Myth Man (7 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Y
OU PISSED AT ME?” Danko asked after Presto seated himself in front of the chief deputy inspector’s desk.

Presto was a trifle testy, but that was due to yet another seat that wasn’t constructed for his proportions. Much of his bottom ballooned over the edges, and he was unable to find a comfort zone. Danko, meanwhile, leaned back in a leather recliner.

“Not in the slightest,” Presto attested evenly while he surveyed Danko’s office. Family man—photos of his wife and kids were in abundance. Beaches, school plays, playgrounds, soccer fields, and baseball diamonds were the settings. Paintings his daughters made were pinned along the wall of his desk. A ‘
World’s Greatest Dad’
business card holder greeted all visitors.

“You have a reason to be,” Danko said, “but I had my reasons. My motives were not what you think they may be.”

Presto was interested but pretended otherwise. “I don’t need to know. You might not believe me, but I am not the attention seeker you may perceive me to be. I like detective work and the satisfaction of serving justice to killers. Other than that, I prefer to be home. I avoid the limelight like a bat avoids the sun. I’m here to help, and if I have to pay my dues to remedy our past, that’s fine by me.”

Danko rolled the seat forward and rested his arms on his desk. “It’s natural that you’d think my goal was to usurp you. To the contrary, I was protecting you.”

Presto was now intrigued and did not suppress his surprise. “Huh?”

“We may not be the best of friends, but you have worse detractors than me. When I advised that I was leaving you on the case, I took some heat. I explained why. After the toxicology report and lead on the murdered Muslim cleric, you deserved to stay aboard. I’m not saying any names; in fact, this conversation never took place, but I was, more or less, ordered to isolate you, not give you any role.”

All Presto could do was nod. First, he’s asked to vacate a vacation, and now they want to farm him. He never understood why he was so misunderstood.
Neither do the mentally insane
, he thought and almost smiled.

Danko frowned. “As I told you before, I follow orders. This time it was an order. Before, it had been a suggestion. This made no sense to me, not after I told them about your contribution. They said they want this handled
delicately
,” Danko pronounced. “And, for whatever reason, you’re perceived as a shit stirrer.”

“Clearly, I need to hire a PR firm to disinfect me,” Presto quipped.

Danko smiled. “That may be,” he agreed. “Last time I told you since I didn’t receive a direct order, my decision was that you should work the case. This time, however, it was an order. So, I’ll isolate you. That means your name does not appear in reports. I still want you to stay on but understand if you want to quit. Heck, I would. You deserve the credit.”

Presto waived his hand in the air. “I’m not quitting, Frank.”

“Good,” Danko said. “I was hoping to hear that. Not just because I’m reaping the benefits of your insight and hope you can still keep the Feds away but because this case has the potential to explode. I need your help.” Danko winked the concession. “I hate to admit that, but it’s true.”

“I may have something else,” Presto stated.

Danko looked shocked. “Already? How? What?”

Presto was not sure if Danko told him the truth. His old nemesis was not one to fib. He appeared sincere in his request for help. Maybe someone else was trying to elbow him off the case. Could he blame Danko for using him? Maybe, but he was hooked by the cast of the lure.

“Jack Burton drops a lot of files off for my review. They’re usually unresolved or suspicious in nature. I think one of them is related to this case.”

Danko motioned him with a roll of his hand to continue.

“About a year ago, a man and a woman were found slain in a motel. It appeared to be a murder/suicide. But the detective was dubious. Something bothered him.”

“What?”

“It was mostly a feeling. The man was one of America’s top sushi chefs. She was a divorced optometrist. He was thirty-nine and known as a dedicated husband. She was fifty-seven and had been in a relationship with another woman for the past seven years. Her lover claimed that after her husband humiliated her with his affairs, she’d exorcised men from her diet. They seemed such an unlikely pair in every way.”

“Okay,” Danko probed slowly. “Go on.”

