A Tin Full of Gold

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Cleavage—and in full body armor. How did they manage to wrap up Marg Helgenberger in a bullet proof vest and still leave enough exposed to make the Grand Canyon jealous? The few women I’d seen in tactical gear during my career in the police business looked more like the Michelin Man and about as attractive.

The program broke for commercials. Marg wouldn’t be back for a while.

I excavated myself from the depths of my Lazy Boy, my favorite hideaway on blustery winter nights in Granite Cove. The Glenlivit single malt scotch in the cabinet under the TV called out to me—might be more appropriate than a beer with the cool Canadian air sweeping across New England tonight. Too damned early for weather this cold. Seemed like the summer folk had just left. Certainly too damned early to be giving up beer for scotch, I still had a bunch bottles in the fridge. But Granite Cove was like that. Sticking out into the Atlantic off the north coast of Massachusetts, you never knew what the weather would throw at you.

Wasn’t much for TV, preferred reading instead, but I did like my CSI programs— a pile of technology and action crammed into forty minutes of air time. If only real life policing had been like that, but it never was—never would be.

Plenty of time for both TV and books since the Granite Cove town fathers threw me out from my Chief of Police position of twenty years. Early retirement they’d called it to cover their butts and mollify their embarrassment. I hadn’t been ready to retire, but they’d built a case and were prodded along by my then Head of Detectives, Vivian Owens. I’d hired her out of Boston where she had been an investigator with the Boston PD. Smart, ambitious, and as it turned out a little ruthless. I’d set my own noose, so to speak. She’d waggled her pretty little butt for those old codgers on the board of selectmen and they put her in as chief and tossed me on the scrap heap.

Now hold on there you old fart, that’s an unfair assessment. Truth be told, I’d made a mess of things. Got obsessed with the death of one of my officers and good friend Mitch Barlow.

Mitch died when his classic GTO missed the causeway over the inlet to the bay down in Southport and flipped upside down into the water. They ruled his death an accident. I never believed it. Mitch was too good a driver and too fond of that car to be reckless. I got caught up, overly focused on proving the point and let the rest of my duties slide.

The crash was in Southport, not even in my jurisdiction. Sticking my nose into the investigation caused a lot of bad blood between the two towns particularly with Joe Bartolucci, the Southport chief. The towns relied too heavily on each other for mutual emergency aid to have any animosity flowing along the border. Bitter pill. Had to admit, if it was me on the board of Selectmen at the time, I’d have fired my own butt.

The scanner on the table next to my chair squawked to life filling my small den with repetitive cat-like hisses then a click. Someone keyed a mike on and off, but didn’t say anything. Damned kids hacked into everything these days. Police bands were supposed to be protected and off limits. I turned back to check the little black box. Everything seemed set properly.

Cops didn’t play around with communications, your support link and backup that might well save your life. Besides, if they caught you, disciplinary action would be a bitch. And in a town as small as Granite Cove they’d catch you real quick. Ten men and of course, Vivian Owens, along with four dispatchers made up the force. Didn’t need more. Granite Cove was a pretty quiet place after Labor Day when all the tourists bolted from the impending onslaught of a costal New England winter.

The receiver flipped to the Southport police band and a garbled transmission came through. They never came in well unless the weather sat right and it sure wasn’t right tonight. The scanner flashed back to the Granite Cove frequency. Phssst/click.

I wondered if Owens was listening to this, but knew she wasn’t. When she clocked out at the end of her shift, she made it clear to all that she was off duty. She couldn’t care less about the town or the people. Never understood why she’d pushed so hard for a job she didn’t seem interested in doing.

The itch for a cold brew reasserted itself. This radio crap—not my problem anymore. Chief Vivian Owens could handle it.

I’d reached the doorway to the kitchen when a wavering voice broke the silence. Oh God, help me! Pleeeeeeease somebody help!  A retching sound rattled out of the speaker and the transmission kicked off.

