Angels Sing to Rest (an Olivia Gates and Will Green crime series Book 2)

Angels Sing to Rest

By Chrinda Jones

Copyright © 2015 Chrinda Jones

Smashwords Edition

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Dedication

This novel is dedicated to my beautiful and loving sister, Debra Markell, who passed away suddenly before this novel was published. May angels sing thee to thy rest, my dearest one.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Vincent Rocha knew he hit her hard, but at the time he figured she deserved it. He paid her good money to do what he wanted and by God she was going to do what he wanted. He checked for a pulse at the side of her neck when she lay flaccid on the bed for too long. There was nothing. He didn’t think he hit her hard enough to kill her.

That he killed this woman with his own hands didn’t panic him. She wasn’t his first dead prostitute and she wasn’t likely to be his last. If he thought of prostitutes as human the whole scene might have played out differently. Her kind provide a service. They make themselves available to him and others like him to use up and throw away. His father told him it was the order of things. He believed him.

Vincent rolled the woman over so he didn’t have to look at her face and untied the scarf from her neck. He threw the silk bed sheets over her naked body, not out of any sense of propriety — he purely despised the look of her, with her dyed red hair and stubble covered legs. Experience taught him that her kind was always ready — for cost, a few extra twenties and a bottle — to do what the higher priced call girls wouldn’t.

He went to his closet to cover his own nakedness with a robe and picked up the phone beside the bed. He dialed. When someone finally answered, it was his second in command.

Martin, come to the loft and drive the van. I have some garbage for you to pick up. Vincent purposefully hung up before Martin could ask questions and went to the utility room for the thick plastic drip sheet and masking tape the remodeling company left behind. He returned to splay the drip sheet on the floor at the foot of the bed. When he pushed the body off the mattress, it made a sickening thud as it hit the floor, reminding him of a large tuna hitting the deck of a fishing boat. He rolled her up in the plastic, securing the bundle with masking tape. Vincent walked away leaving her in the middle of the room for his lackey. He tilted his head toward his chest and opened the dressing gown, sniffing for the odor that nauseated him. She left her sex scent on him. The strong odor made him involuntarily gag. He covered himself again and entered the bathroom to shower off what remained of her humanity.

***

It was spring in Dallas. Bright and cool until the sun warmed things passed the winter temperatures the city was used to. Early morning seemed brighter than usual to Detective Sergeant Olivia Gates. The opportunity for new beginnings seemed more attainable, in spite of the fact she headed toward a community park and the body of a murdered child. The budding ornamental cherry trees lining the boulevard strips she passed only heightened the feeling of hope.

She was back in the saddle again after twelve weeks of suspension and an excruciating wait on pins and needles. Internal Affairs took its time rendering a verdict over the death of Levi Deveraux, the Deep Ellum serial killer. Weeks into the suspension, she wondered if her reinstatement would ever happen. Once Internal Affairs finally placed her back on duty, she began having second thoughts about returning to a job that demanded so much from her.

The Deep Ellum case tore a wound through her psyche and left her second guessing herself. Bad dreams and panic attacks followed. She often questioned her decision to meet Deveraux on her own. If she hadn’t met with him, would he still be alive and serving his time in prison? Her father pointed out, in his no-nonsense way, that Deveraux would never have allowed himself to be taken alive no matter what she did.

Olivia parked in the lot of Bryan Place Children’s Park and turned off the car. The park was one of her son’s favorites. She was familiar with nearly every hiding spot and structure on the property right down to the locations of all the water fountains. She looked around the almost empty lot and spotted Kumar’s 4x4 and Kendal’s more sophisticated sport coupe. What she didn’t see were news vans. She breathed a sigh of relief and got out of the car.

She opened the back passenger door to remove the messenger bag she brought to each scene. Scrounging around inside for a rubber band, she pulled back the graying brunette curls that usually got in the way when she worked. She locked the car, waved her badge at the police officer standing watch over the parking lot and walked toward the other side of the park.