“The man who rented them the room claimed a woman booked the room. The clerk said that was not unusual, neither was the fact that she had a large frumpy hat disguising a drooping head or that she paid in cash with a fake name. That was all very usual for this establishment, where people pay by the hour and hope the thrill lasts that long. What was unusual was that she paid for two days and asked not to be disturbed. In his ten years, nobody had paid for more than a night’s stay.

“His boss told him to look out for criminal sorts who might try and misuse the privacy their business afforded. A chubby, middle-aged woman was not the sort to vandalize the place, sneak in others for a party, make illicit drug deals, or commit murder. The motel attendant ventured she was catching up on lost time.”

A lost Danko stepped in. “I have to stop you, Dom. Not to be rude, but cut to the chase. If you say it’s fishy, I believe you. You don’t have to convince me. What I want to know is how does it relate to this case?”

Dom put his hands up in apology. “Sorry, I get carried away. The chef’s name was Akito Ito. You might not know him, but,” Presto paused to pat his belly, “but us food connoisseurs, know these things.”

Revolted, the dedicated fitness buff watched his gigantic guest genuflect. “I suppose so,” Danko observed.

“Yes, well, the point being is that Mr. Ito was one of the few Americans with the license to serve the fugu, or puffer fish.”

Danko slapped the table in frustrated jest, “Enough with the food. I have an hour before I’m allowed another protein bar.”

I’m finally getting there,” Presto conceded. “Tetrodotoxin comes from the puffer fish. Hundreds of people in Japan have made fugu their last meal and died. Now it is better regulated. Mr. Ito would have access to the poison that our killer used.”

Danko shook his head in wonder. “You think?”

“I do,” Presto replied. “I further surmise that the killer used the optometrist, Ms. Schnabel, to aid his disguises. My guess is this man thoroughly scopes out his work beforehand. Different styles of glasses frames can alter one’s appearance. Colored contacts are also a possibility.”

“If you’re right, that means he planned this out a long time ago.”

“That’s what makes this case special. Most criminals are impulsive. It’s the methodic types that pose the greatest challenge.”

Danko groaned. “This is going to be tricky. Since it’s not outright terrorism, we’ve been ordered to tread carefully. The last thing City Hall wants is for this thing to explode.”

Presto was confused but let Danko continue and hoped he’d clarify. He also wanted the meeting to end soon. He needed to rise, stretch, and find better seating accommodations. He thought about bringing in a seat cushion Mr. Stagnuts provided post hemorrhoid surgery. Still, he wanted to fit in, almost unnoticed, even if it was as difficult as slipping into size forty-four trousers.

“You know politicians,” Danko continued. Presto wanted to say,
No, you know politicians personally. I know they’re full of bull,
but, again, he refrained from interjecting. “They all have to pander to every ethnic and religious group. Also, he’ll never say it, but because he’s Jewish, I think Mayor Golden wants to remain above the fray in this possible Christian/Muslim holy war.”

“Holy war?” Presto blurted in surprise. “Terrorism?”

“Yeah. You were right about the Muslim connection.”

“I know,” Presto replied, “but I’m not sure I agree with the prevailing wisdom in City Hall.”

Danko’s eyes bulged in astonishment, not like a birthday boy entering a surprise party, but more like he caught a sucker punch to the gut. “What? I thought that’s why you mentioned this Muslim thing, like we had some jihad going on. That’s why you made everyone downtown nervous.”

Presto breathed deeply and then exhaled through his nostrils long and hard enough to blow out a candle. He needed the respite to keep the edge from his voice. “I never said anything about a jihad, terrorism, or holy war, Frank.”

Thump
. Danko’s large fist gaveled his desk. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I don’t think I need to reiterate my words,” Presto answered calmly.

Danko leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. His left upper lip hung in the corner like he’d been hooked.

Presto knew he was upset, but this wasn’t his fault. He waited for Danko to respond.

