What Shadows Lie
Chapter 2: When Death Comes
By: Chris Ward
Over the next several days, the only movement in the case came in the form of
numerous false leads which almost magically transformed into dead ends. Any relief
they might have found in the noticeable lack of decapitated corpses occupying the
morgue was offset by the rapidity with which the case was freezing.
It was nearly a week after the Gallantine murders when Tru was awakened by her
bedside phone. Unable, and unwilling, to stifle a yawn, she answered. “He-
eeeaaaggghhh-llo?”
The man on the other end was her partner. In an unusually somber tone, he said,
“Sorry about the wakeup call, Gert.”
Blinking her eyes sleepily, she rolled onto her back. “Ray?”
“Yeah. I got a call a couple minutes ago. How fast can you be dressed and ready to go?”
Glancing at the clock on her dresser, and regretting it immediately, she tried to
concentrate. “Christ, Ray. It’s barely 3 in the damned morning; on Saturday, our day off!”
“It looks like our killer’s back.”
“Damn! Where?”
“The safe-house on Fortieth; how long until you can be ready to go.”
Sliding out of bed, she stumbled over to her dresser and threw some clothing on the
bed, tucking the cordless between her ear and shoulder. “I assume you’re picking me
up?”
“On my way out the door as we speak.”
Yawning again, she thought quickly. “I should be ready by the time you get here.”
Disconnecting the call as she walked back to the bed, she put the phone in its charger.
Stripping off the outsized tee-shirt, which was all she normally wore to bed, she slid
into a pair of panties and denim jeans. Putting on a pair of socks, she fastened her bra
as she walked to the closet. Selecting a snug green blouse, she slipped on a pair of
black Sketchers before taking out her weapons.
Hurrying to the door, she pulled on her coat and picked up her night bag. Grabbing her
keys, badge and sunglasses, stuffing them hurriedly into pockets, she was just
opening the door and tucking in her blouse when Ray pulled up.
Backing the car into the street even as she strapped in, he flipped on the lights and
sped toward the safe-house. “I have to admit I’m a little shocked.”
Running a comb through her hair, she laughed. “Why?”
“I figured I’d be waiting at least a couple minutes before you came out.”
Putting the comb back in the bag, she pulled out a stick of roll-on antiperspirant.
Unbuttoning her blouse enough to apply it, she shrugged. ‘If you’d had to wait for me
to actually be ready to go, as opposed to simply being dressed, you would have.”
Putting on the limited makeup she wore while working and dabbing on a small amount
of perfume, she chewed on a stick of gum and stared out the window in silence.
Reaching the alley behind the safe-house, they threaded the car past the cruisers
blocking the end, coming to a stop near the Medical Examiner’s van. As they climbed
out, Ray was practically tackled by a weeping black woman. Crossing her arms against
her chest, Tru leaned against the car and watched in mild amusement as he attempted
to console the woman.
After several minutes, the woman pulled back and caught Tru’s glance. Blinking away
the tears, she smiled sheepishly and walked over to her, extending her hand. “Rita
Chambers; Anti Crime.”
Briefly clasping the proffered hand, Tru said, “Gertrude Ransome. Call me Tru. I
assume you’re the reason I’m not still in bed?”
“I guess you could say that. Walk back here and I’ll fill you guys in.” As they worked
their way back to the central crime scene, she explained what had led to this point.
“We caught this guy in a raid Thursday morning. Thought he was a low level bean
counter for the gang we busted. Anyway, he apparently called his lawyer and, yesterday
morning, I’m second seating the DA in a get out of jail free deal. He was gonna give us
the people he really worked for, supposedly some foreigners, in exchange for a new
life.
“We put him up here for the night with three of the best people I had.” Opening the
door for them, she led them into the slaughter room. Pointing out the bodies, she
named them. “The prostitute over by the wall was Asia Charlotte. The getup was a
cover. She was lookout. The Sherman tank by the other wall was Rick Borden. He was
the muscle end of the detail. Smart, but strong as a damned ox. The small guy in the
middle of the floor was…” Here she temporarily lost control of her emotions for a
couple more minutes. After she regained her composure, she finished. “That was
Shawn Crawford.” Looking briefly at Ray, she let a couple tears fall as she said, “Shawn
and I were lovers. He asked me to marry him last Saturday.”
Ray embraced her quickly. “Was he good to you?”
A brief, sad, smile crossed her face. “The greatest, Ray. Gentle but strong and smart.
We were somehow perfect for each other. He’s the one who kept me going when J-Ray
turned rat. I’ve always thought he was involved in J-Ray’s sudden death too.”
“I wish I could’ve met him.”
Rita glanced into his face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
He smiled gently. “Of course, Rita. I didn’t stop caring about you when we stopped
sleeping together. We were never meant to be a permanent thing, and we both knew
it. Just the fact that he made you happy is enough to make me like him.”
