Taunting (The Flint Files Book 1) Page 2

  Danny and Melvin had no doubt why they had been called in. Lieutenant Daryl Grzgorczyk hated dealing with the intrusive relatives. His policy for the squad was to contact the deceased’s relatives at least once a week for a minimum of one year while the case was still active. Yes, there are no inactive murder investigations. No, that’s not entirely true either.

  After a year to three years some investigations were moved to Cold Case status. If the squad’s detectives had maintained at least weekly contact, then the relatives had a much easier time accepting the move.

  It was the busybodies who were the worst. Melvin excelled at dealing with busybodies. Such as the young fellow sitting across from Lieutenant Grzgorczyk.

  “What are the police doing to protect my Aunt Carol? It doesn’t look like much to me.”

  Danny knew who Carol Talbot was. She was a frequent contributor to charities in the New Orleans area. The amounts of her attributed donations were impressive. It was rumored that her anonymous donations dwarfed those attributed directly to her.

  “Mr. Vandeveer, we’re very sympathetic.” Danny hoped to defuse things quickly, with little luck. He knew Joel Vanderveer’s tragic story, left orphaned by a home invasion when he was fourteen.

  “Just like the police were sympathetic when my parents were murdered.” Joel glared at Danny. “No progress on that and no progress on protecting my aunt. Can’t you people do your jobs?”

  Danny knew the story. Vanderveer was Carol Talbot’s nephew and adopted son. Joel’s parents had died in a still-unsolved home invasion when he was fourteen. Fortunately, the boy had survived because he was spending the night camping with a friend. His Aunt Carol had taken him in and adopted her brother’s son.

  Melvin tried. “Mr. Vanderveer, the murder of your parents is unsolved, but the case remains open. In this case we’re acutely aware of the issues. Your aunt and another three hundred people may well be in mortal danger. Detective Flint has been assigned to the case full time and has first call on every resource in the squad, not to mention the entire department.”

  “Well, I don’t think you’re doing enough. I’ve studied criminal investigation in law school, and you people remind me of the Keystone Cops.” Joel was in his final year of law school and worked part-time at Fitch and Clemons, the small law firm where his Aunt Carol was a lucrative client. He had been promised an associate’s job as soon as he graduated and passed the bar exam.

  “Mr. Vanderveer, we applaud how devoted you are to your aunt. You live on the guest house on her property. We feel the same kind of urgency you do about this.” Danny was close to the end of his rope.

  Vanderveer turned to the Lieutenant. “So, you’ve got a thin old black man and a fat old white man with their thumbs up their asses on this thing. I demand some action.”

  Grzgorczyk didn’t rise to the bait. “What would you have us do?”

  “Find the fucking killer. That’s obvious. The fact that you haven’t is just proof of your incompetence. I could probably find the killer quicker than you hacks.” Joel Vanderveer would probably make a fine politician someday.

  Brown was patient. “You’re a law student, right? And you’re working as an intern at Fitch and Clemons?” The squad had details on all members of the church who might be at risk, including Joel’s aunt/adoptive mother. And, Fitch and Clemons was a shared connection amongst most of the victims.

  “Yeah, so what?” Vanderveer was going to be a successful attorney eventually. Good, maybe not. Successful, almost certainly.

  “Son, these things take time and you know that. We’re dealing with an exceptionally smart killer. And a lucky one. Lucky may be more important than smart. The first of these murders occurred two months ago. The victims are soft targets who lived alone. Fairly easy to kill, unlikely anybody is going to see anything. That’s not an excuse, it’s simply a description of reality.”

  “Don’t call me son, you old coo … coot.” Vanderveer had the upper hand and knew it. “I’ll bet I know as much as you useless dickwads and could catch the killer in a week without raising a sweat.”

  “OK.” Brown had given this speech before. “I won’t call you son. I’ll call you spoiled brat because that’s how you’re acting. Spoiled brat, you have the right to remain silent. I strongly suggest you avail yourself of that right before your mouth gets you in any more trouble.”