Frozen in place, hands on the door jamb, tiny little spiders ran up my spine. No ID, no codes. What the hell, a prank? Pretty sick. The voice had a familiar ring, but was so strained I couldn’t quite place it.

Pfssst.Tthe scanner locked in again. This is Granite Cove police dispatch. Who’s on this frequency? Identify yourself.

No doubt about that voice, night dispatcher Stella Burns, a no-nonsense woman who worked the grave yard shift. She took no guff. As sweet and beautiful as she was tough, Stella became the den mother for everyone on the force, especially me.

Say again, caller on Granite Cove police frequency. Identify yourself immediately. Stella taking charge. If I had a radio, I’d respond.

Stell, it’s me. Carl. Help me, please. There’s so much …  A gurgling sound cut off the words. Carl Jenkins, only a few years on the force, spilled his dinner over the air. A good kid and a good cop, Carl was losing it. Of course, policing in Granite Cove prepared you for nothing worse than a few fender benders, a parking violation or two, and the occasional bar fight. What could Carl be looking at? We did have some pretty gory accidents from time to time, tourists driving too fast on our twisting, unfamiliar roads. Paramedics caught the worst of those. But Carl had always been stable even at the worst accidents. The kid must’ve stumbled onto something pretty bad.

I should go over there and help Carl out. He was about to throw his entire career away and that would be a shame—a big loss for him and the town. Of course, if I got caught at a scene I’d be in hot water, maybe even exposed to some kind of legal action. I’d been warned repeatedly by Owens and the town fathers to keep my nose out of police business. Could I help it if folks kept coming to me with their problems instead of her?  Didn’t matter anyway—I had no idea where Carl might be.

Patrol 31, come in. Is that you on this frequency? Stella’s authority came through, but the tone had softened. I muted the TV and focused on the little black box with its winking LED lights. I’d catch Marg and her CSI cohorts on a rerun. The drama playing out over the scanner was about my town and Carl, still one of my men. Selectmen be damned.

Chapter 2

The click of my car door lock sounded like a canon against the soft susurration of the waves rolling up on the granite blocks that formed the outer end of Parson’s Jetty. During the season, this place would be filled with wandering tourists eager to part with dollars for trinkets and Tees. Now, empty and midnight dark, the only light came from a second floor window in the small apartment complex twenty yards up. A cat yowled from one of the alley ways that led to the water making my skin crawl a bit. As I walked toward the apartment building, I could make out dark spots and streaks on the glass up there and suspected that was my destination.

My cell vibrated in my pocket and I jumped as though I’d been prodded with a Taser, smashing my shin against a tub of flowers, hidden in the dark. I had to blink my eyes to clear the tears as the pain ran up my leg to the back of my eye balls. Caller ID displayed Stella’s name. I choked out her name. Stell?

Al? Where are you? You sound strange.

On the Jetty. I just kicked the bucket.

What?  Stop kidding around, Al. I guess you’ve been listening.

Yeah. Real mess.

Sure is. Ah—thanks for going there. There’s no one else around. I can’t raise Sannicandro. DiFranchesco’s out of town as usual. I’ve tried a couple of the off duty guys. Nobody’s stepping up, Al.

Sannicandro was a new Owens hire, Carl’s backup. What do you mean you can’t raise Sannicandro. He’s on duty tonight isn’t he?

Technically. But Al you know the story. I expect he’s shacked up somewhere with his radio off.

Sannicandro hadn’t been on the force a year yet and already he’d built a reputation for himself as a womanizer. Chances were good Stella was right. Everybody knew. The grapevine in Granite Cove was strong. Owens had to know, but apparently chose to do nothing about it.

DiFranchesco, the new head of detectives, and also one of Owens’ people, didn’t spend much time in town when he wasn’t on duty.

A butterfly of a thought tickled my subconscious. A car I’d just spotted in the driveway by the church—sure looked like a gray Mustang. DiFranchesco drove a gray Mustang. Stell, you sure DiFranchesco’s not around?