In an attempt to maneuver them back on track, Tru pointed out the body still in the
chair. “I assume that’s the rat. Do you have a name?”
“The name he gave us was Mickey Finnigan.”
Looking around the room, Tru muttered, “This doesn’t make any sense.”
Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, Ray focused on her. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”
Attempting to explain, she said, “Obviously Finnigan was killed first. Had I been any of
the others he would’ve ducked out of the chair. That indicates he was the target,
doesn’t it?” When ray nodded agreement, she continued. “Then why kill the others?
More important, why the hell is the lookout inside?”
Rita absently scratched one of the scars on her stomach. “Asia would’ve come running
if she heard any trouble.”
“That’s my point. I think our guy seriously screwed this one up.”
Ray looked around in confusion. “Sorry, Tru, I’m not tracking.”
“The only reason to kill Borden and Crawford is because they saw something. The only
thing that makes any sense to me is them seeing enough to ID him.” Scanning the
walls, she suddenly laughed. Pointing out a series of bullet holes, she explained the
outburst. “There’s the reason Asia came in. Borden and Crawford saw the killer and
tried to stop him. She heard the fighting and came running. Our guy got sloppy and
stupid. I think this was more rushed than the Gallantine job.”
Ray thought for a minute. “Do you still have the contact info for that lawyer?”
“I think so.” Walking over to where Triss was bagging Shawn Crawford, she knelt
briefly at his side. Clasping his hand tightly, she swore, “We’re gonna get this son of a
bitch baby.”
Leading them back outside, she pulled a small card from her wallet. Dialing the number
on her cell, she frowned and tried it twice more. After receiving the same result each
time, she clipped the phone to her belt and swore in frustration. Handing the card over
to Ray, she said, “This is the information the lawyer handed over when we set up the
deal, but the number doesn’t exist.”
The card was a small note card, with Rit’s neat print giving the lawyer’s name as Regis
Fortun, and listing his number as 437-3323. After glancing at it, he handed the card
over to Tru and dug out his notebook. While he wrote the information down and stared
at it for a few minutes, she pulled out her phone and looked the keypad over.
After flipping back in his notebook and writing some more on the last page, Ray looked
back at Rita. “I don’t suppose you recorded the interviews with the lawyer?”
“Yeah, always. Why?”
Grinning slightly, he tossed over his notebook. “Because it’s likely you now have a
face to go with one of those names you showed me. Regis Fortun is an anagram for
Torin Fergus.”
“Shit!”
Tru walked over and handed the card back. “That’s not all. I just worked on the
number. Whoever’s behind this is one twisted son of a bitch.”
Rita paused as she put the card back in her wallet. “What are you talking about?”
“The phone number’s a death threat. When you look at the corresponding letters on
the keypad, you don’t get the numeric series four, three, seven, three, three, two and
three. Instead, you get H, E, S, D, E, A, D.”
“‘He’s Dead.’ Fuck!”
“Pretty much.” Looking around, Ray watched Crime Scene reenter the building. “It
doesn’t look like we can do much more around here.” Glancing at his partner, he
caught her nod. “We’ll meet you back at the precinct, Rita.”
“I’ll grab breakfast on my way in.”
********************
Roughly four hours later, shortly after 8, both Ray and Tru had taken the time to use the
precinct showers and had joined Rita over a quick fast food breakfast before going to
the Crime Lab.
The forensics labs seen in the movies and on television are related to the ones found
in reality primarily by implication. They are usually dark, save for the occasional points
of mood lighting. In reality, the lab is always brightly lit. The labs the public sees in
popular forensic dramas are populated by interesting, beautiful people wearing
expensive and custom tailored clothing, which usually stops just short of total
exposure on the women with the best breasts. Only occasionally will you find someone
wearing a pristine white lab coat. The reality is that the employees run the gamut
regarding physical appearance, but none of them are supermodels in their spare time.
They rarely spend much time with hair and makeup, and wear inexpensive clothing
because they are usually covered in coveralls or lab gear; jacket, latex gloves, safety
mask, safety goggles and hair net.
The woman they were meeting was a perfect physical reminder that fact is never the
same as fiction. A white woman in her mid-fifties, she stood about an inch under five
feet, as long as she was wearing heels. Although reasonably attractive, she would do
well to lose ten to fifteen pounds. At the moment she was looking over a series of lab
reports with the detectives. “Are we certain this isn’t a copycat killer?”
Ray shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I guess. Why?”
Scanning the reports, she said, “Look at this. The Gallantine murders were clean. All
we got out of that house was a partial footprint; not even enough to try and place the
tread pattern. By comparison, this one was just a mess. We found footprints all over
the room, fingerprints in half a dozen places, and skin tissue under Asia Charlotte’s
nails.”
Holding out a hand for the reports, Tru looked them over for a few minutes. Handing
them to Rita, she looked at Ray. “The problem with the idea of a copycat is still the MO.
