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His dress was the only part of the image that was comical. He was sprawled in a position that would only be comfortable if he were past such concerns as physical comfort.
“Chester McIlhenny,” the Boss said, “sixty-four. Found dead this afternoon by a barista at the coffee cart in the Twin Cities Terminal.”
“We’re going to Minneapolis-St. Paul?” Michael asked.
“No, New York,” the Boss corrected.
“I thought the Twin Cities were Minneapolis-St. Paul.”
“You can bring it up to the Metro Authority when you see them,” the Boss said.
“Suspects?” Michael asked.
“None,” the Boss said.
Faith raised an eyebrow. “So, this man was dumped there in broad daylight, and no one noticed anyone suspicious?”
“No,” the Boss said. “He wasn’t dumped. He was staged.”
“Staged?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” the Boss repeated. “He was set up in that position and left there dead. We’re waiting on a report from the coroner, but he was dead at least since early that morning.”
“And no one noticed until the barista in the afternoon?” Faith asked.
“I’m sure people noticed him,” the Boss said. “He’s dressed like Dick Tracy. Just because they noticed he was there doesn’t mean they noticed he was dead. People stop there just long enough for coffee, not long enough to go check on the weird guy sitting on a bench who looks like Deep Throat starring Humphrey Bogart.”
“So, he was staged early in the morning and left there, not found until the barista gets off work,” Michael said. “Anything else we should know?”
“Yes,” the Boss said. “He was a juror on the Hornfeldt case.”
Faith’s eyes widened. August Hornfeldt, colorfully nicknamed Joy Buzzer for his MO of killing people by using an illegally overpowered stun gun, was a serial killer who had terrorized New York for over five years. He moved slowly and methodically, killing only seven people in five years. Unfortunately for him, his last victim was the Police Commissioner’s mother. He was captured by NYPD hours later, much to the embarrassment of Special Agent Kapernick, who was currently on paid leave pending reassignment for failing to do for years what the boys in blue did in minutes.
“That explains why this is an FBI case already,” Faith said.
“So, we think this is retaliation?” Michael asked.
“We don’t think anything, Prince,” the Boss said. “You two have an especially bad habit of thinking and acting on those thoughts before taking the time to examine them critically. I encourage both of you to try some good, old-fashioned investigative work before you start arresting everyone who might possibly fit your profile.”
“Fair enough,” Michael said.
Faith sighed, irritated at the jibe, which she knew was directed more toward her than to Michael. She decided to push back a little.
“We’ve never charged anyone of a crime they didn’t commit, sir. Good, old-fashioned investigative work involves interrogating suspects, even if those suspects often turn out to be dead ends.”
“Well, good for you, Bold,” the Boss said. “Maybe this time you can use warrants and cooperation instead of smash-and-grab.”
Faith didn’t have an excuse for that, so she only nodded.
“All right,” the Boss said. “Move your asses. New York’s an hour and a half away, so you can drive. Go straight to the scene. They want the terminal reopened for the morning rush, so you have very little time to look at the scene before it’s gone forever.”
***
On the way to the airport, Michael asked the question Faith was afraid he would ask.
“You want to tell me what the hell that was back there?”
She tried hoping the question wasn’t the one she thought it was anyway. “You know how the Boss is. Besides, the last two cases meant rubbing shoulders with different departments. He gets irritable when he has to deal with people he can’t order to do as he says, and he’s probably hoping we don’t create that problem for him again.”
