John Lutz - Torch

“What then?” Carver asked.

Hodgkins looked at Beth.

“I saw Mr. Hodgkins staring at my car earlier,” she said, “when he’d come out to empty some trash. So I let him know why I was there. When he found Gretch, he came and got me. That’s when I phoned you.”

Carver supported himself with his cane and leaned down to look more closely at the corpse. Gretch was wearing only white Jockey shorts. He’d fouled them in death. Carver held his breath. There were several ugly dark blotches on Gretch’s thighs and torso, as well as his face, but the skin was unbroken.

“Whaddya figure happened to him?” Hodgkins asked. He was whispering now, as if he feared waking Gretch.

“I think he was rolled up in the carpet and then beaten to death,” Carver said. “It might have taken a long time.”

Hodgkins said, “Jesus H. Christ!”

Beth said, “More likely Beni Ho.”

“Probably,” Carver said. “He could have held a gun on Gretch, or knocked him unconscious, to get him in the carpet. One turn of the carpet and Gretch would have been helpless, like being wrapped in his shroud before he was dead. Then Ho could have his sport.”

“Sick, sick bastard,” Hodgkins said.

“Could anyone have entered the building last night and sneaked into Gretch’s apartment?”

“No reason why not,” Hodgkins said. “In fact, I mighta heard someone on the stairs about two in the mornin’, but I didn’t think nothin’ of it and went back to sleep.”

“The beating itself wouldn’t make much noise, considering Gretch was rolled in the carpet, even if he screamed. But somebody might have heard. Who lives directly beneath this apartment?”

“Old Mrs. Carpenter. She’s deaf as a stone. She sleeps with her hearing aid turned off and wouldn’t have heard cannon shots right next to her bed.”

Beth said, “This building needs better security.”

Hodgkins said, “Hah!” and made a face as if about to spit. But he didn’t. He said, “Tell it to Billy. I have, often enough!”

“Who’s Billy?” she asked.

“The landlord,” Carver said. “He keeps losing Gretch as a tenant, then getting him back.”

“Well,” Hodgkins said, “he ain’t gonna get him back this time. And if he got a security deposit, it’ll be the first time he came out ahead dealing with Gretch.”

“Where from here?” Beth asked Carver, glancing down at Gretch and wrinkling her nose at the odor.

“We phone Desoto and report this to the police.”

“I gonna get in any trouble?” Hodgkins asked. “I mean, for comin’ in here like I did when I found him?”

“You’re the manager and the door was open,” Carver said. “You thought something might be wrong so you investigated. If you’d come in and saved Gretch’s life, you’d be a hero.”

“Or dead,” Beth said.

“Fella can be both,” Hodgkins told her. “I’ll tell the cops that, Carver, case they give me’ any shit.” He stared down at Gretch, looking nauseated and furious. “Gretch was no good,” he said, “but I hate to see anybody die like he did.” He stared at Carver as if angrily seeking answers. “Who’d do somethin’ like this to a man? What kinda person’d be so cold?”

“The kind who might show up as your escort for the evening,” Carver said.

He went to the phone and called Desoto.

The police were at the scene within five minutes. First two polite and efficient uniforms who asked Beth, Carver, and Hodgkins the basic crime scene questions, then requested they stay in the apartment. Then Desoto and two plainclothes detectives. The plainclothes cops took Beth and Hodgkins to Hodgkins’s apartment to take their statements separately. Desoto took Carver’s statement, then said they’d all have to go down to headquarters and repeat them all again for the recorder so they could be transcribed and signed.

Also so any discrepancies in the three statements would be noted, but Desoto didn’t mention that to Carver. They both knew there was no need. Carver understood how the game was played.

“Beni Ho did this,” Carver said, when Desoto had closed his notebook and they were off-the-record.

“Seems that way,” Desoto agreed. The police photographer and assistant medical examiner had finished, and the paramedics passed through the living room carrying Gretch zipped tight in a body bag. Each paramedic had hold of an end of the bag with one clenched fist. Neither man was straining. Gretch had been a small man and wasn’t much of a burden. Not in death, anyway. Carver and Desoto stood silently watching.

“Let’s go outside,” Desoto said. The technicians were still vacuuming the area where the body had been found and dusting the entire apartment for prints, like a-somber and efficient maid service. “We should get outa these people’s way.”

They went downstairs and stood outside the building, where Hodgkins had been standing and smoking when Carver arrived. Two unmarkeds and a cruiser were lined at the curb. The ambulance, lights flashing in the sunlight but siren silent, was pulling away with Gretch’s body. Carver and Desoto watched it turn the corner off of Belt and disappear.

“You gonna talk to Beni Ho?” Carver asked.

“Sure, but if he did Gretch, we both know he’ll have his alibi ready.” Desoto buttoned his caramel-colored suit coat. His tie was tightly knotted and gold cufflinks winked on his white French cuffs. He wasn’t sweating and looked entirely comfortable and at ease, a darkly handsome guy who might have been one of Walton’s catalog models. He said, “Why would Beni Ho kill Gretch?”

“Because Gretch knew something about Mark Winship’s death and he wasn’t a stable character. In fact, he was a flake and a hothead. He might have talked, so killing him was the lesser risk.”

“What about Donna Winship? You think she was murdered too?”

“No,” Carver said. “Hers looks like a genuine suicide.”

“That’s what doesn’t feel right,” Desoto said. “Donna kills herself, then somebody thinks Mark has to die.”

“That’s how it was.”

“Give me a reason.”

“I can’t yet, but I think there is one. After what happened to Gretch, I’m convinced Mark was murdered.”

“The police won’t be convinced, though. Not officially.”

“And you?” Carver asked.

“I’m with the police, remember?”

“I mean, how do you feel personally?”

“Personally, I more or less agree with you that Mark was murdered.”

“McGregor won’t.”

“Well, Gretch didn’t roll himself up in a rug and beat himself to death,” Desoto said, “so this one’s definitely a homicide. And it’s in my jurisdiction even if the Winship deaths aren’t. I can keep you informed of any possible connection between Gretch and Mark Winship that might come up during the investigation.”

“Donna was the connection.”

“Sure. But we don’t know what that means. It doesn’t seem to be the stuff that murders are made of unless they’re crimes of passion. Donna killed herself and Mark died and that’s how it went, passion and grief. I mean, that’s how it could have gone if Mark actually committed suicide. But Gretch’s murder wouldn’t fit into the picture unless Mark was also a murder victim. This thing with Gretch muddies the waters considerably.” He smiled sadly and shook his head. “Life is a mystery, hey, amigo ?”

Carver said, “It doesn’t hold a candle to death.”

Carver knew what they wanted to hear, so they were finished with him first.

He left police headquarters on Hughey before Beth and Hodgkins, knowing they might be there considerably longer. The polite, insistent questions would come faster when they were tired, when they’d be more likely to contradict themselves or each other if they were lying. The interrogators were aware he’d been one of them and knew their tricks, so the game had been cut short. He’d given his statement again to Desoto and two other officers while a recorder was running, then verified and signed the transcript.