  “I’m not in any fucking trouble. You’re in trouble, you incompetent old fool, because you haven’t caught the killer yet.” Joel’s voice was rising, which was exactly what Brown had hoped for.

  “You obviously know how to catch the killer, spoiled brat, but you’re not telling us. That’s interfering in a police investigation. Now, turn around and put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest.” Brown’s handcuffs were already out. Joel was rooted to the floor, staring at the detective in disbelief. So, Brown spun him around, cuffed him and finished reciting his Miranda rights.

  “My lawyer’s going to have your job!” Joel was finally shouting. “I demand to talk to Steve Clemons right now. He knows the Mayor, and every one of you is fucked. And take off these goddamned handcuffs. Now.”

  Daryl Grzgorczyk picked up where Brown had left off. “Shut up or we’ll add resisting arrest and creating a public disturbance. And, as I’m sure you know, there are another half dozen charges we can bring.

  “Spoiled brat, our objective is to protect your aunt and the rest of the people at risk, and while we’re at it, to solve nine murders. Right now yours is to fluff up your ego. We’re far more likely to succeed at our objective than you are to succeed at yours. Danny?”

  Danny had already dialed Fitch and Clemons. “Hi, this is Detective Danny Flint of High Profile Crimes. We’ve just arrested one of your interns for interfering in a police murder investigation and may add resisting arrest charges, along with creating a public disturbance. He wants to talk to a lawyer. Yeah, I’ll hold.”

  Vanderveer was chafing at the cuffs. Brown just smiled at him. Grzgorczyk went back to work, ignoring the drama playing out in his office.

  “Why, what a pleasant surprise counselor. I thought your license to practice law was suspended.” Myra Hartag was on the phone. She had used warrantless technical surveillance to try and identify a reporter’s confidential sources during an investigation Danny had headed the year before. He had been instrumental in Hartag losing her job at the prosecutor’s office.

  “Look, Flint, it was a three month suspension and I’m back. I’ll have your badge for this.” Hartag was always so pleasant to deal with. So, Dany dealt with her.

  “Mr. Vanderveer claims he knows how to find a killer the police are seeking but refuses to divulge his information. He is also screaming at police officers and creating a disturbance in a city government office. By the way, we have it all on video.

  “As you know, first we need to book Mr. Vanderveer. And strip search him, of course. A cavity search will be part of that. Unfortunately, the only holding cell we’ve got available is currently occupied by a guy pulled in for exposing himself in public.” Danny waited a moment.

  “Yes, I’ll put Mr. Vanderveer on the phone.” A very nervous Joel Vanderveer took the receiver.

  The police officers could only hear Vanderveer’s side of the conversation, of course, but it was enough. All Joel said was “But…” about five times before saying “OK.” Then he hung up.

  “Officers, I do not know who or where the killer is nor do I know how to catch him. I apologize for my rudeness. You see, my Aunt Carol raised me after my own parents died and she’s all I have left. I hope you can understand my concern for her safety.” He looked as though he didn’t believe a word he had said, but that wasn’t important. Video surveillance had caught the whole thing.

  Brown uncuffed him and asked if he needed a lift. No, he didn’t; he needed a stiff drink.

  After Joel left Danny spoke to Lieutenant Grzgorczyk. “Hartag has ethics problems and was hired by Fitch and Clemons. The law firm is a common l
ink among the victims. Perhaps Fitch and Clemons deserve a closer look.”

  “Yeah, I’ll put Silverstein on that. He hates lawyers.” Grzgorczyk called Silverstein into his office and closed the door.

  Chapter Five

  It was “date night” for Danny and Cheryl. Danny had led a kidnapping investigation a few months earlier. Ethan McQuade, the kidnapping victim’s stepfather, had been the pool reporter at the national level for the investigation. He was out of town more than in. That left Ethan’s companion, Cheryl Longfellow, unfulfilled. ‘Companion’ was probably the best description because she was not his girlfriend. Journalist Ethan and Trauma Nurse Cheryl were, well, fuck-buddies. When Ethan went running off to report on the nationwide case, Cheryl’s desires needed attention. Enter Danny.

