DAMIEN HATED LEAVING FELMAN BEHIND AT NORTHAMPTON; BUT FELMAN told him that he should have his "walking papers," as he put it, within a week, as the police, priest, and lawyer with him had convinced Dr. Joyce that his speedy departure was important. The psychiatrist had grumbled about breaking policy but had consented, telling them he'd call a review board to look over Felman's papers as soon as possible, he was glad they were going to give him another breakdown, have a nice day. With that the group departed, sans Felman, who waved goodbye at the door to the ward.
Mulroy was writing something in his pocket calendar as Damien caught up to him, having stayed behind to say a few more words to Felman. He glanced down just as the detective shut the book and put it away. "What's that for?"
"Just clearing time for our next 'appointment,'" Mulroy replied. "Feel like going to City Hall tomorrow?"
Damien paused before answering. City Hall was the location of the Opera House, not to mention the City Police station. Mulroy was obviously going to ask for an "audience" with the chief of police. The other cops with them glanced over at him as they walked back to the visitors' parking lot.
"I was thinking about what you said," Mulroy explained. "About reopening the files. Chief Jones is the one behind it. If you want them reopened, you'd have to go through him."
"And you think he'd give us permission?"
Mulroy shrugged. "I don't know. At first he was really great for us--he helped us out and everything. Then after B's--" He cut himself off, taking a look at Trooper Broderick, who was walking ahead and apparently ignoring the whole conversation. "Uh--he just suddenly stopped it all. Told us to shut it down and lock it up. He never gave us any reason." He sighed and cocked his head. "Then again, I suppose the chief of police doesn't need any reason. He does have jurisdiction."
"So you're going to talk to him?"
"Heck, I'm going to try. I'm not sure how it'll work out but I suppose, after all we've been through, that it can't hurt."
"When are you going down there?"
"We could go today, if you're feeling up to it after the ride back."
"Up to it? I'm never feeling up to a murder investigation, but that doesn't mean I have a choice."
Temple, bringing up the rear, chuckled. "Welcome to the real world," was all he said.
Broderick declined going to City Hall with them. Damien watched him go back to the State Police station, a tinge of apprehension gnawing at the back of his mind. [Note--I believe I meant "twinge."] Mulroy had started to say something concerning both Chief Jones and Broderick, and had checked himself at the last moment; he was definitely hiding something. Damien left his car at the station and jogged over to join Mulroy, letting himself in and slamming the door as he buckled his seatbelt. The detective just looked at him.
"Forget how to drive?" Damien inquired. "You just shift into reverse, put your foot on the gas--"
"Yeah, right." Mulroy looked back over his shoulder as he followed the procedure and backed out into Main Street, then shifting back into drive and speeding away.
"I believe you've got your own car?" he said as they went, giving the singer an uneasy glance.
"Yeah, a lot better than this one. But I wanted to talk to you about something."
"About what I nearly said back at Northampton, huh."
Not even a question. "Yeah, you could say that."
Mulroy sighed. "I didn't want to bring it up in front of B. No one has since it happened. No one wants to."
"Bring up what? What happened?" He looked at the detective closely. "Did it have to do with why the Scorpio case was shut down?"
"I don't know. Personally I think it did. But I bet Jones has a million other reasons. Lack of manpower, for one. Not enough money, for another."
"Yeah, yeah. About Broderick?"
Mulroy nodded, trying to get his thoughts in order. He sighed again and began. "B was married to this nurse that worked at Memorial Hospital."
Damien was only slightly surprised. Broderick didn't seem like the kind of guy to be married. Still, that didn't answer things. "And?"
"Well, he had two kids. A teenage boy. Jordan. And a little girl. Sara."
He'd had kids? "So what happened?"
"Well, it turned out his wife--Carol--she was having an affair with some friend of B's." Damien didn't like the sound of this already. "I guess B wasn't at home enough or something. Stress on the job. That's because we were right in the middle of the Scorpio investigation then."
"He was taking his job a little too seriously?"
"Yeah, you could say that. He was practically taking crime folios to bed with him. I wouldn't be surprised if he did. Carol's the only one who could've told me that."
Could've? He didn't ask. He let Mulroy go on.
