Jack a bunch of questions.
“Carolyn tells me she had to isolate the front tire pattern from the rear, even though they’re almost on top of each other, as they are slightly different. A Dunlop 100/90 R19 57H up front, Dunlop 150/80 R16 71H in the back.”
Ceepak nods like, somehow, it all makes perfect sense to him. Me? I’m still checking out the tread pattern on that toasted-coconut donut.
“If memory serves,” says Ceepak, “the Harley-Davidson Low models have what I would call a long, cushioned seat plus footpegs over staggered shorty exhaust pipes to accommodate a second passenger.”
“Exactly,” says Botzong. “That’s where the biker chicks usually ride. It also explains the duct tape you guys found on the victim’s wrists and shoes, not to mention that ring of dried blood around his neck. Check it out.”
He pushes the play button.
The image is grainy, but, in the background, we can make out a Harley hog with a helmeted driver and a helmeted passenger with his arms wrapped around the driver’s waist.
The passenger is not a biker chick. It’s Paulie Braciole. He’s wearing an aerodynamic helmet with a tinted visor, just like the driver, but I recognize his white muscle-man T-shirt.
“Clever,” says Ceepak. “To transport the dead body, the killer propped the helmeted Mr. Braciole in the passenger seat.…”
“And duct-taped his shoes to those rear footpegs,” adds Botzong.
“Then the killer took their position in front of the dead body.…”
“Which had to be pretty hard to do,” says Botzong. “Balancing the body to secure the feet. Then, I’m guessing, they had to brace Mr. Braciole by the helmet while they mounted the bike.”
The motorcyclist in the video is wearing racing gear, a one-piece space suit deal that gives absolutely no hint as to who or what is inside; same with the aerodynamic helmet and padded gloves, which more or less blend right into the high-collared suit. Our killer could be a guy or a girl. He or she could be sixteen or sixty. Heck, he or she could be a very well-trained orangutan. The flight suit hides everything.
“Once the killer had taken their place up front,” says Ceepak, “they reached around, grabbed hold of Mr. Braciole’s limp arms, binding them together in front of their waist with more duct tape.”
“Yep,” says Botzong.
Wow. I’m impressed. First, by Ceepak and Botzong, who figured it all out. Second, by the killer. He (or she) had to be pretty nimble and quick to pull it off. Third, by duct tape. Is there nothing that stuff can’t do?
“The neck roll of the helmet being forced over Mr. Braciole’s head, of course, explains that ring of dried blood and the ‘up-drips’ around his neck,” adds Botzong. “It acted like a temporary dam, causing the blood to pool in a circle until it was removed.”
I nod because I figured it out maybe two seconds after Botzong said it.
“So,” says the head of the State Police Major Crimes Unit, tapping the monitor screen, “do you guys recognize the motor scooter?”
I’m guessing Detective Bill Botzong, when not rehearsing amateur theatricals, spends his Thursday nights watching
“Several of the motorcycle gang members we encountered were, indeed, riding similar Harleys,” says Ceepak. “However, I don’t recall any distinguishing characteristics on any of the bikes that allow me to I.D. the motorcycle.”
“What about Skeletor? Is that his bike?” asks Botzong.
“Sure looks like it,” I say.
“It sure does, Danny,” says Ceepak.
I’m waiting for the “But.”
“But.…”
There it is.
“This low-slung Harley profile is quite common.”
“Yeah,” I say. Plus, the rider, disguised in a helmet and leather jumpsuit, is hunched over so much, gripping onto the handlebars like a motocross racer, there’s no way to tell how tall and skinny he or she might be. It could be Skeletor on the bike. It could be anybody.
“Well, Skeletor and his Creed brethren are definitely on my most-wanted list,” says Botzong.
Now Ceepak nods. “Ours too.”
“Any word on his whereabouts?”
“Negative. We put out an APB immediately after our run-in at the restaurant.”
“Which was almost a week ago,” I add.
“We may need to cast a wider net,” says Botzong.
Ceepak sighs. “Bill, as Chief Baines undoubtedly alerted you, the producers of
Botzong screws up his face like it pains him to say what he’s about to say. “Yeah. Buzz told me. I think it might help, John.”
Ceepak reluctantly nods. “My wife, Rita, also agrees. This morning, she advised me that
“So, tell me: You going to play the John Walsh role?”
“No, Bill. I was going to ask you to do it. After all, you have more stage experience.”
“Sure. If the TV people want me, I’ll dig out my black turtleneck and leather jacket.”
Ceepak grins. “That’ll work.”
I’m smiling too.
I guess because I’m imagining Broadway Bill Botzong breaking into song and dance, halfway through the show. You know-it’s
Botzong and his CSI crew continue combing the crime scene.
I’m pretty sure they won’t find any fingerprints. The killer on the Harley, after all, was wearing very thick racing gloves.
Ceepak and I head back across the island (hey, it’s only about a half mile wide) to chat with Mandy Keenan, who, as far as we know, was the last person to see Paul Braciole alive. We’re hoping she can help us track The Thing’s movements, because we need to find where he was killed before someone, maybe even Skeletor, strapped him onto the back of that motorcycle and hauled him over to the Knock ’Em Down booth.
Huh. I wonder.
“You think the killer picked the Knock ’Em Down on purpose?” I say as we crawl west on Red Snapper Street. “I mean, they could’ve picked any booth. The Frog Bog. Whack A Mole. Why the Knock ’Em Down?”
“An interesting question, Danny,” says Ceepak.
“Maybe they were sending a message. You know, like that Springsteen song, ‘Wrecking Ball.’ It’s a dare. Take your best shot, let me see what you’ve got. Go ahead, put me on national TV. And then, boom-the bad guy knocks Paulie down.”
“A fascinating hypothesis. It would be in keeping with the very public execution of one whom Skeletor and The Creed obviously felt had betrayed them.”
Yeah. You don’t hang a dead guy up by his undershirt on a wall filled with stuffed animals unless you want somebody to find the body.
“So, it looks like Skeletor and The Creed are our top suspects?”
“Yes, Danny. At this juncture.”
“That means we need to play along with Marty Mandrake, do the whole
Ceepak nods. “No matter how personally repellent, it appears to be the most prudent course of action currently available to us.”
