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“A lead on a suspect—a tall, gray-haired man. The bartender saw him with Goines last night, walking toward a car parked on Central.”
Coleman Healy ran fingers down the keys of his sax. “I’ve seen Marty with a guy like that a couple of times. Tall, middle-aged, dignified looking.” He paused, then said, “Look, Upshaw, not to besmirch the dead, but can I give you an impression I got—on the QT?”
Da
“Well, I think Marty was fruit. The older guy looked like a nance to me, like a sugar daddy type. The two of them were playing footsie at a table, and when I noticed it, Marty pulled away from the guy—sort of like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.”
Da
“Coleman, could you ID the older man?”
Healy played with his sax. “I don’t think so. The light here is strange, and the queer stuff is just an impression I got.”
“Have you seen the man before or since those times with Goines?”
“No. Never solo. And I was here all night, in case you think I did it.”
Da
“Nix. He was too interested in booze to be a junk fiend.”
“What about other people who knew him? Other musicians around here?”
“Ixnay. We just gabbed a couple of times.”
Da
Queer slash.
Fruit snuff.
Homo passion job.
Da
His first nickel got him the watch boss at the 77th Street Station. Da
Pissed, Da
“Da
Layman laughed. “Da
Da
“And a question first. Did you stick a tongue depressor in the corpse’s mouth?”
“Yes.”
“Deputy, never, ever, introduce foreign elements into interior cavities until after you have thoroughly spotted the exterior. The cadaver had cuts with imbedded wood slivers all over his back— pine—and you stuck a piece of pine into his mouth, leaving similar slivers. Do you see how you could have fouled up my assessment?”
“Yes, but it was obvious the victim was strangled by a towel or a sash—the terrycloth fibers were a dead giveaway.”
Layman sighed—long, exasperated. “The cause of death was a massive heroin overdose. The shot was administered into a vein by the spine, by the killer himself—the victim couldn’t have reached it. The towel was placed in the mouth to absorb blood when the heroin hit the victim’s heart and caused arteries to pop, Which means the killer had at least elementary anatomical knowledge.”
Da
Layman said, “An appropriate blasphemy, but it gets worse. Here’s some incidentals first:
“One, no residual heroin in the bloodstream—Mr. Doe was not now addicted, although needle marks on his arms indicate he once was. Two, death occurred around 1:00 to 2:00 A.M., and the neck and genital bruises were both postmortem. The cuts on the back were postmortem, almost certainly made by razor blades attached to something like a pine slab or a 2 by 4. So far, brutal— but not past my ken. However…”
Layman stopped—his old classroom orator’s pause. Da
“All right. The substance in the eye sockets was KY Jelly. The killer inserted his penis into the sockets and ejaculated—at least twice. I found six cubic centimeters of semen seeping back toward the cranial vault. O+ secretor—the most common blood type among white people.”
Da
Layman said, “Not human is what I’m thinking. The wounds were too shredded to make casts from—there’s no way I could have lifted any kind of viable teeth marks. Also, the ME’s assistant who took over after you pulled your little number swabbed the affected area with alcohol, so I couldn’t test for saliva or gastric juices. The victim’s blood—AB+—was all I found there. You discovered the body when?”
“Shortly after 4:00 A.M.”
“Then scavenging animals down from the hills are unlikely. The wounds are too localized for that theory, anyway.”
“Doc, are you sure we’re dealing with teeth marks?”
“Absolutely. The inflammation around the wounds is from a mouth sucking. It’s too wide to be human—”
“Do you think—”
“Don’t interrupt. I’m thinking that—maybe—the killer spread blood bait on the affected area and let some kind of well-trained vicious dog at the victim. How many men are working this job, Da
“Just me.”
“ID on the victim? Leads?”
“It’s going well, Doc.”
“Get him.”
“I will.”
Da
The homosexual mutilations combined with Coleman Healy’s observation of Marty Goines being “fruit”; his “nance” “sugar daddy type”—who resembled the tall, gray-haired man the bartender saw with Goines, heading toward the stolen Buick last night—an hour or so before the estimated time of death; the heroin OD cause of death; the bartender’s description of Goines weaving in a junk nod—that jolt of dope a probable precursor to the shot that burst his heart; Goines’ previous addiction and recent dope cure. Putting the possible animal mutilations out of mind, he had one hard lead: the tall, gray-haired man—a sugar daddy capable of glomming heroin, hypodermic syringes and talking a reformed junkie into geezing up on the spot and ditching his New Year’s Eve gig.
And no LAPD cooperation—yet—on local horse pushers; a junkie squeeze was the only logical play.
Da