"So, the case dragged on, things went from bad to worse--B always working late and things--it got so that even Mabarak knew what was going on." Damien shuddered at the mention of the police lieutenant's name, but still said nothing. "He told Carol she'd better stop what she was doing 'cause it was that obvious. The only one who didn't really seem to notice it was B. At least, pretended not to notice. Till he caught her in the act."
"Red-handed, huh."
A snort. "Guess you could say so. They got a divorce after that. Carol got custody of the kids. Not that B wouldn't've made a good enough dad. It's just that dads have to be home at least part of the time."
Damien nodded.
"He got visitation rights, though. Friday of every week. Jordan was the only problem. He didn't get along too well with B. Had quite a mouth on him. I think he took too much after him. Sara was a little angel. Sweetest little kid you ever saw. This one day B was waiting for Carol to drop the kids off and she didn't show up. So of course he went over to pick them up. That's where--" He broke off again and studied the road. Damien found the nagging in the back of his head growing louder. Every time he blinked he saw red before his eyes, bright blood red.
"...There was blood all over the floor. On the wall. The furniture. Carol was shot twice. Upstairs was Sara's room. She was shot four times. One bullet for each year of her life. Jordan was the lucky one. He wasn't at home."
Thankfully, the color drained out of Damien's vision, so he could see in only black and white for several seconds. He found that strange condition much better than seeing red. "Did Jordan do it?"
"Jordan? Oh, hell, no. He was just gone 'cause he didn't want to meet with B. That's why he was lucky. Carol's boyfriend showed up a while later when she didn't keep an appointment. He's lucky he didn't freak out. At least, not at first. Upstairs he found B with Sara. I think he was in shock or something. He took his gun from him; he thought B did it at first. That's what it looked like; I mean, Carol's dead downstairs, she's been having this affair and now she's got the kids; and here's B upstairs with Sara and blood all over him, just sitting there like he's nuts. It was this guy who called 911; probably the smartest thing he ever did." A snort. "They finally got Carol's body out of there, and B too. Sara was still alive." Damien looked up, surprised. Alive? "She was in the hospital for several hours. Then that was it." [Note--you can see a short scene regarding this, entitled "Random Scene 8."] He shrugged as they pulled into the City Hall parking lot and turned off the engine, sitting back and rubbing his eyes. "So B ends up stuck with custody of Jordan, the son that doesn't even care that he exists. Jordan just said hell with it and ran off. As far as he cared B did murder them. If he were my son, I'd smack some sense into him, law or no law." He turned to Damien and offered a faint, tired smile. "B just got worse after that. All he did was sit at home and drink. The guys in charge gave him an 'extended vacation.' Said he'd earned a break. Finally. Too bad they hadn't given it to him a lot sooner."
A pause.
"Well, I guess the bottom's the lowest you can get. I went to visit him one morning and he was asleep at the kitchen table. There were all these broken bottles in the sink. He came back to work the next day. Nobody ever said anything about it. Nobody ever has. It wasn't too long after that that the files were closed. We never did figure out just who killed them. We didn't know if it had anything to do with Scorpio or not. There was no M written on the wall or anything. Then again, there was nobody else we could think of. Both B and Jordan had alibis. So did the boyfriend. I guess we just never investigated it thoroughly, because of everything that was happening. If it was connected to Scorpio, we never got the chance, because of what Jones did."
"God." Damien was the one to rub his eyes now. "No wonder nobody talks about it."
"Yeah, no wonder."
A knock on the window. Both of them jumped with surprise. Temple was looking in at them.
"You two plan to join us, or sit out here and make goo-goo eyes at one another?" he quipped.
Mulroy gave him a dirty smile and they got out, following him, Father Damien, Bowen, and Kincaid into the building.
At the station Mulroy had called ahead to talk with the chief of police, making it very clear he wouldn't take no for an answer. After they'd taken just a few steps down the hall a police officer came ahead to meet them.
"Detective Mulroy?" he called. The group stopped as he approached; he was too young to be the chief. He smiled and his brown eyes shone warmly as he came forward, holding out his hand.
"Where's Chief Jones?" Mulroy asked, looking slightly annoyed and disappointed.
