what happened to her.”
“I’m guessing they dumped the car designed to distract the witnesses and phoned in the notice before deciding the money wouldn’t implicate the commissioner. All these conflicting clues are our clearest indication Mike isn’t the guilty party. If he’d done it, he’d stick with a single strategy. It’s almost like these crimes were committed by a committee, everyone suggesting a different idea and the person in charge trying them all to see which works.”
“While I’m not willing to clear Mike yet, it would take a large number of third parties to plant all this evidence. The commissioner would have to cash in most of his good-will chips to pull this off. Instead, I suspect there’s a larger party involved with access to a lot of resources, from foreign governments to international banks and low-level thugs, including someone knowledgeable of forensic evidence.”
“I can’t think of any single group with the connections to all those elements, at least not on an immediate basis.”
“Again, this makes me think there’s a lot of advance planning involved. It’s hardly a ‘heat of the moment’ action.”
“Well, let’s see what Martha can tell us,” Doug suggested as they left their temporary office behind.
Em’s phone rang as they drove north. She’d just finished talking to Nicole, arranging times for everyone to meet that evening.
“Em Rules.”
“Hello, Emma,” a voice from her past answered. “This is your mother.”
Em gripped the handset as if she might strangle it, the ache in her jaw returning. “Mother, long time no hear. How’s life?”
“We’re fine, as always, not as if you care one way or another.”
“Mom, could we have a single pleasant conversation without you starting a fight?”
Linda Rules sighed, as if Em’s request was a monumental task. “Look, Emma, I’m calling because Francine has run away. You remember her. She’s Jeremy’s wife.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the members of my family, Mother. Can’t say I blame her.”
“Be polite,” Linda chided. “You’re talking about your brother. We were wondering whether you could help locate her.”
“Hmm, has Jeremy filed a missing person’s report?” Em asked, knowing the answer.
“He did, but since he’s had a few run-ins with the police, they aren’t paying much attention. He’s distraught. Personally, I’d say good riddance to the tramp, but she kidnapped Becky and stole thousands of dollars, so Jeremy is in financial difficulty.”
Doug cast Em a quick glance. He knew she wasn’t in touch with her family and wondered what provoked the call. Noticing his expression, she rolled her eyes, conveying what she thought of the conversation so far.
“If she stole money, he should include that in the complaint. They can investigate and document it. It will give them a reason to hold her if she’s found. Otherwise, they can’t stop her.”
There was a pause and Em smiled at the discomfort she was putting her mother through. “She didn’t take it from the bank. Jeremy had it in his wallet, preparing to play poker with some friends.”
“Oh, good, then it shouldn’t be more than he was prepared to lose anyway. It might hurt, but it’s no worse than a pair of threes against an inside flush.”
“No, it was much more than that,” Linda insisted. “He’s in a pinch. He ... I had to loan him money to tide him over.”
“He couldn’t ask his friends to front him some?” Em asked, leaving which associates he’d likely borrow from go unspecified. “It’s not like you’ve got much to spare. Remember, anything you loan him now means less funds to provide for you in the future.”
“He’ll ... pay me back for it, I’m sure.”
“If you say so, Mom, but so far, he hasn’t paid back much.”
Linda sighed theatrically, ignoring the jibes. “Jeremy’s too proud. He’d never admit he was in trouble.”
“Except to his family. Mom, you’re on a fixed income. You can’t keep bailing him out every time he blows money on something.”
“I’m fine, for the moment, but he needs to find her. Don’t forget, she’s transporting a kidnapped child across state lines.”
“Legally, a mother can’t kidnap her own children unless there’s a standing order of protection against her. Just because Jeremy doesn’t like her having her own mind doesn’t make it a crime.”
The phone was silent for several moments before Linda continued. “Are you going to help or not?”
“Sure. I’ll put feelers out. I can track her credit cards and see if her plates show up in the system. That’s about all I can do from here.”
“Emma Louise Rules, this is your brother and niece we’re talking about. Surely your animosity over your family won’t stand in your way of doing the right thing?”
“No, it won’t, Mother,” Em answered without elaboration. “I’ll see what I can find. Anything else?”
“No, that should be it. I’ll anticipate hearing from you. Jeremy’s beside himself. The sooner you find her, the faster I’ll get my money back.”
“What was that about?” Doug asked after she’d hung up.
“My brother is claiming his wife kidnapped their kid, stole thousands of dollars he had lying around, and is asking my mother to pony up his gambling money.”
“Sounds like a winner.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, or as Nathan would say, the chips don’t fly far from the stump.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing, just a cultural variant I found amusing. Still, my mother hasn’t called me since the day I left home. When I first came out, she let me know—in no uncertain terms—that I wasn’t appreciated there anymore. So when she calls me out of the blue, I know it’s to demand favors.”
“I take it you aren’t going to do scratch.”
“As I told her, if he wants to press charges, he needs to do it there. Instead, they’re asking me to risk my career in exchange for nothing with no risk to them. It’s hardly a reconciliation request.”
“It’s not like they can hurt you anymore. They’re out of your life. Don’t waste your time staring in the rear view mirror. Focus on what’s in front of you.”
Em glanced out the window, taking in the strangers wandering the streets outside. “Still, it dredges up a lot of emotions hearing her disdain again. It certainly doesn’t encourage me to reach out to help.”
Em flashed her badge as they approached room 123 of the Super 8 Motel. Due to the importance of the case, there were plenty of local Bronx cops. However, few of those guarding the scene were actively involved.