I have a note right here on my console telling me he’s in Boston and unavailable until tomorrow for his normal shift. Why?

Could have sworn I saw his car parked up beside the Congo church just now. Must be seeing things. I suppose his isn’t the only gray Mustang in the state. I’m getting too old for this stuff.

Oh, stop it, Al. You’re the only one who thinks you’re too old for anything. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Good old Stella. What about Owens?  She know about this?

I listened to Stella’s steady breathing. She was hiding something. Haven’t called her yet.

Not good. But I’m glad you didn’t. Hold off— say five minutes, no more. Then make the call. I’ll have Carl in shape by then. Owens needs to be involved in this, whatever it is. Stell, gotta go. I’ll check in later.

Al Snodgrass, you be careful.

No need to worry about me.

But I do, I always have and always will.

I clicked off and headed toward the back of the building pondering Stella’s last words. Flood lights clicked on as I moved up a walkway. A set of outside stairs led up to a second story porch on the back of the building. Puke odor hit me on the first landing. I could see Carl’s silhouette hanging over the rail. You all right?

Who’s there?  Stay back this is a crime… oh, Chief. Thank God somebody showed up.

Can I come up?

Of course. Watch out for my barf. I didn’t have any control when I first came out after seeing what’s in there. Carl nodded toward the apartment.

The door hung open and a coppery scent of fresh blood mingled with the stench of vomit. My stomach twisted. Whose place is this?

Melissa—Melissa Savides.

The girl who works for Mary at the restaurant?

Carl nodded.

Is she….

Dead?  Yeah. Throat slit, no pulse.

We better get in there. You able to handle it? 

Don’t think so. I don’t know. My stomach’s still doin’ back flips. Jeez Chief, can’t we let our ME and lab guys handle it?

No. Think about this. I expect Owens will show up next. She won’t be happy with you out here whimpering about a mess inside.

Carl pushed himself upright. A red flush replaced the green-gray in his face. Good, I’d hit a nerve. Angry, but functional would serve Carl a lot better than pasty and cowering outside.

Wimpering?  What the hell are you talking about? You ain’t been in there yet. Shit. Does Owens know about any of this, my losing it?

Don’t know, but I doubt it or she’d have been here by now. Stella won’t let on, but your command performance on the radio could have been picked up by anybody. You’re going to catch some flak, for sure. You need to jump back on this case right now. Where’s the body?

Front room.

Then we can start back here and work up to our main scene, nice and slow. We couldn’t afford slow, but I had to keep Carl on balance and with me. You have extra gloves and booties? I don’t carry ‘em anymore.

Carl headed down stairs. Be right back. Wait. Are you authorized for this?

No, damn it. We’re running out of time. Can’t stand on formalities here.

Carl disappeared around the corner and I peered into the kitchen. Everything clean and neat— appliances stood gleaming, canisters lined up on the back of one counter in ascending order of size—the antithesis of a murder scene. On a center island, a wooden block held a set of knives with one empty slot. Have to look for that missing knife.

Back off Snodgrass. This isn’t your crime scene, not your case. You’re here to put Carl back on track not conduct an investigation. The tug of old instincts wanted to carry me away. I had to rein in a bit or I’d find myself in a pile of trouble.

A paper towel dispenser sat next to a double-sided sink, one of those chrome jobs where a roll sits upright with a spring tension gizmo to keep towel ends tight against the roll. But a sheet or two flopped down off the roll over the counter edge, out of place in the military order of the room. I stepped back as Carl handed me a set of gloves and a pair of Tyvec booties.

OK, nice and slow now. From right here, do you see a knife block on the island over there?

Carl stared. Yeah, so?

Anything missing?

Yeah, a big prep knife, probably the one used on Melissa. It’s in the sink.

How did you know that?

I ran over there first when I had to blow, saw the knife and used the floor instead.

Okay, good thinking. That knife a match to the set?

I think it’s the same handle. Covered in blood. Didn’t take time to look close.

OK. Let’s look now.

