The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(49)

Milo said, “Our vics were posed.”

Coolidge said, “Yeah, nut-so. No, nothing like that and no dog blood—man, that is bizarre. Truth is, you hadn’t called me, I’d never have assumed anything psycho. Maybe there isn’t.”

Milo said, “But coincidences.”

Coolidge nodded. “We’re atheists about coincidences.”

I said, “If McGann was just a problem to be solved, there wouldn’t necessarily be anything psycho.”

A long sip of tea brought beads of sweat to Coolidge’s forehead. He loosened his tie. “So the key might be finding out what, if anything, McGann knew about Alvarez.”

Milo said, “God willing, Marc. There’s something else common to both scenes: Our vic Gurnsey was stabbed in the upper torso like Vollmann.”

Coolidge sat up. “Really? How many times?”

“Three cuts, all potentially fatal.”

“Oh. So not the same.”

I said, “The killer could’ve had time with Gurnsey but been under pressure with Vollmann. Unless he’s a surgeon, aiming a blade that precisely would be a challenge.”

“Even so, Doctor, he misses the first time, why not just keep stabbing?” He pantomimed three rapid thrusts. “Vollmann’s already in shock, wouldn’t take that much time to hit an artery or something.”

I said, “My bet is our four were killed separately but Vollmann and McGann were taken simultaneously. And while Vollmann was being killed, McGann would have to be managed, meaning additional time pressure. Nothing quicker than a shotgun.”

Coolidge tapped the table. “She’s screaming, crying. Yeah, I can see that. When was their flight?”

Milo said, “Don’t know yet, just that they never made it.”

“Like I told you, my pathologist best-guesses it as Sunday morning.”

“After ours but around the time ours were found.”

“If it is the same bad guys, we’re talking busy busy.” Coolidge rotated his cup, spilled a few drops, mopped them with a napkin.

“Here you go, guys.” The waitress served the sandwiches. Both detectives dug in stoically, as if consuming was their latest assignment.

“Still nothing for you, sir?”

“Bring him a salad,” said Milo.

Her eyes darted from him to me. “What kind?”

Milo said, “Anything green and virtuous.”

“All lettuce is virtuous, Lieutenant.”

Coolidge laughed.

Milo said, “Dressing on the side, doesn’t matter what type, he’s not going to have much.”

The waitress stared at me. Problem child being discussed by the adults.

I said, “Mixed green.”

When she was gone, Coolidge said, “I make your rank, I also get to run the world?”

Milo said, “You bet, it’s in the contract.”

“Hah. So what do you figure next on this mess?”

“We both keep working.”

“Yeah, what else is there,” said Coolidge. “Though it used to be more fun, right? You see this year’s FBI report? National close rate for murder is down to fifty-four percent. Mine’s a little higher but not much.”

Milo’s solve rate had remained perfect for years. He said, “Too many stranger homicides.”

“That and just plain crazy stuff, what a world,” said Coolidge. “Reason I’m doing better than national is because my criminals are young, stupid, and have big mouths. You’d be amazed at how many we catch because they shoot off on social media. I had one genius last year, got a tattoo across his chest depicting how he shot a guy. Used an excellent artist, more detailed than our sketchers.”

Milo said, “Talk about a still life.”

Coolidge laughed. “More like a war scene. Brain-dead dumbo lays it out: setting, weapon, what they both were wearing. I didn’t even need to ask motive, there’s a big banner across the fool’s nipples spelling out his gang motto and the need to avenge some dude who got wasted the month before. Idiot’s lawyer shows him the photos of his torso, he’s like, ‘Oh.’?”

“Amazing.”

“I say pass a law against any education in prison. Criminals smarten up, the rates drop even lower.” Coolidge looked at his remaining half sandwich. “Think I’ll take it home. Got one of my kids for the weekend, he’s a carnivore.”

Milo said, “Got no kids,” and dove into what was left of his dinner.

Coolidge watched him with admiration. “I don’t see any obvious way to go on mine other than keep checking in with informants.”

“Sounds like a plan, Marc.”

“Not much of one.”

“I’m not exactly blazing a pathway to victory.”

“But there’s a difference, my man,” said Coolidge. “Your case is whack and you’ve got a psychologist.”



* * *



—

Outside the deli, Milo said, “You want I can get the victim’s warrant on Vollmann and McGann’s place.”

“No argument there.” Coolidge glanced at the curb. A sleek black Audi, a few years old but beautifully maintained, was parked in front of the deli.