Low men, p.4
Low Men, page 4
The officer shrugged and pulled a notepad from his pocket. He did his best to speak over the music. Janey and Mark had to lean in. "I arrived and found the delivery driver, Jimmy, trembling on the ground in the front yard, clutching his phone. He informed me that he had called 911 but couldn't manage much else. He had what smelled like urine all over him. I thought he had urinated on himself. I proceeded into the residence and found the victim deceased. Once I saw, well, smelled the crime scene, I realized the delivery driver might have been involved somehow. So, I came back out and cuffed him to that chair on the front porch and requested an ambulance to treat him. The guy was incoherent, seemed like he was in shock."
Janey stepped over and examined the door frame. "I don't see any sign of forced entry through the front door."
"No, not through the front. The delivery driver was eventually able to explain that the victim would set his security system to disarm and unlock the doors for the delivery," the officer shouted. "Apparently, he got sent out here often. I get the impression he was somewhat acquainted with the victim."
"You said not through the front. How about the back?" Slade asked.
"Right, so the back is a different story. The door was smashed in. You'll see, I can take you," the officer replied as he turned to walk them through the dining room and into the crime scene. "Be careful where you step. There is vomit and urine on the floor."
As soon as they entered the large side room, the mixture of smells hit them like a sweat-wet beach towel in the face. Seemingly overwhelmed by the stench, the officer used the crook of his arm to cover his mouth and nose. Slade removed a tub of Vicks VapoRub from his pocket, smoothed some of the menthol cream on his upper lip, then handed it to Janey, who did the same.
The officer led them around a large table and motioned towards the body. They paused a moment, taking in the scene.
"What happened to him?" Slade asked.
"I have no idea. Maybe he fell?" the officer replied.
"Mmm. Well, we're here. Let's have a look," Janey said. Pulling on surgical gloves, she and Slade kneeled to inspect the victim. The music still blaring, the singer thanking them over and over.
The man was lying on his side across what looked to be a round treadmill. His torso was twisted, legs crossed, arms splayed front to back, neck bent at an awkward angle, a bulky pair of goggles lay next to his head, no blood on them. But what struck them most was the fact that both his eyes had been torn from their sockets.
Janey looked back over her shoulder towards the officer. She had to shout over the music. "How long has he been here like this?" she asked.
The officer tried to yell something, but it was hard to follow, muffled by his arm and shirt sleeve. The song insisted there was a secret.
"What?" Janey yelled.
Another muffled response.
Janey looked to Slade, hands turned up as if to ask, what the hell?
Slade stood and looked around. He saw a Yamaha receiver sitting on a nearby shelf with a Bose Bluetooth dongle attached. He walked over and with a gloved finger pressed the top of the dongle, breaking the connection. The room suddenly fell silent.
"I always wondered who Kilroy was," Slade remarked as he made his way back to the body.
Talking through his sleeve, the officer read from his notepad. "Victim's wallet was right here on the table." He was still yelling. He turned his own volume down before continuing, "42-year-old male. Johanas Binson. No wedding band. No priors. Not even a speeding ticket. Address on his ID does not match this one. So, maybe this place is a rental? No one else was present in the house or around the property, just the driver outside."
"How long has he been here like this?" Janey repeated.
"We don't have a time of death yet. But one of the paramedics did a brief examination about thirty minutes ago to confirm he was dead..." He paused and referred back to his notes. "Onset of rigor mortis not evident, which may indicate the victim had been dead less than two hours."
"Where is the coroner?" Janey asked.
"Hasn't arrived yet, don't know why," Officer Dolion replied.
Janey huffed out a sigh of frustration. "Does the victim have pets, something that might do this to his face?"
"Not that we have seen," the officer replied.
"Since there was forced entry through the back door, I imagine the suspect left it open. Were there any wild animals like a fox or a bobcat in here? Crows maybe?" Slade asked. "Birds usually go for the eyes first, right?"
