Moon Music (38 page)

"Lieutenant?" Bruckner asked.

"No, I'm Sergeant Poe." The two men shook hands. Bruckner's grip was firm, but not overbearing. Poe cocked a thumb toward his superior. "This is Lieutenant Weinberg."

Mick stuck out his hand. "Thanks for waiting for us."

"Since it is one of your own." Bruckner glanced at his watch. "You made good time."

"Driving with a speed demon," Weinberg answered. "This is Dr. Kalil. I hope you don't mind. I've asked her to come."

Rukmani held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Poe noticed Bruckner hesitating a fraction of a second before taking her hand. The sheriff said, "Likewise. Hope no one will be needin' your services, Doctor."

"I hope not, because I'm from the coroner's office."

Weinberg wiped his face with a handkerchief as he scanned the one-story dive—a gray stucco bunker. A long time ago, the motel had been painted white. There was some residual blue window trim, but at least half of it had chipped away. All the rooms—twenty-four total—were under one tar-paper roof. The check-in office held two vending machines—one with soda, the other with snacks. No other food establishments were in sight. The town was nothing but parched desert terrain. Why in the world would Steve take Alison here?

Poe seemed to read his thoughts. He mopped sweat from his forehead and said, "Byron, can I take a look at the guest book?"

Byron looked at the sheriff. The clerk was in his early twenties, of medium stature, with a round face and a flabby stomach. He had a circular button nose and wore glasses which dimmed his dark blue eyes.

Bruckner said, "Show the sergeant the book, Byron."

Without a word, the clerk turned and headed toward the office. Poe shrugged and followed.

Weinberg asked, "Which room was it?"

"Twenty," Bruckner answered. "In the back. I gave the inside a quick once-over. Byron wasn't lying. There's blood all over. But no bodies."

"You checked?" Rukmani asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Bruckner responded. "Had to make sure that someone wasn't lying in there, injured."

Rukmani noticed the condescension in his voice. "So you walked around?"

Bruckner smiled. "For about thirty seconds."

Poe came back. "Someone checked in under the name Stephen Jensen with a wife named Alison. Spelled the right way—with one L. It looks like Jensen's signature. Could it have been forged? Sure."

"It doesn't make sense," Weinberg said. "Steve taking Alison here."

"No, it doesn't."

No one spoke. Then Rukmani said, "I don't know about you gentlemen, but I'm ready to have a look."

Bruckner smiled. "Yeah, it's mighty hot out here for a lady."

Rukmani smiled back. "In Punjab, Sergeant, this weather is called springtime." She started forward. "The unit's number is twenty, correct?"

"Correct," Bruckner answered.

They hadn't taken more than a few steps when Poe felt the presence of another person. He turned around, saw a video camera pointed his way. Bruckner looked backward as well. He shouted, "Byron, get that damn thing outta our faces."

"A couple of shots, Sheriff—"

"Byron, we're doing serious business," Bruckner shouted. "Now turn that off before I crack it over your head."

Byron lowered the video camera.

Rukmani said, "Can I borrow that?"

Bruckner paused, beckoned Byron over. "Give it here."

"But I'm not doing nothing—"

"This lady wants to borrow it."

Byron looked at Rukmani with suspicious eyes. She held out her hand. "I'm from the coroner's office. A video camera would be helpful for my official business. If I can, I'll even send you a copy when I'm done."

"Give it to her," Bruckner pushed.

Reluctantly, Byron handed her the camera.

"Thank you," Rukmani said.

Bruckner said, "I think you should go back to the desk, Byron."

"Kathy's watching the desk."

"Well, go back and help her out."

Poe said, "I don't mind if he tags along. As long as he doesn't come in the room with us."

Bruckner stiffened, displeased by Poe's undermining his authority.

"C'mon, Sheriff. Be a sport."

Through a clenched jaw, Bruckner said, "I suppose it's all right."

Byron smiled. "Hey, thanks, Sheriff. Promise I won't get in your way." To Rukmani, he said, "Are you really gonna send me a copy of the tape?"

"No."

Byron was taken aback. "No?"

"Against regulations." Rukmani gloved up and broke a yellow crime ribbon that had been taped across the door. She turned the knob. "Ladies first, right, Sheriff?"

Bruckner told Byron to stay back. They entered single-file with Poe coming last.

