Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [classic children's novels txt] 📗

“How the hell should I know? No! I haven’t!”

His lawyer said, “How is my client meant to tell that particular piece of tape from any other?”

“Well, you see, Peter, the thing is that you very carelessly left your thumbprint on that piece of tape.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. His lips worked like he was trying to form a word, like he couldn’t find words to describe just how stupid I must be.

“You’re lying, and you know you are lying.”

I turned the bag over to show him where the dusted thumbprint had shown up. “While you’re at it, Peter, maybe you can also tell me about this. What is this?”

I put Dehan’s pendant in front of him. He stared at it, shook his head, and shrugged.

“It’s a Jewish star. St. David’s. What do you want me to say?”

“I’d like you to tell me if you have seen it before.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then perhaps you can explain how it came to be in your bedside table drawer, and why it has your thumbprint on it.”

His jaw actually dropped, and his eyes bulged. “You are fabricating evidence!”

“It’s not that easy, Peter. Your lawyer will explain that to you.”

The lawyer was staring at the evidence bags on the table. He looked annoyed. “Don’t say anything else, Peter.” He looked at me. “I need some time to talk to my client.”

I collected up the evidence and closed the folder. I spoke to the lawyer for the first time. “I want to know about the arms in the lockup twelve years ago. I want to know about the skull in Oacoma and the torso at Miramar. I want to know about the trips to San Diego and L.A. I want to know how many girls he has killed and where their bodies are. You better start getting him adjusted to the fact that the game is over.” I looked at Peter. “Tick tock, Peter.”

I went downstairs and stood in the doorway, looking at the interminable silver needles of rain falling listless into the puddles on the road, making ripples that went nowhere. The cars in the lot shone wet, but their windshields looked black and blind.

What was I not seeing? What was I missing?

My cell rang. It was the lab.

“Stone? It’s Penny from the lab.”

“Hey, Penny. What have you got?”

“The skull you sent in?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you’d like to know. We managed to extract enough material for a DNA match with the arms.”

“That’s great. Is it the same girl?”

“Yes, it was the same girl.”

“Thanks, Penny.”

I hung up and stood staring at the burnished copper ripples on the road. Somewhere in San Diego, a mother and a father still didn’t know that their daughter was dead. I climbed the stairs, dialing the San Diego PD. I spoke to a Lieutenant Scott. I told him about the arms and about the skull, and that we had reason to believe that the victim was originally from San Diego. I said if he wanted, I could email him the details of the skull in case they had dental records they could match it with.

He thanked me, but he didn’t seem awfully interested.

Twenty-Two

I went back to the interrogation room. Peter looked even more drawn and pale. His lawyer looked even more unhappy than he had before. He drew breath to speak, but Peter said, “You are making a mistake!”

His lawyer looked irritated. “My client is adamant that this evidence is false.”

“So somebody is framing you, Peter?”

He nodded vigorously. “Yeah. You! You’ve had this case hanging there, unsolved, for twelve years because you are too damned incompetent to crack it, and now you want to close it so you think, oh, we’ll pin it on the guy who found the arms in the first place!”

I looked at his lawyer. “You should explain to your client just how difficult that would be.”

He ignored my suggestion and asked me, “Have you any more questions, Detective?”

“Yeah. Tell me about the house on Jackson Avenue.”

Petere closed his eyes and sank back in his chair. His lawyer was looking at him like he wanted to shoot him. “What is this now, Peter?”

Peter covered his face with his hands. “God! You people!”

“You had better explain. Did you take Dehan there?”

“No! For God’s sake, Detective!” He stuck his arm out, like he was pointing at the house on Jackson Avenue. “It’s a… a place where I go to relax. You’ve seen my wife, Detective. She is a very good, dutiful wife, but she isn’t exactly setting the world on fire, is she?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I can tell you, she is not! A man needs…” He stared at me, furious that I was forcing him to lose his dignity. “A man has certain needs! I use that house to satisfy those needs.”

“Needs like killing and dismembering young women?”

“For God’s sake! No!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “This is madness!” He sat forward. “Even you must be aware that there are a lot of prostitutes in that part of the Bronx. They provide me with a level of sexual satisfaction that my wife cannot.”

“Did you pick up prostitutes in San Diego and L.A.?”

“Once or twice.”

“Did you kill them?”

“No!”

“Have you ever been to Oacoma?”

“I have passed through…”

“Twelve years ago?”

“Almost certainly, more than once—why?”

His lawyer had given up and was just staring at his hands. I drummed the table with my fingers.

“Say I wanted to go with a really hot whore, could you recommend one?”

The lawyer raised his face to stare at me. Peter looked astonished. He hesitated. His lawyer turned to look at him. “Well, yes, a couple. But they’re not cheap.”

“How much?”

“The really good ones you’re talking about two hundred