IT LIVES IN THE BASEMENT (6 page)

Softly and concisely, trying on his concerned-father-voice and laying his hand on top of hers, Carter said, “Not this time, young lady.  You don’t seem to realize your boyfriend was murdered.  He didn’t just die, he was killed.  You didn’t see his body, but we did.  It looks as if he might
’ve been killed by a psychopath.  So, until I’m satisfied you aren’t involved in his murder, or the psycho isn’t coming after you, you’ll stay locked up under protective custody.  Because we don’t have any suspects or clues in his murder, our investigation could take several years. Hopefully, by the time you turn eighteen, the killer will have forgotten all about you.  Maybe.  If not, once you hit the streets as an adult, the killer could still be out there, patiently waiting for you.”

Maria’s eyes widened in fright.  “No
.  You have to catch him.  I can’t stay locked up for two years.  I can’t.”

Pepper said, “Okay Maria, calm down and let’s go over your story again.  We also need the names of everyone here last night, and where they are now
.”

The girl began her story
again.  What is the motive for this murder? Carter thought.  Certainly not from jealousy over the girl, who’d probably slept with every man here at one time or another.  And the motive definitely wasn’t robbery.  Carter heard the front door close, and footsteps coming.  Rickerman stood in the kitchen doorway, motioning for Carter to follow him.

In the living room, not far from where Waltham had puked, Rickerman delivered his message.  “Sir, Captain Reames informed me Sargent Alvarez is on his way.  Captain Reames wouldn’t go into details over the air.  He also said you have to ride back with Sargent Alvarez, or us, as there aren’t any spare cars today.  The streets are so bad
we aren’t answering accident calls unless bodily injury is involved.”  Pointing outdoors, he said, “And it’s sleeting again.  How can it be sleeting at forty below?  But it is.  Big, wet drops that freeze when they land.  It’s going to get bad, Lieutenant.  Almost sixty percent of our fleet is already out of commission, and the four pm shift is calling in as they aren’t able to make it to the station.  It looks like the mess you have here is nothing compared with the mess we have on the streets.”

Carter nodded, hating the fact
he’d been right about this day.  “Nothing but good news, huh?  Got any idea when Alvarez or Juvie hall will get here?”

Rickerman answered, “Oh.  I forgot.  Juvie isn’t coming, neither is Immigration.   The city
’s shut down.  We’re supposed to either bring them, if we can, or turn them loose.  That’s what I was told, sir.  Honest.”  Shrugging, he continued, “As for Alvarez, I guess he’ll get here alright.  The guy’s a nutcase.  Oh, I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that, Lieutenant.  I’ve never worked with the guy, but I’ve heard stories about him.  None of the Uniforms want to work with him.  They say he has only one oar in the water.”

Carter nodded in understanding.  He
’s never worked with Alvarez either, but he knew the man on sight and also heard the same rumors.  “That’s okay, Rickerman.  And you’re probably right, Alvarez will get here.  He has a four-wheel-drive Blazer, with big chains on each wheel.  If anyone can get here, he will.  Then you and Kaslowski are on Standing Alert?”

Rickerman answered, “Right, sir.  We’re here to help you unless we get called away.”

All cops knew about Standing Alerts, but most civilians didn’t.  In extreme situations, like the weather today, all police cruisers are ordered to stay put wherever they happen to be, until they’re told to move.  The Sanding Alerts achieved several purposes, the dispatchers know exactly where each patrol car is, and it keeps the patrol cars from the potential of accidents, which could put the car or the Officer out of commission.

This was a safe and logical procedure when used.  But depending on where you are when the order goes into effect, it could make for one long, boring shift, or a very nerve-racking and possibly volatile one.  And contrary to what citizens think, the majority of 911 calls on days like this won’t be from car accidents.  There wil
l always be someone who just had to go to the store, or the occasional drunk that thinks they are still sober enough to drive, even on solid ice.  The real 911 calls originate in the homes, when people know they‘re trapped and can’t get out.  They start acting strange, having arguments with family members over nothing, which can lead to fights, knifings or shootings. Police Officers would much rather be peeling you off a telephone pole then going into a house for a domestic disturbance call.