His stomach dropped.

He had expected lots of blood—on the crumpled sheets, on the furniture, on the threadbare pink carpet that covered the floor. But he hadn't expected so much spray. Big, crimson abstracts on the walls and ceiling as if shot from an aerosol spray can. His eyes swept over the inkblots, then scanned the room. A rickety queen-sized bed, a worn pink spread batiked in red and brown blood. Two cheesy plastic wood-grain nightstands. Reading lamps attached to the walls. Across the bed was a dresser supporting a twenty-six-inch TV and its movie box. The TV was bolted to the dresser, the remote control was attached to one nightstand by a chain. Everything was nailed shut as a control against theft.

He swallowed dryly, felt his hands shaking. To cover his nervousness, he took out his pad and began to take notes. A mild stench permeated the stuffy room. Enough to wrinkle the nose, but not quite enough to upset the stomach.

Weinberg was unnerved by the horror. To Poe, he said, "You're
sure
the signature was legitimate?"

Poe looked up from his notebook. "No. But someone checked in under Jensen's name, and used his credit card."

"Christ!"

Rukmani had come out of the bathroom. She lowered the camera. "No body in the shower à la Hitchcock's
Psycho
." She sniffed, took out a mask. "But it smells pretty rank. Anyone look for a body in the closet?"

Poe dabbed some VapoRub under his nose. He opened the small door, gingerly peeked in. "Looks harmless to me."

"Let me get a shot of it." Rukmani started the tape rolling as she studied the closet. "Indeed, there's nothing dangling from a coat hanger."

Bruckner winced.

Rukmani stepped out into the open. "It's clean inside." She shut off the video camera. "Well, it's dusty, but there's no blood."

Poe pointed. "See those drip marks on the wall? They're coming from the seam between the north wall and the ceiling."

Rukmani said, "There's a crawl-space entrance in the bathroom ceiling."

The men eyed each other. Poe said, "Get me a ladder. I'll do it."

Bruckner said, "I can do it."

"Fine," Poe said. "It's your territory."

Bruckner paused. "But it is
your
man. It's up to you."

"I'll do it," Poe repeated.

"I'll get you that ladder."

As soon as he left, Rukmani said, "Ain't he a love?"

Weinberg said, "Have a little pity. He's probably never worked a homicide…probably scared shitless." He turned to Poe. "Are you up for this?"

"It's what they pay me to do."

"Not when there was a personal relationship," the lieutenant answered. "You know who could be up there."

"I know." No one spoke. Then he said, "It could be her, it could be him. It could be both—"

Rukmani interrupted, "On the surface, it doesn't look like enough spray for two people."

Poe said, "Alison couldn't possibly be strong enough to shove Steve into the crawl space. That would require her to lift around two hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight over her head. Not to mention that the crawl space is above her reach. So she'd have to find something to climb on. She couldn't do it." He shook his head in disbelief. "She couldn't do it."

Rukmani took his hand. "Romulus, I hope to God she's all right. I really mean that."

Again, Poe swallowed dryly. "I know you do. Thanks." He snapped his fingers, then stopped himself. "Maybe you should take another sweep of the place with the camera."

"I have enough." Rukmani looked around. "What we really need are some techs."

Weinberg said, "If we find a body and it turns out to be…either Alison or Steve or someone from Vegas, then I can make a case for jurisdiction. One thing at a time."

Rukmani said, "By the way, Rom, how'd the pictures come out?"

"Pictures?" Poe asked.

"The snapshots that Y took last night."

"I haven't had a chance…" He rubbed his face. "Who do you have to fuck to get a ladder in this place?"

"Patience, Poe," Weinberg said. "Look, if it's too much, let Bruckner—"

"I'm not letting that bozo touch anything." Poe stomped out of the room, saw Bruckner schlepping a ladder. He was as thin as the implement he carried. Poe jogged over to help him.

Bruckner said, "Who is that woman?"

"Dr. Kalil? She's the deputy coroner."

"She any good?"

"Is she any
good
?" Poe glared at him. "You talking personal or professional?"

Bruckner turned red. "Look, I just…"

Poe let him retreat into embarrassment. They brought the ladder into the bathroom and steadied it under the crawl-space entrance. Bruckner was suddenly obsequious. "Are you sure you want to do this, Sergeant?"