Still back in his chair, Danko’s head rolled and straightened. His eyes found Presto’s. “Maybe I jumped the gun. I reported the connection, and we all assumed it was either terrorism or some religious war. You seem to have all the answers. What’s your theory?” There was a slight edge to his tone, but Danko seemed more leery than angry.

“Frank, I never said those theories are wrong. I’m saying that I never suggested them. But now that you ask, I doubt this has anything to do with terrorism. It may be some holy war, as you stated. But, where’s the precedent? In Jerusalem, where many faiths have roots and there is the constant specter of terrorism, religious leaders are not usually targeted. And if they are, it’s not in the ritualistic fashion we have here. Our case, I believe, is the working of an individual. I think we have to be as careful and as delicate as advised.”

Danko rubbed his smooth head. “Okay, Dom. What about those underlined religious passages? City Halls has a right to think this is, like some modern crusades.”

“Yes, but maybe that’s what the killer wants us to think. He intentionally left us many clues. There’s some that are diversion, and others, possibly, that may be his motivation. We need to be open to all possibilities. If we don’t get this guy soon, Frank, we’ll know his game soon enough. That I fear.”

Danko appeared relieved. “That all makes sense. You’ve been hot so far. I’m not in position to disagree. I’ve given everyone assignments. I want you to freelance. Do what you do best. If you come up with anything, call me.”

“Sounds like a plan, Frank,” an eager-to-rise Presto said agreeably.

“I’ll assign some manpower to that case you mentioned. Maybe we’ll find some names, a lead. I plan to visit that mosque where the cleric was slain. I’ll get you the file beforehand. I’d want you to accompany me.”

“Thanks,” gushed Presto. “That’s a most welcome idea.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“S
HIT!” DOMINICK PRESTO LITERALLY cursed. Aphrodite had a penchant for defecating in her water dish. It’s common amongst reptiles. Although it made for easier cleaning, it meant entering her domain. Despite his stealth attempt at lifting the top, she became alerted to his presence.

Aphrodite was coiled with her head slightly raised and drawn back like a crossbow—not a good sign. He smacked the glass, and she darted to her rock cave. He kept his hand next to the glass, ready. With the other, he quickly reached for the water dish. Her head reappeared but not before his hand was clear from the tank.

After dumping the contents in the toilet, he cleaned and filled the dish and returned for round two with Aphrodite. He employed the same routine successfully, and when his hand was free, he fastened the screen top back on.

Aphrodite detected a presence. Prey? Her tongue darted in and out, and she slid out from her cave. She came out and inspected, her tongue darting in search of the disturbance. Despite her edginess, Presto still cherished her. He loved pets, but most required constant care and attention. He appreciated the minimal requirements of a snake and was fascinated with its simplicity. No arms. No legs. The swallowing of its prey whole, bones and all. It was a touch of nature in the un-Eden life of city living.

Was man any better? A snake kills to live or protect. When a man hunts to feed his family or kills an interloper, he’s lauded. Man is different from his fellow earth mates in his ability to wantonly destroy other species of life, as well as each other, for reasons other than food and safety. Presto found man’s nature far more heinous than Mother Nature.

Presto believed in order, ecosystems, balance, and equilibrium.

Taking advantage of his mother retiring early, he rumbled to his office, but not before removing a tub of vanilla fudge swirl ice cream from the freezer and then nuking it in the microwave for twenty seconds.

Spooning large chunks of ice cream into his mouth, he thought,
What’s the purpose behind these murders?
A holy war of some fashion had been the immediate assumption. Logical. The thought had also occurred to Presto, but then he dismissed it. The theory was a product of the immediate evidence. There was a Bible. There was a Qur’an. Therefore, we have a holy war.

He was certain religion played a role but not the instant obvious interpretation offered by Danko. Religious extremism would not postulate in this fashion: the accents, disguises, and overt clues. These were not simple assassinations. They were the work of the same person or persons. If it was not some retaliatory religious war and was the work of an outsider, what would be the motivation?

