The Witness

Chapter Sixteen

“SO WHAT TIME should I pick you up, Marie? Say 7 p.m.?” Connor showed his badge to the officer guarding the walk path that led up to a small bungalow off Eisenhower Boulevard and then slipped under the police tape. The idea of arranging a date while arriving at a crime scene didn’t sit well as something he wanted her to know he was doing, but it had been such a headache last week trying to coordinate seeing her with the unpredictable hours of the job that he was taking a chance to talk with her whenever he could find an opening.

“Could you make it eight? With the shipment that just came in I’m going to need every minute I can get of Tracey’s time to help me hang it, and she’s around until seven. Eight will give me time to shower and change or else I’ll be your date wearing packing dust and sweat.”

He smiled at the thought. “I’ll be there at eight,” he promised.

“Thanks.”

“Bye, Marie.” He closed the phone and slid it in his pocket, catching the first breath of what awaited him in the house as he opened the screen door. He lifted an arm to cover his nose as he stepped inside. “So much for colder weather making this job easier. How long was it before he was found?”

The living room just off the entryway was small, more a place to sit and read a book than a place to have more than two people linger and talk. Marsh turned from where he crouched beside the body to look back at him. “I’m guessing two days plus. Monday’s mail was brought in, and Tuesday’s was still in the box.”

Connor didn’t have to ask cause of death. Stab wounds, deep and plentiful, the blood spray from artery wounds having hit the wall, furnishings, and turned the room into a horror show. Connor held back his initial reaction to the sight of the body out of respect for the dead. “Stabbing implies very personal.”

“We’ll look at the family first,” Marsh agreed. “The front door wasn’t forced, and the officer who walked around the house looking for signs of entry saw no immediate evidence of a forced screen or broken glass. Our victim appears to have let his attacker in, and our murderer inconveniently locked the doors on his way out. I had to shove out the lock to get inside.”

Connor came around the sofa and stepped over the end table so he could get into the space beside the body without stepping somewhere soaked in blood. He pulled on latex gloves. “Do we have a name for him?”

“No wallet on him. A seventy-year-old retired gentleman, by appearance still in reasonably good physical shape: good muscle tone, fit, not wearing glasses or hearing aids, and with tennis shoes that look well used for walking. He would probably have lived to be a hundred if someone hadn’t murdered him.”

Connor absorbed the details while trying to block out the smell. The hands were still in remarkably good shape given the decomposition, no slices or broken bones. “No defensive wounds? That surprises me.”

“Probably the blow to the side of the face comes first, knocks him down, attacker straddles him and stabs repeatedly…,” Marsh guessed, noting the angles.

“Yeah. You can see where the attacker’s legs protected the guy’s slacks from the blood splatter. Our doer must have looked a mess on his way out of the house afterward unless he changed clothes somewhere inside. There weren’t blood drops on the front walk that I saw. Arrived and departed by car?”

“There’s a door going out to the garage. We’ll check that direction. After dark, a short walk to a parked car-neighbors aren’t going to be that nosy, but we’ll see what anyone happened to remember.”

“He’ll have bloody clothes, shoes, a knife-at least it is something to find. Who called it in?”

“The postman thought it odd the mail and newspapers hadn’t been picked up for a couple days and mentioned it to an area patrol. Officers knocked on house doors on either side of here and across the street but found no one home. I’m wagering we’re looking at a retired guy living in a neighborhood of working couples and no one will remember seeing anything at all.”

“It’s easier to solve a murder in a community where crime is an occasional thing than a neighborhood absolutely shocked when it happens the first time,” Connor agreed, hoping someone at least had a dog that had gone off barking for no reason at all and an owner observant enough to remember the cars on the street. He looked at his partner. Marsh had caught the call-this one was his. “Where do you want me?”

Marsh smiled and nodded toward the hall, letting him off the hook. “Work the office and bedroom and find us a name for him. If you can’t find his wallet, a prescription bottle might do. It looks like he lives alone.”

“Thanks.”

“The next one is going to be yours. I’m betting it’s an ice floater in one of the rivers.”

“Don’t even think it,” Connor protested, remembering last year’s winter discovery. He headed toward the bedroom to see if he could put a name to their victim. “We’ve got blood drops in the hallway,” he called, noting the evidence. “Maybe cleaned up in the bathroom?”

He glanced in the open door on his left. “Oh yeah, blood in the bathroom. He tried to wash up in here.” A bleach bottle sat with the cap still half off in the tub, suggesting the killer had been at least trying to destroy evidence of his own presence after the wash-up. The lab guys would be struggling to get prints on the guy, for the smeared blood still present looked like glove smears rather than fingerprints. Connor left that problem to the experts. He nudged open the medicine cabinet. He saw no prescription bottles, which surprised him, just Chap Stick, extra hand soap, a shaving kit, solitary toothbrush. Nothing in the room suggested a female lived here.

The room he thought would be the office turned out to be a spare bedroom. He opened the next room and found it to be the man’s bedroom. The man kept a very neat home-that was Connor’s first impression of the room. The bed was made with the spread tugged tight to remove folds, the pillows perfectly aligned. The furniture was clear of the usual miscellaneous items dumped from pockets: no spare change, matchbooks, toothpicks, pocket comb. A very nice watch sat on the dresser next to a cigar box. Connor pushed up the lid of the cigar box and found it full of coins, a couple dates on the dollar coins putting them at a hundred years old and solid silver. The watch and coins sitting out in plain sight, still here, said this wasn’t an obvious robbery.

