CisLuna_Hard-boiled Police Procedural_Murder Mystery Read online

  Lijuan mumbled, “That’s sick.”

  I nodded, “Um-hmm.”

  “How sure are you of your Renfield theory?” Monica asked.

  “I’m trying not to pick favorites right now. It’s just a theory. I would have liked to have gotten to Rodriguez a lot sooner. If he was the murderer, he would have had a long ride back in that scooter to come up with a story. A lot of serial killers are wicked-fine actors. But for now, I think it’s somebody else.”

  I looked at Monica.

  “So if the partial and DNA are not from Rodriguez, who are they from?”

  “The print is from Jessica. The DNA samples are from Jessica and the bartender at Albert’s.”

  “Bartender would be Joe?”

  “Joseph Ralston. Everybody calls him Joe. Maybe she was enjoying a drink there when the place closed, so she took it back to her room.”

  I cut her off, saying, “Actually, Rosie said she finished the wine and put the glass on the table as she walked out with him.”

  “So could we have a different glass? She stopped off somewhere and got another glass?”

  “Maybe. By the way, did you know that Jessica was promiscuous?”

  “Yeah, just about everybody up here is. Apart from work, there’s not that much else to do.”

  “Okay, but was she promiscuous enough to finish with the guy she left the bar with, then go to somebody else’s room, start a new glass there, and them take it with her?”

  “I don’t keep statistics, but yeah, she slept around. A lot. Who’s pointing fingers?”

  “Patty Eisenhower.”

  Monica laughed, putting her hand over her mouth. “Why, that little hypocrite!”

  “Was there animosity between them?”

  “Too strong a word. More like competition. They both used to steal each other’s dates. Got to be a running joke at Albert’s. We’d have little side bets on who was going home with whom.”

  I tilted my forehead toward her and raised my eyebrows.

  “Don’t go all Sunday school on me, Detective! This place isn’t Disneyland. We have to make our own entertainment.”

  “So I keep hearing.”

  She harrumphed, looking pissed.

  I broke the tension asking, “Could the simpler solution be that the glass we have in evidence is from a different day?”

  Monica sat up, raising her finger, “Or the murderer picked it up at the bar and planted it at her room later that night when he killed her.”

  “I’m gonna need to talk to Joe.” I looked over at Lijuan.

  “On it,” she said.

  “Okay, what about trace residue in the glass? If she only rinsed it, maybe we can find molecules from something besides wine, like a slow acting roofy?”

  “What’s a roofy?” Lijuan asked.

  “It’s a date-rape drug.” Monica said. “Somebody slips it in your drink to make you pass out. Then they have sex with you. When you wake up, you can’t remember anything. Mostly.”

  “Ew!”

  Monica looked back at me, “You’re thinking that might be how the murderer got her unconscious so he could drain her?”

  “Yeah, possibly. Cause of death is the biggest unresolved issue in this case so far.”

  “So what am I looking for?” Monica asked.

  “Most date-rape drugs are derivatives of benzodiazepine. flunitrazepam, aka Rohypnol or Hypnodorm. Both drugs have been around for decades. They used to be popular with the more predatory bar-flies and frat-boys. I’m not much of a chemist but I recall reading somewhere that it degrades in postmortem specimens to… I forget what. Anyway, maybe there are trace samples of blood from the victim’s brain that didn’t drain out? Also check her urine. You’re looking for a pretty high concentration in order to establish cause of death. Something on the order of hundreds of micrograms per liter.”

  Monica was scribbling all this into her pad with a stylus as I recited what little I remembered about date-rape drugs.

  When she finished, she looked up, “Looks like the old spectrometer is going to get a workout tonight!”

  * * *

  I was at the desk in my room ruminating over a long day of little progress. Early stage investigations almost always waste a lot of time ruling things out. Then I saw Ciccolella’s text pop-up. “Roy Stone: EYES ONLY” I typed my password to open it.

  Roy—we had a similar serial killer down here before you arrived. Three primary victims over the span of a year and a half ending in July of 2072. Each one blond, attractive, ages from 28 to 31. First two lived alone. Found dead in their apartments, suspended by their feet, and drained of blood in a similar manner to the way you described with your victim. The third primary victim included a collateral death—her husband found dead in his bed. He still had all his blood—no puncture wounds. Bodies discovered by their two kids who were sleeping in the next room. Now sit down for the scary part. The husband was Bob Forsythe and he was the principal investigating officer on the case. None of the victims showed signs of a struggle or forced entry. We never determined primary cause of death. We never identified any suspects. Case moved to inactive status July of 2074. Investigation files attached. Good luck. —Chick

  So our boy is not a rookie. I keyed in my response:

  Thanks, Chief. So far we’re still working on cause of death. Currently checking out benzodiazepine family of date rape drugs. Will let you know what we find out.

  —Stone

  Before I shut down, I sent out one more message.

  Emily—I need you to dye your hair. I don’t care what color you pick, just so you’re not a blond any more. xoxo, Roy

  Blond, attractive, 28 to 31. I should have told Patty to dye her hair. Am I just being paranoid? I started to key in her name on a message. Fuck it. She’d probably tell me to piss off.