  Their relationship was comfortable and easy. As a bonus, they actually liked each other. Cheryl didn’t mind that Danny’s six-foot frame was now packing over two hundred pounds that were starting to run to fat. The gray mixed in with brown was actually not too bad looking. Danny’s ex-wife had a lot of complaints, but not one of them was about the bedroom.

  Danny did kind of resent the quota part. It was two orgasms a day for Cheryl or else. And, that was two minimum. If Danny got off, she wasn’t opposed to it, but that wasn’t high on her list of priorities. In a post-Apocalyptic world, humanity would survive. Cheryl’s libido could power the repopulation all by itself.

  Danny and Cheryl weren’t actually dating, but in addition to sex they did enjoy one another’s company. A pleasant dinner – they split the bill, as usual – led to shop talk over dessert.

  “Could the murderer be a medical professional? There was always a single but fatal stab wound. Would the murderer have to know a lot about anatomy to do that?” Danny was mostly thinking out loud.

  “Not necessarily.” Cheryl took another forkful of lemon pie. “The victims are all elderly. Almost any stab wound is going to be a real problem. They all bled out, right?”

  Danny thought for a minute. “Yeah, I guess they did. So, it wouldn’t matter where they were stabbed? They were so old if they started to bleed they’d be dead?”

  “Not exactly. The thing is, you can find enough information in half an hour on the internet to know where to do the stabbing. Almost anywhere in the chest or the gut would likely do it. The victims were probably on blood thinners to prevent stroke. That would make the bleeding harder to stop.” She took another bite of pie while Danny nodded his assent.

  “A paper cut would take a while to heal. Anything really deep in the chest or the gut would cause internal bleeding that might not stop in time. Their hearts have a lot of miles on them. Typically a human heart will pump a million gallons of blood per year. By the time you’re eighty, you’ve pumped enough blood to fill about a hundred twenty five Olympic swimming pools.” She waited while Danny internalized this.

  “So, with a lot of miles on them, their hearts might not have a lot of reserves to draw on if the blood volume suddenly dropped.” Danny got the picture. He also thought about his own heart and the fact that he would be fifty-three in a month. Danny put his fork down. The rest of the apple pie would go to waste, instead of waist.

  Cheryl nodded, then took the last bite of her pie. “I don’t see it being necessary for the murderer to know much at all about medicine. A high school graduate can find out from the internet where to stab. Anything deep will cause bleeding that would probably be hard to stop. And, the elderly are just plain easy to kill.”

  They paid their checks and exited the restaurant. It was only four blocks from the gallery that was their destination for the night, so they decided to walk.

  The gallery was located in an industrial building that, from the outside, looked nothing like a high-end art center. Irana Lambert was holding a show of some of Luke Dupree’s work. Dupree was a computer graphic artist of some note whose early paintings had set price records in his first show last fall. Lambert had started a new career as a sculptor and art broker after retiring from her security company ten years ago.

  Danny knew Dupree through Ethan McQuade. Dupree was his next door neighbor. A close friend of Ethan’s now-deceased wife, “Uncle” Luke was young Alex DeLauder’s adult male role model. So, Dupree invited Ethan and his girlfriend, Corporal Carly Thibedeaux, to the showing. Yeah, that Carly Thibedeaux. They asked Danny and Cheryl to come along. Mike Allison, the management consultant, rented a room from Dupree and sent them a separate invitation.

  So, Cheryl and Danny went to - and enjoyed - a real art show. Dupree’s stuff was good, just not anything Danny would hang on his wall. It’s not that he didn’t like the sketches, they were great, he just couldn’t afford the price tag. A minimum of a hundred grand had been set at the first showing. And one of those had recently resold for four hundred thousand.

