Harry
Harry settled on Cedric’s plastic covered sofa. The seat creaked until he found a comfortable position. Although he never actually got into a good position. Instead, he accepted where he sat. One arm rested on the armrest with his fist curled around a Styrofoam cup. The other lay on his left knee with a second cup of coffee.
“Back to two-fisted drinking, I see,” Cedric commented.
“I’m surprised you don’t have all the murders mapped out on your wall.” Last summer when the Tattoo Killer, aka Lance Wooley, was terrorizing Webster, Cedric had taped a map of the city to the wall with all the locations of the bodies diagramed, complete with newspaper clippings.
“Got an app for all that now.” Cedric held up his iPhone.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“What ever happened at the sentencing hearing for Cody?”
“Lance. He got two consecutive life sentences without parole.”
“Sounds about right. Of course, he’ll be serving an eternity in Hell anyway after his death.” Harry’s best friend watched him sip his coffee from the cup on the right. “How come you never bring me any?”
“‘Cuz I’m a selfish bastard, why do think?”
“Man, you’re out of it. What’s eatin’ you?”
“You have to ask?”
“No.”
They sat mutely and Harry drank his coffee. That was the thing about Cedric; the man was content just to sit in a room with him. No talking, only breathing and being. Thinking was optional. Several minutes passed.
“S’ppose you arrested Cam.”
“You know I can’t discuss an ongo—”
“Oh, here we go. We both know you’re gonna tell me about it. Have I ever said anything to anyone?”
“Chelsea Rand.”
“All right, except for Rand’s parents.”
Cedric had interviewed the girl’s parents. How he’d been able to get them to talk to him was a mystery Harry didn’t want solved. Impersonating a police detective came to mind. Chelsea had been found a year and a half ago and was believed to be Lance’s first victim. Her parents had told Cedric she knew someone with the first initial “L” about the time of her death. They couldn’t recall his name.
“I promise not to go interviewing anyone. The stuff interests me though.”
“What stuff?”
“True crime. And right here in boring Webster.”
The mid-western town of Webster had a population of roughly 45,000. Neighborhoods ranged from upper class to some poverty level, and a large middle-class in between. Cedric said he lived in an economically challenged area. However, a developer had bought and tore down a lot of the vacant homes then built new ones, completely changing the face of the neighborhood.
“This place isn’t boring.” Harry said. “I wish it were.”
“Maybe not for you.”
“Can’t understand it, thought I was pretty sure about Cam.”
“And now you have doubts?”
“Asshole was more than willing to give up a DNA sample.”
“I love DNA testing. Only wish the shit’d been used during my investigation and trial.”
Harry wished it had been too. Cedric could have been acquitted before spending ten years in prison for crimes he hadn’t committed.
“You still like him for running Grace off the road?”
“Yeah, but Gracie thinks he’s her savior and was just there at the right time.” Harry’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that convenient? Shows up right then. Perfect timing.” Harry’s voice took on a sarcastic tone. “Yeah, right.”
“On the other hand…”
Harry finished the coffee in his right hand and got up to nuke what remained in his left-hand cup. “On the other hand, we wait for the DNA results.”
“Then you’ll know if he killed those women.”
Harry sighed into his coffee before sipping. It was still too cold after microwaving it. He spat it into the cup and shoved it back into the zap box. “Lance never sexually assaulted the women he killed,” he said absently.
“What about Chelsea?”
“I don’t think he killed her.”
Cedric’s brows raised. “You don’t? Since when?”
“The weapon used was different. Left a different impression than the sledgehammer used on Cynthia and Jennifer.” Right at that moment, Harry realized that he usually referred to the homicide victims by first name, like he personally knew them. He supposed he did, they just weren’t alive. Maybe this was why every murder he investigated haunted him. Sometimes he dreamed the “unsolves” were ghosts who led him to their killers, only he could never see who they showed him. He’d wake up in a cold sweat.
“Blunt force trauma is blunt force trauma, ain’t it? Them women’s skulls were smashed with something damn heavy.”
Harry snorted into his coffee cup. “Yeah, a big fucking rock.”
“Why don’t you talk to Cody again?”
“Lance. He made it clear he wouldn’t help find Chelsea’s or anyone else’s killer.”
“What if I talk to—”
“Don’t even think about it! No. That’s a dead horse.”
Cedric chuckled. “Okay, okay, I won’t. So you don’t want to know what he said then?”
The microwave dinged.