A Bronx officer opened the door, and she and Doug walked in to an unusual, though not unexpected sight. The scenario was as she expected. Martha was hanging nude from an intricate arrangement of ropes which suspended her from the bathroom door. Ordinarily, the room wouldn’t offer enough height, but the ropes stretching from the water pipes provided enough tension to accomplish the job. Em had seen this in a couple self-strangulation cases resulting from auto-erotic stimulation gone horribly wrong.
A familiar gray-haired man wearing wire-rim glasses turned from examining the body. “Detective, good to see you again, though I’d rather it was under better circumstances. Say maybe the successful resolution of the case?”
“Walter? How’d you get here before us?” Doug asked, studying the ropes.
“The commissioner called as soon as he got word. I was working another case near Hunt’s Point, so I wasn’t far away.” He motioned the two detectives closer. “I think you’ll be interested in what I found.”
“No one tried to take her down?” Doug asked as he approached, testing the tension in one of the lines.
“No, her skin was cold and discolored when the cleaning crew discovered her, so they called the police. They’ve encountered this type of thing before.”
Em frowned at Martha’s corpse. The similarity to the photos they’d disseminated was apparent, even with the bulging eyes and pale skin. “It looks like a suicide.”
“Ah, that’s by design,” Walter said, drawing his finger along the noose stretched across Martha’s throat. “If you’ll notice, underneath the bruises from the rope, another couple don’t quite line up.”
Em had to examine the marks close-up to distinguish the distinction. “Yeah?”
“Those are thumb prints. She was hung after she’d already died to disguise the strangulation marks.” Walter pointed out similar marks on the other side of her neck.
Relief washed over Em’s face. “Good, maybe we can get some decent fingerprints from the strangulation marks. Hopefully they didn’t think to wear gloves.”
Walter frowned. “Well, it’s not a straightforward process, but with a little luck, we may be able to lift them.”
Doug nodded, examining the corpse from the other side. “I thought it odd someone who’d never experimented with this kind of thing would know how to arrange the ropes in such small quarters.”
Abandoning his observations, Walter turned to the two detectives. “There weren’t any ropes, scarves or other gear in their house to suggest Martha or Adrian experimented with erotic asphyxiation. While that isn’t unusual, we examined the house extensively searching for Adrian’s missing computers. We discovered their usual kinky bedroom toys.” Walter waved a couple of officers forward. “You can take her down now. We’ve gotten all the photos we need. I wanted the detectives to see how the scene was laid out.”
The three stepped aside as one cop lifted Martha’s copse so the other could disentangle the ropes holding her aloft.
“You know, this is the first direct evidence we’ve discovered, besides the blood stains which never panned out. If we can establish the time of death, we could potentially rule out the commissioner’s involvement.”
Doug shrugged. “She was likely murdered when it would be difficult to collaborate an alibi, say after midnight. We stand a better chance with the motel’s videotape, examining who registered the room.”
“They’re holding the videotapes in the office,” Walter informed them.
“Who’s the coroner for this case?” Em asked.
Walter flicked his hand in a motion Doug didn’t recognize. “It’s Thomas Sinclair.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever worked with him,” she conceded.
“It’s another special arrangement by the commissioner. He’ll only report the results directly to you, barring you’re not acting on it.”
Em glanced at the two uniformed policemen wrestling with the body. “That’s good. It’ll minimize the chances of information leakage. If the results are released, it could blemish decent officers until we determine the leak.”
Walter started collecting the rope, having prepared a larger evidence bag. “You know, I’m surprised whoever did this made so many flagrant mistakes. For such extremes, they seem to have done a real half-assed job.”
Doug glanced at Em. “If it was a single person with little knowledge and acting under duress, it fits perfectly.”
Em watched the cops zip Martha into the body bag, load it on a gurney and wheel it away, waiting until they were far enough away not to overhear. Walter meanwhile coiled the rope with the expertise of an old cattle hand. “Except the evidence points to a collection of different people working together. The stray car intended to distract observers, the dumping of the car and the body in separate locations, the conflicting evidence supporting alternate theories. It’s clear there’s a conspiracy of some kind.”
“Unless someone called in a few favors,” Doug suggested.
Em snorted. “Yeah, right. Can you imagine the temptation to spill news this vital about someone so important? Whoever leaked it would have several major book and interview deals. No, between the number of people involved, the intricate details and the haphazard manner it was carried out, I’m guessing there’s a distant hand controlling things. I suspect it’s a high-level figure with little contact with the criminal element. They’re calling the shots but have little control over the quality of the work. This doesn’t have the feel of a cop. It feels more like a bunch of people unaware of what’s involved, doing individual tasks without being given any details.”
Walter stuffed the rope into the large bag. “If so, they’re likely to make a string of errors, hopefully allowing us to make a quick resolution of the case.”
Em shrugged, searching the cabinets, drawers and floor for any secondary evidence. “Unfortunately, what’s also likely is, whoever’s issuing instructions will realize what’s happening and start yanking the reins, corralling the various agents. I expect the more obvious mistakes to end. If we hope to solve the case, it’ll have to be soon. As it is, I suspect each of the different players has already left town, leaving the orchestrating agent the only one remaining to ensure the work’s been carried out properly.”
“Well, we’ll get the results of the tests to you as soon as possible.” Walter labeled his evidence and collected his bag. “You should know, one way or another, pretty quickly.”
“Yeah, now you just have to figure out what you’ll tell the reporters.” Doug slapped Em on the back. “Did I say how glad I am that I’m not in charge of this case?”
