The Poisonous Ten (9 page)

10

“Parks? Parks?”

Parks continued fiddling with the crossword puzzle as he sat at his desk, feet up on the corner, while he tried to clear his mind of anything case-related. That apparently included hearing his name as Wilkes stood in his doorway and called out to him. He’d finished a Sudoku and several brain teasers on his phone earlier that morning as he waited for the rest of his team to show up. After staring at the files for three hours his brain needed a break. He figured the crossword was as good a way to give his brain a break as anything else.  

“Parks?”

Parks looked up from the puzzle on his desk, confusion on his face. “What?”

“Tanaka needs us over at the morgue.”

“Us? Together? What for?”

“The Harris case.”

“Why both of us? You sure?”

“That’s what she said. You want to question her?”

“When?”

Wilkes held out his arms and made a face as if to say,
what do you think I’m standing here for? Parks noticed Moore bury her face deeper into the binder in her hands as she held back a smile that was fighting to turn into laughter.

“All right. Let’s do it.”

The two detectives drove in silence to the LA County Medical Examiner’s Office, which was less than ten minutes from the LAPD’s downtown station, though to Parks it felt like an eternity. He had tried several times to start a conversation before giving up and embracing the silence. Wilkes parked illegally in a handicap space near the front entrance, and Parks let it go. If they got a ticket it would be on Wilkes anyway. They made it to the front desk when Tanaka walked out through a side door before they could even address the receptionist.

“Men,” Tanaka said, smiling. “Follow me.”

“This better be important,” Wilkes snapped. “I don’t know why he needs to be here. This is still my case.”

Parks remained quiet, hoping not to start anything with the other detective. Wilkes was shorter than Parks by a good six inches but was just as fit and had a decidedly shorter temper. And if there was a tumble to be had and Wilkes couldn’t defend himself, it was known he had no problem getting on the phone and calling the proper people who could.

Tanaka led the investigators to the morgue, where she had Ian Harris’s body out on a table, still opened up from the autopsy that was only halfway completed.

“I just started less than an hour ago, but I sent a vial of his blood in to be examined Monday night. Figured that might be helpful on how and why he bled like he did. So I put a
rush on it. Just for you, Wilkes.”

“And? What did you find?” Wilkes spat out, proving once again that no matter the situation he was never one to be pleased.

“Methanol,” Tanaka answered, putting on two blue latex gloves. “As well as a high level of neurotoxin which I was able to determine came from an acanthophis.”

“A what?” Wilkes asked.

“It’s a highly venomous snake,” Tanaka explained, holding up Harris’s hand and showing the two men the snakebite. “More commonly known as a death adder.”

“That’s it?” Wilkes laughed. “So we’re looking for a snake? Shit. I thought we had a killer on the loose. So the man stuck his hand where it didn’t belong and got bit. People and their dogs get bit up on Runyon all the time.”

Tanaka looked like she was ready to jump up and murder Wilkes herself.

“What is it, Amy?” Parks asked.

“There aren’t any death adders up around Runyon Canon. Rattlesnakes? Yes. Death adders? No. And I don’t think this was an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think that the vic here was poisoned.” Tanaka turned from Wilkes and focused on Parks. “On purpose.”

Parks took in what she was saying. She thought this case was related to his.

“Wai—what? How do you know that?” Wilkes asked. “It’s a snake for crying out loud. You can’t order a snake to go and sic someone down and kill them. And you got the bite marks right there. Stupid son of a bitch reached for or grabbed a snake and got bit. It happens.”

“No, you can’t order a snake after someone,” Tanaka agreed. “But that’s not what got me thinking it was inte
ntional.”

“What did?”

“The methanol.”

“How so?” Parks asked.

“Methanol comes in several different forms. It’s a sort of distilled alcohol. Like moonshine. It’s also in perfumes, antifreeze, shellac, varnish, windshield wiper fluid. But at room temperature it’s a liquid that can be swallowed. Tastes a lot like alcohol. Strong alcohol.”