  Chapter Seven

  I found Monica sitting in her lab nursing a steaming cup of black coffee. Beside her was a complicated looking contraption she called a GCMS, a gas chromatograph mass spectrometer. Behind her was a large 1x1.5-meter monitor with a bunch of sample results. Her eyes were bloodshot from having pulled an all-nighter.

  “Whatcha got here, partner?” I said as I drained the rest of the pot into a cup and turned to walk over to her table.

  She glared daggers at me. I turned back to the counter and began making a fresh pot. Her glare softened.

  She heaved a sigh and said, “Well, for starters, we were in luck in that we kept the unused solution we used to pick up stray cells off the glass. And we also used distilled water to dissolve the residue in the bottom of the glass—sometimes minute amounts of saliva will collect down there. Got Joe’s DNA on the outside of the glass and Jessica’s on the outside and inside. So the next step was to put part of our water solution in the gas chromatograph oven and start heating it up. Constituent chemicals from the solution will evaporate off and then we can shoot them into the mass spectrometer to identify them from their masses.”

  “Okay, so what did you find?”

  “Water, alcohol, saliva components, and grape components. No benzodiazepine derivatives of any kind.”

  “What about blood from the brain and residual urine from her bladder?”

  “You wanted me to look in her bladder for urine? How novel!”

  “C’mon!”

  “‘Sorry, it’s been a long night—I’m a little punchy. Anyway, same story. We found blood components in the blood, piss in her urine, but no benzodiazepine derivatives.”

  “So she wasn’t drugged?”

  “Doesn’t look like it. At least not with benzodiazepine.”

  I banged the side of my fist down on the lab table. “Shit! Then what the fuck killed her?”

  “I don’t know, but could I sell you a theory?”

  “Hell, yeah, woman! Spill!”

  “Okay, we have a dead body but no obvious cause of death apart from it having no blood. We rule that out as a primary cause of death because there was no sign of struggle and most folks
would not calmly hang there and allow themselves to be drained of their blood. Hypnosis maybe? Bit of a stretch. So, what would kill her and leave no trace? Answer: gas asphyxiation. Methane and CO2 would be the usual suspects. Both gases are odorless and colorless. We would have found methane in her blood if she had any blood left. But with CO2, even if she still had blood, there would have been little evidence of elevated CO2. My money is on CO2.”

  “Don’t you have atmospheric monitors in the rooms?”

  “Smoke alarms and carbon monoxide. CO2 is monitored at central air vents as a check on the CO2 scrubbers—they’re set to hold CO2 to 250 ppm.”

  “So there could be a buildup in an individual room and environmental systems wouldn’t pick up on it.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, we need a team: a physiologist to figure out how much concentration of CO2 would need to be introduced into the room to cause unconsciousness and then death; an environmental engineer to figure out how to get that much CO2 into the room and also how to purge it after the fact.”

  I started to leave, then turned back. “Good job, Monica.”

  She smiled and squinted one eye as she flipped me off.

  * * *

  When I arrived at the interrogation room, Joe Ralston was already there. He’d brought a thermos and a cup. When he saw me looking at it he held up the thermos.

  “Coffee?”

  “No thanks, I’m about coffee’d out.”

  He nodded back at me, eyes wary. “This about Jessica?”

  By now, Jessica’s death was all over the station, so I figured I’d just be square with him.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you?”

  “Not at this time. We just want to get the facts straight about Jessica’s last night in your bar. Can you tell us about that?”

  He raised his brows and stared down at the table before answering. Funny how some people look up and others down when searching for inspiration.

  “She came in about an hour before closing.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yeah, but that didn’t last long. Never did with her.”

  “Okay, then what?”

  “We chatted for a bit while she knocked back a couple of glasses of wine. She likes… liked wine.”

  “Did you suggest any particular wine for her to try?”

  “Yeah, we got some new stuff in, a case of Burgundy from Earthside. She was eager to try it, but I only gave her a taste—stuff’s hard to ship up here. Mostly we make our own wine. Anyway, she downs that and keeps licking the inside of the glass with her tongue—broad knew how to turn a guy on! I gave her a little more.”

  “You indicated someone joined her. Was that about then?”

  “Yeah, Rosie walked in right about the time I gave her the new wine.”

  “Did he try any wine?”

  “No, all the pilots ever drink is beer. Cheap and cold, that’s all they want.”

  “Anybody else in the bar?”

  “Um… no. Wait, there was one guy came in shortly after Jessica. Took a seat at a table.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  “Yeah, Simon. Don’t know his last name. Quiet guy, a little creepy. He’s one of the wing supers.”

  “How long did he stay?”

  “He musta left after Jessica and Rosie. I didn’t see exactly—I was busy washing my dishes so I could close.”

  “Did you see Jessica carry her wine glass out with her?”

  “No, I was busy closing up.”

  “Do you recall getting your wine glass back?”

  “Uh… no, now that you mention it.”

  “Could she have put it down on a table as she walked out?”

  “Can’t say. I didn’t see any glasses sitting around—that’s something I always check before I lock up.”

  “Could Simon have picked it up when he walked out?”