Connor opened the top dresser drawer and found the wallet in the same place his own grandfather kept his, top drawer left, next to the folded socks. He opened the thin worn leather. The driver’s license gave him a name, and the photo was enough of a match to be the match they needed. “Nolan Price, seventy-one,” he read aloud. Two hundred in cash still in the billfold.

He carried the wallet back with him to the living room. “I know this guy is going to prove to be former military, probably Korea. The house is tidy neat. I’m not seeing robbery as a motive-there’s cash, coins, a nice watch, all within easy reach.”

“I’ll add another piece to it,” Marsh said. “Look behind you, fourth picture down in that frame of snapshots.”

Connor scanned the wallet photos arranged in the matted frame. “This is not good. Our victim, standing beside a Mr. Henry Benton.” He lifted the frame down and worked the backing free. He slid out the wallet photo and then handed it to his partner. “That looks like a uniform to me.”

“Chauffeur? It must be, given the car that is behind them. What is that, a Rolls?”

“Daniel doesn’t use a chauffeur, but maybe his uncle did. The age would fit with this guy having retired recently.”

“A coincidence? This particular guy turning up dead right now?”

“We’ve had stronger coincidences before,” Connor replied, not wanting to get drawn somewhere the crime wasn’t taking them yet. “Even if he still had something useful like keys to Henry Benton’s estate, that kind of thing-Daniel doesn’t live there, and a robbery isn’t that simple. There are full-time security guards walking the grounds while the estate goes through probate. What’s keeping forensics?”

Marsh stood. “They’ve got a fatal house fire over on the west side of town. I told them not to rush; our guy isn’t going anywhere.”

“True. Let’s get outside a few minutes, Marsh. This is killing my sinuses.”

“It’s a little raw,” Marsh conceded. “If it’s family, we’re probably looking for a nephew, I’m thinking.” He grabbed Connor’s arm, stopping him from passing the mirror. “How did we miss that?”

Connor saw the image too and turned to scan the room. “You’re telling me.”

The note was written in blood across the rich leather-bound books on the middle bookshelf, the note probably bright three days ago and now darkened into a stain in the books’ leather. The sun passing free of clouds had briefly brightened the room and the contrast. He walked with Marsh around the body to get a closer look.

“‘I know…’ Something else looks faded out,” Marsh said.

“‘Family secret,’” Connor figured out, tracing but not touching the pattern from the other end of the shelf. “‘I know the family secret.’”

“What secret? A seventy-one-year-old guy has a family secret worth murdering over?” Marsh wondered aloud. “This victim is not Henry Benton giving away two hundred million in his will. What is going through this killer’s messed-up head?”

“I don’t think we’re looking for someone particularly crazy,” Connor said. “He used blood already at the scene and on a vertical canvas; that’s a nice way to stop any match to handwriting. And writing on objects-forget fingerprints in this. This looks like a paper towel dipped in blood was used as a pen.”

“The psychiatrist is going to love interpreting this one,” Marsh agreed, writing the words down.

“You’ve got to admit, notes are pretty rare. What is this, our second one in six years?”

“I didn’t like that case either,” Marsh replied. “What else? Is that the extent of the message or did he try and write on something else strange when this line of books ran out?”

Connor looked around the room. “It’s going to take hours to eliminate everything.”

“The back of doors, the back of pictures, rolled-up blinds… not just what we see now, but what the killer might have selected as amusing at the time. What time are you meeting Marie tonight?”

“Eight.”

“Don’t expect to make it on time.”

Connor took out his phone. “I knew it was going to be like this today, Marsh. Didn’t I tell you just this morning while we were getting coffee that things were going too smooth with Marie?”

“You did.”

“The third date and I’m already canceling one.” Connor shook his head and walked away to have some privacy for the call.

“Don’t tell her someone killed her father’s former chauffeur, claiming to know a family secret,” Marsh offered dryly, beginning the laborious process of turning over pictures on the wall one at a time to check for what might or might not appear behind them.

Connor scowled at his partner. “Marie? Connor. How’s the picture unpacking going?”

He listened and smiled at her answer as he walked through into the kitchen to begin systematically opening and closing all the cabinet doors.

“You’re not going to be able to come tonight after all,” Marie guessed, speculating on why he had called back so soon.

“I’m afraid not. We’ve got a case that wants to be difficult.”

“Dangerous?”

“Only to catching hepatitis B or some other blood-born bug. Forensics isn’t here yet so the preliminary walk-through is on us.” He covered the phone. “Marsh.”

His partner came to join him.

Connor pointed to the inside of the pantry door. I know the family secret was painted in blood across the wood.

“He’s getting neater. This must be the second attempt to write it.”

“Prints,” Connor suggested. “Maybe.”

“A very slim maybe. But five will get you ten we find this message at least a couple more times.”

“I’d take that bet.”

“Connor?”

He uncovered the phone. “Sorry, Marie. I was talking to Marsh.”