“Aren’t there housewives who’ve killed their spouses with that stuff?” Wilkes asked, looking from Tanaka to Parks, who nodded in agreement.

Tanaka turned to Wilkes. “You said you found a half-empty bottle of vodka next to the body?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I hope you’re testing the bottle for what was in it. I have a feeling that it was mixed in with that. But this was a strong dosage. It didn’t come that way. Someone had to have fixed the bottle. As little as ten milliliters can cause permanent blindness. But generally around a hundred milliliters is a fatal dose.”

“That sounds like a lot,” Wilkes said. “No way he drank that much.”

“That’s about four fluid ounces,” Tanaka corrected. “The average water bottle holds approximately sixteen fluid ounces. If the vodka bottle next to him was mixed fifty-fifty and he drank half of that . . . you get where I’m going with this?”

“Asshole drank a lot,” Wilkes muttered.

“And that’s what killed him?” Parks asked, skeptically.

“No. Although it is toxic, it can be treated if discovered in time. Plus the symptoms usually show up between eight and thirty hours after consumption. Though at the rate and amount that our vic here consumed, I have a feeling the rea
ction time was bumped up.”

“And what are the reactions?”

“It creates an imbalance of acid in the stomach. Like acidosis. The victim will feel inebriated. There will be haziness in the eyes. Possible blindness. And if it goes on long enough, seizures, possibly coma, and eventually death.”

“So someone started poisoning the vic, and when it took too long they sent a snake in to finish the job?” Wilkes didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I don’t think so,” Tanaka said. “I think the snake was the original, intended poison for our victim. But while a bite from an adder is deadly, it’s also treatable. If gotten to in time. And that’s if you didn’t run away from the snake in the first place.”

“So the methanol . . . was a sort of precursor to the snake. To slow him down. Distort his senses.” Parks thought aloud. “But why? Why did our victim need to die by snakebite? What’s so special about the adder bite? Symptoms-wise?”

Tanaka shook her head. “Chills. Fever. Swelling. Skin discoloration. Heavy perspiration. Vomiting of blood. Bleeding from nose and eyes. Loss of vision. Loss of consciousness. The body was covered in sweat when I examined him. And while there was blood in the mouth area, he didn’t appear to vomit any. Most of the blood just came from the eyes.”

“That seems like a lot of blood to come from the eyes,” Parks said, focusing on the crime scene photos Wilkes had passed to him. “That usually how much they bleed?”

“Not sure. Haven’t seen this before. I’d have to check, but I’d say off the top of my head, no. Also, methanol affects the eyes, so maybe the two poisons together worked in overdrive to attack the area.”

“He wanted to blind our victim? But why?”

“Something he saw?”

“Or something he was going to see? Or had been watc
hing?” Wilkes added.

“Yes,” Parks agreed. “Says in your report that he was found next to a window, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Along with a pair of binoculars and an empty camera?”

“Yep.”

“He saw something he shouldn’t have. And possibly even took pictures of it. We need the film from that camera.”

“The cameras were all empty. No film. No memory cards. No nothing. I can send my men back and have them check every angle of viewable space from his seat by that window. Check out what he could have possibly been watching. But that’s our only option at this point.”

“Is that all?” Parks asked, turning back to Tanaka. 

“Nope,” she said. “There’s one more thing. Come look. Up at the screen. I have it hooked up to my microscope. I never would have seen this had I not already been looking at the eyes due to the blood. But this . . .”

Parks and Wilkes both looked up at the screen and saw the victim’s two bloody eyes staring up at them.
Tanaka took a dropper filled with a clear solution and squeezed some drops into each eye to clear away the blood, revealing two more plus sign-shaped symbols carved onto each of the corneas. 

“Son of a bitch,” Parks said as he sucked in his breath and tried to hold back on his instinct to throw up at the sight of the gore. His mind immediately went to paper cuts on the eyes and other such unpleasant images, and he had to squeeze his own eyes tight as if to protect them. 

