R.S. Guthrie - Detective Bobby Mac 03 - Reckoning by R.S. Guthrie Page A
Authors: R.S. Guthrie
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brightened and he waited a breath, wanting to make sure, no doubt, he’d heard what he thought he’d heard.
“Thank you,” he managed.
“If you aren’t going to eat that here,” I said, pointing at his plate of Alfredo, “take it home and promise me you’ll warm it up later for you and Bri.”
The next morning Hailey Carpenter’s corpse was found on the sidewalk in front of a home in Cherry Hills Estates, the closest thing Denver had to a luxurious Southern California neighborhood like Brentwood. A corporate VP walking outside to head off to work found the two bodies lying inside his gate.
One male and one female victim. After dropping his coffee cup and throwing up the previous few swallows, the man called 9-1-1.
Hailey Carpenter exhibited the same ligature and rope burns on the neck as the previous victims. She was stabbed twenty-two times in the head, postmortem, and her throat had a full gash from one side to the other. The fucking sick bastard had even incised her C3 vertebrae, all reported in the Nicole Brown Simpson autopsy in 1994.
The young man—Stan Perry, 27—was a pizza delivery employee called to the address twenty minutes before Judas positioned Hailey Carpenter’s body; our team believed he was murdered after her body was placed due to blood spatter on the woman’s corpse matching Perry’s and the differences in post-mortem signs of T.O.D.
“When did the call come in at the pizza place,” I asked Manny. He flipped through the last few pages of notes.
“According to the manager, who checked the tickets himself, around eight-forty P.M. M.E. puts time of death of the delivery guy at between nine and nine-thirty. The homeowner confirms that he did not make any calls to the pizza joint.”
“Incoming phone number?” I said.
“Traces to a burner. But we caught a break. Serial number tracks back to a lot received at a 7-11 store near the crime scene. Judas may have picked up the cell on the way to the Cherry Hills home.”
“Video surveillance?”
“Just getting ready to make the drive. Owner says they keep only twenty-four hours on tape—can you believe they still use tape? I got to him in time. We can watch all the video from four differently-angled cameras.”
“It’s a long shot,” I said.
“In the dark.”
“I’d prefer something more solid.”
“Like the movie Se7en ? Perp walks into the station house and delivers himself up to you personally?” Manny said, smiling.
“You a movie buff?”
“Aw, you never asked me such a personal question before, boss.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love ‘em,” Manny said. “Can’t get enough.”
“You should read more,” I told him, as I probably told my son too many times. The overbearing father.
“Why buy a cow when you get the milk for free?”
“What? That’s why you should read more. Not only is the proverb misquoted, it is a terrible metaphor.”
“I could never tell the difference,” Manny said.
“Between—”
“Metaphors, similes, proverbs, etcetera.”
“Ah, me either,” I laughed. “Pretty sure you were shooting for a metaphor, though. I got it. Movies are like Cliff Notes.”
“Fucking nice metaphor, boss.”
“I think that was a simile. Let’s go for a drive.”
“Bingo,” Manny said.
I grabbed my jacket and Manny, his too. “The answer is no, by the way.”
“To what?”
“I would not like my perp to deliver himself up as in Se7en , a movie I love , mi amigo. One, too fucking easy. I love the job.”
“Two?”
“Gruesome fucking ending, wouldn’t you say?”
“Amen to that.”
We thought we’d have to sit in a cramped, cigarette-smelling office watching low-grade video on a three-inch screen. Turns out the manager was just using a euphemism. “Tape.” Like calling CD’s “records” kind of deal. This man was a techie and had convinced the owner to buy state-of-the-art digital surveillance. And he meant he duped off each twenty-four hour day from the
“Thank you,” he managed.
“If you aren’t going to eat that here,” I said, pointing at his plate of Alfredo, “take it home and promise me you’ll warm it up later for you and Bri.”
The next morning Hailey Carpenter’s corpse was found on the sidewalk in front of a home in Cherry Hills Estates, the closest thing Denver had to a luxurious Southern California neighborhood like Brentwood. A corporate VP walking outside to head off to work found the two bodies lying inside his gate.
One male and one female victim. After dropping his coffee cup and throwing up the previous few swallows, the man called 9-1-1.
Hailey Carpenter exhibited the same ligature and rope burns on the neck as the previous victims. She was stabbed twenty-two times in the head, postmortem, and her throat had a full gash from one side to the other. The fucking sick bastard had even incised her C3 vertebrae, all reported in the Nicole Brown Simpson autopsy in 1994.
The young man—Stan Perry, 27—was a pizza delivery employee called to the address twenty minutes before Judas positioned Hailey Carpenter’s body; our team believed he was murdered after her body was placed due to blood spatter on the woman’s corpse matching Perry’s and the differences in post-mortem signs of T.O.D.
“When did the call come in at the pizza place,” I asked Manny. He flipped through the last few pages of notes.
“According to the manager, who checked the tickets himself, around eight-forty P.M. M.E. puts time of death of the delivery guy at between nine and nine-thirty. The homeowner confirms that he did not make any calls to the pizza joint.”
“Incoming phone number?” I said.
“Traces to a burner. But we caught a break. Serial number tracks back to a lot received at a 7-11 store near the crime scene. Judas may have picked up the cell on the way to the Cherry Hills home.”
“Video surveillance?”
“Just getting ready to make the drive. Owner says they keep only twenty-four hours on tape—can you believe they still use tape? I got to him in time. We can watch all the video from four differently-angled cameras.”
“It’s a long shot,” I said.
“In the dark.”
“I’d prefer something more solid.”
“Like the movie Se7en ? Perp walks into the station house and delivers himself up to you personally?” Manny said, smiling.
“You a movie buff?”
“Aw, you never asked me such a personal question before, boss.”
“Fuck you.”
“Love ‘em,” Manny said. “Can’t get enough.”
“You should read more,” I told him, as I probably told my son too many times. The overbearing father.
“Why buy a cow when you get the milk for free?”
“What? That’s why you should read more. Not only is the proverb misquoted, it is a terrible metaphor.”
“I could never tell the difference,” Manny said.
“Between—”
“Metaphors, similes, proverbs, etcetera.”
“Ah, me either,” I laughed. “Pretty sure you were shooting for a metaphor, though. I got it. Movies are like Cliff Notes.”
“Fucking nice metaphor, boss.”
“I think that was a simile. Let’s go for a drive.”
“Bingo,” Manny said.
I grabbed my jacket and Manny, his too. “The answer is no, by the way.”
“To what?”
“I would not like my perp to deliver himself up as in Se7en , a movie I love , mi amigo. One, too fucking easy. I love the job.”
“Two?”
“Gruesome fucking ending, wouldn’t you say?”
“Amen to that.”
We thought we’d have to sit in a cramped, cigarette-smelling office watching low-grade video on a three-inch screen. Turns out the manager was just using a euphemism. “Tape.” Like calling CD’s “records” kind of deal. This man was a techie and had convinced the owner to buy state-of-the-art digital surveillance. And he meant he duped off each twenty-four hour day from the
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