The smile turned apologetic. "I'm afraid he can't meet with you right now. He's busy. But he sent me out to meet you. I'm Officer Troy D'Amato." Mulroy looked at his hand, as if with disgust, and then shook it. What business did Chief Jones have sending out this rookie to talk to them? Father Damien, ever the mediator, stepped forward to shake his hand next, then Temple and then the rest. "I'm sorry he couldn't keep your appointment. But maybe I can help out."
"Oh? How do you plan to go about doing that?" Damien peered at Mulroy, surprised by the biting tone in his voice. The detective truly seemed to be pissed off that their appointment had been broken so abruptly.
Officer D'Amato shrugged; his smile never wavered. He managed to look formal and nonchalant at the same time. I'll bet he's good with the ladies, Damien thought. He's got that Italian charm. "Well, for one thing, you could tell me all that's on your mind. Then maybe I can give you a hand. You left no hints with Chief Jones as to what this is all about. I have no idea either."
"That's because it's none of your damn business."
"Maybe we would be better off just sitting down and talking this over," Father Damien offered. Mulroy glanced at him, sensing a ploy, but finally gave in.
"Yeah, sure," he muttered. "Whatever you want."
"Have any of you eaten today?" D'Amato asked.
"Not since this morning."
"Great! I know this wonderful place."
"And here he goes, with the Italian food," Mulroy whispered to Damien and his uncle.
"It's the Gold Nugget. Ever been there?"
They all started at the name of the Chinese restaurant just across the street. [Note--a real location. At least, it used to be. It's since converted into a different restaurant, I believe. But we still have two other Chinese restaurants. The city hall/Opera House and city police headquarters are real, too. UPDATE TO NOTE--now, only one Chinese/Thai restaurant. Cheboygan has lousy luck with Chinese restaurants, it seems.] "I--uh--yeah," Mulroy stammered.
"Great!" D'Amato said again. "We can just drop by over there and talk this over. I love the crab rangoon. If you'll follow me!"
He turned and strode briskly for the door. The group stared after him for a moment, then followed him out, still confused.
Damien and his uncle could tell from the start that Mulroy disliked Officer D'Amato, though the latter completely ignored his looks. D'Amato was sketching out his life on the City Police force while digging into his fried rice (with chopsticks, no less--he claimed it "heightened the experience"), every once in a while answering a question put to him by either Temple or Father Damien, both of which were carefully prodding at him to make sure he was all that he seemed. For his part, D'Amato didn't seem to be hiding anything. Seem.
"I've been on the force about--oh, what is it, four years now?" he said when Father Damien asked.
"So you haven't heard about the Scorpio files, have you?" Temple inquired.
D'Amato glanced up, poking the chopsticks into his mouth. "'Scorpio files'? What, is that some kind of horoscope thing?"
Pure innocence. Damien found that hard to believe.
"Not exactly," Temple replied.
"Was it something like the Zodiac Killer?"
Somewhat closer to the mark. Damien was surprised he'd done that much homework. "A little closer, but not quite," Temple said. "We were wondering if there might be some way you could open them up."
"You mean they're closed? What are they, anyway?"
"They're secret," Mulroy said, as if he disliked D'Amato's prodding, though he'd have to find out anyway. "That's probably why you've never heard of them."
"Secret files," D'Amato murmured, turning the phrase over in his mouth like the fried rice. "Sounds interesting. What're they about?"
"Scorpio is the name of this cult," Damien decided to let him know.
Now D'Amato looked at him. He still had that completely innocent look in his eyes, but Damien knew it could be easily faked--especially by members of Scorpio. He wasn't going to take any chances with this guy. "A cult? Do you mean like 'Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna,' that kinda cult?"
"No. More like 'Hail Satan, hail Satan,'" Mulroy said. Damien sensed the older detective was trying to scare him.
D'Amato's eyes widened. "A Satanic cult? Wow. We don't get many of those around here. Why are you interested in it now?"
"Because of that young lady who was murdered last week," Temple answered. "We believe she may have been involved somehow."
"Oh, her. I was wondering what that was all about. Who called that one in?"
"A Trooper Broderick of the State Police."
"Yeah, that was the one. They've still got her in the morgue. They're hoping relatives'll come forward. So far nobody has. You think this was a cult hit, huh?"
