Page 74 of The Fourth Option
Kile remained standing for a few seconds, as though imprinting the scene on his memory. Having lost the pissing contest, he nodded at Bates and pulled off his gloves as he headed for the door.
Gormley entered, grinning.
“Did old Kile take that hard?” he asked.
“He took it as an order.”
“Army boys are good that way.”
“Hound,” Bates began, speaking softly, careful to keep his voice lower than those he could hear on the front porch. “Go grab Rayne. He’s outside somewhere. Sixth is taking cordon.”
“I’m on it.”
“And, make sure the guys from the Sixth are set up in a way that allows media to see the house, but that’s it. We all circle up here. This is our show. Nobody else.”
“Damn straight, Corn.”
Cornelius didn’t like his name shortened to Corn, but this was the NOPD, and when you had a name like Cornelius, your nickname was preordained.
With Gormley out of the house Bates quickly scanned the pantry and then stepped outside to speak with the CSIs. Just as he had with Kile, he asked them to give him some time on-site to process. When they shot him a puzzled glance, he smiled and explained that he preferred the crime scene to be free of investigators when he arrived. “I like to see it just as it went down,” he told the two women, one young, the other middle-aged. “No distractions.”
Finally, alone with the dead man on the back porch steps, Bates knelt, backlit from the kitchen, casting a shadow out over the garden.
He snagged a penlight from his shirt pocket, clicked it on, and used it to check out the dead guy’s face.
The cause of death was obvious; someone had almost chopped off his head with a shovel. Rigor mortis hadn’t yet set in, which suggested he had been killed less than two hours ago.
Bates had been on a date, enjoying a whiskey over at the Carousel Bar in the Monteleone when Gormley called. Desiree had worn that plunging number, teasing him whenever she leaned forward, touching his arm and laughing at whatever he said. Maybe he would take her out again tomorrow and ask her to wear that same dress.
He ran the light over the man’s body and noted a patch of clothing had been seemingly cut from his shirt.
Strange.
Bates clicked off the light and turned it around. He used thenarrowend of the device to pick through the dead man’s clothing, finding a chain on a belt loop that disappeared into a pocket. Bates carefully tugged the chain and found a wallet attached to it. He flexed the D ring at the belt loop and set the wallet and chain to the side. In the dead man’s other pocket, Bates found a set of keys. The man’s fingernails showed residue of a light brown substance. That would have to be cleaned.
He glanced around to ensure he was alone. Detective Sergeant Gormley was back in the main living room talking with Officer Tim Rayne. Rayne wore the blue shirt and tie of the NOPD, crescent-shaped badges on his chest.
Bates jerked his head, beckoning them outside.
He stood up and handed the wallet, chain, and keys to Gormley. “Get rid of this.”
“You got it.”
Gormley and Rayne followed Bates inside and up the stairs. All three policemen had to step carefully on the polished wood to avoid slipping in the cloth booties that covered their shoe soles.
At the top landing, they stopped and looked down at a man holding a Desert Eagle pistol who had taken multiple gunshots to the chest and at least one to the head.
“Notice the grouping,” Bates said.
“Tight,” Gormley said.
“Yep.”
Bates looked both ways down the hall.
“Otis!” he shouted for Dupuis.
“Down here, sir,” came the reply from the left.
