Free Resolved by Robert K. Tanenbaum

because Rick Chalfonte had been a cop, a detective. He had been retired on a disability for some years now, and Raney wasn’t exactly a friend, but they had friends in common, they’d 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. Beale’s cordovan-colored skin looked muddy, almost greenish, like a shoe left for a long time in a lake.
    â€œWe got anything yet?”
    â€œNot much. ME says they died around midday, maybe a little earlier. It’s hot, so they didn’t cool much. No obvious prints; he probably wore gloves and some kind of wrapping around his feet. You can see where he stood, there”—he indicated smear marks in the pools of stiffened blood on the kitchen floor—“and there, probably when he was doing the girl. Both of them were penetrated vaginally and anally by an object, we don’t 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€œRick came home and found them like that?”
    â€œYeah. Fuck! I’ll tell you, Loo, we find this scumbag, it’s gonna be hard to get him to a courtroom.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear shit like that, Beale, okay?” Raney snapped, and added in a calmer tone, “How did they die?”
    â€œAfter he had his fun, it looks from the spatters, he cut the girl’s throat. Sprayed blood all over the mother. That was after he cut the breasts off her, you can see there…”
    â€œYeah, I get it,” said Raney quickly, “and then he smashed her head.”
    â€œYeah. Some kind of hammer or steel bar to do that kind of damage. We haven’t found the murder weapon or anything he left. He was real careful.”
    â€œUh-huh. You’ll run this through the bureau?”
    â€œOh 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€œOnce. 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€œNot a whole helluva lot. Of the four closest houses, two were unoccupied at the time of, one neighbor had the TV on, didn’t hear shit, the other’s an old lady, heard screaming at about the right time, but she thought it was from a TV.”
    â€œThen he must have had the tape off their mouths for some of it.”
    â€œYeah, the sick piece of shit. He wanted to hear them scream; that, or else he was torturing them for some information, or whatever.”
    â€œWhat kind of information?”
    Beale shrugged. “You know, where’s the money or the dope?”
    â€œWhat, you think Chalfonte’s a guapo drug lord?”
    â€œNo, but, you know, it’s something to think about. Why he didn’t leave the tape on them.”
    â€œYeah, you’re right. Okay, check that aspect out, but low-key it, you know? So it doesn’t get back to him. I mean the guy was on the job, he works for Radionics, all that police communications gear…there’s probably not a lot of money in his life. Anything else?”
    â€œThe 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. Couldn’t see the face, average height, husky build. Walked off.”
    â€œThat’s interesting. No car?”
    â€œNot that our guy could see.