Chapter 4 – The Mysterious Death of the Mayor’s Daughter

The morning began in its usual routine. I stepped out of the “cage” – as I affectionately called my cell – got dressed, and drove to work. My pickup, which I’d left at the office, had been thoughtfully delivered to my house by the agents. Now, of course, I had to spend an hour in traffic.

The truck had been washed and filled to the brim with gas. In the glove box was a note: “Vehicle inspected and tuned up – will drive like a dream.”

And sure enough, it felt like a completely different machine. No more pulling to the right, no engine knocking, no creaky doors. They’d worked their magic – and fast. At least the FBI was good for something.

When I arrived at the precinct, Cherry was already at my partner’s desk.

“Sleep well?” I asked.

“Yeah. Went to bed early last night. There was a murder. The chief called me in and yelled for five straight minutes. Couldn’t get through to you or me. We were supposed to be at the crime scene, but they had to pull Fox in – even though he’s attached to another district.”

“Oh, that bastard Bram Fox… fine, I’ll deal with it.”

I went straight to Kozloryl’s office.

“What the hell are you doing? You gave my case to Fox! He’s not even from our precinct!” I barked, throwing open the glass door.

“Don’t start with me, idiot. I couldn’t get either of you on the phone, sent units to your places, and the streets around both of you were dug up for repairs… total mess. And this was a high-profile case. The victim was the mayor’s daughter,” Kozloryl said. He wasn’t in a good mood today – but then again, he rarely was.

“This is my case! Keep Fox out of it,” I said, stepping inside.

“He won’t touch it. The mayor called this morning asking specifically for you to handle it. Said he’d heard all about your ‘heroics’ in the student murder case. And besides, your clearance rate’s solid… damn, you’ve solved every case you’ve been given – except your partner’s murder. Or have you dug something up already?” Kozloryl’s anger was already cooling.

“Let the feds handle that one. I’m heading to the scene. Where is it?” I asked.

“Christ, Jerry! Don’t you watch TV or listen to the radio in your car? Go talk to Cherry – she knows the details. Drive to the mayor’s house. I’ll call him and say you’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He turned me by the shoulder and shoved me out the door.

Cherry and I got into my truck.

“You said your car was filthy and the engine ran rough. Sounds like it’s purring now,” Cherry noted.

“Cherry, is this an interrogation? I washed it, fixed the engine. The pulleys were squealing – five-minute swap. Did it myself in the garage,” I said casually. “Now tell me what happened – I didn’t watch the news, didn’t listen to the radio…”

“Alright, here’s the short version. The mayor’s daughter was murdered—”

“Murdered? No kidding! Had no idea,” I cut her off.

“—stab wound to the neck,” Cherry went on unfazed, “bled out. She was five. That evening the family went to bed – the mayor, his wife, the daughter, and their ten-year-old son. Around midnight, the wife woke up to get some water. She checked on her daughter and found her already dead. No cameras inside the house.”

“And outside?” I asked.

“There are some, but nothing suspicious showed up – no strange cars or people. None of the cameras point directly at the house. So it’s unclear if anyone came in. The whole family’s been evacuated except for the mayor. Forensics have been dusting for prints and collecting evidence all night.”

“Find anything?” My curiosity was piqued.

“Nothing. As if the killer never entered the house,” Cherry said meaningfully, staring at the side of my face. It was getting annoying.

“They swab the hands of the son, wife, and mayor? Oh wait – Fox was in charge. Of course they didn’t,” I said. “And stop staring at me before you burn a hole in my cheek.”

When we pulled up, Fox was on the porch chatting with the mayor.

“Well, well, well,” Fox squeaked – a scrawny man in his forties – “look who it is! How’s that investigation into your partner’s murder going?”

“No idea, Fox. As you know, the FBI’s running that one – call them and ask. This case is mine. Now get the hell out of here,” I growled through my teeth.

“Try sleeping less, hero,” he shot back. He liked to trade barbs.

The mayor stepped in. He was about forty-five, tall, lean – and obviously devastated. He looked at our squabble with disgust.

“Detective Jerry, I want you to find the killer,” the mayor said crisply.

“Of course, Mr. Mayor. But let’s speak privately.”

I took him aside.

“I’ll check the scene and talk to forensics. But let’s be honest – there was no break-in. Which means the killer was one of your family,” I said as gently as I could.

