last moments of his life, Nick had realized that there was nothing he could do to stop his own killer. It had to be, Harry decided. If Nick had taken his own life, his final emotion would have been a sense of resignation, perhaps with a touch of relief-a final release from all the pressure that had driven him to that end. But fear? There would have been some, certainly, but fear would not have been a major part of that final equation.
Harry and Vicky came up dry with Nick’s neighbors. Only a few had heard the late-night music and only the woman who lived next door had made any attempt to stop it. The music apparently had only been loud enough to disturb people in the adjoining apartments-and to cover the sound of one very loud pistol shot.
When they returned to the crime scene the CSI team was just packing up their gear. Mary LeBaron approached Harry with a handful of Polaroid photos in his hand.
“Something new?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, one more complication you’re not going to like,” Marty said. “Or maybe you will.” The photos showed a pair of brown wing-tipped shoes shot from every conceivable angle. “We found them way back in Nick’s closet. I haven’t compared them to the photos from the Waldo murder scene, but I’m pretty certain they’re going to match.”
“Are the shoes the right size?” Harry asked.
“Eleven-C, the same as Nick’s other shoes.”
Vicky took the photos and began looking through them. “So if these are the shoes from the Waldo crime scene, it means he wore them home and saved them for us to find, rather than drop them in some dumpster, right?”
“Right,” Marty said.
“If he wore them home there should be some blood on the driver’s-side floor of his car,” Harry said. “Is there?”
Marty LeBaron gave him a slow smile. “I happened to check that. There was no blood evidence in Nick’s car.”
“So the shoes were planted,” Vicky said.
“I can’t prove that, but it sure would be my guess.”
Harry thought over what he had been told, letting various possibilities run through his mind. “I’d like you to hold back on this for a day,” he finally said.
“Why?” Vicky and Marty spoke the word in unison.
“I want to keep this between us-you and me and Marty and Mort Janlow. It will just be for a few days. But right now I don’t want to tell Rourke or any of the other detectives on the team. I don’t want even the smallest chance that any of this will leak to the press.”
Pete Rourke sat behind his desk and listened to Harry’s plea for more time. Vicky sat next to Harry, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Why don’t you buy it as a suicide, Harry? All the physical evidence fits.”
“We don’t know that yet. We haven’t gotten a CSI report, and Mort Janlow still has the autopsy this afternoon.”
“Harry, I haven’t talked to Mort or Marty LeBaron, but I gotta tell you, as of right now everything I’ve seen points straight at Nick. Plus, there’s the confession.”
“Unsigned, just sitting on a computer,” Harry argued. “Nick was a good detective, Pete. He knew that type of confession wasn’t very solid. He could have easily printed it out and signed it. The printer was working and loaded with paper. But he didn’t.”
“Maybe he just didn’t give a rat’s ass,” Rourke said. “Maybe he just wanted out of this world and didn’t give a damn what he left behind.”
“Then why confess at all? Why rent a movie and watch half of it? Why blast gospel music to cover the sound of the shot?” It was Vicky, and hearing her suddenly list Harry’s concerns startled both men. “There’s even the question of a pillow that might have been used to help silence Nick’s Glock.”
Rourke nodded slowly. “Who’s covering the autopsy?”
“Jim Morgan,” Harry said.
“Alright, if Mort has even the slightest doubt, I’ll hold the confession. Just keep your fingers crossed that somebody else doesn’t release it for me. What are you and Vicky doing in the meantime?”
“I’m going to check in with Mort and then I want to take another look at Bobby Joe’s church.”
“Why take another look at Waldo’s church? You still think there’s a tie between the killer and that church?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Harry said.
“What makes sense, Harry, is that you just don’t like churches,” Rourke said.
“Do I get the time I need, or not?”
Rourke scratched his chin. “For once-and maybe the only time in your police career-the brass is on your side. They don’t like the idea of one of our own being tagged as a damn serial killer, so when I told them that you didn’t buy Nick for the murder, they told me to give you time to prove it.” He watched a smile form on Harry’s lips, then wiped it away with his next words. “You’ve got seventy-two hours, Harry, and not a minute more. And that’s straight from the top. When it’s up, no matter what Mort comes up with, Nick’s confession goes to the media.”
CHAPTER TWENTY — ONE
Jim Morgan looked a bit queasy, his well-tanned face now showing a hint of gray.
“First autopsy?” Harry asked as he stepped up beside him.
Jim nodded, but didn’t speak, afraid his voice might crack if he did.
“I don’t like them much myself,” Harry said. “I’ve seen dozens and each one is as bad as the first.”
Mort Janlow was leaning over Nick Benevuto’s open body cavity preparing to remove the heart. He looked up at the two detectives. “No puking,” he said with a faint grin. “You have to puke, you go outside.” He looked at Harry and the grin widened. “That especially goes for you, Harry.”
Janlow began removing each organ in turn, weighing it, examining it for abnormalities; then setting it aside for further examination later.
“Anything?” Harry asked.
Janlow nodded. “Nick had an enlarged heart. If his brain hadn’t been vaporized by that 9mm slug he probably would have dropped dead the next time he chased some kid down an alley. Even without that kind of strain, I doubt he would have lasted another five years.”
“But no cause of death other than the head wound.”
“No.”
“And the feather we found in his hair?”
“It doesn’t match with any of the pillows in the condo, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t pick it up somewhere else. Maybe he visited a lady friend in another condo and had a roll in her hayloft. But it also means a killer could have used a pillow to silence the shot, and then taken it with him. We just don’t know yet.”
“Killer… Aren’t we talking about suicide here?” There was a look of complete bafflement on Jim Morgan’s face.
Janlow threw Harry a look and Harry gave a small shake of his head in return. The medical examiner turned to Morgan. “We’re just exploring all the possibilities. It’s what we do here.”
“I’d almost be relieved if it turned out to be murder,” Morgan said.
“Why?” Janlow asked.
“Because right now I feel like I hounded him into killing himself.”
Harry looked at the concern etched into the young deputy’s face. There was nothing he could do about it. If Nick’s death turned out to be suicide, Morgan would have to live with it. And if Harry was right and Nick was innocent of the other murders, Jim would have to live with that as well. Homicide cops make mistakes. You just try not to make too many. He placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Go get some fresh air. I’ll cover for you here.”
When Morgan left Janlow gave Harry a questioning look.
“Marty found some shoes hidden in Nick’s closet. There was blood on the soles and heels and Marty feels