Outside, there was a
chink-a-chink of heavy chains, then a harsh scarping noise followed by a loud ka-bump.  Carter and Rickerman rushed to the cracked, dirty, front room window, seeing the front of Sergeant Alvarez’s green Blazer smashed up against the front of Rickerman and Kaslowski’s idling patrol car.  Steam came rolling out from under the hood of the cruiser.

“Shit
,” Rickerman exclaimed, bolting out the front door.

From the front window, Carter saw Rickerman slip and slid
e his way across the ice and snow covered sidewalk.  There was the sound of scraping and tearing metal as Alvarez backed his Blazer away from the cruiser, pieces of its crumpled front end falling onto the ice-covered street.  Steam shot out from under the front of the cruiser.  The Blazer had a big reinforced cage bumper, and in the center sat an orange hydraulic unit for a snowplow.  As near as Carter could tell, the Blazer wasn’t damaged, but that sure looked like part of the cruiser’s radiator hanging off the hydraulic unit.

Slipping, Rickerman fell near the front fender, just as Alvarez drove past
, trying to get around the totaled cruiser.  With a knot in his stomach, Carter feared Rickerman had been run over.  With chained tires spinning, the Blazer passed the cruiser.  Carter saw Rickerman unhurt, hugging the front tire of his beat-up police car.  Steering between two cars and over the curb, Alvarez stopped across the sidewalk.  He climbed out with a big, oversized briefcase and walked gingerly toward the house, not glancing over at the cruiser, where an angry Rickerman stood, with one hand on his holstered revolver’s butt, cussing.

From behind him, Carter heard Kaslowski’s soft
voice say, “That mother fucker.  Look at that mess.”  Violently opening the door, she stormed out as Alvarez came in.

The short, thin Alvarez stood in the entryway in a heavy, gray topcoa
t, looking at the puddle of congealed vomit on the floor, then up at Carter.

Carter was upset.  “Sergeant, what the hell happened out there?  Do you realize you wrecked a police car and came damn close to running over one of our Officers?”

Taking off his topcoat, Sergeant Alvarez folded it neatly, laid it on the arm of the beat-up sofa, bent and picked up his oversized briefcase.  He answered nonchalantly, “The streets were slick.”

Car
ter stared dumbfounded at him, Alvarez offered no apologizes or showed any remorse. 

Hol
ding out his hand, he said, “I am Sergeant Pete Alvarez.  I know you.  You are Lieutenant John Carter.  Kind of far from your area are you not, sir?”  Looking around he asked, “Where is the body?”

Trying not to get upset over this strange man, Carter shook Alvarez’s hand.  “The body’s gone, Alvarez.  Coroner has it.”

The little man admonished, “What?  I wanted to see the body where you found it.  I told them to wait.  Dammit.”  Then as an afterthought he added, “By the way, call me Pete.”

Carter reassured him, “Relax, Alv, uh, Pete, we have one-hu
ndred Polaroid’s for you to look over.”

The little man exclaimed, “Yeah.  Pictures.  But that is not the same as being able to put your hands on the actual body, is it?”

Carter shuddered, remembering the body and the pictures.  “Uh, no, I guess not.”

In the kitchen, Carter introduced Waltham, who then began to fill Alvarez in on the facts.  There wasn’t much to tell; a young male with his genitals either ripped, or torn out, who then bled to death.  No suspects, no motives and no missing body parts found.

Alvarez set his overstuffed briefcase on the kitchen table and started shuffling through the photos.  Removing his suit coat, placing it on the back of a kitchen chair, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing thin, brown arms.  Taking half a dozen photos, he wandered into the bathroom.  Waltham looked over at Carter, who shrugged and sat at the kitchen table.  Carter poured himself more coffee, adding brandy from the sliver flask.  Hearing a heated conversation between Rickerman and Kaslowski as they came in the front door, he poured more coffee and brandy for them.

Rickerman’s uniform was caked with brown, slushy snow mixed with antifreeze from the busted radiator.  He was furious.   “Did you see what that basta--?”

Holding a finger to his lips, Carter pointed to the bathroom, and held out a cup of coffee.