“That’s impossible! We loved her! And our son slept with us that night. My wife says he’s been nervous lately – maybe he sensed something,” the mayor protested.

“Alright. I’ll need to interview all three of you – you, your wife, and your son. I’ll visit you in a couple hours.”

“We’ll be at the Marriott,” the mayor said.

“The one on the waterfront near State Street?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Think hard about every detail of that night and the days leading up to it. And whether you have any enemies who might want revenge.”

“Enemies? Come on! I won the election fair and square!”

“I didn’t vote for you. I don’t vote for Democrats,” I said on my way out.

Inside, the head forensic tech, old grumbler Herner, was packing up with two assistants.

“Got the prints?” I asked.

“Yeah, all done. No sign of forced entry.”

“Could they have come in through a window?”

“One on the second floor was open. The rest were latched. You can’t open those from the outside.”

“But could they have used the open one?”

“Unlikely. It’s pristine – I dusted it, checked the ledge. No footprints, no marks. Even in sterile gear, someone would’ve left something. There’s nothing.”

“Alright, I’ll check it myself. Found the weapon?”

“Nope.”

“You swab the son’s hands?”

“No. By the time I got here, the mother had already taken him away. Damn Fox…”

I tuned out his complaints and went upstairs. Cherry followed, eyeing the blood-soaked bed and carpet.

“I think this was revenge,” she said.

“Why?”

“Not a random killer. A pro.”

“Or the boy?”

“Highly unlikely. They said he slept with them – if he’d done it, he’d be covered in blood. And the mother found the girl first…”

“Uh-huh. And if you had to hide a knife, where would you put it?”

“Couch… I don’t know.”

“Lousy detective. They’d have found it there. Go to the kitchen – see if all the knives are there.”

While she was gone, I examined the room. Blood everywhere – even on the ceiling. On the long-pile carpet, a brownish stain – likely from the mayor trying CPR. The open window showed no prints or ledge marks, but I noticed the grass below was slightly flattened. You’d need a detective’s eye to catch it.

“Well?” I asked when Cherry returned.

“One’s missing – the ice-pick knife,” she said quietly.

Before leaving, I told Herner to bag the grass samples.

At the Marriott, I asked the mayor to gather the whole family. The wife resisted, saying the boy was in shock. The mayor overruled her.

She brought in a sullen Black boy. Not what I was expecting.

“My wife’s son from her first marriage,” the mayor explained.

“Right. And you say he slept with you that night, ma’am?”

“Yes… When I got up for water and checked on her, she was dying… I called my husband…”

“And you, sir – how were you woken?”

“My wife. Her face was covered in blood. She said someone killed our little girl…”

“And where was the boy then? Still in bed?”

“I don’t know… I ran straight to my daughter’s room…”

“Why all these questions?” the wife snapped – clearly hiding something.

I stood. “Last question, ma’am. Where’s your ice-pick knife? Let’s check your purse.”

“Nooo!” she screamed, falling to her knees before her husband. “Forgive me… it wasn’t on purpose…”

The pale mayor drew a revolver.

“Don’t—” I started, but it was too late.

He shot his wife in the head, then fired three rounds into the boy’s neck, then one into his own jaw.

On the way back, Cherry asked, “Why kill the boy? Black lives matter.”

“Not his son. The Black brat was jealous. The mayor was always at work, so the mother started bringing the boy into her bed. That night, he got up and drove the ice-pick into his sister’s neck. The mother found her still breathing, pulled the knife out – and that’s when the blood poured. The boy stayed clean. Instead of saving her daughter, she saved him – tossing the knife out the open window, later retrieving it and hiding it in her purse. Even without the weapon, I’d have broken them in ten minutes.”

“Poor mayor,” Cherry sighed.

“That bastard? He might’ve been a doctor and a good shot, but he was no leader. Maybe now we’ll get a real Republican in office. Now get out of my truck – grab a cab and report to the chief. I’m not driving you.”

“And you?”

“You don’t want to see me tonight – I’ll be in a bad mood. Might bite someone…”

Cherry flinched. That told me she really was involved in something. So Kuksucker hadn’t been lying about her. Time to go home and spend the night in the cage.

Hopefully no one would get killed tonight, so I could spend tomorrow digging into Krivochlen’s case – maybe finally tracing the origins of this werewolf epidemic and helping Kuksucker find a cure.