The fax was from Denver PD - a picture of the card they found on the body. The small kind you'd tape to a birthday gift – "Don't forget to make a wish!"
He was back.
"Hey Mac! Since you're on a vacation wind-down I'll have a coffee and a twinki
e to dunk!"
Williams was new, but he sure as hell didn't act like it. A profiles and motivations asshole. Me? I believe the evidence. Old school.
"Sorry kid – too busy."
"You got an investigation old-timer?"
"Yeah – lookin' into the death of your last fuckin' slave!"
Kramer and Inglis laughed, so he turned for the machine himself. We all shouted the same thing.
"Black. One sugar."
I snatched up the fax and went to see the lieutenant.
#
He was real busy - more than twenty open files on his desk. And laid above them, the crossword.
"Hey Mac. The anterior part of a beast. Blank-blank-A-blank?"
"Have you seen this?"
I slapped the fax in front of him.
"Sure. They want your notes from three years back."
"No way Mike. I'm going."
"To Denver? You got one more day 'til Disney, Mac. Remember?"
"Screw Disney. I'm going."
He knew I was serious.
"OK – Disney, Denver. It's your vacation. Come back rested, I don't give a shit."
"You're such a Dick-"
"HEAD! – that's it!"
I left him scratchin' his ass over twelve across.
#
Five bodies, then three years of nothing.
The thing they don't tell you in the academy, in the case studies, in homicide 101, not even in the fuckin' movies, is how real murder police don't want them to stop. Not 'til you put them away. This guy, I thought he was in the wind. But now he was back, and I had a chance to finish it.
So I bagged the files, flipped Williams the bird and headed home for my things.
#
Marla had everything ready when I arrived. The tickets, the luggage, three pairs of mickey-mouse goddam ears for me, her and little Jo. She was going to be seriously pissy about this, so I just lifted my case and headed out. I'd rather hit Colorado in beach shorts than deal with her B.S.
But she was out in the yard, between me and the car, and little Jo too - who looked bigger than I remembered her.
"Mac - You son of a bitch!"
"Marla – not now. You know the job-"
"Our first holiday in twenty-seven years? You'd run on your granddaughter?"
I made for the car.
"Hey little Jo. Wave bye-bye to Pappy."
She stared at me. Ice cold. Just like her Grammy.
"You have never been here. Never. Not for me. Not for your kids. And now, not for your grandkids."
So what? I'd never hid it.
"I don't get to be HERE Marla. If I'm HERE, spending quality time, watching Maury Povich, sitting on my ass eating crackers, you know what? People die. And killers go on killing."
She was rolling her eyes, like she'd heard it all before. Maybe she had, but didn't seem like she'd ever listened. That pissed me off.
"Anyhow Marla? Didn't you raise the kids how you wanted? High fuckin' achievers, just like their Ma. One touches men for a living, the other serves pretzels and tomato juice at thirty thousand feet! Our son's a hostess!"
Little Jo flared up -"My pop's a flight attendant!" She had balled her little fists now. So like Marla it was starting to creep me out.
"Don't fret little Jo. Your Pappy's a stupid S.O.B. who don't know jack about flight crew or swedish massage. He don't know jack about his own family, and he don't care neither. Cos we ain't got tags on our toes, right Mac?"
"Enjoy Orlando." I said, pushing through and closing the car door behind me.
#
When I landed in Denver nobody was there to meet me. And when I reached Cherokee street, Lieutenant Danneto, so quick with the fax earlier, acted all surprised.
"Wow. Appreciate the effort Mac, but we don't need an assist on this one. Stay for a few days though. Enjoy the Mile High City!"
He was crowing. He'd pulled a thumbprint in for interview. Thought he was about to seal the deal.
"Florist right?"
"Yeah, a florist. How did you know?"
Lazy humps hadn't read the published MO.
"He buys flowers, unsticks the card real careful. Trash-can's the bouquet. Kills the victim on their birthday, sticks the card to the body using the same tape. We lifted two florists back in the day. Your guy's clean."
Dannato was pissed. Their florist had previous. Pin a murder rap on a guy who'd tossed a box of aphid's through a competitor's letter box. Same crime, different species, right?
They wouldn't put me on team but since Denver PD found us both an embarrassment, I got to escort their ex-top suspect from the building. Which was just as well – for a stone killer he sure needed a lot of help with the stairs.
"He writes the cards himself, Mr Diaz, so not likely you could place that message, right?" He never let them write the card. He just bought the flowers and a blank.
Turns out though, Mr Diaz was so relieved not to be facing the chair over a bag of tulips, his memory had jogged a little.
"It say make wish? Don't make wish? Sure, I remember something. He write hissel, but he lean real hard, I see it on the paper underneath for four, maybe five more customers. It seem wrong thing to put on a funeral garland, no?"
I felt my stomach drop. The back of my neck was tingling. "You remember the guy? The guy who wrote that? How he looked?"
