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Dan found Jazlyn waiting for him outside the courtroom. “I can’t believe you put a first-degree murderer back on the street.”
“I’m a little surprised myself.” He raised a finger. “You meant accused murderer, right?”
“No, you did. I know she’s guilty. I can see it in her eyes. And don’t use that as a segue to some sexist remark about my beautiful baby blues.”
“I would never.” Pause. “Though your eyes are gorgeous. But I don’t want to be inappropriate.”
“No, I know what a straight-shooter you are. How am I going to explain this to my boss?”
“Sucks to be you.”
“He will not be happy.”
“You have nothing to fear. He knows how good you are. He depends upon you. But there are other people involved in this, aren’t there?”
“Is this more of your conspiracy nonsense? Some diabolical plot to put the deputy mayor in power so he can undermine democracy?”
“I doubt if the schemers are the throttlebottoms at city hall. But I am getting the impression that some seriously powerful people are trying to influence the outcome of this drama. Maybe throwing some big money around.”
“I can guarantee none of it has come my way. I can't even afford new shoes.”
“You don’t need them. You’re rocking those heels. Can you get me into the crime scene?”
Her face puckered up. “Do you really want that?”
“I don’t think it sounds fun. But I’ve got to check off all the boxes on this one.”
She understood. “I’ll tell them you’re coming. Anything else I could do for you?”
He grinned. “Oh yeah. Lots. But let’s wait till this case is over.”
* * *
Dan strongly suspected this was a titanic mistake. At least he’d had the sense to tell Jimmy and Maria to stay home. Promised to take pictures—and he did. But these wouldn’t make it into the file.
This was the worst, most horrifying scene he’d observed in his entire life.
The police had removed the bodies from the oven. But they hadn’t removed the smell. Probably couldn’t, not without completely scrubbing and sanitizing it. Or demolishing it, which might be better. None of that could happen until the intense evidence collection was completed. He knew a hair and fiber team had already scoured the premises, and he observed CSIs working with luminol and other chemical compounds, while a videographer took detailed records. He did not envy them this job. Though everyone wore masks, rubber gloves, and footies, including him, it was not nearly enough to diminish the horror.
One side of the oven was almost completely splattered with blood. Unless he missed his guess, that was the remnant of a corpse that had exploded due to the intense heat. The floor of the oven was covered with a black char, and he couldn’t rule out the possibility that some of that was crispified flesh.
He took several fast gulps of air, trying to steady himself. It would completely ruin his tough-guy image if he hurled at the crime scene. And knowing how unpopular he was with the DA, he might end up charged with evidence tampering.
He heard a voice behind him. “Like something out of a demented Jackson Pollock painting, right?”
He grunted. “If Pollock was a serial-killing sadist.”
“Some of Dante’s circles of hell look like this. But I’ve never seen a crime scene that did.”
Detective Kakazu stood behind him. Cut beneath his left ear. Smudged fingernails. Same jacket as before. Was it his only one?
“Well, I give you props for coming.” Kakazu was a Japanese name but he spoke with a British accent. He’d been raised in Hong Kong. Stood out from the rest of the Floridians. This was a complete stereotype and possibly misleading, but he had to admit it—an upper-class British accent made everyone sound smarter. “Most mouthpieces wouldn’t have the guts.”
“Thank you for making my life complete.”
“I’m not following.”
“I’ve heard cops call lawyers ‘mouthpieces’ on television, but never in real life. Now I can die happy.”
“Always the smartass, aren’t you, Pike?”
“Nah. Just when I’m with you.”
He shook his head. “The D.A. is right. You’re an acquired taste.”
“Yeah?”
“And I haven’t acquired it.”
He knew Kakazu had to put on a show of hostility toward defense lawyers, but he didn’t sense any real animus. For his part, he liked the man. He was by far the most capable homicide investigator, and probably the best-educated. He’d apparently acquired degrees in both art and religion before somehow settling down to police work.
Kakazu showed him inside. “Mayor must be paying you a bundle to handle this mess.”
