ago. A certain party in a ski mask who’s been-”
“This would be your weenie waver, right? Channel Eight was all over that. The news anchors could barely keep a straight face.”
“Yeah, it’s been a laugh riot-until now.”
Soave raised his chin at her. “Keep talking.”
“He’s been leaving presents, too. I got a special delivery on my very own welcome mat last night-a nice, fresh turd of human origin.”
Yolie blinked at her. “Ow, that’s just disgusting.”
“And our victim…?”
“Mr. Donatelli moved here ten months ago. He was a widower. Also a retired New York City police detective.”
Soave made a face. “Damn, that means his buds will be all over this.”
“He lived and worked two doors down, at the Captain Chadwick House. It’s a high-end condo complex. He was caretaker there, although the head of the board assured me he’d be getting bounced soon. The man was an obnoxious boor as well as a drinker. Never around when the tenants needed him. Plus he was borderline stalking one of them, a good-looking widow named Beth Breslauer.” Des shoved her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Between us, I thought that he might be the Dorset Flasher. So I was tailing him on foot just now when it all-”
“Wait, wait,” Yolie broke in. “You witnessed the murder?”
“Yes and no. I saw him leave his apartment. Pursued him as he made his way through the brush in the vicinity of the crime scene. I was definitely nearby when it happened. Heard a blow struck. Heard someone running away. Maybe one person. Maybe more than one. I can’t be sure because I couldn’t see a damned thing. A neighbor, Nan Sidell, heard someone prowling around and called it in. But she didn’t see anybody either.”
Soave thumbed his moustache, pondering this. “So, what, someone else besides you was following him?”
“That’s certainly one possibility.”
“Who would want to do that?”
“That all depends, Rico. If Augie was, in fact, the Dorset Flasher, then what we’re looking at here could be an unsubtle form of payback.”
He stared at her. “You mean like a vigilante killing?
“I do.”
“Whoa, I don’t like the sound of that at all. Is there another scenario?”
“That Augie was out here following the Dorset Flasher himself-once a cop, always a cop. Yesterday, he suggested to me that he might have an idea who our man was. I advised him to stay out of it. Could be he didn’t follow my advice. Could be our Dorset Flasher graduated to the big time tonight.”
“Killed Augie Donatelli to conceal his identity?”
“Exactly.”
“Any chance it’s none of the above?” Yolie wondered. “How about this neighbor? What’s up with her?”
“Nan tips the scales at ninety-five pounds, tops, and has no motive.”
“We know this for a fact?”
“Yolie, we don’t know anything for a fact. And I have to lay something else on you folks that you’re not going to like. Augie and I had a public altercation yesterday. He did a lot of yelling and ended up flat on his butt.”
“You hit him?”
“I didn’t so much as touch him, Rico. He was drunk, that’s all.”
“But there were witnesses?”
“Several.”
“And now the man’s dead and you were on the scene when it happened. Des, is there any way a district prosecutor could mount a reasonable argument that you’re actually a suspect in this murder?”
“I’m afraid so. Let me make this next part easy for you, okay? No, I didn’t do it. And, yes, I know I have to step far, far away from your investigation. After we’re done here I’ll give you all of my notes on the Dorset Flasher case. Every suspect I’ve looked at. We can sit down together over at Town Hall.”
“Is that the place that smells like mothballs?” he asked.
“Always.”
“Every time we set up there I swear I’m visiting my grandmother’s house.” He looked at Des uneasily. “We’ll have to notify your barracks commander about this. You may be chained to a desk for the duration. Which sucks, but it is what it is. ”
“I know this, Rico.”
“Okay then.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Let’s have a look.”
The death investigator was crouched over Augie, whose body was exactly as Des had found it. The bloodied baseball bat remained in the weeds nearby.
“This Louisville Slugger has seen a lot of honest playing time,” Soave observed, bending over it for a closer look. “Handle’s all nicked up. Ain’t exactly current issue either-it’s a freaking Mickey Mantle 125.”
Yolie whipped out her Blackberry and went Googling. “You got that right, boss man,” she said after a moment, peering at the bat for herself. “It was manufactured some time between 1964 and ’72. The Mantle bats made prior to ’64 had the trademark insignia under that oval label where it says Hillerich and Bradsby Co. This one here has the trademark in that circled ‘R’ after the words Louisville Slugger. It’s a collectible. Worth north of two hundred in perfect condition. Beat up like this one maybe seventy-five.”
“Augie was a native New Yorker,” Des said. “And the right age to have been a Mantle fan. This could have been his bat. That totally works except…”
“Except what?” Soave asked her.
“I’d swear he wasn’t carrying a baseball bat.”
“So how did it get out here?”
“Good question, Rico.”
Soave turned to the death investigator and said, “What can you tell us?”
“The victim suffered two blows,” he answered cautiously. “One blow’s to the left side of his head. The striking pattern’s horizontal, suggesting that his attacker swung at him pretty much the way you would if you were hitting a baseball. That blow, I’m guessing, stunned him and sent him to his knees. The second blow, which was the fatal one, is an overhead chop. His attacker wielded the bat like an axe.”
“Any idea about the attacker’s size?”
“The blows are substantial. Not the Incredible Hulk, but no weakling either. As to height, that’s difficult to gauge. If the victim was sneaking his way through the brush in the dark then we have to assume he was hunched over, not upright, which will significantly impact our calculations concerning the angle of the first blow. All I can tell you so far is that his attacker need not have been someone tall. Hopefully we’ll know more after we get him on the table.”
“So we’re talking about a man of average height and weight,” Soave concluded, shoving his lower lip in and out.
“Which happens to match the general description of the Dorset Flasher,” Des said. “Unless… could his attacker have been a good-sized woman?”
“Don’t see why not,” the death investigator replied. “If she surprised him.”
“Oh, I’d say Augie was good and surprised. Did you find a black ski mask on him?”
“No ski mask.”
Soave moved away from the body now, Yolie and Des trailing along. “We’ll search the neighborhood trash cans for that ski mask. And undertake a more thorough search of the grounds at daylight.”
“I’d pay particular attention to the riverbank if I were you,” Des advised.
“Will do,” Yolie said.
“You folks ready to head over to Town Hall now?”
“First give us the short version,” Soave responded. “If Augie Donatelli wasn’t the Dorset Flasher then who are you liking for it?”
Des stood there, hands on her hips, mulling it over. “Persons of interest do come to mind. One is Hal