Seconds later she caught sight of Len Butler cutting across the sandbox, making a beeline toward her. He shouted her name a few times. She ignored him. The last thing she wanted was to deal with a journalist who seemed to only be interested in putting his own spin on the truth.

Gates! I see they’ve let you out.

Olivia kept walking. Holding up her hand to him when he finally caught up to her, You know how this works, Butler. You let me do my job first, then you wait until the media briefing to ask your questions.

That’s not what I want to talk to you about and you know it.

She quickened her pace, stepping around the preschooler size monkey bars. She knew what he wanted. It was the same thing he wanted when he called her home every day for the first few weeks of her suspension. He wanted the interview she wouldn’t grant him. She looked back at the man struggling to keep up with the pace of her much longer legs and wished she hadn’t decided against taking out the restraining order when he first began bothering her.

Gates wait! Just one question and I’ll leave you alone. He hunched over. Breathing hard, he let the cigarette he held between his teeth fall from his mouth. Just one question and I’ll leave you alone. I promise.

Olivia shifted her path to walk back to him. She twisted the cigarette out with her foot, picked up the butt and handed it to him. One and only one. In return you leave me and my team alone and I never see you at any of my scenes again.

Butler nodded his agreement.

Olivia took a good look at his face. She worked with him for many years before she left Dallas and she knew he was a few years her junior. The nicotine and hard living he took to after his child’s death aged him to a point where he could have been mistaken for being twenty years her senior. Say it out loud, Butler or there’s no deal.

I promise, he stammered. There, I said it. I promise. I also won’t print your answer if you’re straight with me.

This was new. The man never voluntarily agreed to kill a story, no matter how small or irrelevant. I don’t believe you.

Believe what you like. I just want to know the answer for my own peace of mind.

She thought about his offer. He couldn’t damage her reputation any more than the other news outlets had with their lack of facts. It still seemed like a fair exchange if it got rid of him. Ask your question.

He lit up another cigarette and pulled from it a few times. I know what Internal Affairs ruled on this, but I also know they lie for their own. You’ve always been fair with me, so I want the truth from you; Did you kill Deveraux?

Olivia stared him down until he stepped backward. No, I didn’t kill him.

Is it true that the two men with you were your father and a psych professor from Texas University?

That’s a second question.

It relates to the first.

No, it doesn’t. Look, Deveraux was a disturbed young man who killed himself with his own knife because he didn’t want to live anymore. End of story.

That’s what you say.

That’s the truth. That’s what happened. Believe what you like. She left him in the dry water fun area of the park while she headed down the hill to the body.

***

Olivia picked her way across the stretch of bare dirt and sparse patches of grass that led to the work shed. The anthills she dodged in this section of the park clearly hadn’t been dealt with in years. She congratulated herself on changing from her flats into her sneakers before she arrived at the scene.

Red ant bites were common in Texas, like mosquito bites are in other areas of the world. It only took a few trapped ants to wreak havoc on a person’s foot, covering the skin with angry festering, swollen sores. She learned this the hard way back when she was seven after an older friend dared her to kick the foot tall mound of dirt in the corner of his yard. The boy’s mother came to her rescue with a water hose when they swarmed, but not before the ants bit nearly every square inch of Olivia’s body.

Olivia reached the concrete area where the crime scene van was set-up and stamped her feet several times before she met up with Detective Ansuya Kumar on the porch of the shed.

She did a double take when she finally came face to face with Kumar. The detective who once wore her very dark brown hair down to her rear-end, had cut her hair to just shoulder length. Olivia thought the haircut made Kumar’s five foot frame look somehow taller. You’ve cut your hair.

Yep, got tired of sitting on it, she cracked a grin.

Where’s Kendal?

Kumar handed Olivia the preliminary notes she was responsible for and nodded toward the picnic area. He’s taking the statement from the park maintenance man who found the boy.

And where’s our newest member? Olivia skimmed the written information while she listened.

Nguyen is back at the precinct going through orientation with Lieutenant Vasquez. She frowned, I don’t understand why she decided Juarez had to be replaced while you were gone and without the rest of the team’s input. By the way, Vasquez wants to see you as soon as you get back, said something about paperwork and laying down the law.

