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I just badged her and said, “I was hoping to talk to the lead detective on the case.”
We all awkwardly walked through the open door and down a long, sterile hallway. I saw a few cops I knew from joint cases or training.
New Rochelle had a dedicated homicide detective. Once that detective was overwhelmed, the department rotated the homicides that occurred within its city limits among three detectives who handled other crimes in addition to homicide.
Once I got the Mortons settled with a victim advocate, I headed off to find out who had been assigned the case. I saw a detective I’d known for years. She specialized in crimes against children, but I had to know who had caught this homicide.
I said, “Sandy, who got assigned the body they found this morning?”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged as she said, “Bill Stanton.”
I muttered, “Shit, not ‘Suicide’ Stanton.”
Chapter18
I FOLLOWED SANDYthrough the small building to the detective bureau. It was more hectic than I would’ve expected for a town of eighty thousand people. I scanned the room for Bill Stanton, the detective who’d caught the homicide, and saw the fifty-four-year-old, balding detective at a desk in the corner. As usual, he had a washcloth next to him, which he used to wipe the sweat from his forehead about every three minutes. No one had ever told me whether he had a medical condition. I wasn’t about to ask.
He got his nickname, Suicide, as a joke. All nicknames cops give one another are jokes. Some are in poor taste. Some are extraordinarily clever. This one was somewhere in between. Stanton had an excellent clearance rate for death investigations. But an unusually large percentage of those clearances were classified as suicide. It seemed to be his working theory on every unnatural death. He created elaborate reconstructions to prove suicide, even if the theories worked only one in ten times. I’d never heard of anyone else doing that. I didn’t know if it was because Stanton was competitive or lazy. But that was how he’d earned his name: clearing cases via suicide.
He glanced up at me and said in a fast clip, “You want to take one of my cases? I just got a new homicide. Tell me you think she was killed in the city and her body was moved up here. I’ll be happy to give you everything I have on the case.” He grabbed the washcloth and wiped his forehead.
“I wish it was that simple. She’s a friend of my daughter. I’ve been keeping her parents informed on Suzanne’s missing person’s case.”
“I’m sorry to hear there’s a personal connection. But I gotta tell you, Bennett, all kinds of shit has been dropping around here. The burglary rate is off the charts. Armed robberies are up in all of the Westchester towns. And this homicide is our fifth since May. That may not cause a stir in Manhattan, but it’s a big deal here.”
“I’m here because of the Mortons, but I wanted to find out the circumstances of her death. We’re wondering if this homicide could be linked to a couple of deaths we’re looking at in the city. It’s a possibility.”
That caught Stanton’s attention. “Are you talking serial killer?” He reached again for the washcloth.
“It’s a possibility. But if it is, you won’t be able to write this one off as a suicide.”
Stanton scowled at me. “That shit’s not funny. I don’t even know how that nickname got started.”
I held up my hands. “I retract my snarky comment.”
“What do you want from me, Bennett?”
“Details about the body, method of death, everything.”
“Look, Bennett, you’re a good guy, I’d like to work with you. But right now, I’m getting screamed at for a briefing with our assistant chief, the mayor, and my captain. We’ve only had the body a couple of hours. I haven’t even seen it yet. Let me get back to you tomorrow or the next day, when I have more information.”
Reluctantly, I agreed to leave and call him the next day. I didn’t want to say something I might regret. I didn’t understand a homicide detective who hadn’t gone out to the scene immediately. I didn’t care if he had half a dozen other cases.
As I worked my way through the maze of hallways, I saw the Mortons sitting in a small but comfortable-looking room. Suzanne’s mother dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. Her father just stared at the victim advocate. I weighed the risk of stepping into the room. I didn’t want to upset them any more than they already were. Or maybe I was just trying to justify avoiding something I didn’t want to do.
Just then I glanced at my watch. It kicked me into gear. I was supposed to be at Holy Name coaching the first practice of the girls’ basketball team in a little over half an hour.
Chapter19
I WAS ALREADYwearing an official blue Holy Name basketball coach’s shirt. I didn’t say anything about the mustard stain on the collar or the hole under the arm. The shirt had probably been around since I was a student here. The girls were already huddled in a group at the corner of the bleachers. A relatively new nun named Sister Elizabeth was checking uniforms and talking to the girls. When she noticed me, she stepped away from the group to talk to me in private.
She had a flat, midwestern accent. “Mr. Bennett, I’m thrilled you agreed to coach. Your height alone is going to give you credibility.”
I laughed at that. Then I looked at the group and said, “Are there any assistant coaches?”
Sister Elizabeth looked stricken. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry. You’re the only parent who answered the call to service. But I can help. I played some ball in college. And I have a few ideas for the girls.”
“If you played college basketball, you’re eminently more qualified to coach these girls than I am.”