The heads were literally torn off, just like with Luke and Marie, and there’s still no trace
at the scene that would even begin to explain how.”
Rita had finished scanning the reports when she cleared her throat. Pointing to a
chemical compound listed as trace in the footprints, she said, “I think we may have
something.”
“What?”
Pointing to the breakdown, she explained, “This compound is used at the docks. It’s a
cleaner they use while repairing damaged hulls. I don’t think I’ve encountered it
anywhere else.”
Ray glanced at Tru, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Didn’t we interview some guy at the
docks who did ship repair?”
Flipping through her notes, Tru nodded. “Yeah. Some guy named Sully. He had a bit of
an accent that made him hard to understand at times; I think he was Irish.”
Looking at his own notes, Ray grunted. “I’ve got a friend who goes by the name Sully. It’
s a nick for his last name, Sullivan. How much you want to bet this guy’s first name is
Angus? I think another might be worthwhile.” As they stood to go, he looked back at
the forensic investigator. “Thanks for the info, Bobbi. You’ll let us know if anything
pops with the fingerprints?” When she nodded, they left for the docks.
********************
Tuthill came out meet them as they pulled into the docks. “Howdy, Detectives. What c’n
I do ya fer?” When Rita stepped out of the car as well, his wide grin faded. “Why the
hell’d she come?”
Rita’s grin was vaguely reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. “Hi, Tut.”
Tru chuckled. “I take it you two have met?”
“We ‘ave. And it’s brought me no pleasure knowin’ her. Ever’ time she shows up, I end
up havin’ t’ hire idjit replacements fer the people she’s haulin’ off in one way or t’
other.”
“Now, Tut, you know that’s only because you have the tendency to, occasionally, hire
people with a, shall we say, liberal interpretation of the law?”
“Sure. Whatever. Why you folks here?”
Tru cleared her throat. “We need to have a chat with one of your guys, actually.”
“Who?”
“He told us to call him Sully. We didn’t need it, so we didn’t get his full name. He works
the repair docks.”
“Sully? He’s workin’ a hull right now. Why you need him?”
Ray took over. “Some stuff came up in our investigation. Based on what he told us in
our last interview, we think he can help us out.”
Snorting back a laugh, he scratched his paunch. “Whatever. Straight through th’ door
there and right down th’ walk. Should take ya right to where he’s workin’.”
After following the indicated path for a couple of minutes, they found themselves in
the middle of the repair yard. Down on the water was a single floating dry dock, used
for major repairs, and two other docks used for more minor work. There were also
several building used for everything from storage to office space.
After asking several workers where he could be found, they were directed to one of
the buildings where he was cleaning up from some hull work. As they were passing
one of the windows, Rita glanced in and paled slightly. Stopping them just past the
window, she asked, “Is that the guy?”
Slipping back to look through the window briefly, Tru said, “Yeah, that’s Sully. Why?”
“Because he’s also that lawyer I was telling you about, Regis Fortun.”
Ray blinked in surprise. “Fortun? You’re positive?” When she nodded, he scratched
the back of his neck in frustration. “Damn! If you go in there with us, he’s bound to
recognize you.”
Suddenly Tru perked up. “Wait a second. I think we can use this.” Turning to Rita she
said, “You stay here for maybe five minutes. That’ll give me and Ray time to start
making him as uncomfortable as possible.” Looking back at her partner, she continued.
“We go in and talk for a few minutes. During that time I’ll ask about his name, Sully, and
if it isn’t commonly used as a nick for Sullivan. Then one of us should slip and call him
Angus. That should set him up nicely.” Nodding back at Rita, she finished. “That’s about
the time you should be showing up. Come in and act surprised to see him. Ask him
what he’s doing here; using the name he gave you when pretending to be a lawyer.
That should panic him enough to give us what we want.”
Glancing at Ray, Rita couldn’t restrain a laugh. “Is she always this cold blooded about
orchestrating interviews?”
Shaking his head, Ray laughed as well. “Hell, you should see her when we have them
in custody. I’ve seen her orchestrate things so we got a confession from a suspect,
whose lawyer was trying to shut him up, which held up in court. She’s a fucking genius
at it.”
“If you two are done admiring me, are we good to go?”
With Rita counting to five minutes outside, Ray and Tru walked into the building. They
ran across Sully while he was finishing scrubbing his arms and hands clean. Glancing
up, he grinned as he rinsed off and grabbed a towel. As he dried, he greeted them.
“Morning, Detectives. Or is it afternoon?”
Glancing at his watch, Ray said, “Just past noon, Sully.” Glancing into his torn face, Ray
winced a little. “Damn, man. What the hell happened to you?”
Tossing the towel aside, he leaned against the wall. “Nothin’ much, had a minor
disagreement with a gent last night at the bar. What can I do for you today?”
Taking the silent cue from his partner, Ray headed the interview. “Some information
came up during an investigation into the quadruple murder this morning. Since there
seems to be a link to the Gallantine murders, we were wondering if you could help us.”