“You’re at a murder scene?”

He opened the refrigerator, wondering if there would be a message written in blood inside it too. “I’m in a kitchen looking at a half-used carton of eggs,” he replied, getting the image in her mind down to something more subdued than what he figured she was thinking. “Can I call you late tonight instead? Say around ten?”

“I’ll still be up.”

“Thanks, Marie. I’ll talk to you then.” Connor hung up the phone. “The reporters are going to have a field day with this crime-scene write-up.”

“You know about the message; I do. We play bullies with the crime-scene folks-maybe we can keep it suppressed. At least the words of the message.”

Connor shook his head. “There is no way reporters are not all over this as soon as the crime-scene photos are taken and our report written. It’s not only a good story, it’s a good new story. You know the news it is Henry’s chauffeur will have it leading on page one of the society section tomorrow; it’s new news that gives them a reason to repeat the Marie and Tracey story all over again. And when someone mentions what the message says, it’s going to be announced in screaming headlines in a big, bold font.”

“Then let’s hope it really is some nephew that we find sitting at his kitchen table still wearing the bloody clothes three days later. Otherwise you might end up arresting me for confronting a reporter who splashed the investigation details across the evening news.”

Connor smiled. “You want me to call the deputy chief?”

“I’ll do it.” Marsh pulled out his phone. “After that I’ll call the chief himself. No use keeping the good news quiet. We’ll need to interview Daniel tonight. He’s the one who probably knows this guy and when he retired and who was listed as the next-of-kin contact in the employee file.”

“On a Thursday evening-he’ll be playing racquetball at the club.”

“By chance do you know what Daniel was doing Monday evening?”

Connor frowned at his partner. “Helping me move furniture around, from five to after ten.” His partner put Daniel on the list of folks to eliminate for doing the murder, and while he would have done the same, it was still an unpleasant thought to have had.

“Just asking.” Marsh’s attention turned to his call. “Yes, sir, I’m on scene now. Nolan Price, age seventy-one. A stabbing attack with rage features. There’s a note left at the scene written in blood. We’re going to need some special handling on this as I’d like to keep that quiet as long as possible.” Marsh smiled. “My thoughts exactly. I’ll keep you informed. Thank you, sir.”

He closed the phone. “One copy of the case report and it goes directly to the deputy chief until this is wrapped; nothing gets filed through channels.”

“The beat reporters are going to be burning you in effigy.”

Marsh smiled. “That just leaves the forensics folks to keep quiet.”

“Take names at the door and threaten bodily harm for who talks-I doubt it will work, but you can try.”

“Give me a week with this message under wraps and I can use it to break the guy who did it. He’s going to be begging for a chance to talk about his message when we get him into an interview room.”

“The family secret is burning a hole in him, whatever it is,” Connor agreed. He began opening drawers. “Do you see any knives missing from this kitchen? That wooden block on the counter looks full, and I’m not seeing a miscellaneous drawer with another knife or two lying around. The dishwasher is empty.”

“Our killer brought his own weapon-that doesn’t often happen with a knife, not a slim-blade knife at least. Those wounds didn’t look wide like a military knife.”

“That was my thought too.”

“So maybe not a family argument that flares, gets out of control, and the old man gets stabbed to death, but something a lot more premeditated.”

“We don’t get that many premeditated murders either.” Connor closed drawers. “I’m glad this one is yours.”

“Thanks a lot,” Marsh replied dryly. “I’m calling the chief now. Unless you would like to do the honors?”

“I’d confirm that employment first and the fact this is indeed Henry’s retired chauffeur. Maybe scan for tax returns in the office? I’m sure he’s got them filed in chronological order, given how everything else is maintained. A copy of an old W-2 will do it.”

“Good point.” Marsh left the kitchen to go check.

Connor eased open the trash-can lid while holding his breath, afraid that he might be staring at the bloody knife or something else gut curdling attracting bugs. Just the remains of an omelet, too many days old, resting atop a folded newspaper and an opened can of chili. “When I die, God, please let my place burn down so someone isn’t going through my trash afterward, wondering at how I lived,” he whispered, gratefully closing the lid, and stepped away.

He turned toward the garage. Murder scenes always felt slightly off, like the details of life had gotten recolored with a touch of the horror in the house and made more starkly obvious that death pulled a person out of this life abruptly. Rich or poor, they left everything they had behind, even the last set of clothes they wore.

Marsh came back into the room. “Tax returns going back thirty-plus years show Benton Group as his sole employer. Granger wants us in his office for the 6 a.m. update.”

Connor winced.

“Yeah, my thoughts too. He’s in court at seven, the last round of that civil assignment board’s lawsuit where he got pulled in as a witness. He did promise to bring real coffee.”

“I’ll crawl in with my eyes half open to be moral support,” Connor promised. “Let’s get those forensics guys working here and go find Daniel and a few people to interview.”

“Already a step ahead.” Marsh held up a manila folder. “Last year’s Christmas cards complete with original envelopes. We’ll start with the brother over on the north side of town. The guy sends a funny card and a fish photo of the two of them out on some rickety boat; the odds are good the two talked occasionally about what was going on in their lives.”

“Anything show as recent phone records?”