“What the hell is that?” Wilkes spat in disgust as he too turned away from the image and exhaled deeply.

“Killer’s calling card,” Parks answered. “That also means he came in after our victim was dead. No way
our killer
did
that while the guy was still alive.”

“Nope,” Tanaka agreed. “These are precise. Exact. There were no slip ups.”

“There was no film in the camera?” Parks turned to Wilkes.

“None,” Wilkes said, shaking his head.

“And none of your men found a snake?”

Wilkes remained silent.

“So he came in afterwards and cleaned up,” Parks said, looking to Tanaka. “Looks like our guy’s struck again after all.”

11

“You know my team already went over this entire crime scene,” Wilkes muttered to Parks as Parks’s team went about inspecting Ian Harris’s loft. Each person had taken a different angle, comparing the original crime scene photos to what was left in the living space.

“And I appreciate it,” Parks replied. “But having a fresh pair of eyes never hurts. Besides, your team wasn’t aware of what they should have been looking for. My team has been working on this case for a week now. It’s just a different pair of eyes.” 

“Hey look, no skin off my teeth,” Wilkes shot back as he glared at the back of Parks’s head. “You want it. Take it. Me and my guys have plenty to do if you want to retrace everything.”

Parks pulled Wilkes aside so that the rest of their teams couldn’t hear him.

“Look. I know you guys have to testify next week on the Cosway killings and that all of America will be watching. If you need to work on that then go ahead. Just check it with Hardwick. You know protocol. I’ll tell her you have my support, whatever you decide. You’ll get no argument out of me about it. As it is, thanks to that trial—and Peter Kozlov—we already have the entire department under scrutiny.”

Parks was like most people in the city of Los Angeles. Everyone had been captivated by the two brothers who had beaten their parents to death one night in hopes of obtaining their inheritance ahead of schedule. Evan and Wesley Co
sway were the latest in a string of spoiled kids who felt they were entitled to more from their parents and had followed the lead of Lyle and Erik Menendez two decades before. They weren’t the first. And as most knew, they wouldn’t be the last.

Wilkes and his team had been the first ones on the scene while TMZ and Channel 10 news crowded the driveway of the Cosways’ fifteen-million-dollar Bel Air mansion. One of 10’s cameramen managed to get inside the house and both damage evidence and shoot the crime scene itself, giving America an eyeful of the viciousness of the murders and proving Charles Wyler’s willingness to do anything for a story. Charles Wyler and the LAPD had once again become front and center of another scandal. Americans
were outraged and the first people to take the blame were the LAPD. Luckily, Wilkes and his team managed to identify the Cosways’ killers as two of their three sons who happened to be living at the house at the time, and an immediate arrest was made, bringing a little bit of shine back to the department. It wasn’t that shocking an accusation considering the two young men had been in trouble with the law multiple times throughout their lives, most notably when they had been accused of sexual assault and distribution of drugs on the PSU campus the year before, leading to both their expulsion from the university and a six-month jail sentence. So little was their price to pay with their father’s checkbook constantly waving in the background. A checkbook that only went on to entice then feed the two young men’s greed.

Now, seven months after their parents’ murder, a high-profile and ratings-breaking trial was getting underway, with most of America keeping a watchful and attentive eye. There could be no other mistakes made by the LAPD while a trial of this magnitude was underway.

Wilkes glanced around the loft at the two teams.

“We’re already here,” Wilkes said gruffly. “And you’re right. We are under a watchful eye. Let’s not
mess anything else up. I’ll make sure your team is brought up to speed by mine. Once we’re finished here, we’ll hand everything over to you guys.”