  “Maybe. Don’t know why he would have picked up an empty glass though. Souvenir, maybe? Maybe it had her lipstick on it or something? Like I said, the guy was a little… you know… creepy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ralston. That will be all. Please don’t divulge any of this conversation to anyone.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He stood up, then paused.

  “Something else?”

  “Nah. I just hope you catch the bastard what did this. Jessica was a lot of fun.” He turned to go.

  “Oh, one more thing, Joe. Were you and Jessica—”

  “—Yeah, I wish. She went for the younger guys.”

  After Ralston left, I looked over at Monica and Lijuan. Lijuan passed me her tablet. Simon Crowne, Wing Superintendent, Deck 3, B Wing.

  “HR shows he’s been here for three years, but there’s no record of him arriving.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no flight manifest with his name on it.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “I can check with HR, but yeah, I think they track that kind of thing.”

  I thought a minute.

  “You want to get Simon in here next?” Lijuan asked.

  “Check with HR first. Get me his whole history. I have something else in mind for Mr. Crowne.”

  Chapter Eight

  I called a meeting in Monica’s lab. The usual crew plus Captain King and the doc were there.

  “I want to search Mr. Crowne’s room when he’s not in it.”

  “I told you before, you can search anybody’s room you want, Detective. I want this asshole found yesterday! Copy?”

  “Uh, yes, sir. But what I have in mind is a bit off the grid.”

  “How off the grid?”

  “I also want to search the contents of his GI tract. It’s a long shot, but if he’s drinking Jessica’s blood there might be leftover DNA from her blood cells hiding in his stomach or intestines.”

  “How you gonna pull that off?” the captain asked.

  “I was thinking if we induced some kind of disease symptoms that would justify the flight surgeon pumping his stomach and flushing his lower GI tract?”

  Dr. Martin said, “That’s do-able, but is that who we are? I mean, I realize this is not a democracy up here, but how sure are you this man is the murderer?”

  I motioned to Lijuan and Mak to present their evidence.

  Lijuan spoke first. “Simon Crowne, age 40, arrived on Einstein June 2083, no listing on any shuttle manifest.”

  The captain interrupted. “What? Then how’d he get here?”

  “Could he have been a transfer, say, from another station, then rode over here on a scooter or something?” I asked.

  “Nope. Nobody gets on my station without me knowing how they got here.”

  I looked at Mak who referred to his pad. “I’ve checked personnel records at Vandenberg. There are no records of anyone named Simon Crowne in their files. We also attempted a photo match using Mr. Crowne’s ID photo. We found a possible match between him and a Mr. Austen Miller who transferred to Einstein in June of 2083.”

  He projected two images side by side onto the wall. They were vaguely similar, Miller’s face obscured by a heavy beard and mustache.

  Mak continued, “But according to our records, Mr. Miller never got here. His last known whereabouts were on the LEO space station SSS Nathalie Cabrol. Apparently, he debarked from his shuttle onto Cabrol and was never seen again. On the other hand, Mr. Crowne did arrive here about that time. We just don’t know how.”

  I said, “To your point, Dr. Martin, I’m not sure if Simon Crowne is our man. But as I said before, we’re in a race. Whoever the murderer is, he will kill again. And we have to stop him before that happens.”

  The captain said, “Dr. Martin, I’m not saying I’m going to approve this procedure, but how would you go about it?”

  Dr. Martin thought a moment, then said, “We could introduce a concoction of ipecac for nausea, plus some kind of fever-inducing agent—I’d want to research that, maybe throw in some ki
nd of antihypertensive—drop his blood pressure, make him woozy. Then we tell him there’s a suspected outbreak of botulin poisoning, make up some story about how a dozen people have come down with it and one of them identified him as standing next to them in the cafeteria serving line. Then we haul him into sick bay, stick an IV in his arm and knock him out the rest of the way. While he’s out, we run a tube down his throat and another one up his rectum and vacuum out everything in between. When he wakes up we fuss over him for barely surviving his ‘close call’ and compliment ourselves for catching it just in the nick of time.”

  The captain asked, “Would there be any lasting effects?”

  “None.”

  “Monica, can you separate out any of Jessica’s DNA from that mess?”

  “Yes, sandwich immunoassay techniques can be set up to latch onto Jessica’s DNA only. We have plenty of her DNA samples to formulate an epitope that will glom onto one of Jessica’s unique genes. The trick is to pick out genes that are unique to Jessica and not Mr. Crowne. We’d need to sequence his DNA as a control—make sure Jessica’s unique genes really are unique.”

  The captain asked, “How long would you need to keep him down for all that?”

  Dr. Martin said, “We could drain his GI tract in an hour and put him back in general circulation a few hours after that—once we get his fluid levels and vitals back to nominal. Monica could take her time after that.”

  Monica said, “That’s good. I’d want my lab crew to have a couple of days to be sure of our results.”

  The captain asked, “What are the odds you’ll find viable DNA in his GI tract?”

  Dr. Martin said, “Depends on how long it’s been there. A day, maybe two. That’s about how long DNA should last in the bowel after passing through the stomach enzymes.”

  I shrugged, “Like I said, it’s a long shot.”