"We're not sure yet," Damien said. "Which is why we were wondering if your boss could reopen the Scorpio files."
"My boss?" Now D'Amato looked surprised. "You mean Chief Jones shut down the files? Why on Earth would he do that?"
"Pressure from above?" Mulroy murmured; Temple shot him a look. The lawyer turned back to D'Amato and smiled politely.
"We don't know. We thought perhaps you could talk with him. We were going to but it seems he's busy."
"Yeah, Chief Jones is a pretty busy man. Even I hardly get to talk to him. Then again, I'm not exactly high on his list of priorities." He laughed to himself. "But maybe I can try to talk with him. I'm not sure what he'll say. If he shut it down, I'm sure he had a good reason."
"Maybe not." Damien decided it was time to lay all his cards on the table. "Look, Officer D'Amato--I've had some experience with your kind. Cops, I mean," he clarified, noting the policeman's look. "Not City Police, but the State. Most of them appear to be good guys but there's always bound to be one bad apple."
He had the officer's attention now. He went on.
"I'm not sure if you've heard of Lieutenant Mabarak or not, but he's the bad apple I just happened to meet. I met another bad apple in North Dakota--one of the City Police. They look and act just like you but they've got something going on on the side--something they don't want anybody else to see. And it's these bad apples that have all the right connections to make sure what they want done gets done, and done well. Are you following me?"
A very long pause. At first Damien thought D'Amato would be insulted, or just not answer. Finally he did.
"You mean you think Chief Jones is taking orders from someone higher, right? Someone connected with this cult of yours?"
He was kind enough to phrase it as a question, leaving it open ended. Damien just smiled slightly and shrugged one shoulder.
"I'm not saying anything like that. I'm just saying it's always a possibility. He'd have no other reason to shut the case down. And we've got to keep our eyes open, just to make sure we don't get conned again. Understand?"
"Sure," D'Amato answered promptly. His voice was neither sarcastic nor scared, sullen nor snide. "I'll let you know right now that I've got no connections to any cult. If you want to keep an eye on me, that's fine. Because you won't be finding anything strange. Nothing like that."
He said it all politely enough, laying out several of his own cards for Damien to see. The singer was just apprehensive that it wasn't the whole hand.
"Sounds good enough," was all he said. "Thanks for the dinner. I know how the force pays you guys so it's on me. Does anybody want anything else?"
Both Bowen and Kincaid murmured something sounding like "full." Temple declined with a shake of his head. D'Amato shrugged and finished with his rice. He reached forward and picked up a fortune cookie, standing up as he did so. "Thanks, then. I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow. I'll try and talk with Chief Jones, but I wouldn't expect a miracle." He smiled and nodded at them, then left, cracking open the cookie as he went.
Bowen, Kincaid, Temple, and Father Damien all rose and started cleaning up after themselves. Mulroy still sat and fiddled with his fork. Damien got up too, stretching his tired limbs and picking up another cookie. As the others walked away he cracked it open and read the message that was contained inside:
[Note--while we ate Chinese together once my mother opened a fortune cookie that told her, "You long to see the pyramids of Egypt." How the hell did she get MY cookie??]
"You want to see the body?"
Mulroy's voice sounded skeptical and uneasy. Damien only nodded. It wasn't that he exactly wanted to see the body; but, pending Felman's release and the receipt of any further information from D'Amato--if any was coming--he felt he needed to see it. Mulroy sighed and bit his lip, glancing at Haley, who stood to the side.
"You're going to have to ask the medical examiner," Haley said, not sounding as upset as Mulroy had. "Dr. Ross is in charge of it now. But I'm sure you'll be able to see it."
"Her. Her," Mulroy muttered.
"See her. Sorry, Detective. It's just that when people end up dead I have the habit of referring to them as its. Would you like me to call Dr. Ross and arrange a meeting?"
"That would be good."
"Just hold on a few moments." He turned and disappeared into the front room of the station. Damien could hear the phone buzzing and then Haley's voice as he asked for Dr. Ross.
"You're positive you want to see her," Mulroy pressed. "I'm not trying to get on your bad side here, Damien, but for some reason I know how you react to mangled bodies."
