Blood (4 page)

              A patrolman brought in another man, ninety-two years old, who complained that the officer was harassing him.  Pulled over for driving twenty-eight miles per hour on Interstate 95, the elderly man gave the officer his driver’s license.  Upon inspection the patrolman discovered that the license had expired in 1971.  The officer called for a tow truck and politely explained to the gentleman that he couldn’t drive the car home.  Now the retired milkman who had stopped working in 1968 demanded that the police department pay for the towing charge.

              Just before noon Commissioner Williams came by and the two men went to lunch.  Williams drove and they decided on Carey Hilliard’s.  They were just finishing a great meal when Williams noticed a familiar figure walking toward them.

              “Look out!  We have trouble.”

              Underwood turned to find Mayor John Roukasis coming up behind him.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor.  We’re almost done, but you are welcome to join us.”

              The newcomer frowned.  “Save the amenities, Captain Underwood.  I understand we have a serious problem at the station.”  The mayor looked dapper, as usual, in his custom tailored suit.  Tall and aristocratic, he loved to stick his prominent Grecian nose in the affairs of all of the city’s departments.  Pulling on his pencil-thin mustache, as he usually did before he raked some underling over the coals, he reminded Underwood of Snidely Whiplash, the cartoon villain. How he ever got reelected three times was beyond comprehension. 

              The mayor continued.  “Why wasn’t I informed of the situation?”  

              Williams snorted.  “I’d say you were very informed, especially about what goes on in our department.  Could you be a little more specific about which of our many problems you are talking about?”

              “Why, the missing prisoner, of course.”  Roukasis looked smug.

              Captain Underwood fielded that question.  “We cannot discuss an ongoing investigation.  When Internal Affairs completes their investigation, they will give us the results.  Then, if we feel you should be apprised of the situation, we will share the results with you.”

              The mayor’s smirk turned into a growl.  “If you feel . . .?  Who do you think you’re talking to, you jackass?  I’m the mayor of this city, and  . . .”

              Underwood raised a hand.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor.  I mean no disrespect.  But as I said, I cannot comment on an ongoing internal investigation.  When the investigation is complete, I will compile the results and personally present them to you.”

              Roukasis sniffed.  “I need to have this wrapped up before the media gets wind of it.  Too many leaks, you know.”

              “You’ll have the results as soon as we do, Your Honor.”

              The commissioner jumped in.  “And speaking of leaks, your honor, how did you find out about that little problem?”

              A smirk appeared on the mayor’s face.  “I have my ways.  Now what is being done to make sure that your ‘little problem’ doesn’t happen again?”

              Captain Underwood and the commissioner looked at each other and shrugged.  Williams took the question.  “We can’t prevent it unless we can discover how the escape was performed.  Until then, we would be wasting a lot of valuable department manpower and time in guesswork.

              Roukasis shook his head in disgust.  “Well, keep me informed of developments.”  He hurried over to join a group of city and county councilmen, where he could get a little more respect.

              Heading back to the station, progress was slowed by construction on Liberty Street.  Underwood mused that no matter where he went lately, he seemed to run into some form of road work and the inevitable delays.

              Finally managing to make their way back, somewhat the worse for wear, Underwood found Detective Owens and her partner sitting outside his office door.  She jumped to her feet as he approached.  “Captain, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

              “Come in, Gail.  Bill.  Give me a chance to catch my breath.”

              The woman followed Underwood into the office.  Tall and slender, she had a fluidity in her movements that reminded Underwood of a cat.  A nose that was too big for her face, bushy eyebrows, and ears that stuck out when she wore her hair pulled back overshadowed her grace, which was always.  Detective Owens would never be a prom queen, but, as Underwood looked at her, he realized that a little makeup, a more flattering hairdo, and some grooming would do wonders for her looks.  Not that it would ever happen; Gail Owens was not into grooming.  The daughter of a thirty-year policeman, she had never wanted to be anything other than a cop. 

              Her partner limped to a seat next to her.  Bill Wilson had just six months to go until retirement and he was short timing it until then.  They sat in front of the big, weathered desk that took up the north wall.  After glancing at the small stack of messages that had appeared on his desk since he had left for lunch, the captain settled back and looked up at the inexperienced detective and her partner.  “Be gentle, people.  I’ve had a rough afternoon!”

              Owens turned to Wilson, who shrugged. An excellent and thorough evidence collector, she never knew how to take the captain.  Lacking a sense of humor, she had trouble recognizing a joke when she heard one.  Underwood surmised that it was probably the result of being the butt of so many on her way up the department ladder.  It wasn’t easy for a woman in a man’s world.

              “Yes, sir.”  She paused, then continued in a rush.  “I completed the calls to most of the witnesses to last night’s homicide at Matilda Park, the Griffin girl.  Only three people actually saw the assailant, and none of them could confirm or deny the existence of a mask.  Patrolman Evans and I spent an hour scouring the neighborhood, with no new information.”

              The captain sighed.  “Too bad.  Knowing one way or the other would narrow our possibilities.”  He shrugged.  “What’s the other news?”

              “We got several usable fingerprints from the girl’s purse.  You know, a patent leather handbag.  Great for latents.  All but one of the prints belonged to the girl.  We compared the unidentified print to fingerprints we have in our files.  We always do before we send them out to the crime lab.”

              The captain was patient.  “I understand.  Standard procedure for this department.”

              “Oh, yes sir.  Sorry sir!  I didn’t mean to--”

              “Am I to understand that you got a match?”

              “Yes sir.  The print belongs to that blood guy, Patrick.”

              Underwood shot upright in his chair.  “WHAT?”

