701

701

  A Detective Sarah Renner Short Story

  By Stephen Johnson

  Cover image by Lidia K.C.Manzo – New Orleans, March 2011

  Copyright 2016 Stephen Johnson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  It was the kind of dive bar you had to go out of your way to find and was the perfect combination edgy and gross.

  Nestled on the shoreline of the Industrial Canal, two blocks from the Claiborne Avenue Bridge, it was surrounded by potholed streets lined with derelict abandoned houses. Some of the lots were so consumed by weeds it was like a cancer as a cruel second act to Katrina. The pool table in the corner of the room and the Saints game that glowed on a screen hung precariously above the entrance seemed to draw in the loyal few stayers like mosquitos to a Louisiana porch light.

  The kitsch and dimly lit bar created a place for the locals to retreat and go unnoticed. The gloom almost concealed the dark smear that ran down the tiled wall to the victim who sat slumped, hands loose on his chest. Head tilted, his lifeless eyes stared outward as if he were questioning his abrupt end – but no answers came. A Picture knocked from the wall had settled in the blood that had pooled around his body and tracked along the joints between the floorboards.

  Detective Sarah Renner scanned the room; her eyes stopped on a paramedic shuffling paperwork on a nearby counter.

  “This how you found him?”

  The paramedic looked up.

  “Expired on arrival. We didn’t attempt to resuscitate,” he replied, matter of fact, eager to get away.

  She knelt and leant in to take a closer look. The cool air from the fan above washed across her back and cut through the sticky heat that hung in the room. Light from the bar flickered and reflected off the resin-like sheen from the sweat coating his dark skin.

  “Hey, who’s our victim?” Renner asked, as she wiped her forehead with the back of her arm.

  “Detective, we done here,” the paramedic interrupted. “You’ll arrange someone to collect the body?”

  Renner nodded as she reached into the pocket of her dark grey trousers and retrieved a pen.

  “Sure, go. We got it.”

  She positioned the tip under his black t-shirt and lifted it to expose his torso. A heavy gold chain that hung around his neck settled into the loose fabric.

  “No entry wound,” she muttered under her breath.

  She looked up at her partner. “There’s what? six pints of blood on the floor.”

  In his late thirties, Gabriel Lucas stood taller than Renner; he was lean with short hair, sideburns, and stubble. His time working homicide in New Orleans showed on his face.

  Lucas nodded but said nothing.

  She looked around and waved a uniform over.

  “Where’s the M.E?”

  “En-route.”

  Lucas knelt down to join Renner. “Those tattoos,” he said, pointing at the victim’s left forearm. “At some stage he ran with the Marias Nines. They have network of dealers that distribute Schedule One between Flood and Canal Street.” Over the next minute, he brought her up to speed on the background of the gang and as she listened, she tried to make sense of the raised scar tissue that surrounded the main logo.

  “Look at those markings. “T.C. – what the hell does that mean? His girl’s name?”

  “They definitely look amateur. Like they were done inside.” Lucas added. Could be anything – Twin Cities? Maybe he’s a Minnesota fan,” Lucas said as he teased at Renner’s devotion to Major League Baseball.

  “That’s rich coming from someone who backed the Astros over the Rangers,” she replied as she instinctively traced her fingers over the vine of a floral tattoo that wrapped her upper arm. Body art was personal and there was always a deeper meaning embodied in the detail of the ink.

  Lucas went on. “We bumped heads with these guys all the time when I worked Narcotics. Can’t say I recognize our man here.”

  “Gang retribution?”

  “It is part of their M.O to meter out violence on anyone who breaks the rules,” he replied. “I’ve still got a few contacts. I’ll run it by them.”

  Renner looked up and across at the bar’s owner who stood in the corner of the room. She waved him over.

  “You know this man. He a regular?”

  “I aint seen’ him since Katrina,” he replied in a gravelly tone. “He’s been gone for a year and some.”

  Lucas stepped forward.

  “What’s his name? There’s no ID.”

  “Probably got no ID and I don’t know his name. More to the point, I don’t need no trouble. I got my place to run here. You understand?”

  Renner stood, narrowed her eyes and joined her partner.

  “We’d appreciate your cooperation, Sir. You know, help us find out who killed this man.”

  The manager’s eyes flicked from Renner to Lucas.

  “You good?” Lucas added.

  He nervously shifted his weight as he considered his options.

  “What I mean to say – is – well, I don’t know the name his mama gave him. Round here, he goes by Solo. Always has, far as I recall.”

  “He come in here with anyone tonight?”

  “Well, I seen him talkin’ to a couple other guys. Truth be told, the place was busy on account of Otis Shaw agreein’ to play.”

  Looking down, Renner smiled as she made notes in her book.

  “Jazz trumpeter. Next Kermit Ruffins from what I hear,” she said, not looking up.

  “Well, all right! Real Norleans girl,” he replied. He smiled, distracted from the scene for a fleeting moment.

  “How many people were in the bar when he was attacked?” Lucas asked, snapping the manager’s focus back to the scene.

  “Round sixty, by my count.”

  Renner tapped Lucas on the shoulder. They moved away a few paces.

  “Gabe, this place is tiny. Sixty in here, you’d barely be able to move. Someone saw something – I’m sure of it.”

  She looked around the interior of the bar. Empty cans of Schlitz and plastic cups half full of margarita were scattered across the tables nestled below the low ceiling.

