Robert Ellis: The Dead Room

Teddy cleared his throat. “What about the murder weapon?”

Andrews paused a moment, then met his eyes. “It was a knife. A big one with enough blood on it to make the lab’s ten best list. We found it buried in his mailbag with this year’s Christmas cards.”

Andrews glanced at the street, his jaw muscles flexing like a predatory animal savoring its kill. He was shorter than Teddy by half a foot, but lean and tight and built like a sledgehammer. The man had a definite edge going and was obviously pissed off. He had a right to be, Teddy thought.

“So here are the rules,” Andrews said. “The house has been cleared. Every room but the dining room. You want to look around, be my guest, but nothing’s gonna be happening for another hour or two. If you have any questions, ask ADA Powell. Where’s Barnett?”

“At the roundhouse,” Teddy said.

“Is he gonna farm the case out?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How come you’re not sure, Teddy Mack?”

Teddy didn’t say anything but held the man’s eyes. After a long moment, District Attorney Alan Andrews turned his back on him and disappeared into the house. When ADA Powell started for the door, Teddy took a deep breath of fresh air and followed her inside.

The smell hit him as he passed the threshold. It was a chemical smell, almost like an acid that burned the nostrils and irritated his eyes.

“They’re gassing the body,” Powell said. “Super glue. It won’t be ready for a while.”

He nodded at her even though he didn’t know what she was talking about. Still, the intense fumes were enough to explain why the windows were open and it felt like the heat was switched off. Powell pulled her jacket tighter in the mid-December air. Something about seeing a beautiful woman in this setting didn’t compute. Her eyes were blue gray and gentle, her face, refined and made all the softer by her shoulder-length hair. Teddy guessed she was in her late thirties, and had seen things most people, including himself, would never see or even hear about because those were the details newspapers always left out.

“Who’s the lead detective?” he asked.

“Dennis Vega,” she said. “I’ll show you where everyone is. Then you can have a look at the rest of the house on your own. The place has been cleared, but I’d still be careful about what you touch. There’s a lot of fingerprint powder around, and it’s hard to wash off.”

“Where’s the family?”

“They’ve got a place in the mountains. They’re on their way home.” Powell turned away, leading him through the foyer and around the stairs. Then she added in a lower voice, “Given the unusual circumstances, I think it’s good that you’re here.”

There were those words again. Unusual circumstances .

Teddy looked at the floor and noted the drop cloths. When they reached the living room, fifteen people turned from their seats. They looked at him a moment, then lowered their eyes to the floor as if deep in thought or even prayer. Teddy knew the three people waiting on the couch were from the medical examiner’s office because of their jackets. The men in suits looked like detectives or city officials and had taken the chairs. The rest appeared to be crime scene techs, sitting on long cases that had been unlatched but remained closed. No one was talking, but Teddy could hear voices from the next room.

He followed Powell further into the living room and saw a man in the doorway straddling a dining room chair backwards and balancing his weight on the rear two legs.

“It’s gonna work,” the man was saying to someone. “The conditions are perfect. You’ll see.”

Teddy guessed the man was Dennis Vega, the lead detective. In spite of the cool air, Vega was sweating. And from the tone of his voice, he appeared more than anxious.

Teddy moved closer, then flinched as he spotted the body stretched out on the dining room table. It was underneath a milky layer of plastic that had been formed into a tent enclosing the entire table. Teddy couldn’t exactly see the girl’s body, just its hazy form. A man wearing a gas mask was at the head of the table, lifting the plastic open. It looked as if a lamp had been rigged inside the tent, the light bulb fitted with an aluminum dish. Teddy watched the man squeeze something from a small tube into the hot dish, eye the body, then repeat the process. Several discarded tubes were laid out on a sheet of newspaper on the floor. Reading the labels, Teddy realized Powell hadn’t been kidding. The man was shooting super glue into the dish and watching it vaporize from the heat of the light bulb. The plastic was actually clear, the young girl’s body entombed in a dense cloud of noxious fumes.

The man gave the body another look. Then he lowered the plastic, sealing it to the table with a pair of spring clips.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice muffled by the gas mask.

The man dropped the empty tube onto the newspaper and opened a new one. As he straightened the drop clothes with his feet, Teddy noticed the blood pool on the floor underneath. He looked up and saw more blood sprayed all over the walls. Whatever happened to Darlene Lewis had been brutal. He took a step back, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Powell asked.

“It’s the fumes,” he said, lying. “I think I’ll have a look around.”

Teddy backed out of the living room, passing through the foyer into the kitchen. He’d been hoping for a glass of water, but someone had torn the sink apart, removing the pipes and garbage disposal. When he spotted the pantry, he swung the door open and found a canister of bottled water. The dispenser was an industrial model with hot and cold taps and a paper cup holder. Teddy poured a cup and guzzled it down. Then he poured another and moved to the open window, sucking fresh air into his lungs between small sips of more cold water. He could see the district attorney on the rear terrace, pacing back and forth with a cigarette burning and his cell phone pressed to his ear. Against the far wall, he noticed a beer keg packed in the snow. A squirrel was sitting on the keg, taking a shit and eating nuts as it kept its nervous eyes on Andrews.

Teddy turned away, his gaze resting on the disassembled garbage disposal. The delay in clearing the house had to do with the girl’s body and whatever they were doing with those tubes of super glue. That much was obvious. But tearing apart the sink seemed odd as well.

Tossing the paper cup in the trash, he returned to the foyer keeping in mind the house as he’d seen it from the street and trying to get a feel for the layout. The living room and dining room were on the other side of the stairs to his left. Behind a double set of doors to his right he found a study and stepped inside. Scanning the room quickly, it looked as though the Lewis family used it as an informal sitting room. The chairs were overstuffed and centered about a luxurious oriental carpet before the fireplace. Most of the furniture were antiques, and the room had a feeling of warmth and comfort. He noticed a painting above the mantel and crossed the room for a closer look. It was an N.C. Wyeth. Not a copy, but an original. Teddy knew the painting was worth a fortune. He turned, taking the room in with his back to the fireplace. On the opposite wall he noticed three more paintings which he recognized. Seurat, Gauguin, and Cezanne. He looked at the chairs again and realized one had been turned to face these magnificent works of art. No doubt the owner of these paintings spent a lot of time sitting in that chair staring at them. Clearly, robbery wasn’t the motive in Darlene Lewis’s horrible death.

It was beginning to get dark outside. Teddy checked the doors in the room, expecting a powder room but finding closets instead. To the left of the fireplace was an entryway to a library-a long, narrow room with books lining all four walls from floor to ceiling. Beyond the library was another sitting room, smaller than the first with a desk and computer, then a laundry room, a breakfast room and back to the kitchen.