“Just last month’s bill; I’ll have the phone company pull the recent calls. At least it looks like he was not into the twentieth century with a cell phone and e-mail, which makes this a bit easier. The calendar on his desk was a washout-two appointments in the last sixty days and both to the dentist.”

“Better if it had been a barber,” Connor agreed. “It’s hard to gossip about things going on in life when you have a mouth full of instruments.”

A white-paneled van pulled into the driveway. Marsh stepped to the door. “It looks like we caught Rachel and Joe for the forensics. That will be a plus.”

Connor followed Marsh outside, relieved to get farther away from the smell. It was going to take a good hour under a hot shower to soak the traces of odor out of his skin and the clothes. It wouldn’t be the first shirt he pitched as unrecoverable. The smell clung a lot harder than cigarette smoke ever did.

Daniel settled on the chair across from Connor and Marsh at a private table off the racquetball court, having come off the court to find the police waiting for him. In the first rush of adrenaline and fear he’d thought it was bad news about his cousins, but the reality felt just as rotten.

“Nolan Price worked for my uncle for thirty-four years. I finally talked him into retiring this spring when it was clear Henry would not be leaving the hospital for more than a few weeks at most and no longer coming into the office. As far as I know Nolan has lived in that bungalow most of those thirty-four years, and the closest I think he came to marrying someone was when he was courting one of the ladies who worked for my aunt as a part-time secretary. This hurts, Connor. I remember the guy giving me one of my first driving lessons when I was so young I could barely reach the foot pedals.”

Daniel tried to absorb the fact his friend had come from Nolan’s murder scene, but the image wouldn’t settle. It was hard at times, adjusting to the fact Connor was a homicide cop. Connor didn’t look particularly comfortable at the moment, but not that stressed either. How did he walk away from blood and death and not carry it around with him?

“Nolan was Henry’s chauffeur all that time? He got along with your uncle?” Marsh asked.

Daniel looked at his friend’s partner and considered the question, trying to remember those details. “I think he may have been a handyman, a groundskeeper at first, but the last couple decades he’s simply been Henry’s chauffeur. Nolan was a nice man, very proper and punctual, and he treated those cars like they were his children. He would speak with me occasionally about Henry’s health-‘He seemed short of breath today, Mr. Daniel,’ ‘He seems tired today, Mr. Daniel’-that kind of comment, when I would meet my uncle arriving at the office. Nolan seemed genuinely fond of Henry.”

“We spoke briefly with Nolan’s brother.”

“This news must have hit him awfully hard; I know he’s in a nursing home now. It’s one of the reasons Nolan agreed to the retirement; so he could spend more time with him.”

“Were there any problems that you know of after Nolan retired?”

Daniel shook his head. “Nolan retired, but he still insisted on coming by the estate to start the cars every other day, keep them polished-they are destined to be museum pieces, and he wanted them in perfect condition. Nolan would stop and have coffee with the housekeeper who stayed on, then talk to the groundskeeper about the sports they both loved. He was over at the house two weeks ago Sunday when I showed Tracey and Marie around, and he proudly talked about where and when their dad had bought the various cars. I had the impression but for spending more time with his brother, Nolan hadn’t settled on what he wanted to do with his time beyond exactly what he was already doing.”

Marsh closed his notebook and pushed it back into his pocket. “Any idea what that message might mean?”

“‘I know the family secret’-not a clue. To the best of my knowledge Nolan had no remaining family beyond his brother, and other than a few years spent in the service, had always lived in the area. Nolan wasn’t the kind of guy to have a murdered wife buried under his house or kids of his own out of wedlock like my uncle did. His parents died of natural causes as far as I know, and he wasn’t a drinker, didn’t seem the type to gamble, rarely raised his voice. The household gossip would have brought things like that to my uncle’s attention, and Henry had no tolerance for that kind of behavior in others, although he appears to have allowed it in his own life.” Daniel shifted in his chair, aware that answer didn’t settle well with the cops or with himself, for the note left at the murder scene clearly did mean something-I know the family secret. “Nolan’s brother doesn’t have an idea?”

“We’ll talk to him again tomorrow.”

Daniel nodded, understanding reality. The murder would have been a deep enough shock for one day. “As far as Nolan’s ties as an employee to Henry-the only secret I’m aware my family had was what Henry revealed to the world in his will. There’s no missing cash showing up as probate goes through, nothing unusual showing up in the independent audit of the Benton Group accounts, no second marriage Henry was covering up-there’s nothing of interest that Nolan Price might have known about that I can guess at.”

Daniel shook his head. “That’s not to say there isn’t something there; I’ve given up figuring out my uncle’s behavior, but nothing has shown up to date. I’m just beginning to get through the extensive boxes of paper Henry kept stored in his home office-my uncle’s retired bookkeeper kept receipts from having the draperies in the house cleaned twelve years ago to phone-call notes to the florist for the Christmas party at the house four years ago-but so far there’s nothing that would be considered more than just a curiosity. You’re welcome to look if you think it might help you. I’ll give you a key to the estate and access to the papers Henry left.”

“There’s no need yet, but I would like to see where Nolan spent most of his time at the estate, if there were phone calls he made recently from there or a note he jotted down about meeting someone.”

