Too Far Gone

26

A very tired Michael Manseur sat at a desk in the office of the evidence labs just around the corner from headquarters. CSI Chief Sergeant Mickey Wayne Cooley put a piece of paper in front of his guest, along with a cup of strong coffee. The head of Homicide merely nodded once in appreciation.

“The glass shards are from a sealed-beam headlight manufactured for older vehicles-which makes sense, given the height of the bumper strike on the Volvo and the green paint sample,” Cooley said. “Used to be a fairly common stock lens that fit hundreds of vehicles.”

“Great,” Manseur replied.

“The transferred paint in the sample isn’t as common. There are two layers showing two paint jobs. The outer layer is more recent and was sold by auto-paint suppliers. But the undermost layer is a factory color from an early-sixties GMC truck.”

“A truck,” Manseur said.

“It wasn’t used on just any trucks. You’re looking for one of these in a sun-faded goose-shit green, Michael.” Cooley set a photocopy of an old advertisement for the vehicle in front of Manseur. “Panel truck-forerunner to the commercial van.”

“That’s great. Won’t be many still registered.”

“Not a single one in that color is registered in the state of Louisiana. We’re querying adjacent states now. The scratch on the Volvo’s inside driver’s door was made by a pipe that’s three-quarter inches in diameter that was cut off clean. No thread mark in the impression. Pipe is no more than about sixteen to eighteen inches long, based on angle of the strike and the distance that the door opens.”

“Great,” Manseur grumbled before carefully sipping his hot coffee. “Pipe.”

“According to trace, it’s a pipe with high lead content. What’s commonly referred to as a ‘lead pipe,’ as in Colonel Plum did it in the conservatory with a lead pipe.”

“So that’s rare?”

“Lead is toxic. Lead pipes haven’t been commercially available since the early sixties, and you only find them in old structures or scrap yards.”

“Lucky thing for us there’s no old buildings in New Orleans.”

“True, it’s around. If it helps, there was trace water with a high salt content transferred along with the blood, so the pipe’s been immersed in water recently and there are other blood types. One human.”

“One human?”

“O negative only on the human side. The other is animal blood. Also found a hair that looked like rodent hair, but not rat.”

“That leaves, what, gerbils, hamsters, squirrels, and muskrats?”

“It’s closer related to South American tapirs than muskrats.”

“Tapirs?”

“Nutria cousin the size of a pig. There’s one out at the zoo. The hair might have been there before the attack.”

“I doubt Gary West had any dealings with swimming rodents.”

“Amount of human blood was negligible and there were two blows.”

“That’s what Keen said,” Manseur said to himself.

“Keen?” Cooley asked.

“FBI Special Agent Keen,” Manseur said.

“Not Alexa Keen?” Cooley asked.

“You know her?”

“I know of her. Tech I work with at the FBI lab told me about her. He said she reads crime scenes better than he can. Said she has a gift for thinking twisted, reading people, and interpreting scenes accurately. I’ve sort of kept up a little with her career since. Last year she was involved with that Army Intelligence shake-up around that judge’s daughter’s kidnap deal in the Carolinas.”

“With Winter Massey,” Manseur said, nodding.

“Winter ‘hell-comes-to-breakfast’ Massey. He’s another one I try to keep up with. Seems whenever he’s anywhere around here, I get almost as busy as the medical examiner. Next time I hear he’s in town, I’m going on sabbatical till the smoke clears. You know him from that Manelli firefight out near St. Rose?”

Manseur shook his head. “The Porter homicide. I was out on vacation for the Manelli thing.”

“Man’s a human tornado,” Cooley said. “You know how lightning never strikes twice in the same place? If Massey was here, wouldn’t be any point in another hurricane coming.”

“Yeah.” Manseur smiled. “He’s a very good man.”

“I’m sure. We’re processing the Volvo prints, and there’s a bunch to go through. I need reference prints from the people who use it. How’d Alexa Keen get involved?”

“She was here in town and agreed to help out.” Manseur stood and picked up the report. “For practice, I guess.”

“You picked out a dry spot to get your girls to, Michael?”

“They’re going to stay with my wife’s sister in Birmingham. Leaving later today.”

“You might want to go with them before leaves are canceled.”

“All leaves are already canceled. Everybody’s reporting in. You didn’t know?”

“I haven’t heard anything on account of what I’ve been doing on your secret case. This Katrina might be the big one,” Cooley said. “You thought about that? It happens, there won’t be much left of this place.”

“They always turn,” Manseur said. “Most of the citizens won’t stop their normal business until they’re sipping their drinks underwater.”

“So where’s the plate?” Cooley asked.

“Sorry?”

“The license tag from the Volvo?”

“Why you want to know that?”

“I was wondering why all the hush-hush was afoot on an obvious red ball case without anybody saying so. Must be a big one. I could run the VIN to find out,” Mickey said.

“You could, but I don’t think you want to.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, if word of that name were to happen to leak out prematurely, everybody who knows is going to have to bend over so the super can shine a great big spotlight up their hidey-holes. Curiosity killed the cat, Mickey.”

“One thing I always wondered,” Cooley said.

“What’s that?”

“What was it that cat wanted to know?” He laughed at his own joke.

“Wasn’t what he wanted to know that killed him,” Manseur said, walking to the door. “Was the answer did that.”