“I have seen such a woman not two hours ago. She wore sunglasses, a scarf, and her dress was a blue like the sky.”
“Where did you behold this woman, friend?”
“There was talk of money, no?”
“I can’t yet know if this is the woman we seek. Here is a good faith offer, one hundred dollars. There’s much more to come should your help result in finding this woman. She has … problems. Her family wants her to get assistance.”
“Sad. She looked in good health, a pretty one, I think.”
“Where did you see her?”
“Do you know the ice-cream store near the cemetery? With the cell phones – not so many places have phone booths. There is one still there, on the outside of the store. She was on the phone. When her call was done she stepped into the alley and ran in the direction of the cemetery.”
“Where were you that you could see her?”
“In the store, eating ice cream.”
“Now you can get a hundred dollars’ worth of ice cream. Don’t eat it too fast, amigo, you’ll get a headache. Pay the man, Chaku.”
When we arrived at the site the only vehicles were from the med and forensics labs. The air was as still as stone, and nearly as heavy, a wave of humidity adding to the late summer heat and we booked for the cool atmosphere of the tent.
My first glance went to the pit. Empty, the column now borne in hundreds of evidence bags. Morningstar stood beside one of the tables on the upper level, conferring with a tech. I waved as we approached. “Good morning, Doctor, I—”
She snapped her fingers and the tech filled them with several photos. “This is the head of John Doe Middle Stratum. You’ll note that the neck flesh is ossified by the concrete, but you can’t hide a slash like that. The victim was slit ear to ear. It also seems the hands were severed on this victim. They’re on their way to the lab. A severed hand means thievery in the Muslim world, right?”
“Biblical, too, maybe, given the Old Testament. Any ID on the body?”
“None. But the clothing was somewhat intact. He wore a suit, silk. We have a label from the jacket, an expensive Italian make. We have shoes as well, also Italian and pricey.”
“What was that guy doing underneath a cargo of dirt-poor Hondurans?” I mused.
“Slumming?” Gershwin ventured.
“Now for JDBS, our bottom victim,” Morningside said. “The first body dumped in the pit and more ossified than the Hondurans. I figure our bottom John Doe was down there for a couple years, so maybe a year before the others.” The tech anticipated the fingersnap by getting there first, handing the doc a dark plastic bag, large. “Glove up, Ryder,” she said and I resisted dropping my mouth in awe: Morningstar was letting me handle evidence. I snapped the latex in place and the doc reached into the bag and handed me its contents.
“A skull,” I said unnecessarily, turning it in my hands and noting the lower mandible was missing. “Or what’s left of one.”
“Wait. More to come.”
The tech took the skull from my hands as Morningstar opened her hand and revealed an object resembling a petrified thumb until I looked closer.
“Is this what I think it is?” I asked, grimacing.
“Yep. A penis.”
“It fell off the body?”
“We removed it from the oral cavity of the skull. Go ahead, take a look. It won’t bite.”
I lifted the severed member. I had held but one penis before and felt uncomfortable holding this one, even though it seemed more statue than human. “The preservation is rather remarkable,” Morningstar said. “Don’t you think?”
The urethra seemed to stare at me and I looked away.
“I guess.”
“Check the base. There’s no tearing of the flesh nor internal tissue. Probably removed by a razor-sharp knife. Zip … and it was gone.”
The zip did me in. I set the penis on the table.
“Any idea as to meaning?” Morningstar said. “The oral placement?”
“In certain circles it means the penis has been places it shouldn’t. The only other time I’ve seen this was when a gang boss discovered his wife fooling around. He had lover-boy brought in and removed his equipment with a kitchen knife, jammed it in the guy’s mouth and put a bullet in his head. The, uh, surgery was not very neat.”
“Torture, you think in this case?” she asked. “Or an example?”
“An example would mean a victim was shown around as a warning to others.”
I recalled my personal encounter. The gangster had assembled friends of the victim at gunpoint, forcing them to behold his work. When the horrendous story hit the streets the boss became one of the most feared monsters around. It was a double-edged sword, because word eventually made its way to the cops. The boss was now doing life in Holman Prison and I hoped it was a short one.
“So someone might know?” Morningstar asked.
“Or have heard about it. That’s all it takes to create a street mythology. Mess with my woman, steal from me, this is what happens.”