  The manager piped up. “Hey. It may not seem much to you. Getting Otis in my bar – it’s a big deal.”

  “It’s not that,” Lucas replied. “I want to know where all the witnesses are.”

  He shook his head. “Moved on. All of them, ‘cept for who’s across the way.” He gestured through the front entrance at the small crowd gathered across the street.

  “Do you think you could write me a list of names?” Renner asked.

  He thought for a moment. “Yes, ma’am. I’d say I can. Considerin’ most is local to the Lower Ninth. Can’t say for sure they’ll have much to say or that I’ll r’member ‘em all.”

  “Can you get started now?”

  He nodded, then moved away.

  Renner stepped back. “Hold on. One more thing. Do you have CCTV?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Only one’s workin’ at the moment.” He pointed in the direction of the bar.

  Angled downward, it was clear the camera was set up to monitor the register and deter staff from skimming the evening’s take.

  Lucas moved in. “probably a waste of time, but let’s get digital forensics to take a look. They might pick up something we missed.”

  There was a movement behind them as the main door swung open. The Medical Examiner stepped through. In her mid-40’s, she was dressed in dark jeans and a sandstone-colored polo shirt. Her dark hair was tied back tightly
.

  “Detectives,” she said, as she made her way across the room. “Started without me, I see.”

  “Appears our victim was killed from behind,” Renner replied, getting straight down to business. “No entry or exit wound in his chest I can see.”

  “Give me a few minutes to set up. We can take a closer look then. How’s that sound?”

  Renner nodded and both detectives moved away toward the corner of the room. She glanced up at the screen and could see the late-night Sports Centre rerun. The Saints were leading the Falcons 14-0 in the third quarter.

  The officer rejoined Renner and Lucas in their huddle.

  “Ok, so I’ve canvassed the few customers that hung around. No one saw anything until our victim collapsed. Word is they were all dancing. Music was loud.”

  “EMS. Who made the call?” Renner asked. She rocked on the balls of her feet as she stood uncomfortably on the sticky floor.

  “No one could say for sure. We’ll have to run through the 9-1-1 call logs. May take a day or so.”

  She thought for a moment as she hooked a stray wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. “So we have a noisy bar packed with people, all enjoying their evening. A man drops to the floor and no one sees a thing. I don’t buy it.”

  “Neither do I,” Lucas replied. “Can’t say I’m surprised though.”

  Renner rolled her shoulders back. “Okay, here’s what we do. The manager is drawing up a list of names. We need to find them, all of them. They may be outside in the group across the street or back at home. Interview them and get an idea of what went down. We need some facts to form a timeline. If you can, get me a name. We’re losing valuable time.”

  Lucas gestured to Renner. She followed his eyes back across her shoulder to an officer who approached them.

  “Detectives. We just found a knife near the exit to the courtyard. Good chance it’s the murder weapon.”

  “All right,” Renner replied, buoyed by the news.

  All three made their way across the room single file and through the swing door that opened out onto a small courtyard. The door closed with a bang against the iron security gate. Looking down, they could see the evidence marker laid out next to the finely honed, four-inch, push button steel blade. Coated end to end in blood that had begun to congeal, it lay against a concrete wall. Renner leaned over as Lucas squatted to take a closer look.

  “I reckon we might get prints off the handle,” he said, glancing up at her.

  “I agree.” Straightening, she looked across at the officer. “Get forensics to photograph and bag this, then get it down to the crime lab. We need to lift what we can and run it through the system. Let’s hope whoever did this has a record.”

  She moved away and scanned the rear yard with her Maglite. She found nothing. “Come on, let’s head in. Rain’s coming; I can smell it.”

  Back inside, the M.E was photographing and repositioning the body. The stark white light she had set up in the dimly lit space, illuminated the body like a spotlight over an actor.

  “What have we got?” Renner asked.

  “Multiple knife wounds. This one’s the most likely one to have killed him.” She pointed to a wound at the base of the spine. “I’ll confirm after the autopsy.”

  “Talk us through it,” Renner said.

  “Evidence points to a blitz attack from behind. Stabbed in short sharp movements. Notice how the penetrations angle up and to the left. Best guess, whoever did this got leverage by holding his belt. I’ll check for prints before we move the body downtown.”

  “That it?” Lucas asked.

  “No,” she went on. “The location of the wounds also suggests that the attacker is smaller in stature than the victim. Take into account our victim is at least six-two, I’d say we are looking for someone around five-three to five-five.”

  Renner thought for a moment. “Could it be a woman?”

  “Possible, but you’re swinging wide, detective. Could just as easily be male, maybe juvenile – who knows? Besides, that’s for you two to figure out.”

  “What else?” Renner asked.

  “Very likely the blade punctured his kidney or severed one of the renal arteries.”

  “How long would it have taken for him to bleed out?”

  “Couple of minutes - if that. EMT pronounced him deceased on scene and called in homicide,” the officer added. “Liver temp’s 36.5 degrees. It correlates with the manager’s account. He’s been dead less than an hour.”

  “Well, whoever did this, it was a bold move.”

  She looked at the bloodied body, now face down on the floor with all three puncture wounds visible. Her stomach began to tighten. She took a slow breath and stepped back out of the light.

  Who are you and what did you do to end up here? She thought. We figure that out, we might just figure out who killed you.