“Thanks.” Parks nodded as the two men split up. “Ever
yone, pay attention,” Parks called out, ordering both teams gathered around the room. “We know some of you have already gone over this scene, and we are not in any way commenting on your job on the field. We have in our possession new information regarding this case and have to take another look at everything from a different perspective. My team has been familiarizing themselves with this killer for about a week now. This is his second murder, that we know of, and if we’re lucky, his last. But if the first murder scene was any indication, then that’s doubtful. This guy is good. Clean. Careful. Patient. Don’t anyone be fooled by him or his methods of killing. Everyone needs to be on their utmost levels of alertness. This is not a game. I don’t need any territorial bullshit. There are lives at stake here, and we have a job to do.”

Everyone remained silent, most staring on, waiting for the word to get to work.

“Okay. Fairmont, Tippin, and . . .”

“Ramirez,” Wilkes announced.

“Ramirez,” Parks continued. “You three work on the views from the window and try and figure out what our victim was watching or may have witnessed from this spot. Okay?”

The three men nodded in agreement, and Parks waved them away.

“Rachel,” Parks continued. “I want you to sweep the room where the victim was found. Focus on where the body was. And . . .” Parks looked to Wilkes.

“Hayward,” Wilkes offered.

“And Detective Hayward will help you out.”

“Sure thing,” Hayward agreed.

“And us?” Wilkes asked.

“You and I are going to dig through the rest of the loft to try and figure out why this guy was chosen. Unless you’d rather switch with one of your men. As long as we have people working every angle of this case, I don’t care who does what.”

“Let’s just do it,” Wilkes said as he set about to dig through Ian Harris’s life once again.

*
                            *                            *

“Rach?” Parks said as he walked up behind her. She had just wrapped up checking the room for prints.

“I have nothing,” Moore admitted. “I mean, there are prints all over this room, but we haven’t come up with anything. They already ran them through IAFIS and got no hits other than Harris.”

“Yeah, I get you,” Parks said. “And the snake?”

“From what I can tell, the snake was in the box that was delivered,” Moore continued. “Hayward concurs. It was delivered to our vic, but by whom we’re not sure as the prints on the box came up unidentifiable. The snake bit him and he dropped the box and fell into his seat here.” Moore moved about the room showing Parks what happened where and how she thought according to the evidence they had recovered. “The snake slithered out of the box and went over to that hutch there and stayed underneath it. There’s no evidence that it left from that area, so I’ve a feeling that when our killer came here to clean up and leave his mark on both the table and the body, he gathered up the snake.”

“How can you tell?”

“When the vic fell, he knocked over his bottle of vodka,” Moore explained. “The snake slithered through it and left a trail. You can’t see it, but it’s dried to the floor. Apparently it was citrus flavored, so that’s a plus for us. Sugar in the liquid leaves behind a sticky substance.”

“Shoe prints?”

“Yep.” Moore nodded. “That’s one piece of luck we’ve gotten so far. From what we can tell, they’re size elevens. Mens. I scanned them and will have a print made up. Maybe the shoes will have significant aspects to them that will help us.”

“That’s good, but we need something more,” Parks said, still staring at the camera aimed out the window. “This guy cleaned us out. We have next to nothing to work on.”

Ian Harris’s telephone began to ring, and everyone in the apartment froze as if a bomb was going to go off and no one wanted to be the one to trigger it.

“Where’s the phone?” Parks asked as he left the room and worked his way to the kitchen, where he saw Lewis Ha
yward reaching for a phone on the wall.

“Don’t touch it,” Parks ordered before picking it up hi
mself.

“Hel—” Parks stopped and remained quiet as he listened. Twenty seconds later he hung up and smiled.

“What is it?” Hayward asked.

“We may have just gotten a break,” Parks said as he walked back to the other room and stuck his head out the window, looking down below at his men working in the courtyard of the complex.

Parks whistled. “Tippin.”

Tippin looked up, and Parks motioned for him to join
them in the apartment.

“What is it?” Moore asked as she walked over to Parks.

“Not sure.” Parks shrugged. “Maybe something. Maybe nothing. Won’t know until we check it out. Hopefully we’ll luck out and it will be something the killer overlooked and couldn’t have predicted when he cleaned out this apartment.” 