"Sure. I think. Young guy, nice-dressed, no-beard, wool hat, big smile. Only yesterday. He go in hotel opposite my shop. I think."
A sketch artist would need Dannato. I don't give my cases away, so I sent Diaz home to relax. Then I left for the hotel.
Three years of nothing had made my guy rusty. He'd made mistakes. Big mistakes. I just hoped they hadn't stopped with the flowers.
#
In a legit hotel it's the badge not the Glock get's their attention. This place was ok. Budget, but on the level. The guy at the desk though. He was young, nice-dressed, no beard. Short kinda hair you could fit under a woollen hat. Big smile.
"Officer, I wish I could help, but I flew in from Hawaii this morning. Only flowers I saw yesterday were on a hula skirt!"
He even had pictures. Little digital camera - with datestamps in the corner. Damn.
"I'll get Bryan – he filled in while I was away."
Bryan was a real Grizzly Adams. Not a year-round front of house guy, 'cept maybe at a trappers lodge.
"The guy with the wreath? What's he done? I didn't know about nothing. I was just working the desk."
Some folks wear parole like a big tattoo on the ass. Just a bit of pushing opened him up so much I started thinking maybe I'd made Disney after all. Jimminy Cricket, Tinkerbell and my fairy-friggin-godmother all layin the case out neat in front of me. It plays like that sometimes. You just need to ride it.
Turns out Grizzly hadn't only seen our guy. He'd spoken to him, at length. Taken real definite instructions. Boxed, addressed and mailed a wreath for him. Recorded delivery. Still had all the details.
Jimminy was singin "Wish upon a star" when I stepped onto pavement. But the changes in routine were a puzzle. Why the hell would our guy be sending a wreath over to an address in Aurora? I looked at my watch. Unless it was someone's birthday.
#
It was getting kinda dark when I arrived, but although this wasn't the best part of town, I'd seen worse, and the bulge under my left arm was a free pass through most kinds of trouble.
The address seemed in a derelict block, but sometimes it's hard to tell. Row after row of boarded windows can give way to one or two poor saps with the lights on, determined to go down with the ship. Didn't look that way though – the door needed forced. What the hell, I'd come this far.
Inside, it was cold; morgue cold. And damp as one of Williams twinkies. They did have some security lighting here and there though, popping and fritzin, but enough to see by. Enough to see the lilies on the floor anyhow.
This was the place.
After chalking round five bodies, and now a sixth, I couldn't see my guy scattering petals for the ambience. He had me following a trail; following and flying solo without backup. I loosened my police issue, and then thought better. I unholstered it all together.
Five minutes walking, back to the wall, getting kinda dizzy from my head flapping right and left at every goddam doorway and corner, until paydirt. Fifty yards down, a room.
Streamers hanging either side. Light escaping round the doorframe.
It was one creaky-assed hallway. Who needs burglar alarms when you got floorboards like these? Any minute now that door could open, and Christ knows what would be pointin' out, so I just kept my hands tight on my Glock, and hoped lifting my old knees higher than my puckered ass would be enough to keep the noise down.
Finally, the door. So I shout "Police!" and kick through, showing first my gun, then the rest of me.
He was inside alright, but facing away, standing under a bare bulb. Yellow old thing, flickering like a damp match.
"Hi Mac" he said, turning round. I could barely see his face in the light.
"Alex?" I had that stomach feeling again, and the tingles, this time all over.
"I suppose I should say Pop, but you were always more Mac than Pop, right?" He had a card pinned to his jacket. I was trying to read it.
"You don't disappoint Pop. Or rather you disappoint so consistently, I was pretty sure I could rely on it."
"Don't play me kid. You could have got your ass shot here. Get back to your job and-"
I suppose sometimes even I don't want to believe the evidence.
"Nah. I skipped work today. The plane'll still fly without me. They fly lots of places. Choosing six at random, say, Denver, Chicago, Seattle, Baltimore, Minneapolis. And Boston pop. Home sweet home. Back where it started."
"You're shittin' me." But it sure didn't feel that way.
"Today's my day for truth Pop, can't you see that? On the flights y'know, you see all sorts. Strangers flashing id, passports, dates of birth, it's all out there."
"Alex, why?"
He shrugged. Like he didn't know himself.
"I did good, though, right? I finally found what it takes for you to make the party. I thought I'd stop but… But I needed to know if Little Jo was enough. She wasn't. Shame."
He took a gun from his pocket. Berreta. I didn't know it'd be so hard for me to shoot my own son. Impossible, it turned out. I figured that made me number seven. I stopped breathing when he clicked off the safety.
But he put the gun under his chin.
"Tell little Jo I'll miss her. Great kid. Reminds me of Mom."
"Alex! No!"
"Hey Pop. Don't forget to make a wish."
A crack, and the bullet cut up through his skull, smashing the bulb above, plunging the room into darkness.
It was just like blowing out a candle.