              Her eyes grew big.  “Yes sir!  You know, the guy who escaped.  That man who covered himself in blood.”

              “Are you sure?”

              Owens stared as the captain’s finger tried to rub right through the desk.  She tore her eyes away from his hands and back to his face.  “Yes sir.  The lab gave me the results a half-hour ago.  When I recognized the name I rushed right over.  The computer stopped counting after fifteen points of similarity and, as you are aware, it only takes eleven to make a confirmed match.”

              Underwood was deep in thought, his head spinning in overdrive.  “I knew there was something odd about the girl’s death, but I never expected the case to develop a link to Patrick.”

              His brain spun the myriad scenarios around before he decided that he needed to alert his superiors before making any decisions on this political hot potato.  The senior policeman reached for the intercom.  “Martha, get the commissioner on the phone.  I need to speak to him immediately.”  He turned to the detective.  “Gail, Bill, don’t go away.  I want you in on this discussion.”

              The intercom came back to life. “Commissioner Williams on line two, Captain.”

              “Thank you, Martha.”  He reached for the phone and pushed two buttons, one for the speaker phone and one for line two.  “Commissioner, Detective Owens is here with me.  We have a disturbing development in the Patrick case.”

              The commissioner listened without interruption, while Underwood outlined the facts.  When the captain completed his account, Williams remained quiet for over a minute, running possibilities through his head.  “I’m glad you briefed me.  Obviously the situation has taken a drastic turn.  Homicide is definitely a few steps above the escape charge.  The question we face now is what are we going to do next?”

              Underwood nodded.  “Commissioner, Detective Owens is in charge of this homicide and should be the one to direct all our efforts.  Gail, what are your thoughts?”  He turned to her expectantly.

              Owens sat there, a stunned look on her face.  Underwood sympathized .  Her first time as lead detective and she must have felt like he was throwing her to the wolves, expecting her to tell the commissioner how to handle it.  She twisted in her seat to look at Wilson for support.  He shrugged again. She glanced back at the captain.  All he could do was sit there and look confidently toward her.

              She took a deep breath and began.  “Well, I assume we have around-the-clock surveillance on the suspect’s home.  That is the only reference point we have for him.  He apparently has no immediate family in the area.”

              The captain nodded.  “Good.  That is already in place.”

              Her eyes widened, but her voice was calm. “Yes sir.  Have officers gone door to door around his home to see if the neighbors can give us any more information on him?” 

              Another nod.  “Also been done.  Not one person would admit to saying more than a hello to him from time to time.  No one had ever seen anyone visit the home, either.”

              “Can I also assume that you have gotten a warrant and searched the house already?”

              “Yep.  We found nothing that gave us any clues to his whereabouts.”

              She looked ready to panic as she tried again.  “Copies of his photograph have been circulated around town, to see if anyone can give us clues to where he works or hangs out?”

              Again he shook his head in the affirmative.  “It has been done, but now that the stakes have increased, we’ll do it again with twice as many pictures and people.  We need to find him as soon as possible.  In the meantime, any other suggestions?”

              “Units should be assigned to patrol each park.”

              This time he shook his head.  “Not feasible.  We have too many parks and not enough officers.  I would have to assign a lot of overtime, and I can’t do that on what amounts to a hunch.  Remember there has been only one attack in a park so far.”

              “So far.”  She added the words grimly. “But you agree that it is a possibility.”

              “Detective, if I acted on every possibility, our annual budget would be depleted in three months.  It would be wonderful to have a lot of surplus manpower to put on situations like this, but the sad truth is, we have more pressing problems in the city than one attacker that may or may not strike again near a park.  However, I agree with your assessment enough to have nearby units circle the parks more frequently looking for any suspicious behavior.”

              “Thank you, Captain.”

              “Don’t mention it.  Any more ideas?” 

              The nod was in her court again.  “Yes sir.  I believe the nighttime surveillance team should be equipped with night vision goggles.  The probability is that if the suspect tries to go home, he’ll do it in the dark to avoid being spotted.  He’s comfortable working in the dark, which we learned in our first encounter.  The goggles might give us an edge on him.”

              Underwood’s eyes widened slightly, and he smiled.  “An excellent idea.  I never thought of that.  Both encounters have been at night.  Maybe we can get the drop on him if he thinks he’s safe in the shadows.”

              The captain sat back in his chair. “Any other suggestions?  What about you, Commissioner?  Anything to add?  Wilson?” 

              Wilson shook his head in the negative.  From the phone, Williams declined with a laugh.  “I’ll leave that up to the experts, thanks.”

              Underwood jumped back in.  “Well, if there’s nothing else, we can all get back to work.  Detectives, the changes we discussed will be in place as soon as possible.”

              Captain Underwood said goodbye to the commissioner as the detectives got up and started out of the room.  Replacing the phone, he spoke softly, “Could I see you for a moment, Owens?”

              Owens and Wilson exchanged glances, then Wilson shrugged and left the office.  Owens sat back down.

              When the door closed, Underwood looked at the woman, “Detective Owens, I couldn’t help but notice your expression during the discussion.   You seemed a little down.  I hope you don’t feel I was trying to one-up you.”

              “Oh, no sir, I--”

              “Don’t feel bad that I had already thought of most of your ideas.  Rather be pleased that you did think of them.  It shows me that you know what you are doing.  We’re on the same wavelength, and remember, we are on the same team, after all.  We should be thinking alike.  It’s not a contest.  And by the way, the idea of the night vision goggles was brilliant.  It confirms my faith in naming you to the squad.  Keep up the good work.”