Shrugging, Sully commented, “Heard about that. Nasty business.” Indicating a large
folding table and chairs in the other room with his head, he finished. “Not sure what
help I can provide, Detectives, but I’ll do my best.”
Once they were seated at the table, and he had served coffee, they began asking him a
series of questions. Ray was in the middle of one when Tru interrupted. “Sorry, Ray. It
just struck me where I’ve heard the name Sully before. I had a friend when I was
growing up that went by that name. As I remember, it was a nick he took because his
last name was Sullivan.” Glancing with feigned innocence at his slightly paled face, she
asked, “I don’t suppose that’s true in your case, is it?”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he nodded. “Yeah. It was the only good thing I got
from my git of a Da. Why?”
Shrugging, she laughed a little. “No reason. I just thought it was interesting, that’s all.”
For another minute or two Ray continued to ask questions. Shortly before the five
minute mark, he felt a slight nudge as Tru bumped his foot under the table. Without
pausing, he asked, “So, Angus, you didn’t see or hear anything unusual this morning?”
Since they were both looking him in the face when Ray called him Angus, it was
impossible to miss as he paled several shades almost immediately. While he was still
attempting to regain his composure, they heard Rita walk into the room. “Hey guys.
Sorry it took so long.” Seemingly by accident she looked at Sully, and then took a
second, closer look. “Counsellor Fortun? What are you doing here?”
They watched for a second as his already pale face went nearly white. While he
attempted to stammer out some sort of denial, Tru swept in. “Fortun? I thought you
said your name was Sullivan?”
Ray took out his handcuffs. “I think maybe you should come with us until we get this
sorted out, Mr. Sullivan.” As he stood up, he kept an eye on the steadily paler suspect.
With a shouted curse, Angus Sullivan vanished with a muted popping sound. Rita, Ray
and Tru stood in horrified fascination, staring at the space Sullivan had just vacated.
Coming out of his brief stupor, ray leapt across the table to where Angus had been
standing. When he finally rolled to a stop against the wall, having come in contact with
nothing solid, he shook his head. “What the FUCK is going on here?”
Shaking their heads in shock, Rita and Tru could do nothing but stare at the point from
which their suspect had vanished. Finally, Tru blinked and shouted out, “I don’t know
what just fucking happened, but we better do something before he gets the hell away.”
Rita ran out the door first. “Tut’ll have what we need.”
As they ran up to Tuthill’s office, Ray couldn’t help observing, “The Captain’s gonna
fucking kill us!”
Tru yelled back, “Only if we don’t catch the bastard.”
As they came to a stop in his office, Tuthill looked at them in alarm. “What th’ hell’s
goin’ on?”
Rita took a breath and then answered. “We need to know where Sully lives.”
Shaking his head, Tuthill backed away. “Hell no. I don’t give shit to th’ cops ‘thout a
reason.”
Tru approached him threateningly. “Listen you little son of a bitch. That fucker’s a
damned cop-killer. He killed Luke and Marie Gallantine earlier this week, and just killed
three cops as well as his own partner in order to cover his ass this morning. If I need
to, I’ll call up the fucking DA right now and get a warrant sworn out for the search of
every single damned file you have in this shitty place, and I might just throw in
obstruction charges for you while I’m at it. Or you can give us the fucking information
now!” With her glaring in rage, Tuthill quickly pulled up the information and gave it to
them.
********************
Quickly screeching to a stop outside the apartment building, they leapt out of the car.
They ran up the stairs just inside the doors until reaching the level his apartment was
on. Standing just outside his door, Tru raised her voice. “Sullivan? This is the LAPD.
Open the door and come out, with your hands up!” When she didn’t receive a reply,
she repeated the command and listened again.
Hearing footsteps, she nodded at Ray who kicked the door in. Rita ran in first, followed
immediately by Tru, with Ray bringing up the rear. Inside they found an apartment that
was completely spotless. Rita swore. “Nobody fucking lives here. It’s a damned bolt
hole.”
She perked up when she heard noise from the bedroom down a short hall. Catching
the attention of the other two, she drew her weapon and signaled down the hall.
Taking the lead she let the others clear the closet and restroom while she
concentrated on the bedroom. Taking the handle in one hand, she slowly turned the
knob until the latch opened, and gave the door a shove. Stepping into the room, she
looked around and saw that there was nobody in it.
As she turned to head back into the hall, she heard a slight noise behind her, almost a
soft popping noise. Suddenly she felt hands grab onto her head, stopping her from
turning around. She felt the warm breath as her assailant bent down to whisper in her
ear, dropping all pretense at a soft accent. “Ya really should na’ o’ come ‘ere, Rita.”
Ray and Tru sprinted into the room when they heard her scream for help. They made it
just in time to watch Angus Sullivan vanish, along with Rita’s head. They watched in
horrified silence as, in a scene filled with macabre grace, her headless body crumbled
to the floor.
