Richard Montanari - The Killing Room

‘Two words, detective. Two words.’ Gonsalves wiped at his eyes. ‘He didn’t say tell my wife I love her , or give my babies a hug from their daddy . Nothing like that. He lived all that time, and his life came down to two words.’

‘What two words?’

Gonsalves looked at Jessica, the pain of all the city’s dead in his eyes, and said:

‘ He lives .’

By noon a second team of homicide detectives were on the scene. They would help with the neighborhood interviews.

The past year had brought a number of retirements in the Homicide Unit, plus a few detectives had moved into other squads. In all there were eight new detectives in the unit, including two more women. Jessica was grateful for this in more ways than one. Although she loved her job, and her partner, the presence of another two women in the duty room was a nice counterbalance to the heightened levels of testosterone that seemed to drive the unit. An added bonus was that it kept a lot of the male detectives on their toes. With one female detective it was easier to tell the sexist joke, or make the derogatory remark. With three in the room, it was easy to get flanked. Add to this the fact that the day watch commander was also a woman, and the place was getting downright dainty.

Could lace curtains in the duty room be far behind?

The second team was comprised of Detective Joshua Bontrager, who had grown up Amish in rural Berks County, and Maria Caruso. Maria was in her late twenties — young for homicide, but Jessica wasn’t much older when she joined the unit. Maria was very attractive, with dark chocolate eyes and a clear olive complexion. She was a good officer, had worked with Jessica and Byrne a few years earlier on a case involving a mad magician and his murderous plan for the city of Philadelphia. Time would tell if she was right for homicide.

As Bontrager walked across Amber Street, Jessica watched him. His progress through the PPD had been nothing short of amazing. The first time she had seen him, when he was brought up from the Traffic Unit to work a case, he had been a fish out of water, a country boy suddenly thrust into one of the toughest jobs, in one of the toughest areas, in the city. Now he walked with an old school homicide detective’s swagger. Recently Jessica caught a whiff of some pretty expensive cologne when Josh passed her in the office. The joke around the squad for the next few days had something to do with Josh wearing Eau de Cowlogne.

Josh took it like a good sport.

Jessica briefed detectives Bontrager and Caruso on the case. She took out her iPhone, showed them some of the photographs she had taken of the scene, and the victim.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Bontrager said.

For Josh, this was the equivalent of a profane tirade by any other cop in the city. Maybe the world.

‘Any witnesses?’ Maria asked.

‘Just starting the canvass,’ Jessica said.

Maria took out her notebook and pen. ‘What time did that call come in?’

‘Had to be eight-fifteen or so,’ Jessica said.

Maria wrote it down.

‘What did the caller say again?’ Bontrager asked.

Jessica repeated the phone call verbatim.

‘That’s what the caller said?’ Bontrager asked. ‘ One God, seven churches ?’

‘Yeah,’ Jessica said. ‘Mean anything to you?’

Bontrager thought for a few moments. Considering his childhood and background, Josh Bontrager was kind of the go-to guy around the unit when it came to all things Christian and Biblical. ‘Not off the top. Let me think about it.’

‘Sure.’

Bontrager pointed over his shoulder. ‘We’ll head up Cumberland.’

Jessica nodded. She and Byrne would work Amber Street.

Josh Bontrager stepped out of the way to let Maria Caruso go ahead of him. Part of the reason, Jessica surmised, was that Bontrager was by nature a gentleman. The other reason was that Detective Maria Caruso was given to wearing tight slacks and fitted jackets, as she was today. Josh Bontrager was single and unattached. Amish or not, he had to enjoy the view.

An hour later the four detectives met back in front of the crime scene building, no wiser for their efforts. As expected, mass amnesia. No one had seen or heard anything.

Bontrager pointed to the PPD camera on the corner. ‘We’re gonna head back to the house, check the footage.’

Jessica held up her cell phone. ‘Keep me posted.’

*

As Byrne prepared to leave for the Roundhouse to begin the paperwork, Jessica waved him over. She was standing by a lamppost directly in front of the crime-scene building.

‘What is it?’ Byrne asked.

Jessica pointed to the lamppost. There was a symbol in the shape of an X painted on it at about eye level for Jessica. Byrne looked closely. It was not spray-painted graffiti. It was dark umber in color. Byrne glanced at Jessica, then got the attention of a CSU officer. The crime scene had just gotten larger. The X looked like it might have been drawn in blood.

Byrne pointed to the side door of the building. ‘I think I’m going to walk it again.’

Jessica knew what he meant. As good as they were as a team, she had long ago learned to give her partner time and space on a new homicide. Kevin Byrne had his own methods.

Due to the amount of blood and other bodily fluids, when they wheeled out the body, the paramedics did not zip the victim into a body bag, for fear that it might compromise crucial scientific evidence. A crowd had formed across the street, and at the sight of this savaged man on the gurney, many turned away.

With Byrne inside the crime-scene building, Jessica scanned the small, milling crowd. There were twenty or so people gathered, shivering in the cold. The show was just too good, it seemed, for them to worry about frostbite or pneumonia. The gathering was a mix of neighborhood residents, mostly grandmothers and children too young for school. Jessica noticed a woman across the street, seemingly mesmerized by the pageant in front of her. The woman was in her thirties, well-dressed. She caught Jessica’s eye, and immediately made her way around the corner.

Jessica followed.

Jessica caught up to the woman about a half-block away, got her attention. She was about to get into her car.

‘Is there something you wanted to say, ma’am?’ Jessica asked.

The woman looked at the ground for a few moments, closed her car door. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. Although she was probably not yet forty, her hair was a beautiful, shimmering silver, blunt cut, down to her shoulders. The look was quite striking, Jessica thought.

‘Can I get your name?’ she asked.

The woman glanced up, resigned. She was going on the record. ‘Mara,’ she said. ‘Mara Reuben.’

‘Do you live in the neighborhood?’

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘ God , no. That’s my mother’s house. I’ve been trying to get her to move for fifteen years, but she won’t have it.’

‘Is your mother home right now?’

‘No. She’s in the hospital. I stop by here twice a day to pick up the mail, get the flyers and newspapers off the stoop, check on things. Her house has been broken into twice in just this past month, and I figured that a build-up of stuff by the front door is a sure tip-off that no one is home.’

Jessica studied the woman. She had long ago learned that you can tell a lot about a person by their grooming habits and clothing. Many times, with women, their accessories told you the most. This woman wore a stylish pair of drop earrings, a tennis bracelet, a single sapphire ring, third finger right hand.

‘Can I ask what happened over there?’ she asked.

‘Right now it looks like there was a homicide in that building,’ Jessica said.