Damien's jaw tightened but he decided not to retort. Mulroy was being truthful, as far as he was concerned. "I know that, Detective. But right now we've just about exhausted every other lane of research, unless Chief Jones has opened up any."
Mulroy snorted. "Good luck on that one. I doubt D'Amato has any real influence in this case."
There was a biting tone to his voice that Damien didn't like; it came up every time he was talking about D'Amato. Like the mangled bodies comment, Damien decided to let it pass for now. Before he could say anything else, Haley reappeared.
"Got it," he said. "An appointment with Dr. Ross. In an hour. At the County Building. Officer D'Amato will meet you there."
"Goodie," Mulroy said under his breath. Damien just nodded and left the building.
"Got your call," D'Amato said as Damien, Mulroy, Father Damien, Psyche, and Puck came in. Damien had thought to bring in the last two for any impressions they might get--Psyche of the "psychic" kind, Puck's more down-to-earth. Damien noticed that Father Damien could see the antagonism flash in Mulroy's eyes as the younger officer came forward. He glanced at Damien, who shrugged discreetly.
"I was trying to get access myself," D'Amato admitted. "It's a good thing you called when you did or else I wouldn't be here. It seems Broderick was careful with who he wanted to view the body. He left standing orders that only the State could deal with it, or else the county police as they had to."
"Except for Jones?"
"Jones? Oh, Chief Jones. Yeah, he was included too. Follow me. It's this way."
"She's this way," Mulroy whispered through clenched teeth. The group followed the officer down the hall. Halfway down he pushed open a door and waved them forward. They filed in and only then realized that it was the morgue.
"Yeegh," Puck said, with a fake shiver. Father Damien stared at all of the drawers lining the walls, and tried not to think of the bodies they contained.
"Don't worry, most of them are empty," a female voice said. They turned to see a young woman with short-cropped dark hair and glasses coming forward, holding out a hand. The white coat and nametag reading DR. ELIZABETH ROSS left no room for doubt as to who she was. As the nominal leader of the group, Damien accepted her hand first, then Mulroy--who just about snatched it from D'Amato, who stood back with his own hands up in a gesture of submission--then the others. After initial introductions she stood back and looked at them.
"Are you very associated with death, Dr. Ross?" Puck asked, almost conversationally. Damien cringed. To his surprise Dr. Ross only smiled.
"You'd think so, wouldn't you? I know all the stages." [Note--"Elizabeth Ross." Stages of death. Get it? Har har har.] She turned away, towards one of the drawers marked JANE DOE, and unlocked it.
"What the hell was that about?" Mulroy whispered exactly what was on Damien's mind.
"Don't you ever read?" Puck whispered back. "Elizabeth [sic] Kubler-Ross. She wrote a book called On Death And Dying that outlined the different stages of death. [Note--go figure I'd be obvious with my own injoke.] Denial, anger, bargaining--"
"Oh, yeah. That. Never mind." Though that still didn't answer Damien's question.
"Over here, please." They drifted back to form a semicircle around the doctor as she pulled out the drawer.
Damien was allowed to brace himself as the body was covered up with a sheet. D'Amato took his hat off; Mulroy didn't. Puck actually leaned forward. And Dr. Ross pulled back the sheet.
Then he didn't know what he'd been expecting. But it certainly wasn't the face that greeted them. It simply looked as if the woman were asleep, aside from the fact that she was so pale, and dark circles had formed around her eyes. But the bruises around her neck confirmed that she wasn't. Dr. Ross didn't pull the sheet down below the top of her chest, and they couldn't see the pentagram.
"How old is she?" Puck asked.
"Approximately twenty-four. Her fingerprints aren't on file." She pulled open one eyelid, and they could see her eyes were blue. "She died of deep lacerations to the chest. She was mutilated while she was still alive; the strangling only served to make her lose consciousness. In short, everything I'm certain Trooper Broderick told you is true."
"While she was still alive?" Damien couldn't stop his face from screwing up.
Dr. Ross's mouth twitched, the beginning of a smile. "Don't worry. She was unconscious the whole time. The strangling was enough that she didn't regain consciousness, as far as the signs show. There're no signs of a struggle."
"But wouldn't she have struggled while she was being choked?" Puck asked the question the others didn't dare ask.