“Sure.” Daniel pulled out his key ring. He slipped off the oval clip and handed it to Connor. “The housekeeper can show you around. Current phone bills-try the red in-box on the office desk. She tries to keep things that need my attention in that pile. I’ll be glad to ask the phone company for the last couple weeks of records for you.”

“It’s appreciated, Daniel.”

“I was helping you move Monday night while some guy was killing a former employee of my uncle’s-that doesn’t sit well.”

“You know someone who drives a tan or beige Lincoln, maybe ten years old or so?” Marsh asked.

“No.”

Marsh shrugged. “Maybe someone saw it at the scene, maybe not. The neighbors are not that clear on the matter. We’ll be telling the estate security guys to keep an eye out for it as a precaution.”

“You think this was someone Nolan knew from working at the estate or through the people who worked there?”

“When his life is his job it’s the place you begin searching. Did he leave anything as far as next of kin in his retirement paperwork besides the brother?” Marsh asked.

“I don’t think so, but I’ll find the file and fax you whatever there is.”

“I don’t need to tell you, Daniel, that that note and the other details you heard tonight don’t get repeated. Even to the sisters.”

“I won’t go beyond the basics, that I learned he had been killed and that you asked to see where he had worked on the estate.”

Marsh nodded. “I’ll keep you to that.”

Connor got to his feet. “Sorry to interrupt your evening this way. We’ve got a few more stops to make tonight.”

“You’ll let me know when I can stop by and see the brother and maybe offer a hand with the funeral arrangements?”

“I will,” Connor agreed.

Daniel rose and retrieved his gym bag. “I don’t envy the day you two just had. You need anything else, however remote, to help solve this please call me.”

“We will,” Connor replied.

Daniel held up his hand in farewell and resolved to clear his calendar for the weekend to try and make more progress on those files Henry had left behind. That message meant something. And the simple fact was Nolan Price had worked for Henry for thirty-four years, and there had been secrets kept by Henry in the past. The paperwork hadn’t been as important as dealing with Marie and Tracey and getting them settled in with the new reality of being wealthy, but the priorities had just changed. He wanted no more surprises coming from his uncle’s past that he didn’t discover first.

Connor knew he’d missed calling Marie as promised, but sometimes the best-laid plans fell apart. The eighth interview took them until the end of the late news, and in deference to the time, they stopped ringing doorbells.

“What do you think?”

Connor tossed his notebook on the car dash and looked at his partner. “I think we’ve been running in circles. Nolan’s brother is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s; you don’t need a doctor to figure that out. Nolan had no other family according to the county birth and death records. There’s no history in our records of family abuse between the two boys and their long-departed father. That message is a red herring. We just got spun by some schmuck who gets his jollies out of stabbing an old guy to death and sending the cops down a wild-goose chase.”

“How many other stabbing deaths do we have open right now?”

“Only one, but it was a knife picked up in the middle of a barroom fight where the guy got his throat slit and bled to death. We know what happened, why; we just haven’t found the guy that swung the knife. So mark that one off.”

“We need to talk to the surrounding towns tomorrow.”

“This could have been the first murder. He brings the knife with him; he’s overly aggressive with the killing, leaving blood everywhere; he’s thought to try and wash up afterward and use bleach, but he doesn’t finish that cleanup. He has a message he wants to leave scattered around the house as a distraction but wants to write it in a clever way. I put all those pieces together and I get the picture of a young man wanting his fifteen minutes of fame with his crime across page one of the newspaper. Forget the fact Nolan was a retired chauffeur for Henry Benton-think old man, retired, living in a reasonably safe area of town on his own, and not all that cautious about strangers with a line to spin-I put our guy as seeing a soft target he could go kill for the thrill of it. And it was a full moon Monday night.”

Marsh started the car. “Are you comfortable giving that assessment to Granger tomorrow morning?”

“It sure fits this case a lot better than some buried family secret and somebody finally snapping and killing the old man. About the only thing that might type that way was if Nolan had a leaning toward boys and had molested someone years before. The fact he never married is a touch of a red flag, but if that happened, there would be more justification in that message the killer left.”

Marsh, the more cynical of the two of them, Connor thought, for once shook his head at the suggestion and dismissed it. “The man who lived in that house was not into boys. Look at what wasn’t in that house-nothing suggestive in the reading material, no easy Internet access to suggestive materials, no questionable videos. He was a solitary man who probably came back from the war not ready to talk about what he did in the service and chose to love his job and his cars as his life.”

Marsh turned toward the side of town where Connor lived. “I’m with you. This was someone killing and wanting to make enough of a splash to get good news coverage of his crime. The neighborhood he chose, the victim, the message, the crime scene-maybe we should just feed this all to the reporters ourselves and see who laps it up and offers us information that might help us solve the case.”

“Let the killer make contact with us.”

Marsh nodded. “We fumble around not figuring out how to solve the case, whine to the press about no leads and the case going cold, annoy a couple reporters who are pestering us-” He smiled. “Our guy will show up somewhere to try to help us out or to gloat about how badly we are doing solving his spectacular crime. He thinks he got away with something-he wore the gloves, he used the bleach, he took the weapon with him, he got away unseen-he thinks he’s smarter than the cops and that he’s got his fame and his freedom.”

