because Rick Chalfonte had been a cop, a detective. He had been retired on a disability for some years now, and Raney wasnât exactly a friend, but they had friends in common, theyâd had drinks together, and in the NYPD it was expected that a little extra would be forthcoming when a cop had this kind of trouble.
Raney made himself look at the bodies. This was also part of his job. He felt the bile rise in his throat. He coughed to hide this discomfort and turned to Detective Second Grade Rafael Beale, who had caught this case. Bealeâs cordovan-colored skin looked muddy, almost greenish, like a shoe left for a long time in a lake.
âWe got anything yet?â
âNot much. ME says they died around midday, maybe a little earlier. Itâs hot, so they didnât cool much. No obvious prints; he probably wore gloves and some kind of wrapping around his feet. You can see where he stood, thereââhe indicated smear marks in the pools of stiffened blood on the kitchen floorââand there, probably when he was doing the girl. Both of them were penetrated vaginally and anally by an object, we donât know what yet. Maybe raped, too, but the autopsy will show it either way. Tore them up pretty bad internally, especially the girl. He left, um, produce in the orifices, bananas in the girl, carrot and celery in Mrs. Chalfonte.â
âRick came home and found them like that?â
âYeah. Fuck! Iâll tell you, Loo, we find this scumbag, itâs gonna be hard to get him to a courtroom.â
âI donât want to hear shit like that, Beale, okay?â Raney snapped, and added in a calmer tone, âHow did they die?â
âAfter he had his fun, it looks from the spatters, he cut the girlâs throat. Sprayed blood all over the mother. That was after he cut the breasts off her, you can see thereâ¦â
âYeah, I get it,â said Raney quickly, âand then he smashed her head.â
âYeah. Some kind of hammer or steel bar to do that kind of damage. We havenât found the murder weapon or anything he left. He was real careful.â
âUh-huh. Youâll run this through the bureau?â
âOh yeah, VICAP, the works. Looks like he had practice, maybe he did it before. And also the posing, the sexual shit. Could be. You ever work a serial, Loo?â
âOnce. A pair of wack jobs was snatching little girls, a mother and her son. Satanic rituals. But nothing like this. This is fucking off the charts. Anything back on the canvass?â
âNot a whole helluva lot. Of the four closest houses, two were unoccupied at the time of, one neighbor had the TV on, didnât hear shit, the otherâs an old lady, heard screaming at about the right time, but she thought it was from a TV.â
âThen he must have had the tape off their mouths for some of it.â
âYeah, the sick piece of shit. He wanted to hear them scream; that, or else he was torturing them for some information, or whatever.â
âWhat kind of information?â
Beale shrugged. âYou know, whereâs the money or the dope?â
âWhat, you think Chalfonteâs a guapo drug lord?â
âNo, but, you know, itâs something to think about. Why he didnât leave the tape on them.â
âYeah, youâre right. Okay, check that aspect out, but low-key it, you know? So it doesnât get back to him. I mean the guy was on the job, he works for Radionics, all that police communications gearâ¦thereâs probably not a lot of money in his life. Anything else?â
âThe across the street neighbor, old retired guy, saw a white male exit the house around maybe eleven, give or take. Blue ball cap, white T-shirt, chinos, sneakers. Odds are it was our perp. Couldnât see the face, average height, husky build. Walked off.â
âThatâs interesting. No car?â
âNot that our guy could see.