Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 7

  I looked down at the head one more time. “Goddamn mess.”

  “Do you think they can do anything with facial restructuring?” Tip asked.

  “I’d be surprised. From what I know it’s not accurate enough, but maybe technology’s changed.”

  “We need to make identification a priority,” Tip said, and I agreed.

  I looked over at Don. “Did you see any tracks?”

  “We checked for footprints and also for cars. It was dry before last night, so my guess is whoever did it came in under the bridge in a car, buried it, and got out. The rain would have washed away any tracks.”

  I nodded. “The ground was rock hard before this. I know because I tried planting some flowers last weekend. Might be why he didn’t dig too deep.”

  “Planting flowers?” Tip said.

  “It was my wife’s garden. I maintain it. Is that all right, asshole?”

  “Guess so,” Tip said. By the way, what time did the rain start?”

  “It was after midnight,” I said. “Maybe one or two.”

  “One or two sounds right,” Tip said. “I’m guessing he buried the head, then hit the dumpsters.”

  We checked the area for about 15 or 20 minutes, then Tip opened his notepad, wrote a few things and flipped it closed.

  “Not much here, Gino. Let’s go back to the station and review what we’ve got. After Ben gets through processing we can regroup. We might even get some real leads.”

  I tapped Don on the arm. “Let us know if you get anything.” I handed him a card. “Here’s my cell number. Call anytime.”

  Tip dropped me off to get my car, then we went to the station. We didn’t have much yet, but what we had told us a few things.

  Tip had photos of the legs. She looked tall. I hadn’t thought about that, but I guessed Ben would have to put her back together to get statistics and do the autopsy. I shivered. No way I’d want his job. Looking at dead bodies didn’t bother me much, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want it for a job.

  “Me neither,” I said. “Not to mention cutting the bodies up, inspecting stomach contents, measuring body parts. You name it.”

  The picture of the torso showed a couple of deep punctures in it, both by the left lung, and they were round. “Could have been a screwdriver,” I said.

  “Or an icepick, or one of those construction tools…I forget what they’re called. Ben should be able to get us something on that.”

  The most disturbing part of this was the mutilation. Killing someone was one thing, but to cut them up and disrespect the body was something else entirely. “Why cut off the nose and ear?” I asked.

  Tip shook his head. “We’ll find out when we get this son of a bitch in a room by ourselves.”

  “That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Just us and the killer. No restrictions.” I smiled. “Maybe in the next life.” I looked through the notes on what we had and jotted down a few questions. “Everything was found on the north side of the city. Did he kill her up there? Or did he dump up there to make us think so?”

  “Why did he kill her? And why hide the head?” Tip asked. “You know, this looks like a sex crime, but it doesn’t follow the regular pattern for one. It’s almost as if the killer wants us to think it’s a sex crime.”

  “Maybe it’s a woman,” I said.

  “Women don’t usually get that violent.”

  “Maybe it’s a pissed-off woman.”

  “You mean a jealous one?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Tip tapped his fingers on the desk. “I can’t get away from why he dumped her head, and why at the creek? Convenience, or to throw us off?”

  I stopped chewing on my pen and looked at Tip. “Because he didn’t want us to know who she was.”

  Tip nodded. “As we talked about before, identifying her has got to be our priority. If the killer thought that was so important, it’s where we’ll find the clues.”

  I stood and shoved some papers into the folder. “Let’s get a few pictures in the paper. Maybe we’ll stir something up.”

  “I’ll tell you what you’ll stir up,” Tip said. “Coop’s temper. Besides, they’re not going to print pictures like that.”

  “If the pictures are cleaned up they will. As for Coop, we’ll have to keep it to ourselves. We can’t let her know the pictures leaked from us.”

  “She’ll know where the leak came from.”

  I looked at Tip. “Do you give a shit?”

  He laughed, that same way he had earlier.

  “Let’s get some pictures in the paper.”

  “You got anybody in mind to call about it? It will take a reporter with balls, and one we can trust. We don’t want the whole thing, but a controlled picture. Maybe with the eyes covered up.”

  “I know one with balls as big as mine.” Tip put his phone on speaker and dialed. It was answered on the second ring.

  “Samantha Roberts.”

  “Hello, darlin’.”

  A long pause was followed by a huge sigh. “Hello, Tip.”

  “Damn, I’m glad to hear your voice, too.”

  “Did you need something?” She put a lot of irritation in that question.

  “Stop pretending you don’t love me. And besides, I’ve got a scoop for you.”

  “The dumpster girl?” Excitement replaced the irritation.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Where do you want to meet?”

  Tip thought for a moment. “I don’t want to meet, but if you were to find yourself wandering around Kuykendahl Road by Cypress Creek, you might find something you’d want pictures of.”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “The officer on the scene is Don Brakker. Tell him to call me if he has questions. And Roberts, you’re gonna have to clean the picture up. It’s a mess.”

  “I’ve got somebody with software that’s amazing. Leave it to me.”

  Tip was about to hang up when he thought about the most important part. “Roberts, this is not official. You did not get this from me.”

  “I know how to handle it. Thanks.”