Chapter 2: When Death Comes
By: Chris Ward
Over the next several days, the only movement in the case came in the form of
numerous false leads which almost magically transformed into dead ends. Any relief
they might have found in the noticeable lack of decapitated corpses occupying the
morgue was offset by the rapidity with which the case was freezing.
It was nearly a week after the Gallantine murders when Tru was awakened by her
bedside phone. Unable, and unwilling, to stifle a yawn, she answered. “He-
eeeaaaggghhh-llo?”
The man on the other end was her partner. In an unusually somber tone, he said,
“Sorry about the wakeup call, Gert.”
Blinking her eyes sleepily, she rolled onto her back. “Ray?”
“Yeah. I got a call a couple minutes ago. How fast can you be dressed and ready to go?”
Glancing at the clock on her dresser, and regretting it immediately, she tried to
concentrate. “Christ, Ray. It’s barely 3 in the damned morning; on Saturday, our day off!”
“It looks like our killer’s back.”
“Damn! Where?”
“The safe-house on Fortieth; how long until you can be ready to go.”
Sliding out of bed, she stumbled over to her dresser and threw some clothing on the
bed, tucking the cordless between her ear and shoulder. “I assume you’re picking me
up?”
“On my way out the door as we speak.”
Yawning again, she thought quickly. “I should be ready by the time you get here.”
Disconnecting the call as she walked back to the bed, she put the phone in its charger.
Stripping off the outsized tee-shirt, which was all she normally wore to bed, she slid
into a pair of panties and denim jeans. Putting on a pair of socks, she fastened her bra
as she walked to the closet. Selecting a snug green blouse, she slipped on a pair of
black Sketchers before taking out her weapons.
Hurrying to the door, she pulled on her coat and picked up her night bag. Grabbing her
keys, badge and sunglasses, stuffing them hurriedly into pockets, she was just
opening the door and tucking in her blouse when Ray pulled up.
Backing the car into the street even as she strapped in, he flipped on the lights and
sped toward the safe-house. “I have to admit I’m a little shocked.”
Running a comb through her hair, she laughed. “Why?”
“I figured I’d be waiting at least a couple minutes before you came out.”
Putting the comb back in the bag, she pulled out a stick of roll-on antiperspirant.
Unbuttoning her blouse enough to apply it, she shrugged. ‘If you’d had to wait for me
to actually be ready to go, as opposed to simply being dressed, you would have.”
Putting on the limited makeup she wore while working and dabbing on a small amount
of perfume, she chewed on a stick of gum and stared out the window in silence.
Reaching the alley behind the safe-house, they threaded the car past the cruisers
blocking the end, coming to a stop near the Medical Examiner’s van. As they climbed
out, Ray was practically tackled by a weeping black woman. Crossing her arms against
her chest, Tru leaned against the car and watched in mild amusement as he attempted
to console the woman.
After several minutes, the woman pulled back and caught Tru’s glance. Blinking away
the tears, she smiled sheepishly and walked over to her, extending her hand. “Rita
Chambers; Anti Crime.”
Briefly clasping the proffered hand, Tru said, “Gertrude Ransome. Call me Tru. I
assume you’re the reason I’m not still in bed?”
“I guess you could say that. Walk back here and I’ll fill you guys in.” As they worked
their way back to the central crime scene, she explained what had led to this point.
“We caught this guy in a raid Thursday morning. Thought he was a low level bean
counter for the gang we busted. Anyway, he apparently called his lawyer and, yesterday
morning, I’m second seating the DA in a get out of jail free deal. He was gonna give us
the people he really worked for, supposedly some foreigners, in exchange for a new
life.
“We put him up here for the night with three of the best people I had.” Opening the
door for them, she led them into the slaughter room. Pointing out the bodies, she
named them. “The prostitute over by the wall was Asia Charlotte. The getup was a
cover. She was lookout. The Sherman tank by the other wall was Rick Borden. He was
the muscle end of the detail. Smart, but strong as a damned ox. The small guy in the
middle of the floor was…” Here she temporarily lost control of her emotions for a
couple more minutes. After she regained her composure, she finished. “That was
Shawn Crawford.” Looking briefly at Ray, she let a couple tears fall as she said, “Shawn
and I were lovers. He asked me to marry him last Saturday.”
Ray embraced her quickly. “Was he good to you?”
A brief, sad, smile crossed her face. “The greatest, Ray. Gentle but strong and smart.
We were somehow perfect for each other. He’s the one who kept me going when J-Ray
turned rat. I’ve always thought he was involved in J-Ray’s sudden death too.”
“I wish I could’ve met him.”
Rita glanced into his face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
He smiled gently. “Of course, Rita. I didn’t stop caring about you when we stopped
sleeping together. We were never meant to be a permanent thing, and we both knew
it. Just the fact that he made you happy is enough to make me like him.”
