are going to Stone Bridge, Connecticut, to investigate the murder of a German national.'
'Yeah, I heard.'
'This place is five million square feet,' Savich said, shaking his head, 'but when it comes to buzz, you'd think you were in a tree house, word gets around so fast. I just found out about it myself.'
Ollie grinned. 'The good stuff always spreads like a grease fire, you know that. Ruth was in the women's room and in comes Dice Flanders, humming the song you sang at the Bonhomie Club. Ruth asked her what she was doing on the fifth floor and Dice told her a bit about this Helmut Blauvelt mutilation murder.'
Savich had to smile. 'The men's room is gossip central too. Okay, before Sherlock and I head out, let's talk about the Hoven killings in Jefferson City.'
8
STONE BRIDGE, CONNECTICUT
Special Agent in Charge Bowie Richards, too young for his position, some said, stood beside Savich and Sherlock and the M.E., Dr. Ella Franks. Together they looked down at the devastated corpse of a middle-aged man laid out on the morgue table in a stark white room in the basement of Stone Bridge Memorial Hospital. His face and head were a bloody pulp. Dr. Franks had pulled a green sheet down to his chest.
Savich said, 'Tell us what happened to him, Dr. Franks.'
'This was no crime of passion. Whoever killed this man was cold-blooded and methodical. He used the proverbial blunt instrument and swung with a great deal of power, one hard hit first, to the back of the head, the kill blow. His skull was crushed in and he was dead before he hit the ground. But the killer didn't stop there.' She pointed to various shattered bones on the man's smashed face. 'You can see how the blows are carefully placed to the same areas on both sides, to destroy the facial bones and eye sockets.' She lifted the sheet to show his arms and hands. 'His killer cut off his fingers as well, in clean strokes with a smooth metal blade. It was probably to keep us from identifying him, but as it turns out, it wasn't a problem. We managed to get his identity fast because of Bowie.' Ella gave him a fat smile, and nodded at him.
Bowie said, 'I recognized the dental work wasn't American and called a dentist friend of mine who'd served a tour of duty abroad. He came over and immediately recognized the dentistry as German. We started searching through the middle-aged males who'd come into the country from Germany during the past three days, and Blauvelt popped up right away. The German BND helped us access his digital X-rays, and they were a match.'
Sherlock said, 'Good work, Bowie. Dr. Franks, have you done a tox screen on him? Any drugs on board?'
Dr. Franks said, 'No, not a single aspirin in his system. That's a bit of a ha-ha since he worked for a drug company. Now, I have learned a number of interesting things about him. First, his stomach contents revealed that Helmut ate a lovely dinner about three hours before his death-oyster and caviar appetizers followed by stuffed venison, julienned potatoes and carrots and radicchio, accompanied by red wine. There's only one restaurant in our immediate vicinity that serves all that stuff under one roof.'
She gave them a big smile.
Bowie said, 'That would be Chez Pierre in Monmouth, ten miles west of Stone Bridge. I was hoping Helmut dined with his killer.'
Dr. Franks lowered the pale green sheet.
'Now look at this.' They stared down at an inflamed, five-inch scar low on his abdomen. 'Helmut Blauvelt's bosses didn't even give him a chance to heal from an appendectomy before they shipped him over here. I'd say his appendix didn't come out more than five days ago.'
Sherlock said, 'I wonder what was so urgent that it couldn't wait another week or so?'
'There was obviously something he had to fix,' Bowie said, 'something he had to fix immediately. Tell them what else you have, Ella.'
Dr. Franks said, 'Helmut didn't die in situ, there wasn't enough blood. I found threads of wool on his skin, which means that whoever killed him stripped him, then wrapped him in a blanket and moved him.'
Bowie said, 'Which means the killer hauled him out and dumped him in those thick bushes in Van Wie Park, took all his clothes, his shoes, anything that identified him.'
Sherlock said, 'Herr Blauvelt is good-sized. I can see a strong woman bashing him, but carrying all that dead weight? Not likely. But I don't get it-why didn't the killer simply bury him deep in the woods, where he wouldn't be found, if keeping his identity a secret was so important?'
They all pondered that. Bowie said, 'Maybe he didn't have the time or the opportunity. When we get him, we'll ask.'
Savich said, 'I wonder what the killer did with his clothes.'
'I've still got agents out looking. Nothing yet.'
'Any clue where he was staying?'
'Not so far. Agents are checking all the hotels, inns, and motels within a ten-mile radius. So far, nothing on Helmut Blauvelt checking in anywhere. Of course, he could have used an alias, a fake credit card. Or he could have been staying with someone, maybe the same person who killed him. And that means starting interviews with all the Schiffer Hartwin executives.'
Savich said, 'Yeah, it sounds reasonable he might have been staying with the big muckety-mucks here in Stone Bridge. You've spoken to the CEO, Caskie Royal?'
Bowie nodded. 'Which brings up the break-in of Caskie Royal's office late last night. Some coincidence, huh? Well, it turns out Royal showed up while the thief was there. The commotion alerted the guard, and he was the one who called the cops, not Royal. I wonder if Royal would have called at all since he wasn't alone. His production manager, Carla Alvarez, was with him. To work, he told me. The guard, when I spoke to him, didn't say a word about it, stayed stone-faced. I haven't spoken yet to Alvarez, but I've seen a picture. I'd guess they were there to visit his sofa.
'Royal was insistent when I spoke to him this morning that nothing was missing, and that he has no idea who it was. He claims his arrival must have thwarted the thief from taking anything.'
'I wonder who broke into his office,' Sherlock said. 'Was it Helmut? Did Caskie Royal figure it out and confront him? Kill him? And then he didn't have time to bury Helmut, so he just dumped him behind the building?'
'Admittedly I've met Caskie Royal only briefly, but to be honest here, I really can't see him obliterating anyone's face, much less chopping off fingers.'
'Jingle Bells' played at full volume. Bowie reached into his jacket pocket, came out empty. Dr. Franks pointed to the cell phone that sat atop the cabinet across the room
Dr. Franks said, 'I know, 'Jingle Bells' is four months early. The thing is, Bowie can never seem to return his cell phone to the right place, like in his pocket. When anyone hears a Christmas carol, they know it's his cell, and can point him to it.' She beamed at them as if to say,
Sherlock said, 'I gather you work a lot with him?'
'Oh, yes, Bowie makes sure I do all the autopsies under federal jurisdiction in Connecticut.'
She pulled the sheet over Mr. Helmut Blauvelt's destroyed face, then stripped off her gloves. 'This is a mess. Since you two are here, I realize it isn't even a down-home mess, but a big honking international mess. If I find anything else that could help, Agents, I'll contact Bowie.'
'Or us,' Sherlock said, and gave her a sunny smile and each of their cards.
When they stepped into the long dim hospital hallway, Sherlock said, 'She wishes he were her son. The maternal pride nearly bursts right out of her.'
Savich nodded. 'Before we left Washington, I spoke to another couple of agents who know Bowie. They both agreed Bowie's building himself a reputation as a real ass-kicker. When he was appointed SAC of the New Haven field office last year, there was a lot of grumbling about bringing in an outsider-an agent from L.A.-rather than promoting from within, complaints of nepotism, which could, as a matter of fact, have a grain of truth, given his
