Frank Zafiro - Some Degree of Murder

“How convenient.”

“I thought so, too. He says he was visiting his friend over at White Oaks apartments when some guy asked him to borrow his car to go get milk for his family. He’s such a giving guy that he just tossed this total stranger the keys to his Camaro.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm. “The guy took the car and was gone for several hours. He didn’t notice anything strange about the car or the guy when he eventually brought it back.”

“Did you find out who his mysterious friend was that he was visiting?”

“I did. Dennis Kroft.”

“He’s a real person?”

“Yeah, he is. I looked him up in the computer. He’s had a couple of misdemeanor pops, but nothing serious. And he does live at the White Oaks.”

“Did he alibi up McDonald?”

She nodded.

“Backed up McDonald’s story?”

“Backed it up exactly.”

“Exactly?” I raised my eyebrow at her.

“Exactly. Not one variation. Even gave the same vague description of the guy who borrowed the car.”

“So they talked.”

“Pretty sure of it.”

I rubbed my chin briefly and realized I hadn’t shaved that morning. I’d have to avoid Crawford as much as possible.

“You’ve got to break his alibi,” I thought out loud.

“I’ve got zero leverage on him,” she said.

“You’ll have to bluff him a little.”

Katie grimaced. “I don’t like to bluff.”

“It’s really all you’ve got. I mean, you could sit around and hope to get a hit on the TV, but I doubt that’ll happen. And if you don’t have a lever of some kind when you interview McDonald, he’ll never roll on whoever his buddy was.”

“Probably not.” She smiled and touched me lightly on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Any time. Nice to work for a few minutes on something where nobody died.”

Katie chuckled and walked away. “Enjoy your coffee.”

I shook the paper cup. It was almost empty.

VIRGIL

I found a pay phone in the lobby of the Davenport and used a pre-paid card to make the call. It was answered on the second ring.

“Bobo’s House of Chicken,” the thick voice said.

“Jay, its Virgil. Tell the old man to call me back.”

“Alright,” Jay said. “What’s the number?”

I rattled off the ten digits

“Got it.”

I sat down on one of the over-stuffed chairs and watched the socialites walking around the lobby of the hotel. Several beautiful young women walked into the Jazz City restaurant with a group of older businessmen on their heels.

When the phone rang, I picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. “Virgil.”

“It’s me.” His voice was hard and proud with the first hints of the frailty of age creeping in on the corners.

I put my hand on the wall and leaned into the phone. “Thanks for calling me back, Mr. Saccamano.”

“Have you found what you’re looking for yet?”

“No sir.”

He grunted before asking, “How long will it take you?”

I pushed away from the wall and watched the lobby. “Not sure, but it shouldn’t be too long.”

“Did you see the ex?”

“Not yet.”

A beautiful woman in her late thirties jogged into the lobby. She wore a light blue sports bra over matching running pants. Her body was covered in sweat as she walked in small circles checking her watch. When she lifted her head, she caught me looking and immediately turned away. She walked to the elevators shaking her head.

“You okay, kid? You don’t sound right.”

“I guess this thing is heavier than I thought.”

Mr. Saccamano let out a short cough. “She was family, for Chrissakes. It better be like a ton of fuckin’ bricks on your shoulders.”

I nodded with my eyes closed.

“You still there?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I was thinking about what you said.”

Mr. Saccamano’s voice softened. “I don’t want to add any more pressure to you, kid.”

I opened my eyes and stared at the phone. “But?”

“As soon as you’re done, I need you to get back here.”

I leaned back into the phone. “What’s going on?”

“The Charlies are on the move again.” The Vietnamese crew had pushed into Mr. Saccamano’s turf a year ago and we’d battled to push them back out.

“What’d they do?”

“They torched our repair shop in Van Nuys. We had several cars getting worked on when it went up.”

“Any of our guys hurt?”

“Nah.”

“Anything traceable to you?”

“No. Not really. You know the drill.”

I knew it well. Off shore corporations set up to funnel money through. The paperwork was padded with deceased personnel and false names. No one that worked there was ever on the books. I’m sure when the guys showed up for work and saw the building burning they turned and walked back into the crowd. That was the game. If they wanted to continue to play, they had to learn the rules.

“You know which crew did it?”

“No. They tagged it before they burned it, but I can’t read that Gookaniese shit. I need to hire a goddamn translator is what I need to do.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Check around for an old Viet Nam vet with an axe to grind. I don’t think those will be too hard to find.”

“Good thinkin’.”

“They do anything else?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. Just hurry home, kid. I need you.”

“I will, Mr. Saccamano.”

TOWER

I drove slowly through the Rockwood neighborhood. The houses I passed all had huge, perfectly manicured lawns. Most had gates. The homes sat a hundred yards off the street, nestled amongst tall trees and sculpted shrubs. Most of the homes cost more than I’d make in my career.

The phone rang. I pushed the send button and spoke into the microphone Velcroed to the visor. “Tower.”

“John? It’s Cameron.”

“Good. Whaddya you got for me?”

“There isn’t much,” he said. “I am running the victim’s prints through AFIS now. I should have a name for you later today.”

“Cause of death?”

“Strangulation. And the stab wounds were post-mortem.”

“So this guy is angry,” I muttered to myself.

“What’s that?” Cameron asked.

“I said, any good trace?”

“Not yet,” he told me. “I haven’t been over her clothing yet for fibers, but the body is clean. Nothing from the fingernail scrapings and nothing from the sexual assault kit.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

“Was she sexually assaulted?”

“It appears so. But there’s no seminal fluid.”

“Pubic hair transfer?”

“M.E. said no.”

“M.E. said no? He did the analysis?”

“Yeah.”

“Do me a favor, Cameron.”

“What?”

“Do it again. You do it this time. Just to be sure.”

“John — “

“Just do it again, all right?”

He sighed. “Okay, I will. But off the books.”

“On the books, off the books…I don’t care, unless you find something. Who did the Taylor kit?”

“M.E.,” Cameron answered.

“The M.E. again? Why is the Medical Examiner doing tech work?”

“I don’t know. He’s kind of…”

“Arrogant.”

“Yeah, something like that. Anyway, he did both hair examinations.”

“Well, do ‘em both again. Every single loose hair that came from combing both victims. A guy that arrogant and that busy probably rushed through it.”

Cameron didn’t answer.

“What else is there?”

“She had a tattoo, just off her pelvis, right at the bikini line.”