In an attempt to maneuver them back on track, Tru pointed out the body still in the
chair. “I assume that’s the rat. Do you have a name?”
“The name he gave us was Mickey Finnigan.”
Looking around the room, Tru muttered, “This doesn’t make any sense.”
Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, Ray focused on her. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”
Attempting to explain, she said, “Obviously Finnigan was killed first. Had I been any of
the others he would’ve ducked out of the chair. That indicates he was the target,
doesn’t it?” When ray nodded agreement, she continued. “Then why kill the others?
More important, why the hell is the lookout inside?”
Rita absently scratched one of the scars on her stomach. “Asia would’ve come running
if she heard any trouble.”
“That’s my point. I think our guy seriously screwed this one up.”
Ray looked around in confusion. “Sorry, Tru, I’m not tracking.”
“The only reason to kill Borden and Crawford is because they saw something. The only
thing that makes any sense to me is them seeing enough to ID him.” Scanning the
walls, she suddenly laughed. Pointing out a series of bullet holes, she explained the
outburst. “There’s the reason Asia came in. Borden and Crawford saw the killer and
tried to stop him. She heard the fighting and came running. Our guy got sloppy and
stupid. I think this was more rushed than the Gallantine job.”
Ray thought for a minute. “Do you still have the contact info for that lawyer?”
“I think so.” Walking over to where Triss was bagging Shawn Crawford, she knelt
briefly at his side. Clasping his hand tightly, she swore, “We’re gonna get this son of a
bitch baby.”
Leading them back outside, she pulled a small card from her wallet. Dialing the number
on her cell, she frowned and tried it twice more. After receiving the same result each
time, she clipped the phone to her belt and swore in frustration. Handing the card over
to Ray, she said, “This is the information the lawyer handed over when we set up the
deal, but the number doesn’t exist.”
The card was a small note card, with Rit’s neat print giving the lawyer’s name as Regis
Fortun, and listing his number as 437-3323. After glancing at it, he handed the card
over to Tru and dug out his notebook. While he wrote the information down and stared
at it for a few minutes, she pulled out her phone and looked the keypad over.
After flipping back in his notebook and writing some more on the last page, Ray looked
back at Rita. “I don’t suppose you recorded the interviews with the lawyer?”
“Yeah, always. Why?”
Grinning slightly, he tossed over his notebook. “Because it’s likely you now have a
face to go with one of those names you showed me. Regis Fortun is an anagram for
Torin Fergus.”
“Shit!”
Tru walked over and handed the card back. “That’s not all. I just worked on the
number. Whoever’s behind this is one twisted son of a bitch.”
Rita paused as she put the card back in her wallet. “What are you talking about?”
“The phone number’s a death threat. When you look at the corresponding letters on
the keypad, you don’t get the numeric series four, three, seven, three, three, two and
three. Instead, you get H, E, S, D, E, A, D.”
“‘He’s Dead.’ Fuck!”
“Pretty much.” Looking around, Ray watched Crime Scene reenter the building. “It
doesn’t look like we can do much more around here.” Glancing at his partner, he
caught her nod. “We’ll meet you back at the precinct, Rita.”
“I’ll grab breakfast on my way in.”
********************
Roughly four hours later, shortly after 8, both Ray and Tru had taken the time to use the
precinct showers and had joined Rita over a quick fast food breakfast before going to
the Crime Lab.
The forensics labs seen in the movies and on television are related to the ones found
in reality primarily by implication. They are usually dark, save for the occasional points
of mood lighting. In reality, the lab is always brightly lit. The labs the public sees in
popular forensic dramas are populated by interesting, beautiful people wearing
expensive and custom tailored clothing, which usually stops just short of total
exposure on the women with the best breasts. Only occasionally will you find someone
wearing a pristine white lab coat. The reality is that the employees run the gamut
regarding physical appearance, but none of them are supermodels in their spare time.
They rarely spend much time with hair and makeup, and wear inexpensive clothing
because they are usually covered in coveralls or lab gear; jacket, latex gloves, safety
mask, safety goggles and hair net.
The woman they were meeting was a perfect physical reminder that fact is never the
same as fiction. A white woman in her mid-fifties, she stood about an inch under five
feet, as long as she was wearing heels. Although reasonably attractive, she would do
well to lose ten to fifteen pounds. At the moment she was looking over a series of lab
reports with the detectives. “Are we certain this isn’t a copycat killer?”
Ray shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I guess. Why?”
Scanning the reports, she said, “Look at this. The Gallantine murders were clean. All
we got out of that house was a partial footprint; not even enough to try and place the
tread pattern. By comparison, this one was just a mess. We found footprints all over
the room, fingerprints in half a dozen places, and skin tissue under Asia Charlotte’s
nails.”
Holding out a hand for the reports, Tru looked them over for a few minutes. Handing
them to Rita, she looked at Ray. “The problem with the idea of a copycat is still the MO.
The heads were literally torn off, just like with Luke and Marie, and there’s still no trace
at the scene that would even begin to explain how.”