“You wind up that image in his mind too far and he’ll just kill again.”

Marsh’s smile disappeared. “Oh, he’ll kill again. And I think he’s already decided who. If this case doesn’t lead very quickly to someone who knew Nolan and had an actual reason to kill him, then we are looking at someone who simply chose Nolan as his victim. You don’t premeditate murder for a thrill and plan to do it just once. And that’s what this is really beginning to feel like. A murder for a thrill.”

“What do we tell Tracey and Marie? They’re going to read the newspaper tomorrow and find out their father’s former chauffeur was just murdered. They’re going to be talking to Daniel.”

“What we say to every neighbor and friend in cases like this-it’s a coincidence that there is a connection between you and the victim. The six-degrees-of-separation-between-everyone theory applies again.”

“I may mention it to Marie myself to head her off. She’s wound up to worry about everything right now.”

“I would.”

Connor tried to shove the murder scene into the side of his mind marked “work” and let it go for a bit. “How’s Tracey doing with Amy being back?”

Marsh smiled. “She’s chomping at the bit for when she can next go out and see her again. It’s been over a week and that’s about Tracey’s patience limit, I think.”

“You want to suggest something for this weekend?”

“Let’s see how this case unfolds first. I’d rather give short notice and be able to keep the appointment than schedule something that work just has us canceling.” Marsh clicked on blinkers to turn toward Connor’s apartment building. “You’ve been seeing a lot of Marie.”

“I like her.”

“Tracey’s been inquiring on your intentions,” Marsh offered.

“Has she?” Connor found the thought amusing. “Better Tracey than Granger. I think he’s not so sure what to think these days, us dating sisters, and wealthy ones at that.”

“He’s afraid he’s going to lose two homicide cops at the same time.”

“Do you ever think about quitting or shifting over to administration after you and Tracey get married?”

Marsh snorted.

“That’s what I thought. These hours are going to be killers on a wife though.”

“We’ll adjust.” Marsh pulled up to the apartment door. “Don’t forget to set the alarm; I don’t plan to face the boss alone.”

Connor looked around the area and then slid out of the car. “I’ll be there.”

The alarm was not going off-that was the phone. Connor struggled to get his eyes open and groaned at the red digits blinking back at him: 4 a.m. This was brutal on his body and his mind. “Yeah?”

“The boss is already en route; he’ll be at your door in ten minutes.” “Marsh?”

“Not the tooth fairy. We’ve got another murder, same MO.” “My feet are on the floor,” Connor promised. “Where?” “I’m struggling to find the address now. One of those pricey towers over by the lake. A resident complained about the smell, and the building super used a master to open the door. Now we’ve got complaining rich people annoyed to have cops walking around their building in the middle of the night. There it is. Forty-nine twelve Ulysses Street, the one with the square-cut balconies jutting into those triangular architectural features.”

“I vaguely remember it. Why Granger?”

“Daniel called him after the building super called him. This one was Henry’s retired personal bookkeeper.”

Connor winced. “Tell me the boss isn’t going to be working this personally.”

“Granger? He’ll let us do our jobs. But if he wants to run interference for us with the press, I’m all for it.”

“True.” Connor found slacks and a relatively clean shirt.

“Fill him in on every detail you can think of on the drive over here, as well as your speculation on this being a media thrill seeker. This second murder-we’ll see if there is a note and what it says, but I’m leaning even more to someone trying to grab the sisters’ fame and making it his springboard to a notoriety and infamy all his own. ‘Sisters Haunted by Killer’-I can see it now, splashed all over the tabloids in bold headlines. ‘The Blood Killer.’ ‘Revenge of All That Money’-”

“I get the idea.” Connor stepped in on the headline writing. “You ought to warn Tracey and let her warn Marie before the reporters start shouting questions at them.”

“You could warn Marie and let her warn Tracey,” Marsh replied.

“I take it neither one of us likes this idea. I’ll suggest Daniel go visit the gallery and tell them in person.”

“That works for me. What about the sister Amy?”

“That is a no-brainer. Get Caroline on the phone and give her everything we have. I want her gut reaction to these killings anyway. She’s got instincts anyone with any sense would respect.”

Connor tugged his shirt on and hoped the chief would cut him some slack on the uniform. Getting to the dry cleaners hadn’t been in the schedule this week. “What are you seeing at the scene?”

“Lots and lots of cop cars and people milling around and not a single person acting in charge. I’m going to go change that. I’ll ring you back in five.”

The phone went dead in Connor’s hand, and he closed it and slid it into his pocket. He hated middle-of-the-night cases. Dinner hadn’t happened because he’d just looked at a guy who had been dead for a few days, and if he was about to be looking at another dead guy, then breakfast was not going to stay down. No matter what they said about the fact you got used to the sight and smell, they were lying. You just learned to gag more tightly. He stuffed a piece of gum in his mouth to spit out when he got to the scene. At least it might help him forget the missed meals.

He picked up his wallet and keys and went to meet the chief.

“Nice neighborhood you live in, Connor. I keep forgetting you’re tucked back here,” Granger remarked, turning on lights but not the siren to remind a drunk staggering between cars that he was walking out into traffic and might want to rethink that.

“It does have its moments. And you’re paying half the rent.”