"Not sure about that. I didn’t see any birds or small animals. The back door wasn't just forced open, it was smashed in by something big so, yeah, it sat open. There were wet footprints, looked like they went in, then out," the officer replied. "But there is more. When the paramedic came in to examine the victim, she discovered his tongue had been ripped out."
Slade and Janey stood. He stepped back in disgust.
Slade gave the body one last look, then turned away. This part he hated. He had little experience in the area of forensics revolving around analyzing the details of a mutilated corpse. That was Janey's strong suit. His strengths would come into play later with evidence gathering and analysis. Although he displayed an apparent lack of interest in examining the body up close, he could relate to this victim. Coming up in the tech world as well, Slade understood the sacrifice and effort required to become proficient, and then again compound that effort to rise to the top of your field. Like many who were dialed in to the tech scene, he understood that the VR world would become a prominent aspect of society, just like the internet did decades ago. This new world needed good people to code it. Slade didn't know this guy, but he silently vowed to find this man's killer.
"Did you run the delivery driver's ID?" Slade asked.
"Yes. James Rutz, 28, unmarried, employed almost two years by Fourteen Islands restaurant as delivery driver and busboy. Two speeding tickets. A recent possession charge that didn't stick."
"Any sign of theft?" Janey asked.
"No, no signs of theft. Victim's wallet was on the table with folded cash sitting on top. His cell phone beside it. Keys to a car, probably the one in the garage. Nothing appears to be missing, but I wouldn't know for sure."
"What is this contraption he's lying on? Some kind of work out machine?" Janey asked.
Slade had recognized the omnidirectional treadmill and virtual reality rig as soon as he saw it, but decided to keep silent so he could hear what the officer had learned. He also knew the glitches inherent in these newly developed rigs, which piqued his interest as to what this coder was working on. It must have been disruptive tech.
"I tried to question the delivery driver. He said something about a virtual reality set up. See the goggles laying there?"
Janey and Slade both nodded, yes.
The officer continued, "From what I understand, you put those goggles on and you can walk around on this round treadmill thing inside a computer program."
Stepping sideways to avoid the puddle around the body, Janey stretched to look closely at the victim's upper body and neck. "His head is laying at a severe angle. It looks like his neck might be broken but there is no bruising around the throat." She did her best to look the body over. "I don't see any defensive wounds either."
"Maybe he fell off the treadmill and came down on his side. The weight of that headset could have done the job," Slade offered.
Janey shrugged, frowned, her way of saying, maybe. "What is that he's wearing?" Janey kneeled down again, looking at what appeared to be a tight-fitting adult onesie over a pair of bulky diapers.
Although he studied the diaper-looking thing dubiously for a second, Slade recognized the rest of the tactual suit and marveled at what this developer was trying to accomplish. He had studied the Wired article discussing the related hardware developments. A complete body suit that could be customized for a variety of training and educational purposes, if completed, would definitely disrupt the industry. He wondered how close they were...
An unfamiliar voice interrupted his train of thought. "It's a Tactile outfit. We have been in the testing phase on various components of a suit, but now we have consolidated them into one outfit in order to wrap up functionality testing."
Janey, Slade and the officer turned and assessed the well-spoken man. His sleek suit looked a couple sizes too small as he unbuttoned his jacket and smoothed his shiny tie, flashing suspenders as he did. His slip-on Italian shoes proudly displayed a tiny buckle. He flashed a bulky gold watch in order to check the time while they looked him over.
Slade looked him up and down, a nearly imperceptible snarl revealing a hint of an incisor. Men wear shoes with laces.
Mr. shiny-tie-man walked up to them but addressed the uniform officer first. "Francesco Dionisi. I own this house."
The officer nodded, took out his notepad. "Can you spell that for me?'
"Sure, and people call me Frank. This man is, uh, was my employee. This house is a perk. Johanas was living and working here." He did not offer to shake hands with the officer. He ignored Janey and turned to Slade. "Mark."