Rita had finished scanning the reports when she cleared her throat. Pointing to a
chemical compound listed as trace in the footprints, she said, “I think we may have
something.”
“What?”
Pointing to the breakdown, she explained, “This compound is used at the docks. It’s a
cleaner they use while repairing damaged hulls. I don’t think I’ve encountered it
anywhere else.”
Ray glanced at Tru, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Didn’t we interview some guy at the
docks who did ship repair?”
Flipping through her notes, Tru nodded. “Yeah. Some guy named Sully. He had a bit of
an accent that made him hard to understand at times; I think he was Irish.”
Looking at his own notes, Ray grunted. “I’ve got a friend who goes by the name Sully. It’
s a nick for his last name, Sullivan. How much you want to bet this guy’s first name is
Angus? I think another might be worthwhile.” As they stood to go, he looked back at
the forensic investigator. “Thanks for the info, Bobbi. You’ll let us know if anything
pops with the fingerprints?” When she nodded, they left for the docks.
********************
Tuthill came out meet them as they pulled into the docks. “Howdy, Detectives. What c’n
I do ya fer?” When Rita stepped out of the car as well, his wide grin faded. “Why the
hell’d she come?”
Rita’s grin was vaguely reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. “Hi, Tut.”
Tru chuckled. “I take it you two have met?”
“We ‘ave. And it’s brought me no pleasure knowin’ her. Ever’ time she shows up, I end
up havin’ t’ hire idjit replacements fer the people she’s haulin’ off in one way or t’
other.”
“Now, Tut, you know that’s only because you have the tendency to, occasionally, hire
people with a, shall we say, liberal interpretation of the law?”
“Sure. Whatever. Why you folks here?”
Tru cleared her throat. “We need to have a chat with one of your guys, actually.”
“Who?”
“He told us to call him Sully. We didn’t need it, so we didn’t get his full name. He works
the repair docks.”
“Sully? He’s workin’ a hull right now. Why you need him?”
Ray took over. “Some stuff came up in our investigation. Based on what he told us in
our last interview, we think he can help us out.”
Snorting back a laugh, he scratched his paunch. “Whatever. Straight through th’ door
there and right down th’ walk. Should take ya right to where he’s workin’.”
After following the indicated path for a couple of minutes, they found themselves in
the middle of the repair yard. Down on the water was a single floating dry dock, used
for major repairs, and two other docks used for more minor work. There were also
several building used for everything from storage to office space.
After asking several workers where he could be found, they were directed to one of
the buildings where he was cleaning up from some hull work. As they were passing
one of the windows, Rita glanced in and paled slightly. Stopping them just past the
window, she asked, “Is that the guy?”
Slipping back to look through the window briefly, Tru said, “Yeah, that’s Sully. Why?”
“Because he’s also that lawyer I was telling you about, Regis Fortun.”
Ray blinked in surprise. “Fortun? You’re positive?” When she nodded, he scratched
the back of his neck in frustration. “Damn! If you go in there with us, he’s bound to
recognize you.”
Suddenly Tru perked up. “Wait a second. I think we can use this.” Turning to Rita she
said, “You stay here for maybe five minutes. That’ll give me and Ray time to start
making him as uncomfortable as possible.” Looking back at her partner, she continued.
“We go in and talk for a few minutes. During that time I’ll ask about his name, Sully, and
if it isn’t commonly used as a nick for Sullivan. Then one of us should slip and call him
Angus. That should set him up nicely.” Nodding back at Rita, she finished. “That’s about
the time you should be showing up. Come in and act surprised to see him. Ask him
what he’s doing here; using the name he gave you when pretending to be a lawyer.
That should panic him enough to give us what we want.”
Glancing at Ray, Rita couldn’t restrain a laugh. “Is she always this cold blooded about
orchestrating interviews?”
Shaking his head, Ray laughed as well. “Hell, you should see her when we have them
in custody. I’ve seen her orchestrate things so we got a confession from a suspect,
whose lawyer was trying to shut him up, which held up in court. She’s a fucking genius
at it.”
“If you two are done admiring me, are we good to go?”
With Rita counting to five minutes outside, Ray and Tru walked into the building. They
ran across Sully while he was finishing scrubbing his arms and hands clean. Glancing
up, he grinned as he rinsed off and grabbed a towel. As he dried, he greeted them.
“Morning, Detectives. Or is it afternoon?”
Glancing at his watch, Ray said, “Just past noon, Sully.” Glancing into his torn face, Ray
winced a little. “Damn, man. What the hell happened to you?”
Tossing the towel aside, he leaned against the wall. “Nothin’ much, had a minor
disagreement with a gent last night at the bar. What can I do for you today?”
Taking the silent cue from his partner, Ray headed the interview. “Some information
came up during an investigation into the quadruple murder this morning. Since there
seems to be a link to the Gallantine murders, we were wondering if you could help us.”