“The best money the department ever spent. You want to fill me in on what happened today?”

“Would you answer a question for me first?”

“Sure.”

Connor picked up the jacket that he’d moved aside to take the passenger seat. “The perfume reminds me of someone I know.” He said it with care, wanting to know as a friend without wanting to particularly cross the line that would have the chief switching to the look that would suggest he’d best shut up.

“She forgot the jacket last night.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

Granger smiled. “You’ll walk yourself into a couple questions about Marie if you’re not careful. Amy and I are warily sorting out the fact it’s okay for her to trust a cop again. Her track record with our profession hasn’t exactly made that an easy step for her to take. This afternoon-what happened with Nolan Price?”

Connor shifted back toward work without hesitation. “Marsh said to give you speculation as well as facts, and it’s too early to sort out which is which in my mind, so let me just dump it all first.”

“Okay.”

Connor gave him the guts of the day’s work and the dead ends they had chased so far.

Luke nodded. “Not bad for, what, ten hours so far? You need forensics to say they’ve got fingerprints or hair or blood from the killer, something to at least type him.”

“They know it’s as rushed a job as they can make it, but a phone call from you probably wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll make that call.”

“Thanks. How many other retired employees does Henry have out there?”

Granger nodded to the phone. “Daniel is speed-dial four. I’ll want officers at every address he gives us just as soon as it’s light. Let’s make sure there isn’t a third murder out there waiting to be found.”

Connor picked up the phone and pulled out his notebook to write down whatever information Daniel had. “Daniel isn’t on his way over to the bookkeeper’s place?”

“I’ve got him going after the names of who might know where these two men live. The chauffeur had been at the same address for years, but the bookkeeper moved recently and had an unlisted phone number. It’s not that difficult of information to locate, but still, for someone to have both names and addresses-somewhere you intersect with that estate paperwork, I think. The lawyer’s office, retirement fund, health insurance company, somewhere both names are going to be listed along with current address information. Daniel was the one who could put that together the quickest.”

“Good point.” Connor turned his attention to the phone as the call was answered. “Daniel, Connor. Sorry about this start to your morning, man.”

“I’m not believing the senselessness of this. Two old guys, retired, nothing to steal, no enemies I can imagine.”

“I know.” Connor passed on the question regarding other retired employees.

“Hold on. I’ve got names and addresses in a file on this desk. I just signed gift checks for everyone who worked for Henry in the last five years. Seemed a basic thing to do-give them a Christmas gift early enough they could use the funds before Christmas if they liked. My uncle should have been doing it years ago. Here we go. I’ve got fourteen names. You want them all or just the six who retired in the last year?”

“Give me those six first.”

Connor wrote as Daniel read off the information on the fourteen employees. “Thanks.”

“You’ll make sure they are contacted? Or should I call and let them know what’s happened?”

“Officers will make the first contacts,” Connor reassured. “Marsh and I would like you to see Marie and Tracey for us this morning. Tell them the basics and try to brace them for the press stories coming. It’s going to get tossed around and sensationalized even if the facts of the cases quoted turn out to be mostly fabrications and rumors.”

“I can do that.”

“Thanks, Daniel. I’ll be back in touch in about an hour.”

Connor closed the phone and read off the addresses to the chief. “Two are close enough to this area. I think we should check them first thing.”

“Agreed. When we get on scene, if Marsh hasn’t already cleared the floor of spectators-cops included-I’ll handle it. Take your time on this one. I’ll want answers when you have them, but I’m not going to be pressing. Two murders in roughly a three-day time period-we’re after a guy who’s pretty far out there on the sociopath scale.”

“Marsh and I have already talked about alerting Caroline to what is going on and getting her read on what we have. She’s better at getting into a killer’s thoughts when it’s the strange cases.”

“I know; she’s frighteningly gifted at that. I’ll arrange to have someone stay with Amy while Caroline comes in and walks through the scenes if you think it will help. Let me know what you and Marsh decide.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

Connor saw the cop cars and reporters congregating at their destination and braced for the reality he was about to have flashbulbs going off in his face again. And his shirt wasn’t all that clean.

The chief smiled. “You get used to managing them too.”

“Sure you do,” Connor agreed, reflecting on the fact that Luke had been wading into reporters for half his career now. “I’ve no desire to ever make a higher grade than lieutenant and detective.”

Granger chuckled. “Want me to let you off at the back door?”

“Just park and get out first, Chief. They’ll ignore me, thankfully, when they have you to swarm.”

Luke parked beside Marsh’s personal car. “First rule of handling the press: don’t let them see you sweat.”

“They didn’t teach that part at the academy.” Connor waited until the chief opened his door and stepped out of the car before pushing his open and using the doorframe to push two cameramen trying to get photos of the chief back far enough he could step out. The day was going to be full of this insanity, Connor knew.

Sykes got into his face with a handheld cassette recorder and a question Connor couldn’t sort out from the mayhem around him, and instinct had him moving one hand around the reporter’s wrist and the other toward his shoulder to force him back and out of his face. It was like getting pressed into a sardine can.

He broke free and straightened his shirt and wondered how his boss had ever learned to cope with it. He slipped his badge face out in his pocket and went to find Marsh.