Dr. Ross nodded. "That's true. But there's something Trooper Broderick couldn't tell you from his 'preliminary examination.' There were signs of drugs in her system."
"Drugs?" Mulroy exclaimed.
"I didn't know this room was so big as to cause an echo. Yes, drugs. A kind of sedative. It's still being analyzed. But it would have sufficiently doped her up to prevent very much of a struggle. She may have fought back, but it wouldn't have amounted to much."
"So she was drugged, strangled, carved up, and then left in the woods to die," Puck murmured. Damien cast a look at him. His face betrayed nothing, though he appeared lost in thought.
"Apparently, yes."
"You have no idea who she is?"
"Nobody's come to claim her. Even after the news story. Perhaps she isn't from around here."
"Maybe not everybody reads the news," Damien put in. "Has anybody put up a drawing?"
"A drawing? No. Not yet. We thought, it's a small town, someone'll come forward--"
"Not necessarily. Maybe you should make a drawing and post it someplace."
"All right. I'll tell Chief Jones. I'm sure we can find--"
"Ma'am?" Dr. Ross turned. It was Puck. He gestured towards the body. "Do you mind?"
She stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "What the hell. It beats paying somebody to do it." She searched around until she found a pad of paper and a pencil. "Knock yourself out."
Damien turned away as Puck leaned over the body and started sketching on the pad. "Doc," he said. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "That's really all you found? Only the pentagram? Nothing else, no signs of assault?"
"As I'm also sure Broderick told you, she's clean as far as rape is concerned." Damien relaxed slightly. So Broderick wasn't hiding anything. At least, about that. "And the pentagram was the only mutilation performed on her body. It was deep enough to score her sternum--her breastbone," she corrected herself, seeing the confused look on his face, "and puncture her ribcage. And even though the cold helped her along, it was loss of blood that contributed most to her death. Her body temperature dropped so much that she literally froze to death."
"In the autumn? There isn't even any snow yet!"
"You don't need snow to freeze to death, Mr. Damien. You only need the right elements. Such as blood loss and constant rain. Blood is what warms the body. As it gets colder the blood retreats more towards the middle of the body. That's what causes your fingers and toes to freeze first when you get frostbite; the extremities are sacrificed for the good of the rest of the body. But when you're losing that blood, it can't do you much good, can it?" [Note--no, I know nothing about medicine or forensics, aside from what I see on TV. Obviously.]
"I suppose not." He said it merely to end the gruesome conversation. Dr. Ross nodded, understanding.
"Listen. I've got some other work I've got to be doing now. If there's anything else you people need, call me. I'll be in the next room. Please cover her up completely and shut the drawer when you're done. I'll trust you to honor the dead."
He was so absorbed in himself that he didn't notice the joking tone of her voice. "Yeah," he said, "we do."
She gave him a look, shrugged, and left the room.
Psyche was leaning over the other side of the dead woman while Puck drew. "She's so still," she said, and the remark sounded a little stupid.
"That's because she's dead," Puck replied.
"No, that's not what I meant. I mean she's peaceful. She doesn't look frightened or anything. You know how some people die with a bad look on their face?"
"Yeah, you mean like they're scared shitless?"
Psyche's mouth twitched. "Kind of like that. She's looks so peaceful. Almost like she wasn't scared at all."
Puck caught the comment and looked up at her. Their eyes locked for a moment before she broke the stare. Thankfully, no one else in the room heard what she considered a stupid theory and Puck kept on drawing. Officer D'Amato came over and glanced over his shoulder.
"That looks just like her," he said. "Where'd you learn to draw like that?"
Puck just grinned at him. "Art classes. Nothing better to do with my spare time than art classes. You ever taken an art class, Officer?"
D'Amato didn't note the sarcastic edge to his voice and was about to reply when Damien cut in. "Let me see." Puck held up the sketchpad. The face of the dead woman stared back--only Puck had drawn her with her eyes open and a slight smile on her face.
"What do you think?" he asked. "That pose is so utterly lifeless. I had to spruce it up a little. Think I succeeded?"
"Yeah, Puck," Damien murmured, taking the drawing and ignoring the lifeless comment. "In more ways than one."
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