Shrugging, Sully commented, “Heard about that. Nasty business.” Indicating a large
folding table and chairs in the other room with his head, he finished. “Not sure what
help I can provide, Detectives, but I’ll do my best.”
Once they were seated at the table, and he had served coffee, they began asking him a
series of questions. Ray was in the middle of one when Tru interrupted. “Sorry, Ray. It
just struck me where I’ve heard the name Sully before. I had a friend when I was
growing up that went by that name. As I remember, it was a nick he took because his
last name was Sullivan.” Glancing with feigned innocence at his slightly paled face, she
asked, “I don’t suppose that’s true in your case, is it?”
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he nodded. “Yeah. It was the only good thing I got
from my git of a Da. Why?”
Shrugging, she laughed a little. “No reason. I just thought it was interesting, that’s all.”
For another minute or two Ray continued to ask questions. Shortly before the five
minute mark, he felt a slight nudge as Tru bumped his foot under the table. Without
pausing, he asked, “So, Angus, you didn’t see or hear anything unusual this morning?”
Since they were both looking him in the face when Ray called him Angus, it was
impossible to miss as he paled several shades almost immediately. While he was still
attempting to regain his composure, they heard Rita walk into the room. “Hey guys.
Sorry it took so long.” Seemingly by accident she looked at Sully, and then took a
second, closer look. “Counsellor Fortun? What are you doing here?”
They watched for a second as his already pale face went nearly white. While he
attempted to stammer out some sort of denial, Tru swept in. “Fortun? I thought you
said your name was Sullivan?”
Ray took out his handcuffs. “I think maybe you should come with us until we get this
sorted out, Mr. Sullivan.” As he stood up, he kept an eye on the steadily paler suspect.
With a shouted curse, Angus Sullivan vanished with a muted popping sound. Rita, Ray
and Tru stood in horrified fascination, staring at the space Sullivan had just vacated.
Coming out of his brief stupor, ray leapt across the table to where Angus had been
standing. When he finally rolled to a stop against the wall, having come in contact with
nothing solid, he shook his head. “What the FUCK is going on here?”
Shaking their heads in shock, Rita and Tru could do nothing but stare at the point from
which their suspect had vanished. Finally, Tru blinked and shouted out, “I don’t know
what just fucking happened, but we better do something before he gets the hell away.”
Rita ran out the door first. “Tut’ll have what we need.”
As they ran up to Tuthill’s office, Ray couldn’t help observing, “The Captain’s gonna
fucking kill us!”
Tru yelled back, “Only if we don’t catch the bastard.”
As they came to a stop in his office, Tuthill looked at them in alarm. “What th’ hell’s
goin’ on?”
Rita took a breath and then answered. “We need to know where Sully lives.”
Shaking his head, Tuthill backed away. “Hell no. I don’t give shit to th’ cops ‘thout a
reason.”
Tru approached him threateningly. “Listen you little son of a bitch. That fucker’s a
damned cop-killer. He killed Luke and Marie Gallantine earlier this week, and just killed
three cops as well as his own partner in order to cover his ass this morning. If I need
to, I’ll call up the fucking DA right now and get a warrant sworn out for the search of
every single damned file you have in this shitty place, and I might just throw in
obstruction charges for you while I’m at it. Or you can give us the fucking information
now!” With her glaring in rage, Tuthill quickly pulled up the information and gave it to
them.
********************
Quickly screeching to a stop outside the apartment building, they leapt out of the car.
They ran up the stairs just inside the doors until reaching the level his apartment was
on. Standing just outside his door, Tru raised her voice. “Sullivan? This is the LAPD.
Open the door and come out, with your hands up!” When she didn’t receive a reply,
she repeated the command and listened again.
Hearing footsteps, she nodded at Ray who kicked the door in. Rita ran in first, followed
immediately by Tru, with Ray bringing up the rear. Inside they found an apartment that
was completely spotless. Rita swore. “Nobody fucking lives here. It’s a damned bolt
hole.”
She perked up when she heard noise from the bedroom down a short hall. Catching
the attention of the other two, she drew her weapon and signaled down the hall.
Taking the lead she let the others clear the closet and restroom while she
concentrated on the bedroom. Taking the handle in one hand, she slowly turned the
knob until the latch opened, and gave the door a shove. Stepping into the room, she
looked around and saw that there was nobody in it.
As she turned to head back into the hall, she heard a slight noise behind her, almost a
soft popping noise. Suddenly she felt hands grab onto her head, stopping her from
turning around. She felt the warm breath as her assailant bent down to whisper in her
ear, dropping all pretense at a soft accent. “Ya really should na’ o’ come ‘ere, Rita.”
Ray and Tru sprinted into the room when they heard her scream for help. They made it
just in time to watch Angus Sullivan vanish, along with Rita’s head. They watched in
horrified silence as, in a scene filled with macabre grace, her headless body crumbled
to the floor.