Part 38 (1/2)

”What have you got, Chuck?”

”I thought that'd get your attention. Just come down here. I think we may have gotten a break in this thing.”

When Anderson arrived at the scene, he was surprised by how low key the police presence was. There were police cars at either end of the block, turning away the occasional car that tried to turn down the street. Closer in, somebody had run a cordon of yellow crime scene tape around the house and across the street. There were a few patrol cars parked along the curb and an evidence truck just inside the crime scene line and two unmarked Ford fleet cars, one of which belonged to Chuck Levy, but that was it. Usually, a murder scene got a much bigger response than this.

Even the neighbors had, for the most part, stayed indoors, and that really surprised him. It was nearly four in the morning, but that hardly made a difference when it came to crowds gathering to watch a lurid scene. You could usually count on the streets to flood with people during an incident like this, even in the wee hours of the morning.

From the car, he scanned the small crowd of about twenty people standing around outside the crime scene tape in their t-s.h.i.+rts and blue jeans and nightgowns and every man he saw was Bobby Cantrell, staring right back at him. ”Oh Jesus,” he said, and closed his eyes. Go away. Go away, please. When he opened them again, the crowd was just a crowd again, the occasional woman holding a sleepy-eyed baby wearing nothing but a diaper, the men talking to each other about how the cops were doing it all wrong.

Anderson turned off the car, got out, and looked around. Mike Garcia was leaning up against the front of his patrol car, his thick arms crossed over his chest, chatting up a pretty young evidence technician. The girl looked to be about twenty-two or twenty-three, right out of college, with s.h.i.+ny black hair, and a figure that looked absolutely amazing, even in the black, BDU-style uniforms of the Evidence Unit. She had the biggest, roundest pair of doe eyes Anderson had ever seen, and the glory of their radiant innocence was pointed straight up at Mike. Her lips were open just a bit, just enough for the tip of her tongue to touch the bottom of her upper lip. She giggled at something Mike said, and Anderson forced himself to turn away, out of decency. The poor thing had the hook in her mouth and didn't even know it.

He looked toward the house and saw a simple, humble eyesore huddled in the dark behind a weed patch yard. It was surrounded by a sagging hurricane fence, and the bottom of the fence was lined with unlit votive candles. Stuff that looked like dried dog t.u.r.ds on a string were tied to the tops of the fence, and he thought, Dried herbs and chicken bones. Oh great, a fortune teller.

Paul Henninger was standing in the shadows of the porch. Even from the street, Anderson could tell how pale he looked. There was something flas.h.i.+ng in his hands.

Anderson walked up to him and said, ”Officer Henninger, how are you?”

Paul looked at him but didn't respond. He simply stared at Anderson, though Anderson felt more like he was being looked through than at.

”You want to tell me what you got here?”

Paul said nothing. He just put the coin-that's what it was, Anderson realized, a coin-back in his pocket and walked off. Anderson watched him go and didn't try to stop him. He could have ordered him to stop, of course, but he didn't. There was something deep inside that man that wanted to get out, that wanted to tell a story, but Anderson knew that this was not the time for it. It would come out, but not just yet.

He turned back to the street and caught Mike's eye. He waved, and Mike nodded back. Mike said something that made the pretty young evidence technician giggle, and then he came over to meet Anderson halfway across the yard.

They shook hands. ”I didn't see you pull up,” Mike said.

”Yeah, well, you were busy.”

Mike smiled.

”Any chance with that one?”

Mike shrugged. ”Maybe.”

”Poor girl has no idea what's in store for her, does she?”

”Oh, I don't know about that. They all pretend to be innocent, but she knows.”

Anderson tried to smile. He thought of something he'd once heard a police cadet ask a K9 officer. The cadet clearly loved dogs, the way he was looking at the German shepherd that had just pulled a murder suspect out from under a house. The cadet stroked the dog's neck behind the ears, then turned to the K9 officer and said, ”So how disciplined are these dogs? I mean, I know they're not neutered. What happens if a female dog in heat comes by?”

The K9 officer had tugged on the dog's leash and said, ”He's a policeman, ain't he? He sees a b.i.t.c.h in heat he's gonna go f.u.c.k it.”

But not even that memory could call up a full smile. He looked back at the house and said, ”Did you at least give her a chance to process the scene before you charmed her out of her panties?”

”Hey, come on now,” Mike said. ”Here on East Dogwatch we like to screw around same as anybody, but we always get the job done first.”

”Fair enough. You wanna tell me what you got?”

”Sure,” Mike said.

He told Anderson they got a call for a found 10-60, a dead body. The neighbor called it in. She said she'd heard something earlier in the evening, just after sunset, like somebody screaming. She'd been trying to look in through the windows ever since, trying to see what was going on inside, but couldn't. Then, at about two o'clock, she'd gone around back and found the backdoor blasted apart.

”You got the neighbor somewhere secure?”

”Yeah, she's with Sergeant Garwin. He's consoling her.”

”Great,” Anderson said.

”You know Garwin, when the complainant cries, he cries.”

That did bring a smile to Anderson's face, in spite of all the c.r.a.p he had going on in his head. He had never heard Garwin described better. And he still hadn't forgiven the man for running to Jenny Cantrell with the news that her husband's body was missing from the morgue.

”Something you should know about your witness, though.”

”What's that?”

Mike told him about the call he and Paul made a few days before. He told him about the woman running into the street covered in goat's blood. He told him about the screaming the two women had done back and forth.

Anderson listened to it all. ”It was goat's blood, you said?”

”Yep. The lady's some kind of witch doctor or something.”

”A curandera?”

”Could be, I don't know what the h.e.l.l that is.”

”Mexican folk healer. Okay, thanks.”

Anderson started to walk towards the house, but stopped, looked over his shoulder, and said, ”Where'd she get the goat's blood from, any idea?”

”Yeah, as a matter of fact I do know. She's got a whole bunch of them out back. We've already called Animal Control. They're supposed to be sending somebody as soon as they come on at seven.”

Anderson nodded.

”You might want to put on some rubber boots before you go in there,” Mike said. ”It's a bad one. Whoever did her really f.u.c.ked her up. We found a foot near the front door, part of her leg in the living room, part of her hand next to the couch. You get the idea. There's blood everywhere. Human blood, this time.”

”Great,” said Anderson. ”Can't wait.”

”Oh, and your sergeant's waiting for you inside. He told me to tell you to contact him as soon as you get here.”

Anderson nodded. ”Okay. Thanks, Mike.”

”My pleasure.”

Chuck Levy was waiting for him just inside the front door. They shook hands, and Levy started to tell him something, but Anderson wasn't listening. He was too busy looking at the scene.