  “Sounds good,” Tip said. He looked over at me, and winked. “Now we wait and see what happens.”

  ***

  Tip waited until Gino went home, then he headed out, trolling the streets west of downtown looking for Chicky Ramirez. He already called Chicky twice and got no answer, so more than likely he was floating in the clouds or doing something illegal. Chicky was one of Tip’s best informants, but his unreliable state of mind was always a factor. After two more calls, Tip got an answer while he was sitting at a traffic light.

  “If it ain’t the Tipster. What’s up, my man?”

  “Where are you?”

  “‘Bout fifty feet from your sorry ass, and walkin’ that way.”

  Tip looked to the side and pulled up to the curb. Chicky opened the door and got in. “I saw you been callin’ me, Tipster.”

  “Have you been helping Gino out on anything?”

  Chicky looked at him with a raised brow. “Sure, I mean, you know I help out Gino. Help out lots of dudes.”

  “Think back in time, Chicky. Did you help him out with Rico?”

  Chicky raised his hands. “Don’t know what you’re talking ’bout there.”

  “I think you do. I think you fingered Rico for him.”

  Chicky’s expression went from suspicion to one tainted with fear. “Gino’s a good guy.”

  “I know he is. Maybe you’re slipping, not up on things anymore. Gino’s my partner now.” Tip flashed that half-mean look with his scar. “You know how it goes. Whether you’re on the street or a cop, a man’s got to know who he’s rolling with.”

  Chicky shrugged. “Mind’s not sharp like it used to be. Rico’s been in the ground a long time.”

  Tip handed Chicky a hundred-dollar bill.

  He started to hand it back, but Tip shoved another one into Chicky’s hand. “If I can count right, I gave you two Franklin’s. Think har
d before you say no.”

  Chicky didn’t say anything for a few seconds. His hands shook. When he began talking he looked out the side window, his voice a whisper. “Might be I helped Gino some. Might have told him where Rico was one night.”

  “Speak up,” Tip said.

  He turned to face Tip. “Said I might have helped him one night.”

  “Which night? The night Rico died?”

  “Might’ve been. Maybe.”

  Tip reached for the bills, but Chicky pulled away. “Yeah, come to think of it. Was that night.”

  “Thanks,” Tip said.

  “This stayin’ between us? Can’t have Gino—”

  Tip pulled another hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket. “Nobody but us and Ben Franklin will know, unless you tell somebody.”

  He smiled. “You’re still the man. Still the Tipster.”

  “One more thing. You ever hear anything about—”

  Chicky was shaking his head before Tip finished. “Man, if you’re talking about your mom, got nothing for you. Give up on it. That shit will eat you up.”

  “Tell me about it,” Tip said, and started the engine as Chicky opened the door.

  On the way home, Tip thought about what he’d learned. Nothing concrete, but the information from Chicky told him what he needed to know; besides, he felt certain that if he needed more details he could squeeze them out of Chicky. The problem was what to do with the information. He knew what he should do—tell Coop, or Renkin—but as he made the turn onto the freeway ramp he decided he’d wait and see how Gino played out as a partner.

  He already knew one thing about Gino; he must be a stupid fuck for trusting a guy like Chicky.

  CHAPTER 14

  RECOGNITION

  Houston, Texas

  Coop got in extra early, knowing she’d have an enormous amount of work to do, with all the pampering that Mayor Rusty Johnson and his rich friends would need. Coop wasn’t handling security but many of her officers had been assigned to help, and she was going to make damn sure nothing happened on her watch.

  “Good morning, Cindy,” she said as she rounded the corner.

  “I’ll have tea ready in a minute, Captain. Your paper’s on the desk.”

  Coop went into her office, flicked on the light and took a seat behind her desk, opening the paper as she woke the computer to check emails.

  “How the hell did this happen?” She grabbed the phone and dialed Gino’s number.

  “Cataldi.”

  “Have you seen the paper?”

  “No. Why?”

  “The dumpster girl is splashed all over the front page.” There was a momentary pause, then. “Did you and Tip have anything to do with this?”

  “Hell no. We made sure to keep reporters out of it.”

  “Get in here. Now.”

  She pushed the button to dial Tip’s number.

  “Good morning, Gladys.”

  “Screw you, Denton. Tell me about these pictures.”

  “I wish I could, but I don’t know a damn thing. All I can tell you is that bitch is haunting me.”

  “What bitch?”

  “Samantha Roberts, the reporter who wrote the story about those pictures.”

  “I don’t understand,” Coop said.

  “She’s the son of a bitch who filed charges against me for sexual harassment when I was with the Sheriff’s Department. Ask John, he’ll tell you about it.”

  “That’s her?”

  “One and the same.”

  Coop settled down a bit. “All right, get in here as soon as you can. Gino’s on his way.” She paused. “Damn it, I’m going to need help. Cybil and Rusty are going to—”

  “I’m on my way,” Tip said. “And don’t worry, Gino and I will take care of it.”

  “I am worried. That’s all I do is worry. And stop referring to the Chief as John.”

  “That’s his name.”