Why did people always make assumptions about his paychecks? “Actually, she’s not paying me at all.”
“She’s a charity case?”
“I get paid a salary by my boss. I don’t get anything from the client.”
“That’s whacked.”
“Works fine for me. I noticed the heel marks on the linoleum. Somebody dragged the bodies to the oven.”
“Did you think they climbed in there voluntarily?”
“And I suspect I’m not the first to notice that the mayor is an extremely petite woman.”
“She could’ve managed.”
“Unconscious bodies are like big heavy potato sacks.” Sadly, he knew this from experience. “Mayor Perez weighs, what? 105?”
“But she’s highly determined.”
“If you say so. Are you sure the blood scratch was intended to be a ‘C’? I thought it was unclear at best.”
“Men baking to death often don’t have the best penmanship.”
“You know how many words in the dictionary start with ‘C?’”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“4609.”
“But only one of them is the name of the leading suspect.”
“You’re assuming he was writing a name, like some cornball ‘dying clue’ in an old Ellery Queen mystery. But it could’ve been anything.”
“Given all the other evidence, I feel our theory is sound.”
“The man was dying. Burning. So he twitched, and his finger twitched with him.”
“And made a ‘C?’”
“You only see a ‘C’ because you want to see a ‘C.’”
“I see what’s there. And I know what it means.”
He cast his eyes toward the lobby. “Any theories on why one table was cleared?”
Kakazu shrugged. “Probably banged into it while dragging corpses around.”
He shook his head. “It’s not in the path to the kitchen. Off to one side.” He looked back at the door. “Where someone would go if they didn’t want any chance of detection from the outside.”
“Or maybe it was cleared by a random construction worker. Or a strong wind.”
“Or two people having sex.”
Kakazu ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “How the hell did you get to that?”
“Lugging unconscious bodies around is hard, so you don’t want to have to do it any longer than necessary. Better to lure the victims in here—then knock them out.”
“And in your mind, that means sex?”
“That’s when men are typically at their stupidest.”
“You think the killer is some femme fatale.”
“Why are you assuming the killer is female?”
“You said—”
“Evolve, detective. Not every killer is heterosexual. And the person who lured them in is not necessarily the killer.”
“Are you saying—”
“We need to explore all possibilities. And you need to have this table tested for the telltale signs sex leaves behind. Semen. Vaginal secretions. DNA. Any sign of someone using a sedative or anesthetic.”
“We did find a broken vial on the floor.”
“I heard. Have it tested for drugs.”
“We will.” Kakazu somewhat reluctantly pulled out a pad and scribbled a few notes. “Any reason you’re helping us?”
“I’m certain that whatever you find won’t incriminate my client. And might lead to the true killer.”
“What if we find your client’s DNA?”
“Since we know she was here on several occasions, that wouldn’t be shocking. But I bet you won’t find any indication she had sex on that table. She’s way too smart for that.” Unless she was fooling everyone, including him.
“I’ll run the tests.”
“And let me know what you find?”
He shrugged. “The DA makes those decisions.”
“The DA has to produce all exculpatory evidence.”
He grinned. “Like I said, the DA makes all those decisions. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Yeah. Get a new jacket.”
Kakazu’s eyes widened. “Would you stop with the clothes insults? My nana got me this jacket.”
Once again, he found himself liking the detective. “I was kidding. It’s a great jacket. Just needs to be cleaned.”
“I had it cleaned last week.”
“Did you have lasagna for lunch?”
“Yeah. How—?”
He saluted with two fingers. “Better get the jacket cleaned again.”
* * *
Dan stepped out of the bakery—and blinked. On the other side of the street, near the corner, he thought he someone suddenly duck out of sight.
He blinked again. Had he imagined it?
He thought about running that way, but he knew he wouldn’t get there in time. Why would anyone be watching this bakery? Or him? Had they staked the place out—or followed him here?
The temperature was in the 80s, but he still felt a cold chill as he made his way to his car.