Slade hated it when his first name was used in public. "Frank," he replied with just a bit too much edge for Janey to ignore.
Frank narrowed his eyes, then looked down at the corpse. After a second, he raised his arm to cover his face with the sleeve of his fine suit in an effort to filter the foul smell. He took a couple of furtive steps around the crime scene, then shook his head and walked back to the far side of the large table. Janey had pulled the officer aside to go over some details. Slade headed over to Frank, stopped and looked him in the eyes. "Been a while," he said.
Frank raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Yeah, when I heard you were back in town, I thought I might look you up but..."
Slade shrugged. "Not much to talk about."
Frank narrowed his eyes again and pushed his hands in his pockets. "Look, I need to know you'll keep this investigation discreet. If word gets out that there is a killer on the loose revolving around this platform... so close to the release date... well, it could have dire consequences for the company."
Slade shook his head. "Unbelievable. A man is dead, and you’re worried about bad publicity."
"You live in your world. I live in mine. We employ hundreds of people across the globe. Multiple companies have thrown in on this. There is more on the line here than one man's life."
Slade turned and gag-coughed. The smell of urine and death seemed to be lodged in his throat. "I don't talk to the press. I can't guarantee anything." Slade gagged a little before turning to walk away.
Frank grabbed him by the elbow to stop him. "Hey," Frank said.
Slade looked down at the Frank's hand, then into his eyes.
Frank leaned in and spoke in a hushed tone, "You owe me."
❖
Slade's phone buzzed with a notification. He yanked his arm from Frank's grip and stepped away. Happy to leave the room, he looked Frank up and down, then turned with a disgusted look. The other man did not notice from the other side of an oversize phone he had already pushed into the side of his face.
Slade peeled off his gloves, shoved them in a pocket, and walked back to the foyer to check his texts. The ranking member of his junior investigative team, Shanda, was about to arrive. The other two weren't far behind. Slade had to shake his head each time he thought of this team. They were a unique group. Shanda Nkosi had fought her way up through a hardscrabble childhood in South Africa before emigrating with her father to America, where she had subsequently devoured school all the way through to her master’s degree in forensic science. She was Janey's favorite. Shanda always joked about her failure to understand American apathy, with all the opportunity in this country. She smiled broadly at Slade as she got out of her compact SUV. "Hey, Mark," she said with a broad smile.
Mark smiled back. He had insisted on being on a first name basis with his team members. "Hey, Shanda. Grab your gear. Janey is inside. You aren't gonna believe this one."
"When do I ever?" she said with a tilted grin before popping the hatch.
Seconds later, she brushed by him carrying two hefty gear boxes by the handles without much effort. Whatever Shanda was doing, she moved her stocky 6'2" frame lithely, exuding the confidence of a predator, always professional, usually ignoring the antics of the other two junior detectives, Owen and Kim. Slade secretly hoped he'd never have to face her on the mat.
Just behind her car, Owen parked a slightly larger SUV with Kim slumped down in the passenger seat. Owen rolled out first with his standard greeting. "Oi mate, what kinda bloody trouble you gotten us into now?"
Owen Dankworth had been 'retired early' from British Intelligence. In a final act of defiance, he had subsequently moved himself and his citizenship across the big pond to Florida. He still had the now vintage vacation poster he had kept in his London flat for years. It declared:
'When you need it bad,
we got it good.
Come to Florida!'
Anytime someone questioned him about it, he offered his standard reply, usually after a couple pints. "I gave that lot everything and they send me packing for one single act of indiscretion."
"Wasn't it several single acts of indiscretion?" someone on the team would invariably bring up.
"Don't make a bit-o-difference now, does it, mate? Anyhow, fuck 'em all to bloody hell. I'm on permanent vacation," he would say with pride as he raised his pint. "Cheers!"