  “I know it’s his name, but show respect for his position. And…never mind. Just don’t forget there’s a big event tomorrow.”

  “I thought that was last night.”

  “It was. There’s another one tomorrow.”

  “Good luck, Cap. I’m just glad I don’t have to be there.”

  Coop set the phone on her desk and stared at the picture in the paper. At least the damn snake of a reporter had the decency to touch up the photos. They didn’t show the eyes, but the…”

  Coop called Cindy over the intercom. “Get the medical examiner’s office and have them send an original picture of the dumpster lady’s head. I need it now.”

  Half an hour later, as Coop stared in a trancelike state at the picture, the intercom rang.

  “Cybil is on line one,” Cindy said.

  “I’ll call her back.”

  “She seemed upset. She said to get you no matter where you were.”

  Coop waited a few seconds, then, “All right, I’ll take it.”

  She picked up the line. “I know—”

  “Gladys, what’s going on in your department? How did we end up with this on the front page while my event is going on?”

  Coop let Cybil rant for a while then said, “Did you look at the pictures?”

  “That’s why I called.”

  “Did you take a good look?”

  “I didn’t use a magnifying glass; they were disgusting.”

  “It’s Barbara.”

  After a moment of silence, Cybil said, “What?”

  “Barbara,” Coop said. “That’s our Barbara.”

  “Oh my God! Are you sure?”

  “I’m looking at the pictures on my computer,” Coop said.

  “Who would…did you tell your detectives you knew her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Don’t say anything.”

  “We can’t hold back evidence. That would make us—”

  “Wait until this is all over, then we’ll decide what to do. You could say you didn’t recognize her. I didn’t, and I’ve known her longer than you.”

  “They need to know, Cybil.”

  “You can’t let them find out,” Cybil said. “Not yet anyway. She might have kept recordings.”

  “That’s not my concern,” Coop said, and then, “Wait. Recordings of what?”

  “Of things you don’t want to know about. Your boss, and his boss, and lots of others.”

  Coop closed the file on the pictures she’d been looking at. “Shit.”

  “Shit is right, Captain Cooper. And you’ll be knee-deep in it if you let those detectives search Barbara’s condo before we find her files.”

  “This is treading on dangerous ground,” Coop said.

  “That’s nothing new to us.”

  Coop sighed. “I’ll give it a few days and see where it leads.”

  ***

  Cybil made sure the phone was hung up, then dialed another number, tapping her foot while she waited. After three rings it was answered.

  “Hello, Cybil.”

  “How did she end up dead?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Barbara’s dead! Chopped into pieces and spread all over town. What in God’s name did you people do?”

  “Barbara’s dead?” A long silence followed, then, “How? What happened?”

  “I already told you. Somebody chopped her up into pieces. Butchered her.”

  “And you think I had something to do with this?”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not. My God. I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  “Damn it,” Cybil said. “I don’t know what’s going on but it’s not going to look good. Watch your back.”

  Coop hung up and leaned back in her chair. Cybil’s concern at the end had seemed genuine. Now, it was Gladys’s turn to be puzzled.

  CHAPTER 15

  POLITICIANS AND QUESTIONS

  Houston, Texas

  Coop thought the event for Mayor Rusty Johnson went as good as could be expected. As good as it could without the president being there. S
he had done her duty and made the rounds, letting everyone see that Captain Gladys Cooper was there to support the mayor.

  Now it’s time to go home.

  The elevator doors opened. Coop exited and walked across the lobby, heading for her car.

  “Cooper, over here.”

  Coop turned to see Cybil heading her way, weaving through a crowd of people who hadn’t left yet, or were waiting for valet parking to get their cars. For God’s sake, will it ever end?

  “Hello, Cybil. I was just leaving.”

  “After a night like this. It was disastrous!” Cybil grabbed her arm and almost dragged her to the side of the room, away from eavesdroppers. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

  “I’ve been locked in a room with the president. I thought you knew.”

  “You son of a bitch. Don’t even joke about it.”

  Coop fought to restrain a laugh. “Did you need something? Or are you just trying to find company for your misery?”

  Cybil waved to someone passing by, then looked at Coop. “The first thing I’m going to do is get even with that asshole.”

  “Do you mean President Marsen?”

  “Of course, I mean Marsen, and you knew who I meant. It was bad enough he didn’t show up for Rusty, but he didn’t even call in. He could have at least placed a video call.”

  “Cybil, I know you don’t give a damn about Rusty, so what are you upset about? You’ve got a hell of a lot, girl. You’re the mayor’s wife, for God’s sake.”

  Cybil’s eyes flashed murderously. She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned close. “You think I went through all I did to end up some redneck mayor’s wife? That could have been me in the White House.”

  “Get over it,” Coop said. “That’s long gone and you can’t get it back.”

  “No, I can’t get it back, but…”

  “Let go of it, Cybil. For your own sake.”

  Cybil nodded, reluctantly. “I’ll let it go, but there’s a lot more in store for this country girl.”

  Coop looked Cybil in the eyes. “While you were dreaming, did you forget Barbara’s dead? Don’t you think we should be worrying about that?”