Detective Stone crouched near the spot where Vinny Murphy’s body had been found. He stared down at the rough outline traced around what had been left of the man before they poured it into a body bag, rolled it on a stretcher, loaded it into a van, and drove it to the morgue to be deposited in a refrigerated drawer. The autopsy had revealed little that wasn’t apparent from a visual inspection. The injuries that preceded the fatal shot to the head had been inflicted carefully, to maximize pain while keeping Murphy alive and conscious.
It was still an hour before Stone’s shift started at nine o’clock, and he’d already been at the Body Shop for half an hour, considering the entire scene in the glint of the morning. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was there. It was unlikely that the teams of forensic specialists that had been there the day before had missed anything. And yet there he was, squatting by the dark stain that was the last impression Murphy would leave on the world.
It was because he wanted to gain Sanchez’s approval, he recognized. There was no getting around it. He hoped to gain some additional insight he might share with Sanchez at the start of their shift to earn her respect. It was foolish, probably. He was a damned good cop, and if she couldn’t see that already, she would likely not be convinced. They had gone back to the station house the previous day and she had gotten on her computer and tapped away at the keyboard for more than an hour. He’d asked twice what she was researching, but she hadn’t responded. He could see why she lost partners.
He stood up, taking one last look around the garage before walking back out to the parking lot. As he approached his car, a tiny, battered convertible pulled into the driveway, rolling over the line of yellow police tape Stone had left on the ground.
Stone waved his arms and yelled, “You can’t come in here! This is a police investigation scene!” Ultimately it mattered little-the forensics team had swept the entire property for anything that might be helpful to them. They had taken plaster molds of tire tracks and sifted through the dirt of the driveway for anything they could find, like archeologists on a dig, bagging and tagging every cigarette butt and every piece of trash. Nevertheless, Stone had no intention of letting civilians into the crime scene area while the investigation was continued. It would open the door for a defense lawyer to argue that the evidence was tainted if they ever caught the bastards. He waved his arms again as he pulled out his badge and held it up for the driver to see.
The car pulled to a stop, but didn’t turn around. Instead, both doors opened and two men got out. Stone squared his shoulders, drawing on the authority of indignation. He slowed, though, as the bigger of the two men pulled himself from the low-slung passenger seat and looked at him. Stone recognized the man instantly.
“Jesus,” Stone said. “Kozlowski. You’ll get yourself shot, pulling into a crime scene like that, y’know? You’re not a cop anymore, in case you’d forgotten.”
“Maybe if they’d put a real cop in charge here it wouldn’t be such a problem,” Kozlowski replied. “Maybe someone who wasn’t a rookie, and who’d know to put the tape back up in front of the driveway.”
“Been a while since I was a rookie. Been a while since I saw you.”
“No shit? I’m old; time moves faster for me,” Kozlowski said. He looked Stone up and down. “I’d heard they put you in civies full time,” he acknowledged. “Vice?”
Stone shook his head. “Homicide.”
“No shit, again. A real job? I guess they’ll take anyone these days, then, huh?”
“They have to. We used to have a bunch of old guys who fucked things up pretty bad.”
“I never fucked up a case in my life,” Kozlowski growled.
“No, you never did,” Stone admitted. “You just pissed off the wrong people in the department.” He moved forward and put out his hand. “How you been?”
Kozlowski shook the hand. “Getting by.”
“Good to hear.”
“You remember Scott Finn, right?”
Stone regarded the second man. “From the Caldwell case, right? Hard to forget.” Neither of them offered his hand. “I heard Koz was working with you now. Hard to believe. If I remember right, he had you pegged as a murderer a few years ago.”
“I was wrong,” Kozlowski said.
“He also had you pegged as an asshole,” Stone said.
“So, he was partially wrong,” Finn replied.
Stone turned back to Kozlowski. “What are you doing out here?”
“We need to talk to Vinny Murphy,” Kozlowski replied. “I take it he’s not around?”
“That’s an understatement.”
Kozlowski exchanged a look with Finn. “How so?” he asked.
“I mean he’s gone. Really gone.”
“Arrested?” Finn asked.
Stone shook his head. “That’d be an upgrade. He was murdered. You read the papers?”
Finn shook his head. “I had a busy morning. I haven’t had the chance.” He looked at Kozlowski, who just shrugged. “What happened?” he asked Stone.
“Pretty nasty. We’re not sure exactly yet.”
“When?”
“Saturday night. Maybe early Sunday morning.”
“Any leads?” Kozlowski asked. He still sounded like a cop.
“Not that I can talk about,” Stone said.
“Anything you can tell us?” Finn asked.
Stone hesitated. Kozlowski had been one of the best detectives in the department; his insight might be useful. Stone wasn’t going to give up any information without getting something in return, though. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here first.”
The two men looked at each other. “We can’t,” Finn replied.
“No?”
Finn shook his head.
“Well then, it looks like we’re not going to be able to help each other.”
Finn sighed. “We’re here for a client. For information. That’s all I can say.”
“I could ask you to come down to the station to talk,” Stone said. “This is a murder investigation.”
“Wouldn’t do you any good,” Finn replied.
“No, probably not. But without more, this conversation isn’t gonna go anyplace.”
Finn put his hands in his pockets, but Kozlowski spoke up. “Devon Malley was picked up Sunday night for a robbery.” Finn’s head spun toward the private detective, but Kozlowski waved him off. “Rumor had it that Murphy might know something about the crime. We were just out looking to see what we could find out.”
“Koz-” Finn protested, but Stone cut him off.
“Don’t worry,” Stone said. “I know Devon. He’s got nothing to do with this.”
“What makes you say that?” Finn asked.
“ Devon ’s a thief, not a murderer. Right circumstances, he might be able to push a button on a guy-maybe even pull the trigger himself if he was scared enough. But that’s as far as he’d go. He wouldn’t be a part of what went down here. He’s not the brutal type, and this was brutal.”
“How so?” Kozlowski asked.
“Vinny was worked over before he was killed. Whoever did it knew what they were doing. Lots of pain, but nothing that would kill until the final shot. Very fucked up. They used chains, they broke bones. They did stuff to him you only read about.”
Finn frowned. “Why?”
“That’s the question.” Stone looked at Kozlowski. “You got any thoughts?”
Kozlowski shrugged. “I don’t know enough about the man’s business to tell. He chose a livelihood that makes this sort of thing a risk.”
“True,” Stone said. “But this doesn’t seem like just a turf war. There’s something more. Something I can’t figure out. They didn’t do anything to conceal the body or make it difficult to identify him. They left him in a heap in his place of business. There’s only one reason to do that.”