Olivia grimaced. She hated dealing with Vasquez. The woman’s hubris alone was enough to put anyone off. The fact that she was promoted to lieutenant purely because the South Dallas police department ‘good old boys’ needed to promote a woman, created a woman with an attitude and a boulder size chip on her shoulder.

Anyone else here when the park worker found the body?

There was an older woman with her grandson, a Mrs. Pickel. She made the emergency call. I let her take her grandson home after I wrote down her initial statement and got her address. She’s expecting someone tomorrow.

Olivia opened one of the supply boxes lined up on the porch. She removed a clean suit from inside and began the chore of putting the suit on over her street clothes. I’m going in to talk with Benton, you stay out here to address questions her team might have until I’m through picking her brain. Send Kendal to check on the officer in the parking lot when he’s through with the statement he’s taking. I’ll close up the scene with Benton and meet you both back at the precinct.

Sarge?

Yes? Olivia stopped struggling with the elastic at the waist of the suit.

I’m glad you’re back. Having to deal with Juarez’s death was bad enough, but having you out and Vasquez leading the team; it was miserable.

Thanks for the vote of confidence. See you back at the precinct. Olivia pulled the hood of the suit over her head, stuffed the trailings of her hair inside and rapped on the frame of the door. Permission to come aboard.

Permission granted, Verna Benton replied, just keep an eye out for where you’re settin’ those clodhoppers of yours, girl, and don’t walk past the center post holding up that end of the shed.

Olivia knew Benton since childhood. Her father and the M.E. worked pro bono cases together when Olivia’s father was just an attorney, before he became Dallas’s district attorney years later. Olivia viewed the woman not only as a family friend, but as one of the best medical examiners in the state. It made her laugh to think of how many times Benton had called her ‘girl’ over the years.

She stepped inside the shed and immediately took in the state of the body. To say it looked unnatural would not have truly described its appearance. There was no blood, just the unnatural sight of the sunken chest cavity and the terror still present in the boy’s brown eyes. She winced and gladly gave her attention to the arm Benton swung wildly across her ample rear.

See the creepin’ charlie on the ground around the perimeter of the room? There’s some there where you’re standing, see it? She again swung her hand across her rear end, Notice anything about it?

The ground at the perimeter of the shed where the M.E. pointed didn’t benefit from the natural light cascading in from the window at the far end of the space. Olivia stepped away from the doorway to let in more of the morning sun and saw the creeping ivy Benton referred to. Those areas look like they’ve been trampled up by something pretty recently.

They have. Look closer, see anything more?

There’s boot and shoe prints everywhere.

I know what you’re gonna ask and it’s no. My team and the first responders didn’t do that. Benton finally turned around so Olivia no longer spoke to the woman’s backside, I’m thinking there was an audience watchin’ when whoever it was killed this boy. Benton turned back around to finish with the plaster mold she was making from the shoe print in the dirt floor beside the body.

Olivia picked her way carefully toward the post she wasn’t supposed to pass and stopped when Benton began shouting with repeated gusto for one of her assistants.

A red blur of a woman flew past the broken window. The same blur stuck her redhead through the open door. Yes, Doc? What do ya need?

Sarah, is Carl here yet? I need him to shoot that wall over there. The redhead replied no, sending Benton into a swearing fit.

Use your words Benton, I know you’ve got them, Olivia joked.

Sorry, Benton calmed down and handed her assistant the bucket. Sarah, send Carl in here when he finally arrives. I’m gonna give him the butt-kicking he deserves. She wiped the palms of her hands down the front of the protective suit she wore. Mix-up another batch of plaster for the shoe prints you found outside the south window. Thanks for your help. Benton turned toward Olivia and pointed to what Carl should have been documenting with a series of photographs. You ever see anything like that before now?

Olivia stepped closer to the post and used it to help lean further into the room. It looks like a gang symbol. I can’t say which, but I’ve got a friend in gang violence who can probably identify it.

Good, I’ll leave identifyin’ that with you. I’ll have the pics sent to you when they’re printed.

