“This is it?” Sam stared at a small cubicle in the corner of the reception area. Privacy rooms at banks where people haul their safe deposit boxes for inspection were larger than this cubicle. She felt the walls closing in on her.
“Sorry, your majesty. But the west wing of the palace is being renovated,” Murphy said.
“It’s about the size of my bathroom.”
“I have seen the bathrooms in your house, missy. Quit complaining. You’ve got access to the files and a computer. What more could you want?”
“Cookies?”
“Sure. I’ll go down to the kitchen and whip up a batch.” Murphy walked over to the counter and spoke with a relic of a man dressed in a shirt and tie. Sam already sized him up as divorced or a widower. His shirt could use a good pressing and the tie had remnants of a previous meal.
“Charlie will take care of you. Do you know Charlie Buckmeister?” Murphy made a quick introduction. “You have two hours before his break when one of Schuler’s minions fills in. There is a vending machine down the hall if you need munchies.”
“Wow, Mister Chef with the words.”
Murphy wasn’t smiling. “I can save you a little time. On average there have been less than ten suicides in any given year. You can eliminate the two police officers and one Desert Storm veteran.” Sam opened her mouth to remind him of his own edict not to “assume” anything, but he held up one hand and said, “Two hours.” He turned and marched down the hall as she yelled “thanks” at his back.
Sam tossed her sweater coat on a chair, pulled her hair up in a banana clip and strolled over to the marred and chipped counter. Charlie shuffled over to the counter and plopped down a short stack of folders.
“Okay, little lady. You heard the man.” He returned to his desk and snapped open the latest issue of Law Enforcement magazine. That was when Sam remembered Charlie was a retired police officer who didn’t know what to do with himself after retiring.
She thanked Charlie and carried the folders to the desk in the cubicle. Once settled, she quickly separated by gender. Women didn’t normally commit suicide, unless it was an accidental drug overdose or carbon monoxide poisoning. Women usually avoided using any form of suicide that would mar their appearance. Knives, guns, even jumping off of an overpass, are not normal. Granted, some have slit their wrists but few people knew exactly where to slice or how. For the city to have two suicides by women within three months is unheard of. Even hanging wasn’t a suicide choice by women unless it was accidental, like autoerotic asphyxia. Teens were different. Luke’s sister felt bullied and despondent. Hanging was an easier choice than trying to get her hands on a gun or keep her hands from shaking long enough to slice her wrists. Carrie’s sister might have been despondent and gone the drowning route, but Carrie hadn’t seen anything but excitement from her twin on her impending marriage. Something unusual was definitely going on.
She scoured the files closely. It was a quick process of elimination. Some elderly, frail and sickly, had taken an overdose of pills. She found the three cases Murphy had mentioned. One case of murder suicide did involve a woman. Sam scanned through the police and M.E. reports on the mother who had driven her car into Lake Michigan with two young children in the back strapped to their car seats.
Sam checked the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes left. She opened another folder. A thirty-year-old mother from Michigan City had checked into the Ritz. Another case of an overdose but this one didn’t have anything to do with a failed marriage. She had a debilitating, incurable illness. The suicide note was in her handwriting and explained how she didn’t want to be a burden anymore to her family. Suicide notes. Not everyone left one but when police couldn’t find one that usually raised alarm bells. Neither Marti nor Carly had left one.
Sam grabbed the next folder and opened it. A stack of photos were in an envelope. Sam poured them out and studied the picture of a forest preserve. A dried creek was in the background, trees were skeletal, dried leaves scattered in mounds. A column of icy fingers crawled up Sam’s spine. The image from her dream suddenly came into focus. An officer stood near an object hanging from a limb. The object looked like a piece of dark taffy that had been stretched to within a few feet of the ground. The officer obviously stood there to give some gauge of measurement. She looked closer at the dark taffy, then pulled back. Sam read the police report. The seven-foot object was a five-and-a-half foot tall female who had been dead at least six months. The dense foliage had hidden the body, and the remote location prevented any detection of a decomposing body. Upon death the skin develops blisters and accumulates liquid. Eventually the skin begins to slip from the body and gravity does the rest.
Nina Logesta had been a casino dealer at the River Queen Casino. According to the investigator’s report from a year ago, co-workers thought she had moved to Las Vegas. Nina’s gambling problem had plunged her into debt and jeopardized her friendships and family relationships.
There hadn’t been any witnesses that day, not one person saw her walking into the preserves. Her car had not been found nor a purse. A driver’s license was found in one pocket and twenty six dollars in the other. By all indications, it certainly appeared to be a suicide. That section of the forest was not a common walking trail. Although the deceased was dressed casual, she didn’t wear comfortable walking shoes. Police could only assume she had parked her car off the shoulder of the road, an isolated place just ripe for thieves.
Sam checked the clock again. Five more minutes. As she gathered the folders, one of Nina’s photos skirted onto the table. Sam picked it up, then paused. If Nina had known what she was going to look like in her coffin, would she have picked this method? Maybe she probably had counted on being found quickly. Why wasn’t there a suicide note?
Sam scanned the medical examiner’s report. He estimated that Nina had been dead for close to six months. Sam checked the date that the body had been found. Memorial Day. There wasn’t any need for her to search newspapers, as Doctor Collier suggested. Sam didn’t start having the transformer dreams in July. They started in May. Alex had brought in the flag after Memorial Day.
Sam flipped through the file to see the name of the detective who had worked the case. Sal Marino at Precinct Three. She vaguely remembered Sal from Murphy’s congratulatory dinner during the time of her suspension. He thought of himself as Serpico, but she remembered him as arrogant. He prided himself in having the highest closing record at the Third. Frank had once commented that Sal was known as grab and slap. Grab only the easy cases and slap the file closed on them as quickly as possible. Cops like that usually missed something. What had he missed in this case?