AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Good form, right, Sergeant? A quick, bad, death. This is Blackout, signing off.”
The video went black.
I closed my mouth, looked at Conklin, turned to look at Alvarez, then, asked, “Has Brady seen this?”
Conklin said, “We agreed you should be the one to do it.”
Brady’s office is a small glass-enclosed space at the far endof the bullpen. Looking down the center aisle and the length of the room, I could see Chief Clapper sitting across the desk from Brady.
I typed a message to my boss: “This is a video of Hammer’s murder. Urgent.” I attached the murder tape and pressed Send.
CHAPTER 16
I WAITED FOR Brady to read my note, look at the hellacious clip of cold-blooded murder, and give me a sign. But five long minutes after I’d sent him that appalling video, he and Clapper were still deep in conversation.
I was about to go to his office when Claire texted me. “Important, Lindsay. Can you come down?”
Instead of rapping on Brady’s door, I buzzed Brenda, Brady’s assistant, who is stationed outside his office.
“Bren. I’m going to the ME’s office for a few minutes. Call if you need me.”
Brenda said, “You got it.”
Conklin and Alvarez had accessed the video from our shared account and looped it on their screens. I asked them to scour all databases for anything on Hammer and on the alias “Blackout.”
“We’ve already run Hammer through VICAP and AFIS crime databases,” said Conklin. “Nothing to add to what Fama told us. Hammer was a small-time loser. ‘Blackout’ comes up ahundred different ways; end of a scene, loss of consciousness, power outage—all are apt, but not a name. I have a computer tech who can take a deeper dive.”
“Good. If possible, we want to trace the video to a phone or an ID and ask if he can figure out how this sick footage was recorded. I’ll be back in a few.”
Leaving the squad room, I jogged down the fire stairs, exited the lobby through the rear door, then fast-walked along the breezeway that connects the ME’s office to the Hall. I pulled open the door and stepped up to the front desk. The new receptionist was about twenty, wearing amber-tinted glasses and a very serious look. I badged her, told her that I was expected.
She said, “Please take a seat.”
An elderly woman sat in one of a line of chairs, her hands over her eyes, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Someone she cared about was inside with Claire, before, during, or after the autopsy. The door beside the receptionist opened and Claire waved me in.
Dr. Claire Washburn and I have been close since I was on patrol and she was a junior pathologist with the coroner’s office. Best friends through all those years, there were no secrets between us. Now, I was burning out in Homicide and Claire was at the top of her game.
“I’ve got something for you, girlfriend,” she said.
We walked down the inner corridor to the cold storage room. There, Claire pulled out a drawer and turned down the blue drape uncovering a seventy-something man with a bullet hole in his forehead. There were two more holes in his chest.
Claire said, “Name is Jacob Johnston.”
She filled me in: that the body had been found on TaylorStreet yesterday, that Central Station was turning the case over to Southern Station. Central’s homicide department was thin, and only took night-shift homicide cases. I guessed that even their night shift—from eight to eight—was shorthanded.
Claire was saying, “You’d kill me if I didn’t bring you in on this.”
My attention was on Johnston’s body. He’d been physically fit for his apparent age and the bullet to his forehead sure looked like it had been the kill shot.
“Look here,” Claire said.
She pointed to two holes in his throat. I leaned in to get a better look. Adrenaline lit me up but it took a few more seconds for my brain to connect Johnston’s stun-gun burns to the video of Ralph Hammer’s murder.
Claire was saying, “Theory only. Stun gun knocked him down but not out. I’m guessing Johnston fought back.”
Re-draping his neck, Claire continued.
“Hypothesis. Mr. Johnston refused to die so his attacker shot him. First to the head and then to the chest.”