No, I don't want to do this, you asshole
. "I'm fine. I'll need a good strong flashlight."

"Right away." Bruckner left.

Poe started up the rungs as Weinberg held the ladder.

When he reached the opening, he pushed the cover to the side. A rush of blood came streaming down, landing on Weinberg's head.

"Shit!" the lieutenant groused. But he kept a firm grip on the ladder. "Will someone get—"

"—a towel," Rukmani finished his sentence. "Right away." She rushed out and came back holding a pile of linens. She wiped Weinberg's bald pate and face. "It's fresh blood."

"I figured that out, Doctor."

Rukmani smiled. "Sorry, Lieutenant."

Bruckner came back with the flashlight, wrinkled his nose. "Goddamn, that's…let me help you out, Lieutenant."

"If you could hold the ladder for a moment so I can wipe—"

"You bet." Bruckner gave the light to Poe. "Is this okay?"

"Perfect."

Weinberg released the ladder, dabbed himself off. "Whenever you're ready, Sergeant."

Poe took a deep breath, let it out, then stuck his head up into the steamy crawl space. He cringed at the smell: overripe meat in the beginnings of the decay process. There was also a heavy, metallic stink that hung in the hot, idle air. He shined the light into the vast cavern between the ceiling and roof. In the dimness, the floor appeared wet and shiny as if coated with tar. Poe could make out puddles. As he circled the beam around, he saw the lifeless lump lying about five feet from Poe's head.

He came down for air, into the bathroom. After taking a couple of breaths, he said, "There's something up there. But it's out of my reach while standing on a ladder. I'll have to go in to retrieve it." He eyed Weinberg. "Which means I'll trample on evidence…maybe muck up some shoe prints. The proper alternative is to come in through the roof. Take about half of it off—"

Weinberg said, "Poe, look at this place. You start mucking with structure, it's going to fall down like a house of cards."

"That could very well be."

"Go in and do what you have to do."

Rukmani said, "Let me get you goggles and a mask—"

"I'm okay. I've got my VapoRub."

"Please, Poe," Rukmani insisted. "Besides the blood and the smell, there's probably years' worth of dust and bat and bird guano. Believe me, you don't want to breathe it in, nor do you want it in your eyes."

"She's right," Weinberg said.

"All right." Poe waited for her to give him the protective devices. As soon as he was masked up, he said, "Here's to nothing."

"Be careful," Rukmani called out.

Hoisting himself upward, Poe squeezed his body into the limited space.

Sometimes it was good to be short.

With a throbbing head and a stomach filled with acid, he crawled into wet, sticky liquid. The goggles cut the light even further. He could hear himself breathe, smell the rot through the mask. It was scorching and humid and as pleasant as wading in a cesspool.

Inching his way over to the lump as his gloved hands splashed up blood. Trying to keep his lunch down as he reached out and grabbed a lifeless arm. He began dragging it back over to the crawl space.

Light. Definitely not Steve. It was a woman.

His heart took off. He felt the room spin around him, a smothering sense of vertigo.

Don't faint, you schmuck!

Towing it closer to freedom. But he couldn't make out the face in the grayness. When he got to the crawl-space opening, he shouted, "I can't carry her down—"

"It's a her?" Weinberg shouted.

"Yeah, it's a her," Poe answered back. "I don't know who, though. The face is messed up, and it's way too dim. I'm going to lower her down and you have to catch her."

To Bruckner, Weinberg said, "Why don't you hold the ladder? I might as well catch her. I'm already bloodied up."

Bruckner nodded. "Sounds like a good game plan."

Weinberg had noticed that the sheriff had gone pale.

Poe clutched the body around the torso, felt his fingers dig into soft, raw flesh. A wave of nausea shot through his gullet. "I'm going to bring her down."

"Slow, Poe."

"As slow as I can."

He lowered her down, feet first. "Got her?"

"Not yet—"

"Now—"

"A little more…to the left."

"Now?"

"More."

"I'm slipping—"

"Got her," Weinberg said. "You can let go."

With an audible sigh, Poe rid himself of the body. For good measure, he shone the light around the attic space for a second time. This time, no lumps caught his attention. But he knew that something could be stashed in the corners. Later on, he'd make a more thorough check.

Later on…