Olivia stepped back to let the M.E. pass and said, I need your first impressions when you’re ready to give them to me.

Benton sauntered over to a converted fishing tackle box and removed a set of tweezers and a quart size re-sealable evidence bag. Okay, let’s get to it. She took a deep breath and launched, He’s male, duh, about ten to twelve years old. Nationality is hard to say until I can get a blood test. She bent over and began picking up the game cards spread out in a circle around the boy. What do you think this card thing is all about? Benton asked.

I don’t know. Seems to be a purposely made circle. Maybe it’s left over from some sort of ceremony before he was killed.

Benton pushed up the bill of the Texas Rangers ball cap she wore atop her grey hair and scratched her forehead, I think the tore up backpack might be his. I can’t say for sure. Little boys don’t usually carry ID. We’ll fingerprint him and the stuff in the bag. Chances are it’s going to be his. She looked back to where Olivia stood and scolded, For cryin’ in the rain, girl, get your butt over here so you can see.

You said not to go past the post, Olivia defended.

And you always do what people tell ya?

When it’s you — yes. A lesson she learned during childhood when visiting Benton’s office with her father.

Walk around my box over there and follow my footprints over here, Benton pointed to the ground beside her. And hurry up about it, I don’t have all day.

Olivia did as she was told and ended up standing beside the kneeling M.E.

Core temperature says he’s been dead about five to six hours, give or take. Probably happened real early this morning. Benton lifted the arm of the boy beside her and gave it a gentle shake, Rigor is setting in at a rate consistent with body temp, so I think the body isn’t lyin’ when it’s saying five to six hours.

The blue discoloration around his mouth is from asphyxiation, right?

My money’s on asphyxiation. Benton gently rolled the boy from his back to his side, carefully, pulling his worn t-shirt and stained sweatshirt up toward his shoulders as far as the two would go with bound hands in the way. You see this? she pointed to the large undefined bruising on the boy’s back. It’s where blood from the body pooled in the tissues of his back because his heart hasn’t been pumping.

She was teaching again, something Olivia didn’t mind except when Benton covered the same subject for the twentieth time.

The fact that there’s no other signs of lividity on his body probably means this was where the unsub killed him. It wasn’t done somewhere else.

And? Olivia asked.

And the ribs most likely punctured the heart while the boy’s chest was bein’ caved-in. She gently rolled the boy back to the position she found him in. Don’t ask me why he was bound from behind. That’s your job. Benton pulled down the tattered edge of the boy’s undershirt and sweatshirt. She brushed away the wrinkles in the fabric at the boy’s stomach. I don’t think it was a quick or painless death.

I’m sure it wasn’t. Olivia shuddered when she saw the deep grooves dug into the ground at the boy’s feet where he tried to gain purchase as he fought off his killer. She couldn’t imagine the depth of panic and hopelessness the boy must have experienced while struggling helplessly against something so heavy that it literally crushed him while air was slowly and painfully being pushed from his lungs. For a moment, she saw her son’s face in the boy’s. She closed her eyes and the image disappeared.

The zip strip binding his hands looks like the kind bought from a sporting goods store. The kind used to tie a dead animal’s legs together. She used the rounded end of her pen to lift the boy’s bunched up socks to check for marks on the ankles.

If you’re thinkin’ his legs were restrained, they weren’t, not with ties. But it looks like someone held his legs down. You can see bruising that looks like fingers around the ankles. Benton stood and tugged the clean suit she wore back to the places it belonged. She left her hands resting on her plump hips. I didn’t find body fluids on his clothes or skin or on the ground around him. I’m hoping that rules out sexual assault. But I won’t know for sure ‘til I get him back to the cutting room. And don’t quote me or anythin’, but I don’t think you’re gonna find a weapon.

What makes you say that? There’s always a weapon of some kind.

Okay, I’ll give you that. An amused expression played with the corner of Benton’s mouth, Let’s just say I doubt that this weapon is your run-of-the-mill murder weapon. She closed up the converted tackle box and handed it to Olivia. She sealed the evidence box with security tape and wrote her name, the date and time on