A smeared prep knife lay on the sink bottom. Its black plastic handle matched those in the block. Small dots of blood covered the sink most likely from when the knife had been tossed there. Weapon of opportunity, not a premeditated crime. I led Carl through all this pointing out where they should take samples.

A smear of blood reddened the nob at the top of the towel dispenser. And you’ll want to make sure you sample this. Probably just transfer, but you never know.

Carl stood by the sink staring out a small window. The red in his face had faded again. Won’t the lab guys take care of all these details?

Maybe, but to keep costs down, they will take a minimum of samples. Those lab boys are beholden to the state not Granite Cove. Besides, as first on scene, you have some power to direct what you see as necessary to complete an investigation until Owens hands this case over to the State.

At the mention of his boss, Carl stiffened. He pulled out a notepad and began jotting notes. I shuffled over to a trashcan and lifted its lid. Damned booties prevented contamination, but didn’t offer much traction. Carl followed, looking over my shoulder. What’re you lookin’ for?

See the roll of towels over there? See the missing corner on the end?

Carl nodded.

I thought our perp might have used it and then tossed it. It’s not here. Keep your eyes open for it.

I ‘m not following. The perp grabbed a towel to clean up a bit on his way out, so what?

Don’t disagree, but if you were this perp and wanted to clean up in a hurry, wouldn’t you grab a whole towel not stop to take a small corner?  Hell, I’d grab a bunch.

Yeah, so? Corner could have ripped off with the rest of those sheets.

Look around the tear. There’s smears there and it’s all kind of crinkled up like somebody removed one small piece.

I still don’t get it. So we have a frugal perp.

Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it. From the amount of blood on our knife, a small corner wouldn’t clean up the mess. No, I suspect maybe your killer nicked himself and he took just enough towel to make a compress. If I’m right, finding that piece of towel would give you a fine DNA sample to work with.

You got all that from a torn piece of paper towel?  Your name Snodgrass or Holmes?

At least Carl had regained some equilibrium. Smart ass. I watch CSI on TV. Come on we have to process the other room before Owens gets here.

I stopped on the living room threshold. Mess didn’t even begin to describe this scene. Maroon streaks and spots coated three walls and the front window. A tangle of naked torso, arms, legs and hair lay crumpled in the middle of the floor in a small pool of congealing blood. My stomach did a double bump but I had to hold it together for Carl’s sake. You go in here at all?

Carl hesitated. Yeah. Like I said, I checked for a pulse, and then beat it out of there real quick.

Use gloves?

No, didn’t have time.

Not your brightest move. Make sure you keep your story straight in your head and remember exactly where you touched her.

What the hell was I supposed to—ah shit. I screwed up, didn’t I?

Yes, you did. But I’m sure you can talk your way out of it. Be consistent and give out information on a need to know basis.

I checked the fingertips of my gloves for holes and then reached down to look for a pulse.

I told you, I already checked. She’s dead. Carl sounded indignant. Good.

Doesn’t hurt to have a second opinion. I scanned her body. Melissa remained beautiful, even in death. A knock out figure with the only blemish visible a gaping cut across her throat, side to side, clean and deep. Looked like both arteries were severed, along with her windpipe. Took a lot of strength and a sharp knife to do that. A good indicator her killer was a man.

From my low point of view, I could see the spatter was too high on the walls to have emanated from down here. Our killer must have held her up while she bled out, also  consistent with a strong person.

When I stood up pain radiated from my shin. No sign of blood on my pants so I wouldn’t be contaminating anything. Carl still hung in the doorway staring at his feet. As long as you’re burning a hole in those floorboards, you might as well look around for our missing piece of paper towel. It’s not over here. Check the perimeter and then go back and check out her bedroom for anything out of the ordinary. Can you handle it?

Yeah, I guess so. But can we—I mean shouldn’t we cover her up or something?

No need and there’s a potential for contamination.

I know, but with her all naked it’s kind of—well, it’s embarrassing.