The apartment was furnished more expensively than most homes, Connor decided, getting a taste of it from the inset stone in the entryway and the artwork facing him at eye level. “How did someone get past this security system?”

“Our victim let him in, same as with Nolan,” Marsh replied, sitting on the steps leading to the second floor of the apartment and writing notes down on his pocket pad of paper. He glanced up. “How’s the chief?”

“Saying a lot of words while saying little. He’ll buy us some time. You cleared this floor?”

“Yep. Tossed everyone out that I didn’t personally want to see at 4 a.m., and that was everyone. Joe and Rachel promised to wake up enough to work the scene for me since they have some experience with this guy’s MO.”

“Where’s our victim?”

Marsh nodded to his right. “Staining an absolutely gorgeous and expensive rug in the living room.”

Connor was in no hurry to follow the smell. “How long?”

“Probably killed after Nolan, just from the way the murder looks done, but probably also a Monday night hit. The decay looks about the same.”

“Thanks, I needed that image. His name?”

“Sorry, I thought I said.” Marsh handed over a driver’s license.

Connor studied the photo. “Philip Rich, sixty-seven. He looks like the plastic-surgery type.”

“It didn’t help him die any prettier. Same knife attack with rage features, probably a blitz attack. Looks like the same kind of narrow blade, but that’s a guess.”

Connor reluctantly went to see the scene. He didn’t react to the body, didn’t let himself do it. Some things were just sights a person shouldn’t see. The splattered blood had spotted a priceless chess set of ivory pieces and left streaks on the mirror above the fireplace. “No signs of robbery?” he asked quietly.

Marsh stopped beside him to also study the room. “No. I passed a few items that would fit in my pocket and clear a few thousand even with a fence taking most of the cash, and they’re still sitting in plain sight.”

“Someone knew this man, wanted him dead, and came with the intent to make very sure he was dead. Did he wash up again?”

“Yes. The downstairs bath-upstairs is a massive master-bedroom-and-bath suite, with a private sitting area, but it looks undisturbed. I’m guessing our killer brought a change of clothes to this one; there’s a smear on the bathroom floor that looks like bloody fabric rested there, probably a pair of jeans from the texture captured in the stain.”

“The knife?”

“No sign of it that I saw in the initial walk around.”

Connor accepted reality and walked closer to the body. He pulled on latex gloves. “Again, no defensive wounds on the hands. Maybe the same stunning blow to the head and then straddle and start stabbing?”

“I think so.”

“Philip Rich-Daniel said he retired almost eight months ago, before Henry had the last heart attack. He worked out at the estate most days, even though he had a business office downtown, and we know our chauffeur was around the estate most days. So it’s pretty straightforward to assume our two victims knew each other. But I don’t think from looking at this place and having seen Nolan’s that the two men traveled in the same circles.”

“Philip was a man desiring to be as wealthy as those he worked for,” Marsh agreed.

“There’s a message?”

Marsh turned and shined his light on the painting over the couch.

Pay me to go away was written in blood across a priceless work of art.

“Marie would cringe,” Connor said softly, the first thought crossing his mind at the sight of all that blood on those nicely brushed layers of oil paints. “I’d say that is a definite demand.”

“How much does he want, who does he want it from, where does he want it delivered… the note just raises all kinds of questions of its own.”

“At least this guy is not crazy, as in ask us to stop the moon from rising or some such fantasy crazy.”

“Two murders and one explicit blackmail demand…this guy is going to be twisted when we find him.”

Connor shook his head. “No. He’s the kind you meet, shake hands with, interview, and until forensics matches DNA and tells you that’s the killer, you would swear he was just another interview in the files,” he replied, beginning to worry for the first time about a case. This one was out of his league.

“It will crack the same way every case does, by shoe leather and persistence. And he’s already made one mistake.”

“What?”

Marsh walked over to the painting and studied the message, and when he turned it was a hard smile on his face, the kind Connor knew to be wary about. “He got greedy. A man who wants money-he won’t disappear into the shadows and do his best to get away from here and his killings. No, he’ll sit back and wait for the time to demand his payment. And we’ll be waiting for him.”

He nodded. “He did his two murders, left his notes, and he’ll still be around.”

Connor moved back to the doorway to get a sense of the room again and how the initial struggle must have gone down. “You don’t ask a dead guy for money, so that leaves out our victims. You don’t ask the cops for money, because that is a simple waste of your breath. So this guy is targeting the guy with the most money-that would be Daniel-and working his way through the employees, proving he’s dangerous enough to Daniel that it is better to pay up than risk another person in that circle dying.”

“That’s the way I see it. Daniel is going to need better security. And everyone who worked at the estate in the last few years. Marie and Tracey-at least they’re already pretty tightly covered.”

“Granger is already looking at answering the most critical question-is there a third murder out there we just haven’t discovered yet? It’s possible the amount and the directions are already waiting for us at another crime scene.”

“Let’s hope that is a no; I want a full night’s sleep first.” Connor let himself smile. “This is getting very, very old,” he agreed. “You want the living room or the kitchen?”

“I’ll take this room. Start on the kitchen, and when the forensics folks get here you and I will leave them to it and go see Granger, then begin the interviews. I think we’ve seen enough to go start asking people who aren’t dead some questions.”