With shaking hands, face red with rage, Rickerman took a big gulp of hot coffee and started coughing, Pepper thumping him on the back.  When his coughing fit subsided,
in a croaky voice he said, “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Looking into the bathroom with anger and disgust, Pepper whispered.  “Sir, I already did that.”

Striding with curiosity to the bathroom doorway, Carter peered down at Alvarez kneeling in front of the toilet, his arm deep inside the bowl full of bloody water and human waste.

Rickerman whispered back, “Yeah Pepper, but you had sense enough to use a
coat hanger, not your hand.”

Carter walked away from Alvarez, his stomach doing a flip-flop again.  Ye
p, one oar in the water alright, and he wasn’t sure whether that one was wet.

Pepper, staring for a few seconds, said
, “Yuck,” and taking her cup, went into the living room, alone.

Alvarez strode
out of the bathroom, photos in his left hand, leaving a trail of bloody, brown, gray chunks on the dirt encrusted floor, dripping from his gore-covered right forearm and hand.  He deposited an unrecognizable glob on the dirty counter by the sink, then began washing his hands under the faucet. 

Wiping his arm and
hands on a dirty, yellow dish towel, he smiled at Carter as if he’d solved the world’s mysteries.  “John, I have your case figured out.”  He froze, catching sight of Rickerman pouring some liquid from a silver flask into his cup.  “Officer, are you drinking alcohol while on duty?” Alvarez asked sternly.

From the doorway came Pepper’s disdainful voice, “For your information,
Sergeant
, because you wreaked our car, we are no longer
on
duty.  We were told by Dispatch to aid the Lieutenant, and try to find our way either back to the station or home, or worse, to stay here overnight until tomorrow.    And I’m not staying here.”

The thin man went on undaunted, “But you should not be drinking alcoholic beverages while in uniform, and in front of a minor female involved in a homicide case.  And do not worry about getting back to the station, my vehicle will make it
.”

Pepper’s face became beet red as she snap
ped, “Sergeant Alvarez, I’m not riding anywhere with you.  I’ll walk home first.”

Trying to ward off an argument in front of civilians, Carter held up his hand sayin
g, “Enough.   Pete, I gave the Officers the booze, so yell at me.  As for your recent actions outside, I’ll talk with you later, in Captain Reames’ office.  Now, what have you figured out?”

Alvarez stared at Maria, saying, “First, I think she should be removed to another room.  She cannot help us here, and I do not want her hearing this.”

Carter nodded to Pepper, who said, “Come on, Maria.  Let’s go into the front room so they can talk.”  Standing, the frightened girl followed Pepper.

Sitting in the chair Maria had vacated, Alvarez instructed the two detained Mexicans
, lined up against the fingerprint-smudged fridge, to sit on the floor.  Rickerman removed Martinez’s cuffs, who then sat on the floor beside the shorter Mexican, both wide-eyed with fright.

Noticing the Styrofoam cups
, Alvarez asked, “May I?”  Carter nodded, so Alvarez pumped coffee from the airpot, pouring brandy into his cup.  Rickerman’s eyebrows rose; Carter winked at him and smiled.

After taking a long drink, the thin, little man unsnapped and opened his overstuffed briefcase.  Looking at the two men sitting on the floor, he started asking questions in rapid-fire Spanish; which part of Mexico were they born, and how long ago had they left their birthplace.

Neither Carter nor Waltham could follow the interrogation.  Carter noticed the two men seemed more than willing to cooperate with Alvarez.  Was it because Alvarez was himself Mexican, or because he spoke Spanish?  Carter decided it was a little of both, and sat waiting while they finished talking.

Alvarez handed one of the Mexicans a plastic-covered map and a grease pencil.  After making some marks on the map, he handed it back.  After glancing at the marked map, Alvarez became excited, “Okay, John.  This is a Top Secret project I have been working on for most of my life.  I never thought I would f
ind one, but I think, no, I know
I have now.”

Carter remained quiet, the obvious question not coming from him, but from Waltham.  “Found one what, Sergeant?”

Leaning forward, Alvarez whispered, “A Tescara, gentlemen.”