Morningstar looked me in the eye. “The bottom victims give no indication of being trafficked. They appear to be separate incidents. Think it’ll change the situation with Homeland Security?”
I felt a rising excitement. “I’ll let you know,” I said, turning toward the exit. “You should probably expect a call from Roy.”
I kept my expectations in check as we headed to Miami and didn’t mention my hopes to Gershwin. I didn’t want to call Roy with the information, but convey the news in person. I also expected I’d have to do a sales job, perhaps with Morningstar’s help, but she seemed on my side, finding HomeSec’s investigation lackadaisical and almost inept thus far.
We parked and headed to Roy’s office, and found the door wide as usual. Roy wasn’t a closed-door kind of guy. “There’s my man,” Roy said as I knocked on his door frame. “I left some real-estate brochures in your office, though you’ve probably already found a—”
“You should call Morningstar, Roy,” I interrupted, running on hope and adrenalin. “She’s out at the site.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Not any more, maybe.”
Roy frowned and was talking to Morningstar in seconds. Or listening, mainly. After a minute he tapped the phone off and gave me a raised eyebrow. “I understand what you’re trying to do. But most of the column …”
“Yes indeed, Roy. But I can live with dual ownership.”
What I was proposing was not something Roy wanted in his day, but the big hands clapped together in a decision made. “I’ll have the interested parties pow-wow at the site. Rayles ain’t gonna be a happy pup, you know that, don’t you?”
Like a bouncing ball, we headed back to the site. Roy, Gershwin and I arrived first, the HomeSec twins a minute later. Morningstar handed them a copy and photos of her latest findings, then retreated to the fringe of the conversation.
“What does all this mean?” Rayles asked me, scanning the report. I saw him wince and figured he’d got to the amputated penis part. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s in the files, Major. There were two bodies in the lower section of concrete, both hideously mutilated, one sexually. I can show you mutilations on the actual bodies if you wish. They’re over in the—”
“I’ll trust the photos.”
“The bottom line is that the assault was savage and meant to create extreme pain and fear, the kind of action I associate with a psychotic mind.”
“And this leads you to think—”
“That it’s our case, FCLE. At least the two bodies in the lower section of the column. You can have the upper section.” I smiled with all the charm and bonhomie I could muster. “We’ll investigate the case together, Major, like a team.”
The look on Rayles’s face told me my idea was not bringing joy to his day. He looked to Roy. “Your thoughts, Captain McDermott?”
“Detective Ryder has a point,” Roy deadpanned. “He’s looking forward to working with you, Major.”
Rayles was irritated, not, I figured, at sharing a case that would go nowhere from a national security point of view, but at being bested by a guy whose credentials lacked the gravitas of a command at Gitmo.
“It’s inefficient,” he said. “Meetings alone would be problematic.”
“I’ll come to your department every morning to review findings, Major. How’s the coffee at HomeSec?”
He was now looking less angry than ill.
“Or …” I said as if the idea had just occurred, “FCLE can handle both investigations. If you’re looking for efficiency, Major Rayles, I think that may be the best solution.”
I watched Rayles mentally juggle his options for several seconds. Though his chin was on full and clenching jut, his words came out in an even tone. “Given that the investigation was initiated by FCLE and the bulk of the investigative material has been generated by FCLE, the appropriate response is that jurisdiction reverts to FCLE. For the time being, at least.”
Rayles’s assistant, Robert Pinker, eyeballed his boss. If anything, he looked more pissed off than Rayles.
“That’s it, Major?” Pinker snapped. “The guy wins? You’re gonna hand it back just like that?”
“It’s a criminal investigation, Mr Pinker,” I corrected. “Not a competition.”
Pinker moved close and looked ready to swing on me. A surprised Rayles stepped between us, eyeballing Pinker. “Detective Ryder is correct, Robert. We’ll leave the investigation to the capable hands of the FCLE.”
The capable was nice, though a political frippery, like congressfolks addressing each other as honorable colleague when all they wanted was to gut one another. Rayles turned to leave, but paused to turn back, needing to end with a note of command.
“I expect to be copied on every aspect of the case, Ryder,” he instructed. “Do you read me?”
“In triplicate,” I said, holding up my fingers in the Boy Scout salute.
We were back on the case.