At just under six feet, Owen wasn't exactly what Slade would call fit. Owen was the kind of guy who, if you dropped by and caught him out in the garden shirtless doing yard work, you would inwardly scream, "Please put a shirt on!" But after minimal training, Owen had easily landed an entry level position as detective by simply flashing his beefy resume. Slade expected him to quickly move up the ranks.
"Hey, Owen," Slade replied. "Need your help. Can you use that British silver tongue of yours to interview a few people?"
Owen gave him a skeptical look. "Who did you have in mind?"
"Mainly the first officer on the scene, a delivery driver, and this guy inside—name of Frank."
"Alright," Owen replied.
"Make sure you take some extra time with the first officer, name of Dolion, and include the other two officers that searched the perimeter."
"Glad to, as long as you stop using the phrase ‘name of’."
"Whatever. Dolion seems competent, but we need to be sure no one disturbed or added any evidence around here. It seems like the exterior evidence is confined to the backyard, but have them walk you through exactly what they did when they got here so we can note any differences," Slade said. "Grab your camera too. We need your eye on this so we have good photos to examine later. Especially that backyard. We need to know what the hell came through there and into the house."
"Alright, sure mate. But you're buyin' the pints next time I catch you at the pub," Owen replied as he breezed by, pen and pad at the ready. "Maybe your prize pupil back there would like to give us a hand," he added.
Slade turned back to their SUV and frowned. Kim was still sitting in the passenger seat, phone planted squarely in front of her face. She felt his stare and looked up to see Slade holding his arms out as if to ask, what are you doing? She rolled her eyes and hopped out. Thanh Kim was by far the most talented tech oriented forensic analyst in the department besides Slade. No wonder she had become his protégé. Kim had only a bachelor’s degree, so she'd had to work her way up as a uniformed officer through to detective. Although she was compact, Kim had proven she was tough and competent, but she tended to turn up her volume knob to max in order to compensate for her small stature.
The junior detectives usually stuck to similar outfits consisting of earth tone khakis and the departmental white or dark blue polo. But she liked to push the boundaries by wearing boots with soles a little too thick and splashes of color in her chopped hair that was usually up in some bizarre variation of pigtails and hair clips. Her movement and posture conveyed a strength that belied her size. She walked up to Slade without taking her eyes off the screen and stood with one arm around her waist and one holding up the phone. "Hey."
"What are you doing?" Slade asked.
Kim dropped her hands to her side and rolled her eyes. "What do you think I'm doing?"
Slade narrowed his eyes and just looked at her.
"I'm scrolling through social media and news feeds to see if there is anything about this murder online yet," she replied. "Duh."
It was Slade's turn to roll his eyes. "There are cameras mounted on the front of the house, maybe out back, too. See if they are connected to a DVR or if they relay to a security company. Either way, we need the video."
"Great. Put the geeky Asian girl on security camera duty," she replied. "When am I gonna get some real detective work?"
Ignoring her, Slade continued, "There is a guy inside named Frank. He can give you the contact info for the security company. Make sure to get a preliminary statement from the monitoring technician at that company. Whoever it is might have insight into what happened here."
"Ooohh, sounds like a challenge," Kim snorted.
"We need to go and talk to the neighbors, too. Find out if they saw anything or have security video that might help. High end lakeside area like this, it's likely." Slade regarded her with some doubt. "And since you got an attitude today, better take Owen with you. He can use that charm to get in any door."
"He's such a wanker," she replied with a hint of a tiny sideways smile.
Slade knew she and Owen got along, mainly by giving each other endless gobs of grief.
'You make me feel right at home, love,' Owen would say.
'Screw you, tosser,' Kim would say from behind an unusually long middle finger.
'No need to turn up the charm already love, we're just gettin' to know each other.'
Kim stared at Slade with an impatient look. "He—llo." She waved the cell phone in front of his face." Anybody in there?"
Slade snapped back from his brief daydream. "Since you obviously flunked charm school, you could learn a little by watching him work." Slade started to turn but paused. "And to save a little time, you'll need to help Owen with photography after you're done with the security system. Did you bring your DSLR?"
