Read Online Hate Crime by William Bernhardt - Free Book Online Page A

“Do you smell anything?”
    “Are you kidding? Someone was killed in here.”
    “Something else. Musk, I think.”
    “Musk?”
    “Probably a cologne or aftershave. And if I can still smell it, he must’ve put it on pretty heavy.”
    “Who? The victim, or the killer?”
    “That would be a good thing to know.”
    Baxter rolled her eyes. “Great. Musk. Now we’ve got a lead.”
    “Did anyone see anything? Hear anything?”
    “We’ve got uniforms blanketing the neighborhood. So far they haven’t turned up anything.”
    “The killer used a power tool, for God’s sake. Someone must’ve heard something.”
    “Yes, but it wouldn’t sound like a murder. More like someone . . . mowing their lawn. Nothing to get alarmed about.”
    Mike stood to one side and watched the crime scene technicians go about their work. He always tried to give them a clear field; he knew they wouldn’t tolerate interference, not even from a senior homicide detective. There was a time when these guys considered themselves ancillary technicians, subordinate to the detectives, and behaved accordingly. Then that TV show— CSI —became a hit. Now they all thought Mike worked for them.
    Which was not a problem for Mike. They had the hard job, as far as he was concerned—the videographers, the hair and fiber team, the prints man, the coroner. The guys in coveralls crawling around on their hands and knees looking for trace evidence. Their work paid off. More often than not, if a case didn’t have an obvious suspect, it was forensic evidence that would lead him to one.
    “Check his wallet?” Mike asked.
    “What do you take me for? He didn’t have one.”
    “No ID at all?”
    “None. This house was being rented to a Philip Norton, but that appears to be a pseudonym.”
    “Any photos inside the house? Any photos of him ?”
    “ ‘Fraid not.”
    Naturally. That would’ve been too helpful. The victim’s head was such a mess they couldn’t possibly tell what he looked like now. So they had no face and no name. Great.
    “Anything of interest in the house?”
    “The place has been trashed. Still, I managed to find a noteworthy item or two.”
    “Wanna give me a hint?”
    “Packed suitcase in the bedroom. Apparently the poor guy thought he was going somewhere.”
    Mike grunted. “He was right about that. He had a one-way ticket to ‘the undiscovered country from whose bourn / no traveler returns.’ ”
    “Morelli, if you keep going with the poetry, I might have to use a power tool myself.”
    “Any idea where he was headed?”
    “North.”
    “Could you be more specific?”
    “He didn’t leave behind a bus ticket, Morelli. But I did notice that he was packing sweaters. So he wasn’t hanging around here and he wasn’t headed for Mexico.”
    Mike nodded. “What else was in the house?”
    “Fifty thousand dollars in cash.”
    Mike did a double take. “Fifty thousand?”
    “You got it, tiger. Hidden under a floorboard. Whoever tore the house apart never found it.”
    He pivoted and reluctantly glanced again at the mess on the toolshed floor. “Our poor victim must’ve pulled some sort of heist.”
    “Looks that way. I’ll start checking the wire reports. See if I can figure out what he did.”
    “I don’t know what to think. But it’s very strange. Get some serial numbers off that money and run it past the FBI. They might be able to help you figure out where it came from.” Mike took another long look at the toolshed. He wouldn’t mind having a place like this of his own one day. Except not splattered with blood and brain matter. “Anything else?”
    “Yeah—this.” Baxter produced what appeared to be a photocopy of a newspaper article placed inside a clear plastic evidence bag. “Found this in the end table by the bed.”
    Mike scanned the headline. FBI PROBES PARTY DRUG RING . He couldn’t tell what paper it had come from.
    “Why was this of such interest that he made a copy?” she asked.
    “Darn good