God Makes Them Mean

Chapter 10

I'm still swooning, inebriated by the smell of her perfume, as I walk out of the building. My colleagues are talking to each other beside a Police prowler. I can see by their expressions nobody is feeling the hype. They bring me back to earth with their sour faces. There's a monster on the loose and we're talking to college professors with a girlfriend on the side and drop-dead gorgeous business women.

Jonah Bierhoff is tall and broad shouldered and ruggedly handsome. He smiles at me an empty smile, in his eyes I see the reflection of the slaughter scene we all still have to come to terms with. Giannelli is classic Hollywood material. He's nervously readjusting his red, slim tie. Beside them I feel miserably ugly and disheveled.

'Nothing,' I open the dances.

They nod in reply.

'I called the realtors in charge of the building. They told me that apartment should be empty. Not rented, still up for sale,' Gomez tells us. His accent is still south-of-the-border, but he's a solid detective, doggedly determined and a good connection for anything that happens in the latino slices of the city. He should trim his moustaches, but nobody's perfect.

'What's with the furniture then?' I ask.

'It was a showroom apartment. They have one on each floor.'

'Ok, so we need to check the realtors, because they knew it would be empty today, and we need a list of whoever took a look at it.'

Pallavicini whistles. 'Long shots, boss.' Pallavicini is close to retirement, his body has seen better days, his face is a map of worries, his eyes are pale ghosts, his teeth are yellowed by a few million cigarettes, the dome of his bald head is a collection of so many moles that if you were to connect all the dots that face of Frank Sinatra would appear.

'What else do we have?'

He raises his fat hands in a surrender gesture. 'I know, I know. But, the phone call that got us here, that's a lead.'

'Where was it made?'

'Three blocks off, the crime scene guys are already there.'

I look at the Captain, who has suddenly appeared, like a Poe-esque character. He nods, the validation that I'm in charge. 'Gomez, Pallavicini, check all possible CTTVs camera around here.'

They look at me like I've just ordered them to waltz across a minefield. 'I know, it's a thankless job. Bierhoff, Giannelli, let's try and find any witnesses, ok? And ask how come a place like this still doesn't have a concierge.' I turn. I look at the building of white plaster, shiny new metals, shiny new glass, wavy balconies. Hell can look mighty high class.

'What about the two extra tongues?' Bierhoff asks.

'Lab results will tell us more. Send an APB, anybody finds tongueless corpses, their ours.' Chances are, we might never find them. We all know it but it's one of those unmentionables.

An uniform clears her throat, we all look at her. 'Detectives, the cameras of the building don't work.'

'Were they cut off?'

'No, they haven't been turned on yet. To save money I guess.'

Our comments would make God cry. I hope He's not listening.

The building on the other side of the block has been barred, ready to be gutted and then rebuilt. It's one of those industrial, red bricks buildings that nowadays are turned into a nest of expensive condos and duplexes at the speed of light. The killer sure has chosen his spot wisely. 'Where would you park, if you were him?' I ask. 'And remember, you're carrying with you two girls, in what state they are we don't know yet, and something to carry two tongues, at least.'