Presto presumed the immediate assumption was partially right. He was not sure of the ultimate end game, but he knew the killer’s intention. Flaming religious passion could stoke the fervor of the faithful. That was their suspect’s goal, Presto deduced. Incite a holy war.

He picked up the phone and dialed Jack Burton.

“Dominick,” Burton answered cheerily, “thought I’d hear from you.”

“Whom else would I go to?”

“Your mother. And since she’s prettier and smarter than me, I guess you’re not seeking advice, but answers. That, or your having a lovers quarrel,” he snorted.

“I’ll ignore that but concede that my mother’s been acting odd lately. Maybe she’s just getting stir-crazy sitting in that bed.”

Burton grunted. “Then you should spare her your humor.”

“I’m ignoring your jibes tonight,” Presto said amused. “I want to talk to you about the case.”

“I’ve heard smatterings already.”

“I bet you did.”

“Smatterings were an understatement. It was more like
splatter
ings.”

“Who was it this time? That guy you told me about, Spencer Hoole?”

“No,” Burton said abruptly, but with a trace of humor. “Actually, it was my boss.”

Presto gulped. “Commissioner Tipton? I know. He got to Danko as well.”

“Right, as usual. Ironically, it seems, you would have been dismissed had it not been for your buddy Danko. That was the most shocking thing I’ve heard since my wife asked if I’d buy her a vibrator.”

Presto smiled at his friend’s saucy commentary. Through the phone, he heard a screeching voice in the background. “Jack! That is not funny. Tell Dominick that’s not true! He should know what an immature buffoon you are.”

I heard her,” Presto said with a laugh. “You tell that wonderful wife of yours that I know you better and that I eagerly await my next visit; not to see you, Jack, but for her scrumdelicious cooking.”

Jack relayed the message to his wife, and they all laughed. Although Presto had yet to find his life mate, being in the company of a truly loving couple as the Burtons proved the merits of marriage. He recalled his mother’s earlier comments about finding someone. He frowned and then pushed the thought away.

“You’re a lucky man, Jack. Count your blessings.”

“I know, Dom. You’re right. Abby’s lucky to have me. She should count her blessings.”

After a small lighthearted commotion, Presto said, “You’re horrible, Jack. Still teasing and courting like an immature teenager.”

“Keeps us young,” boasted Burton, “but enough about us. Talk to me.”

Presto told Burton how Danko stole the credit but then claimed it was to protect him from detractors. “I wasn’t mad that he presented my ideas as his own. However, once again, Frank jumped to conclusions.” Presto then recounted the holy war theory and added his twist on it.

Jack said, “You think someone’s trying to start a conflict? Why?”

“I’ve been mulling that over, but the details must be kept from the press. Thus far, we’ve been surprisingly successful, which leads me elsewhere.”

“Huh?”

“Considering the details of the cleric’s murder, I’m shocked that this was not front-page news. Someone made sure this was kept quiet. I understand the reasoning, but am surprised at the success. I’d like you to dig up those contacts you have and see what you unearth.”

“You want me to shovel the shit without causing a stench,” Burton equivocated with a coarse laugh.

“Exactly. Not to be paranoid, but I don’t trust anyone. I’m used to being ostracized, but this is different. I need to be invisible.”

Burton chuckled deeply. “You’re too big to hide. Unless,” he said slowly, “you’re a magician, Presto.”

“Hardly.”

“I once saw some guy on TV make an elephant disappear.”

Through the phone, he heard his wife scold, “Jack Burton. You need to learn some manners and stop being a clown.”

Presto smiled. Jack was one of the few genuine people he knew. Burton did not ignore his weight or poke fun for malice. In the superficial world of image and fraud, Jack was a throwback. Presto could see him on the frontier—gritty and gruff but a gentleman.

“Tell Abby thanks. Next time, we’ll punish you by cutting you out on that key lime pie she makes for dessert.”