“You think someone took them or tossed them out?”
“I can’t think of anything else that could have happened. But they’re not supposed to be thrown out. We always overprint so we have a supply. I also always keep a few back issues in my desk. But everything is gone.”
“What about getting one from someone who still has a copy at home?”
“The issue is several months old, but it’s possible. Some of our older parishioners do keep them. I could make a few calls and see if I could find one.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Harry tried a genuine smile, but Emily Moore still looked tearful.
You’re an ogre, he told himself. His cell phone interrupted the thought.
“Doyle,” he said.
Vicky’s voice came over the line, sounding a bit shaky. “You better get over to Nick Benevuto’s condo,” she said.
“Why? What happened?”
“I just found his body. Oh God, Harry. He ate his gun.”
Nick’s body was slumped in a chair, his head thrown back, the ultra-suede upholstery soaked with his blood. Harry stepped in close. Nick’s mouth was open, showing several broken teeth and badly burned tissue. A Glock 9mm automatic lay at his feet.
Harry had seen the bodies of other cops who decided to eat their guns; civilians as well. The back of Nick’s head was gone, the exit wound having blown out a section of skull the size of his fist. He looked up at the ceiling. Blood and bone and brain matter were spread over a three-foot swath. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves as he studied Nick’s face. Normally the face of a victim spoke to him; told him things. Not this time. Nick’s features were distorted, the eyes bulging almost to the point of coming out of their sockets. The broken teeth and burnt tissue indicated he had placed the barrel of the Glock into his mouth, which had internalized the explosion of gunpowder to the point that it distorted his features. He looked down at the weapon, noting that it was still cocked and ready to fire, something the pistol did automatically whenever it was discharged.
“There’s still a live round in the chamber. As soon as it’s dusted for prints let’s remember to put the safety on.”
“You should come and see this, Harry.” Vicky was standing next to a computer that was set up on a small desk. Even from across the room he could see a message printed on the screen.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a confession. It covers all three murders-Darlene, the cowboy, and the Waldo kid.”
Harry walked to the computer, but before he started reading he checked a nearby printer, making sure it was loaded with paper. Using a pencil to move the mouse he hit the print tab. “I want a hard copy, just in case we lose what’s on the screen.”
The printer started whirring as Harry began reading Nick’s confession. It essentially followed Vicky’s theory that Nick had fallen in love with Darlene Beckett only to find that she cheated on him every chance she got. He began following her, the confession said, and when he came upon her on a small beach in Tarpon Springs he lost his temper and killed both her and her lover. He had then moved Darlene’s body to the Brooker Creek Preserve to make certain county homicide detectives were called in to handle the case. Later, he learned that Bobby Joe had also been romantically involved with Darlene, and that Harry Doyle was pressing him for information. He was certain that Darlene had told Bobby Joe about him-about their affair and subsequent threats he had made against her. He went to see Bobby Joe and tried to coerce him into silence. But he soon realized how weak the young minister was and decided that sooner or later he would spill everything he knew to save himself. Bobby Joe had left him no choice. The confession ended with Nick’s name printed at the bottom of the two-page statement.
Harry walked back to the body without saying a word. Vicky followed, a quizzical look on her face.
Harry removed the camera from his crime scene case and took photos of the body, the gun, and the blood splatter on the ceiling. He then began to carefully search the body.
“Harry, talk to me,” Vicky said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Harry turned to the sound of the front door opening. Jim Morgan stood in the doorway staring at the body. He looked shaken and Harry wondered if it were due to the fact that he had never seen this type of head wound before, or if it was because he was seeing it on a brother cop, someone he had known.
“I called Jim and told him what happened,” Vicky said.
“Put on gloves and shoe coverings before you come in,” Harry warned. He looked at Morgan closely. “If you think you’re going to be sick don’t come in here.”
Vicky went to Harry’s case and retrieved the necessary materials and brought them to Morgan. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Morgan nodded absently. “Yeah, I’ll be alright. I just feel responsible, like I helped push him into this.”
“If you want to stay in homicide you better change that thinking,” Harry snapped. “This state executes people. You can’t do your job if you’re going to worry about people ending up dead.” He watched Morgan nod a weak agreement and turned back to his search of Nick Benevuto’s body.
Harry removed and bagged all the items in his pockets; checked his wallet and bagged it as well. Vicky stood at his side writing each item in her notebook. Harry then began a close examination of Nick’s clothing, carefully searching for any hairs or fibers he might want to point out to the forensic team that was now on its way. Nick was dressed in a T-shirt and baggy khaki cargo shorts. His feet were bare.
Harry caught a glimpse of something in Nick’s gray hair. He leaned in closer to get a better look, holding his breath to keep away the smell of blood and brain matter.
“What is it?” Vicky asked.
“A feather,” Harry said.
“Is it from the chair?”
Harry looked at the chair. “No. The chair’s filled with foam.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I don’t like it.”
Harry began walking around the room, taking a mental picture of his surroundings. “How did you find the body?” he asked Vicky.
“It was my turn on the surveillance. Jim had done the first six-hour shift and I came in and took over about five a.m. We figured we’d get our shifts out of the way first so it wouldn’t interfere with other stuff we had to follow up on. Anyway, about seven-thirty this neighbor starts banging on Nick’s door, but he doesn’t answer. After she leaves, I went up to see what the problem was and I hear loud music coming from inside-I mean really loud, louder than any adult is going to want to listen to, and certainly nothing a person could sleep through. At that point I knocked too, and got nothing. So I asked the manager to open the door. As soon as it swung back the smell hit me and I knew. I went in, saw him, checked his pulse- pretty needlessly-turned off the CD that was playing, and called you. Then I secured the scene, radioed in a report, asked for uniform backup, and notified forensics.”
Harry looked around the room again, found the location of the CD player. He didn’t touch the machine, or any of its settings, leaving that for the CSI team. “The CD in there is the one that was playing when you came in?”
“Yes, it is.” A note of concern crossed Vicky’s face.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
Vicky shook her head. “It’s gospel music. I just never figured Nick for gospel.”
Harry went to the cabinet that held Nick’s other CDs and began looking through them. “There’s no other gospel here,” he said.
“That doesn’t prove anything in itself,” Vicky said.
Harry let it go and began to look through the apartment. Nick had picked it up considerably since his earlier visit. He entered Nick’s bedroom and immediately noticed that the television set opposite the bed was on and in a paused position. He recognized the format as a pay-per-view movie. He located the remote and using a pencil hit the play button. The TV restarted a Bruce Willis film that Harry had seen. Nick had been almost halfway through the film when he’d hit the pause button.