Chain of Evidence

“The nap is worn down.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of trips to the armoire,” she pointed out.

“I agree.”

“And the darker swath?” she asked.

“The nap is raised,” he pointed out. “It’s going a different direction from the rest of the nap.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Exactly.” With the pieces coming together in his head, Dart wanted into the room, and was tired of waiting for Teddy Bragg. He told Abby, “Wait here. Don’t let anyone inside.”

“Joe?”

He hurried off. In the foyer, he ran into Webster just coming down the stairs. The patrolman confirmed, “Blue fuzzy slippers, Detective. She’s still wearing them.”

Kowalski was admiring the view, working on his second cigarette. As Dart passed him, Kowalski asked, “Are you fucking her, Dartelli?” Dart kept walking. “The reason I ask is she has that look, you know? All rosy around the chest and neck. A little more smiley than normal for her. And because on account of I’m only seeing your car out here, so I’m thinking the two of you rode together, and it’s kinda late for that,” Dart reached his car. “She any good, Dartelli? You know, if what they say about how a woman’s lips are the same in both places, I’d say you scored big.”

“Shut up, Kowalski,” Dart said, fishing two pairs of shoe covers and latex gloves out of the back of the Volvo where Dart kept a first-aid kit, a flak vest, and an evidence collection kit.

“Real nice mouth on her,” Kowalski said.

Dart shut the back of the wagon and heard a vehicle approaching. Probably Teddy, he realized, deciding to hurry. He passed Kowalski but then stopped. He said, “You know, I used to think that you’re as dumb as everyone says you are, as dumb as you act.” The big man’s head pivoted, and he looked into Dart’s eyes. Dart continued, “If you’ve fucked with these crime scenes in any way, I’m going to have your ass.” Smoke flowed out of Kowalski’s nose, and he squinted at Dart with such loathing that the detective thought he might take a swing at him. “Tell Teddy that I went in without him.”

“You can’t do that!” Kowalski protested.

Dart held up the paper shoe covers. “So stop me.” He turned and went inside.

At the study door, with Bragg’s step van just pulling up outside, Dart and Abby slipped the paper shoe covers over their shoes and donned latex gloves.

Dart told her, “I want you to guide me. Keep me away from the blue fibers wherever possible, and off that raised nap.”

Dart kept close to the near wall and reached the armoire without requiring any directions from Abby.

“Exactly what are you looking for?” she asked.

He opened the armoire, revealing a large television and an assortment of stereo equipment. He ran his gloved hand blindly along the interior of the piece of furniture.

“What’s up, Joe?” she asked.

Dart’s fingers bumped a stout piece of metal concealed beneath the first shelf. He hooked it, pushed it, pulled it. Pop! The edge of the armoire jumped away from the wall. Dart slid his fingers into the crack and pulled it open like a door.

“Jesus …,” she gasped.

“Stay close to the wall,” he advised.

Abby joined him. Dart pulled the armoire all the way open and found the interior light switch.

They heard the front door open and the voices of Kowalski and Teddy Bragg.

“Don’t touch anything,” Dart said as he led the way into the hidden room.

The room had no windows. The area closest to the hidden door was laid out like a computer/video laboratory, the remainder dedicated to library stacks crowded with books of every shape and size, cloth and leather-bound. On closer examination, the books appeared worn and quite old. One of the stacks held several long rows of video tapes.

“Ten to one,” Abby said, “this is the evidence that the Feds never found.”

The electronic equipment included two computers, a white table, several lights on tripods, two video cameras, a scanner, a color laser printer, and a multiline telephone.

“Nice gear,” Dart said.

“Major money,” she said.

A VCR and twenty-seven-inch television occupied a separate table.

Kowalski entered behind them. Dart looked first at his shoes, furious the man had not worn shoe covers-in theory, any hairs-and-fibers evidence was now contaminated. This kind of behavior was so typical of the man, that Dart realized mentioning it was useless. Kowalski was useless.

Kowalski stepped over and opened one of the leather-bound books.

“Gloves!” Dart chastised. But the man had already touched the book.

Kowalski, ignoring Dart completely, flipped though the pages. “Geez! Enough to make even me blush.” Abby peered over his shoulder, and Dart watched as her face reddened noticeably; she looked quickly away, stepped back and coughed, clearing her throat.

“I thought you was tough, Lang,” Kowalski teased.

“Gloves, Kowalski!” Dart said irritably.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Gloves!” Dart repeated, stealing the book from the detective.

Dart glanced at it. The photograph in question depicted a naked woman suspended beneath a horse via a leather harness. In a challenge of proportions, she was engaged in intercourse with the stud, nothing left to the imagination. Dart slapped the book shut, revolted.

Kowalski had the tact to say, “You ever play horsey, Lang?” Wearing latex gloves now, he took the book from Dart, opened it and said, “Oh my god! This one’s doing it with Flipper for crying in your beer! Fucking a porpoise, Dartelli. Get a load. Geez, what a pecker those things have!”

“Cool it,” Dart reprimanded.

Kowalski held the book up in front of the woman. “What is that, Abigail, a porpoise or a dolphin?”

She averted her eyes, “No thanks.”

Dart took the book away once again. “Enough!” He added, “Act like a detective, just once.”

“Easy, Fred,” Kowalski said back to him as an obvious warning. He towered over Dart by a good three inches and outweighed him by sixty pounds. “Just having a little fun is all.” He glanced at Abby and back to Dart. “She got no reason being here anyway.”

Dart’s mind froze.

Abby spoke up. “Smut like this, and you’re wondering what Sex Crimes is doing here? Get a clue, Kowalski.” She pulled a leather-clad book from the shelf, obviously incredibly old. She gently opened the volume. “Latin,” she said, studying it. “Twelfth-century drawings.” She turned the pages, shaking her head at what she saw. “It appears the Roman clergy enjoyed pornography.”

Returning the bestiality book to the shelves, Dart told Kowalski about the federal charges against Payne and Abby’s earlier involvement. Kowalski didn’t seem to be listening. He seized upon the same book-a kid in a candy store-opened it and asked, “Hey, Dartelli, would you recognize a boa constrictor if you saw one?” He had the arrogance to laugh. “What about half of one?” He looked up at Abby Lang and said, “Talk about getting snaked!”

Once again Dart stepped over to Kowalski, but he was spared the confrontation by Ted Bragg, who entered and, in an angry voice, condemned them all for having entered the room before he had a chance to go over it. “This is a crime scene, not a convention!” he complained. “Get out!”

Dart said to Kowalski, “Go ahead, tell him about the rug.”

Kowalski looked paralyzed.

“The rug,” Dart repeated, cherishing the moment.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Lieutenant?” Dart asked Abby.