“What is it, boss?” Tippin asked as he entered the loft out of breath.

“You know where Samy’s Camera is?”

“Over on Fairfax? Yeah.”

“Good. Seems our vic has some prints that are developed and waiting to be picked up. Why don’t you go see what’s on them?”

“I’m on it,” Tippin said with the same enthusiasm and spunk he had shown throughout the entire case. Then he di
sappeared out the door.

Parks turned to everyone else in the room. “Looks like we may have just gotten our first break.”

*                            *                            *

“Milo. What is it?” Parks answered his cell, glad that Tippin had decided to call him from Samy’s Camera rather than waiting to get back to him as it had taken him nearly forty-five minutes to get across town.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s the neighbors,” Tippin said, excitedly. “The neighbors across the street from him. If I remember the building correct. We were just looking at it. It’s a couple. Guy and a girl. Mid-thirties. They’re both blond. That’s who he took pictures of. It looks like he was spying on them.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Milo.”

“There is one other thing, sir.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“There’re other pictures in with this roll of film.”

“Oh?” Parks waited, hoping the kid would continue on his own. “What of?”

“You, sir.”

“Come again?”

“Well, in particular from the Allison Tisdale crime scene. I think he was one of the paparazzi or newspaper men in the crowd of reporters. There are several pictures of you arriving at the crime scene.”

Parks paused for a moment and tried to take in what this meant. Maybe something. Probably nothing. Probably just a coincidence. If
he believed in coincidences. Either way, he could only tackle one problem at a time.

“We’ll deal with that later. Just get back here.”

“Yes, sir. I’m on my way to you right now.”

Parks hung up and turned to the team when his phone b
egan to ring again. He looked at it to see a blocked number. He answered his phone then quickly hung up on whoever was calling. He was too pumped to deal with prank calls at the moment. “Looks like he took pictures of the couple across the street. Wilkes, let’s go have a talk with them.”

As they made their way out of the building and across the
street, Parks surveyed the area around the buildings to see if anything stuck him as being out of the ordinary. The two apartment complexes should have been on the opposite sides of the city, not just separated by a semi-busy street. Ian Harris’s building was artier, with open-spaced lofts that had more of the internal structure of the building showing inside the living spaces. There were alleyways on three sides of the building, and numerous homeless people wandering around the area. The neighboring building was twice as high as Harris’s and was painted over with a dull, mustard color with a complementary white trim. It felt as if it had been more recently established, one of several new buildings put up in an attempt to rebuild the area. They were nearing what was known by the locals as Koreatown, where on one street a citizen could walk the sidewalks and enjoy the nightlife and on the next one over get mugged and left for dead. Such was the area. Luckily, most who lived nearby were unaware of just how close to danger they were.

Parks and Wilkes entered the building and were greeted by a security guard sitting behind a desk that had a view of the lobby and the back two elevators. Elevators and a guard. Both of which were unexpected by Parks. 

“Are you the manager?” Parks asked.

“Day shift,” the man replied as he stood up. He was a he
fty man with a mustache and bad comb-over who probably couldn’t do much if someone had decided to make off with a tenant’s valuables. “What’s happening out there? A lot of ruckus going on from the sounds of it.” 

“LAPD,” Parks said flashing his badge. “We’re just here to speak to some of your tenants.”

The man huffed and rolled his eyes, displeased to have his day upset.

“Elevator’s over there,” the secu
rity guard said pointing toward them.

The detectives
walked to the elevator and pressed a button, the doors opening immediately.

“
Ian Harris’ apartment is on the third floor,” Wilkes said.

“Let’s hope this works,” Parks replied.

They rode up in silence. The doors chimed open on the third floor, and they started down the hallway in the direction of the apartment they thought belonged to Ian Harris’s unknowing Peeping Tom victims. Parks tried his best to estimate which apartment he was looking for based on the windows in between the apartments that looked out onto the street below.

Parks took out his cell and called Moore. “Do you see me?”