| |
Detective Major Jake Kakazu bent down to scrutinize the powder in the bathtub. It seemed so innocuous. But according to the CSI experts, that powder, as small and insignificant as it appeared, proved a murder had occurred. And somehow, he had to solve it—even though he didn’t have a corpse.
He’d been called in when the theater staff reported that Harrison Coleman had disappeared. Turned out, there was a reason for that.
“Medical examiner is on his way,” his young fresh-faced sergeant said.
Kakazu nodded curtly. Enriquez—wasn’t that the kid’s name? He thought so, but why take a risk? The grunt would suffice. He wasn’t a gruff person by nature, but sometimes you had to fulfill people’s expectations, mostly formed by years of watching bad television programs. “And the rest of forensics?”
“All en route. Hair and fiber. Videographers. Do you think the murder happened here?”
He knew why the lieutenant asked. There was no sign of a struggle in the office. No sign of forced entry, no overturned tables or chairs.
This crime scene had been an unending source of confusion since they arrived. Kakazu knew Harrison Coleman, barely, not so much because of his work as an impresario as because he was wrapped up in this business with the missing kid who suddenly appeared a few days ago. Coleman was one of the relatives.
The door to Coleman’s private bathroom was open, but there were no signs of a confrontation. He spoke briefly to others who worked there, but so far, no one had seen or heard anything suspicious. Coleman hadn’t been spotted since shortly before last night’s performance. That in itself was unusual—Coleman had a habit of thanking the crew and making sure the power was turned off every night after the show. He was usually the last to leave, but no one thought anything of it when he didn’t appear. Just assumed he had other things to do. An urgent appointment, maybe.
He did have an appointment. The final one. The one nobody can avoid forever.
Kakazu walked into the bathroom. Using a gloved hand, he pried open the swinging mirror to reveal the contents inside the medicine cabinet.
Filled to the brim. With enough drugs to stock a pharmacy. Except some of them didn’t look like they came from a pharmacy.
“We’re going to need photos in here too.”
Enriquez nodded and made a note.
Some of the drugs were the normal OTC items you’d expect to find in anyone’s bathroom—Aleve, Tylenol, Band-Aids, Q-Tips. A small bottle of Just For Men. Touched up his sideburns and eyebrows, perhaps? Several bottles of prescription medicine. And several bottles that were not marked.
That was what attracted his attention most.
He carefully removed one of the unmarked bottles and poured a pill into his hand. He couldn’t be certain without testing, but he’d spent enough time on the street to recognize Molly when he saw it. Ecstasy. MDMA, for the sophisticated.
Beside the Ecstasy rested a small bottle containing a yellowish liquid. He opened the lid and took a whiff.
Again, impossible to be certain without chemical testing, but he thought it was morphine.
“Something else to bag and tag, sergeant. Every single bottle. After you’ve photographed it in situ.”
The lieutenant did as instructed, using his phone to take the shots.
Was Coleman in pain? Or was he a functioning drug addict? There were probably thirty problems with that theory already evident to Kakazu’s trained brain. Coleman held down a job. He functioned. That did not sound like someone on the brink of an OD. This cabinet suggested he was an experienced user. Maybe he needed a little something to get him through the day. Maybe he micro-dosed more than he should.
It was a puzzlement, to quote his favorite musical, one he noted had played here only a few months ago. He couldn’t be sure—but he didn’t believe it was any kind of OD. That didn’t explain what had been done to the body. Someone else had been in this room last night, someone other than Coleman. Who?
And something about this room troubled him. Something he hadn’t nailed down. What was it?
Why was the bathroom door open? All the other evidence suggested Coleman kept a meticulous office. Maybe he had gone in to get something. Or did he go in for a shower? Entirely possible, given the hour.
And what happens when you take a hot shower?
He went back to the medicine cabinet and stared at the mirror. Was he imagining it, or could you see something there? Just barely. The faintest traces of...letters.
On a sudden impulse, he reached into the shower stall and turned on the hot water. Then he closed the bathroom door. And waited.
Steam filled the small bathroom. And a few minutes later, he had what he wanted. The mirror fogged up. And the letters emerged.
At the bottom of the mirror, someone had scrawled five letters.
OSSIE.
“Enriquez!”
The lieutenant rushed into the room. “Yes?”
“Call downtown. Get the DA on the line, then start lining up a judge. I want an arrest warrant within the hour.”
Enriquez appeared amazed. “Yes, sir. I mean—really? That was fast. Who are we arresting?”
“The murderer.”
“How do you know who did it?”
Kakazu removed his phone and took a photo of the mirror. “Because the victim told me.”