  It was unlikely that Danny, or Cheryl, or almost anyone either of them knew, would ever own an original Dupree. Not when Starving Artist Sales had perfectly good $29.99 oils available.

  Danny and Cheryl, along with Ethan and Carly, oohed and aahed about the artwork, sipped club soda and ate nutrition- and taste-free little appetizers. Small talk gave way to the church murders.

  “I saw a statement from Hartag about one of her clients being harassed by you in the investigation.” Ethan was speaking to Danny. “What gives?”

  Ethan was the journalist whose confidential sources Hartag had tried to identify using illegal surveillance. He was sorry to see that her suspension had been lifted and that she was once more employed.

  Danny told him that the nephew of one of the at-risk church members had shown up and made a scene. Joel Vanderveer was a future lawyer and already too full of himself.

  Ethan knew something of the story. “The guy’s whole life has been one long series of nightmares. Wasn’t he the one who discovered the bodies of his parents?” Ethan had read the newspaper’s archived coverage of the crime. It was gruesome. The crime reconstruction experts concluded that Mr. Vanderveer had answered the door and immediately been incapacitated with something like a baseball bat. Mrs. Vanderveer was likely exiting the bedroom when her throat was cut. Mr. Vanderveer was crawling away from the front door when he too had his throat cut.

  The couple’s money and jewelry were missing. None of it was ever recovered. Pawn shops throughout the state as well as in Texas, Mississippi, Arkansas and Alabama were canvassed. The stolen items simply vanished.

  “Yeah, that’s the guy. Tough life, but that doesn’t excuse being an asshole. Otherwise, we’d all be assholes.” That was about the extent of Detective Flint’s foray into philosophical discourse.

  Mike Allison came up and chatted with the four of them for a while. Carly seemed to give him a pretty wide berth, which had Danny puzzled. He knew that Corporal Thibedeaux had once had a major crush on Allison. The guy was classically handsome, well off, and smart as a whip. Just like Danny himself, except for the handsome-well-off-smart-as-a-whip part.

  The mystery was solved shortly when Danny saw Mike holding hands with Luke Dupree. Hunh. Dupree was openly gay, which in New Orleans was a non-event. Danny had just never pegged Allison as gay. He asked Ethan about it.

  “Mike says he’s straight, he just has a boyfriend. I asked Alex, who said he was pretty sure Mike was straight, but also had a boyfriend, and Alex couldn’t explain it any better. He added that he can’t explain television, either.”

  Carly’s phone chirped and she dashed off. “Duty” was all she shouted back at the others. Danny was a cop and understood. Cheryl was a nurse and understood. Ethan was a columnist and had no clue. Columnists had few emergencies.

  Danny and Cheryl made the rounds separately and together. Lambert knew Cheryl because one of her granddaughters was a volunteer at St. Swithin’s. While Danny was talking with her Luke Dupree hobbled over (Danny had no idea what caused the hobbling and wasn’t about to ask). Dupree whispered in Lambert’s ear and she got a big grin on her face.

  Irana Lambert reached up, put her ar
ms around Danny and gave him a hug. She stood on her tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You saved Luke’s nephew. I am in your debt.” Danny demurred that he had done nothing. Lambert just chuckled and waved off his protestations.

  “You’re a hero, Detective Flint. Live with it.” Danny smiled. Did it matter if she was right?

  After an hour of schmoozing and turning down champagne (both were on call) Danny and Cheryl returned to her place and were starting to undress when Danny’s phone went off. “Ignore it” from Cheryl got nowhere. She knew it wouldn’t work, but you can’t blame a gal for trying.

  “Danny, it’s Melvin.” Detective Flint knew that Melvin Brown was never going to call him after hours unless it couldn’t wait. “There’s another one. But this time it’s different. We have a suspect.”

  Danny got dressed and rushed out to his car. A suspect would be an answered prayer in an investigation where bodies kept piling up and leads were scarce to non-existent.

  Chapter Six