David Ellis - Eye of the Beholder

Back out the car and drive down one floor to the beige Toyota Camry, another rental car, different rental company, he’s not stupid, different rental company, different fake name, it’s a good time of day to make the transfer, not first thing in the morning or quitting time, good time, not many cars, not many people, transfer the contents, transfer quickly, okay, good, that’s done, that’s done, now, one more thing, they always underestimate him, crazy Leo, he must be stupid, he’d never think of this-

Go to a secluded corner, a small alcove off the main strips of the parking garage, look at the cars parked against the cement wall, a sedan, parked nose in, but with a little space to maneuver between the front of the car and wall, enough space to duck in with a screwdriver, remove the front license plate, they’ll never know, won’t be looking at the front of the car when they get in, won’t see it until later when it’s way too late-

Take that license plate, exchange it with the LeBaron’s plate, they probably won’t search a parking garage, but, if they do, if they drive by and see a Chrysler LeBaron, they’ll see the license plate doesn’t match and move on, lazy, stupid cops, this is easy, he’s smarter-

Pull out into traffic and head toward the interstate. Almost done now.

I TAKE A CAB to the police station, carrying the manila envelope in a plastic shopping bag Betty gave me. I also bring the coded note I received on August 15, 1989, still encased in plastic. I give the cab bie a twenty and don’t wait for change. McDermott is waiting for me at the top of the stairs and waves me past the desk sergeant.

“You just come and go as you please now?”

I hand him the shopping bag and follow him to his desk. Ricki Stoletti, at her desk nearby, comes over.

“Where’s Gwendolyn Lake now?” she asks.

I tell her I have no idea. “I gave you her cell number.”

“Yeah, and she didn’t answer.”

“I told her to call you,” I say, but my focus is on McDermott, who is wearing latex gloves and opening the top of the manila envelope with a letter opener. He dumps out a regular-sized white envelope.

He nods to me. “What else is in here?”

I show it to him, the note I received from August 15, 1989.

“A job well done,” he says, reading the Post-it I attached to it. “Any idea what a ‘job well done’ might have been?”

I clear my throat and tell him. The letter was referring to the dismissal of Cassie’s murder from the case.

“Oh.” He coughs out the word, like a laugh. “How’s that Burgos case looking now, Counselor?”

“She had a secret,” I say. “Whoever wrote this was glad it stayed a secret.”

McDermott stares at me. “Y‘know, Riley, for a guy who everyone says is so smart-”

“Open the note, McDermott.”

He takes the white envelope and slices open the top, dumps out a single piece of paper, folded in three. With his gloved hands, he smooths out the paper.

I grab a notepad and pen off his desk as all three of us read it:

If For Years Others Urge Blind, Evil Hypocrisy And

Vindicate Evil, Soon Heathens Engage Willingly. I Laugh,

Love, Learn. I Vow Eternity To Other Opponents.

I scribble it out as quickly as I can:

I-F-Y-O-U-B-E-H-A-V-E-S-H-E-W-I-L-L-L-I-V-E-T-O-O. IF YOU BEHAVE, SHE WILL LIVE, TOO.

McDermott says, “If you-”

I brush past him and pick up his phone, dialing the numbers so quickly I mess it up the first time.

“Children’s Advocacy Project.”

“Shelly Trotter, please.”

“Shelly-is not in. Can I-”

“Has she been in?”

“Has she-who am I speaking to?”

“This is Paul Riley,” I say.

Voices in the background. I make out Rena Schroeder, the supervising attorney. Shelly’s boss. I hear my name thrown out, then the phone changing hands.

“Paul, this is Rena.”

“Rena, where’s Shelly?”

“I was going to ask you that. She didn’t show up today. She missed court, she missed our monthly-”

I drop the phone.

McDermott says, “Write down her address.” Stoletti runs to get her coat. I scribble the address on the notepad and jog toward the exit, as I hear McDermott say into the phone, “Dispatch, I need all units to respond. We have a possible 401 in progress…”

THREE SQUAD CARS HAVE already double-parked in front of Shelly Trotter’s brownstone when McDermott pulls up his sedan. For the third time he says to Riley, “We go in first,” but before the car has even come to a stop Riley’s pushing himself out of the passenger’s door.

A couple of uniforms, standing at the door, look at McDermott. He points at Riley and shakes his head. He jogs toward the door with Stoletti.

“This is the governor’s daughter, right?” she asks.

“It sure fucking is.”

The uniforms block Riley, who struggles with them. “Paul, you can come up in a minute,” McDermott says. “Let us do our job first.”

“Shelly!” Riley is calling out as McDermott heads up the stairs. At the second-floor landing another uniform awaits them, shaking his head.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

McDermott and Stoletti bound up the final sets of stairs and slow their pace as they walk through the entrance to the apartment. They step in and see another uniform standing next to a bloody chain saw.

They walk slowly toward the bathroom, pure dread filling McDermott’s stomach. Wanting to do anything but-the damn bathroom, of all places-he sticks his head in, the putrid smell nothing compared to what he sees.

Blood spatters have reached well beyond the bathtub to the sink, the walls, even to the entrance. Inside the tub is a bloody mess, like remnants from a butcher shop.

“Mary, Mother of God,” McDermott mumbles. He takes a careful step into the bathroom and looks in the tub. Stoletti looks in and draws an abrupt breath.

He caught her in the shower. The body appears to be naked, which is only to say there is no evidence of clothing. There is little to draw from the body because, as one would define a body-a torso with limbs, a neck, a head-there is no body anymore.

“He took his time with her,” he says, trying to keep a clinical perspective. The body has been sawed into a hundred pieces at least. No arms, no legs, no neck, no head. Everything has been sliced through. Just little parts.

Trim-Meter chain saw cheerleader’s brains all paint on the stained wall.

He hears commotion on the staircase. He steps out of the bathroom and moves to the doorway. Paul Riley looks like a running back trying to shed tacklers. Halfway up the final staircase, with two officers clutching at him, he makes eye contact with McDermott, still a trace of irrational hope on his face.

“I’m sorry,” McDermott says.

“I want to see her.” The struggle begins anew between Riley and the officers. McDermott takes a few steps down and grips Riley’s arm.

“There’s nothing left to see, Paul,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Riley collapses on the staircase, crying out Shelly’s name. McDermott looks back at Stoletti, who says to him, quietly, “We have to call the governor.”

SEVEN O‘CLOCK. Radio still mentioning his name, Leo Koslenko, wanted for questioning, armed and dangerous, Chrysler LeBaron, and now the new scoop, Trotter, Michelle Trotter, governor’s daughter, daughter of the governor, might be a connection, wanted, dangerous, armed-

Guide the Toyota Camry off the interstate, follow the signs through town. New construction at this intersection, not what he’s seen before, weird, feelings return, but the place looks different, he’s never come back here, always stayed away, no reason to go back, but now he feels like he’s back in every way, he’s back to work, back in the game-