Christopher Smith - Running of the bulls

“All right,” Hines said. “Who’d send Wood’s head to Wolfhagen? Who’d know he was at the Plaza? Grindle said he just got in last night.”

“What time last night?”

“A little past seven.”

“Why’s he in New York?”

“Chief didn’t say.”

Marty nodded and looked out the passenger window. He wasn’t comfortable with any of this. Already, the investigation was turning into more than Maggie Cain had promised, more than he had planned. But was it more than Maggie planned? Had she sensed from the beginning that Boob Manly had nothing to do with the Coles’ deaths? And if that was the case, why was she keeping quiet about it now?

Look at the facts, he told himself.

This morning, she had sounded upset-not surprised-when she phoned to tell him about Wood and Hayes. It was as though she had been anticipating their deaths, or, at the very least, expecting someone else to wind up dead who was connected to the others. He wondered again why she lied about her relationship with Wolfhagen. What happened between them that she was covering up?

“What do you know about Wolfhagen?” Hines asked. “You two ever meet?”

“No.”

“But I thought you and Gloria knew everyone.”

“Gloria knows everyone. She just took me along for the ride.”

Hines lit a cigarette. “Wolfhagen comes to town and two people from his past wind up dead-the first a man whose testimony sent him to prison, the second the judge who put him there. You heard about Gerald Hayes?”

“I was going to ask you about that later.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I have an interest in his death, too.”

“Think there’s a connection?”

Maggie Cain certainly did. “I don’t know. Why would Wolfhagen cut off Wood’s head, send it to himself and directly associate himself with the case? Either he’s next or somebody is setting him up.”

Hines shot across the Park. “If I had plans to kill Hayes and Wood, sending myself Wood’s head might be exactly something I’d do.”

“Why?”

“Because, if I did do it, I’d need an alibi. Sending myself the very head the cops are accusing me of chopping off is the perfect one. Actually, if it turns out to be true, it’s brilliant. Wolfhagen wasn’t caught with her head. Instead, it was sent to him. Big difference. It makes it look as if he’s being targeted.”

Marty chewed on that for a minute and decided it made sense.

They turned onto Fifth and pulled behind one of several television remote-broadcast vans parked in front of the Plaza. The entrance was peppered with reporters, among them Jennifer Barnes, who joined the rest of the crowd by surrounding the car and shouting questions Hines wasn’t prepared to answer.

He stepped out of the car.

“Can you give us a statement?”

Towering over the crowd, he pushed forward. “On what? I haven’t even gone inside yet.”

“Word’s out she died of an overdose.”

“Can’t confirm that.”

“What can you confirm?”

“Nothing. Now, please let me through. I’ll brief you when I know something.”

But these people weren’t budging. Like a smashed nest of hornets, they rose up and enveloped him.

While Hines fielded the press, Jennifer emerged from the crowd and put her hand on Marty’s elbow. “So, maybe your hunch was right. Wolfhagen clinches it. These deaths are connected.”

“Seems that way.”

She moved closer to him, her voice a whisper he had to strain to hear. “Have you discussed this with anyone else besides me?”

He could smell her perfume. “Just Hines.”

“What’s he thinking?”

Marty told her about Hines’ alibi theory.

“That’s a twist,” Jennifer said. “But I don’t buy it. Wolfhagen would have to be nuts to send himself Wood’s head. He’s not stupid.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Of course, we’re probably wrong, Hines will bust this case wide open, he’ll get a promotion and we’ll look like fools.”

“It’ll be good for his esteem,” Marty said dryly. “I’m happy for him already.”

“You’ve been to Wood’s?”

Marty nodded.

“Anything I might have missed?”

Despite the agreement they’d made earlier, Marty was keeping quiet until he knew more about Wood’s case. He wasn’t saying a word about the tattoo or the piercing until he knew more. “I doubt it,” he said. “You don’t miss a thing.” He paused. “What do you make of the date smeared above her bed?”

“Two of my assistants are looking into that now. One’s Goggling, the other is going through old newspapers and court records. Before this happened, I was thinking Wood may have sentenced somebody on November 5th. Maybe they just got their walking papers and decided to pay her a visit.” She shrugged. “Or not. I don’t know what to think.”

“Good,” Marty said. “Because it didn’t happen that way.”

She folded her arms. “Then how did it happen?”

He decided he could tell her a little. “Wood wasn’t murdered,” he said. “She died of an overdose. Her head was severed approximately nine hours after death. Whoever wrote that date and severed her head knew her. That much we know.”

Jennifer scribbled in her notebook.

Marty lowered his voice. “Our agreement is the same,” he said. “You don’t use any of this until I give you the word. If the wrong information gets out, it could ruin this investigation and after what I saw today, I’m not letting that happen. Agreed?”

“Agreed. But I can’t keep quiet forever. Every reporter in town is on this case. If I feel somebody is ready to scoop me, I’m going live with it.”

“That’s fair.”

“What else do you know?”

He looked up at Hines, who was pressing closer to the Plaza’s entrance. If Marty was going to get inside, he needed to join him fast. “I’m about to find out. I’ll call you tonight if I have anything.” With Wolfhagen in New York, he wouldn’t have to go to California. He could watch him here.

“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we meet at my place tonight?”

He was surprised by the invitation. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m busy.” If Wolfhagen went out, Marty planned on tailing him, just as Maggie Cain would expect him to do. “It’ll have to be by phone.”

“Then call me at eight. You know the number. And try not to be late. With Wolfhagen here in New York, I might be going out myself.”

On the Plaza’s fourth floor, a young officer nodded at Hines and Marty as they approached room 406. Sunburned and thin with an easy smile and an easier laugh, he was leaning against the door with an attitude that suggested none of this touched him, the fact that he was guarding a federal court justice’s head in one of the world’s most exclusive hotels. He didn’t know Marty and stared openly at him.

“Who’s this?” he asked Hines.

Hines looked down at him, his patience still short from his run-in with the press. “What the hell do you care?”

“I’m supposed to ask.”

“Is that so?” Hines said. “Well, how about that. You asked.”

He opened the door and they looked inside. Carlo Skeen, the M.E., was standing at the far end of the room, changing the lens on his camera with gloved hands. His eyes flicked up and met Marty’s. They nodded at each other.

“You might want to plug your noses,” the kid said with a grimace. “It’s pretty bad in there. Smells like she’s been dead for weeks.”

Hines leveled him with a look. “Remember that smell,” he said as they stepped past him. “One of these days, it’ll be you.”

Despite the warning, nothing could have prepared them for the smell. The air reeked of death. Hines expelled a rush of air through his nose; Marty caught his breath and held it. He was about to move farther into the room when a sergeant he’d known for years came forward to enter their names, time of arrival and Hines’ shield number into the crime scene log.