A glint of light outside caught my attention before I could ask why and I slipped to the side of the front window and peeked out. A set of headlights bounced along the uneven pavement heading down The Jetty from town—Owens. As I pulled back, my face jumped out at me right on the other side of the glass. I leaned in again and sure enough my image appeared like a hologram suspended right outside. Weird—a trick of triple paned glass?  Carl, forget what I asked. We have to scram out of here. Your boss has arrived.

What? We didn’t do anything wrong did we?

No, of course not. Well technically, I’m not allowed in here. Let’s go out on the back porch and I’ll tell her you wouldn’t let me in, with an appropriate amount of indignation. Should  cover us for now. You got that?

Carl shrugged. Guess so.

The kid had slipped away again. One more thing, make sure the ME does a rape kit. Don’t think it’ll yield anything. She’s still has her panties on. But you never know.

Carl seemed to shrink with each step toward the door. Hopefully, he’d keep it together when Owens arrived, but we didn’t have time to discuss it. I closed Melissa’s outside door and stuffed my bootees and gloves deep in my coat pocket. Carl picked up on my action and did the same.

We’d barely leaned on the porch railing when floodlights flicked on and Vivian Owens bounded up stairs. She stopped half way up. What the hell is he doing here, Jenkins?

I pushed off the rail and put on my best fake smile. Good evening to you too, Chief Owens.

Vivian gained the deck and stood toe to toe with me. Al, this isn’t your business anymore. What are you doing here?

I didn’t back away. You know that old story of the over-the-hill fire horse—put out to pasture, who still wants to run when he hears a fire bell? Well I picked up chatter on my scanner and here I am. Thought I could help, but Officer Jenkins here thought different. My fault not his. Anyway, we’ve been hanging out reminiscing about the old days. ‘Bout all I have left it seems.

Owens turned away. One point in my favor. Spare me the histrionics, Snodgrass. You’re off base being here. Jenkins, you let him in there?

No ma’am, only one in there besides our killer and Melissa was me when I went in on a noise complaint. Then I scrammed out of there and sealed it up for the crime lab crew.

From the smell out here, I’d say you left for other reasons. What’s the matter rookie, don’t see too many bodies up here in the boonies?  Who’s Melissa?

The red returned to Carl’s face. Melissa’s the victim. She rents this place.

At least you puked outside.

Well, Chief, I did leave most of my dinner in there.

Damn it all. You contaminated the scene?

No, I don’t think so. It’s in the kitchen, body’s in the living room. Tried to make it outside.

I leaned back taking in this inane debate over the human failings of a young cop as a fresh crime scene lay moldering right beyond the door. I guess my feelings showed.

Owens turned on me. Something funny?

I shook my head but didn’t say anything—didn’t have a good response. Anything I said would put me in deeper trouble.

Then get your ass off my crime scene.

I held up my hands in surrender. Just trying to lend a helping hand. But if it’s not wanted, I’m gone. It’s your murder and you’re more than welcome to it.

As I left, Owens issued instructions to Carl. Go get evidence bags, tags, print kits and a camera . There’s equipment in my car. Bring it all up. We’ll process this scene ourselves. And while you’re down there make sure Snodgrass gets all the way off The Jetty. I’ve had enough of his meddling. He’s not going to screw this up for me.

I headed down the walkway. What a laugh, I hadn’t meddled in anything, only looked around. I wasn’t going to screw anything up. I knew better. Funny she hadn’t reacted to either Carl or me calling Melissa’s death a murder, but then she’d been focused on processing the scene. What was that about? All she had to do was put in a call to the State Police and they’d send a qualified team.

Well, if she wanted me out, I’d get out—at least for tonight. Tomorrow? Another matter.

Chapter 3

Images of Mellissa’s murder scene flashed through my mind—some rapid fire, others slow and detailed. Blood, lots of blood wove a tapestry out of random images from her apartment. I tried to force my mind onto something else, sailing, fishing, but snippets of the murder crept back in, the bloody knife in her sink, spattered walls,