The Hated: A Detective Jericho Single Read online

The training manual stated this should always be a two-person job. Teams, it said, were more reassuring to the next of kin than one lone cop bringing the devastating news — especially if it was a homicide. If the person being notified was female, it was advised that one member of the team should be a woman. From experience Jericho knew this was a good idea.

  East Hampton had no such protocols — homicides were rare in this peaceful beach town. Fatal accidents were usually handled by whoever caught the case. But in this situation, having a woman with him would certainly be helpful.

  There were ten females on the force, but Jericho didn’t know any of them very well. Except — there was one; Evangeline “Vangie” Clark, Deputy Chief Dispatcher. She’d been a good friend of Maria. Vangie was a curvy black woman in her late thirties, with close cropped hair and plastic blue-rimmed glasses. She was a sort of den mother to rookies on the force, especially the women. She seemed empathetic yet stable enough to do help Jericho with this gut-wrenching assignment.

  He found Vangie in the dispatcher’s office, coaching a new 911 operator.

  “Calm, calm, baby. No emotion,” she was saying. “The caller gonna be panicked, so you can’t be.”

  Jericho pulled Vangie aside and explained the upcoming death notification.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I took the 911 call from the witness on the Indian Wells beach. This is gonna be real tough on the widow.”

  Jericho nodded. “The way it works is — I do most of the talking, and you’re there to give emotional support.”

  “So I take my cues from you.”

  “Right. This is not easy. You think you can handle it?”

  “...I think so,” she said. “My shift is over. You wanna do it now?”

  “In a few minutes. I just have to make one phone call. Then we can go.”

  Jericho glanced at his watch as they drove to the victim’s house. It was located on the oddly named Hump Path.

  “I’m pretty sure Lopez has three kids,” he said. “It’s a little after one, so hopefully they’re all in school. If there are children around, you take them in another room while I talk to the mother.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “You have any kids?” Jericho asked.

  “No,” Vangie said, “But I love kids — long as they’re not mine. My brother has two little ones and I babysit them once a week. And my wife usually comes with me — she loves kids too.”

  Her wife. Jericho still couldn’t get used to it. Guess I’m just old school, he mused. Or maybe I’m just old.

  “What does your wife do?”

  “Ingrid’s a child psychiatrist — and the funny thing is, with all those kids in her life, she still wants to adopt. She says workin’ with children has actually intensified her maternal instinct.”

  Vangie rolled her eyes, then continued in a bad Forrest Gump voice — “I told her, ‘Forget it. Adoption is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get!’”

  Jericho laughed.

  “Then she suggested artificial insemination by a sperm donor. I said, ‘That’s like half a box of chocolates. You still don’t know what you’re gonna get!’”

  Jericho laughed again. It was the first real moment of levity he’d had since Maria’s death.

  CHAPTER 4.

  The Lopez house was a narrow, rundown three story Victorian. It had a grey stucco façade, a slate roof, and a porch decorated with rusty cast iron filigree. The modest lawn was surrounded by a white picket fence — the American Dream, now made of compressed vinyl.

  Mrs. Paz Lopez came to the door wearing a housecoat. A polka dot bandana half-covered her hair curlers. Her narrow face was drawn, her eyes red-rimmed from a sleepless night. A sweet looking six-year-old girl in pajamas clung to her hand.

  “Mrs. Lopez,” Jericho said. “We’re from East Hampton Town Police. You reported your husband missing this morning.”

  “Yes. He...he didn’t come home last night.”

  “May we come in?”

  “...Okay.”

  Inside Jericho introduced himself and the uniformed Officer Clark.

  “This is my daughter Caroline,” said Mrs. Lopez. “She’s got the sniffles so I kept her home from school.”

  They sat down in a dimly lit living room. All the furniture had slipcovers. The shades were down. There was a crucifix over the fireplace and a Virgin Mary icon between the windows.

  There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the corner. The gravity of the situation swept over the two police officers. They could see the anxiety level rising in Mrs. Lopez’s face.

  Little Caroline reminded Jericho of his own daughter Katie, now living across the country in Tacoma with her mother and new husband. At least Katie has a father, Jericho thought. This little girl does not.

  He knelt down and spoke softly to her. ”Y’know, Caroline, I have a daughter just about your age...”

  She shrunk away from him fearfully and hugged her mother tightly. Mrs. Lopez spoke apologetically. “She’s a little shy with strangers.

  “Ma’m,” Jericho said. “I’d like to speak with you alone. Can Officer Clark take your daughter into another room for a while?”

  “Um...sure” She pointed to a hallway behind her. “The kitchen.”

  “Hey, darlin’,” Vangie said to Caroline. “Do you like Dr. Seuss?”

  The child didn’t answer. Vangie took out her IPhone and began tapping it. “I’ve got Dr. Seuss games here. Do you like The Cat in the Hat?”

  The child showed a flicker of interest.

  More taps and The Cat’s funny voice rang out. “Click the arrow. That’s the way. Boogie-woogie Bird Legs is the game you’ll play.”

  “Go with the nice lady,” Caroline’s mother said. The little girl got up, took Vangie’s hand and they left the room.

  Jericho sat looking at Mrs. Lopez, his mind racing to come up with the right words. He knew what he said would remain in the widow’s memory for the rest of her life.

  He took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Mrs. Lopez, I’m sorry to tell you — your husband Carlos is dead. His body was discovered at Indian Wells Beach. We believe he was murdered.”

  Her face went slack and she stared at him in disbelief.

  “I’m very sorry,” he said softly.

  “Are you... are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must be mistaken.”

  She looked at the detective’s face, searching for some expression of doubt. There was none.

  She shook her head in puzzlement. “Who could have done that to Carlos? Everybody loved him.”

  “We’ll do everything we can to find out.”

  After a few moments Mrs. Lopez crossed herself and whispered, ”Ay, mi marido. Dios lo tenga en su gloria.”

  She closed her eyes and sat quietly. Jericho thought she might be praying. Then she let out a howl of anguish that seemed to rise from the depths of her soul. Her little daughter came dashing back into the room, followed quickly by Vangie.

  “Mommy...Mommy!”

  She ran to her mother. Tears were streaming down the bereaved woman’s face.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy? What’s wrong?”

  Mrs. Lopez forcefully dragged her hands down from her forehead to chin, as if to physically make herself stop crying. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

  “Mommy’s all right, Sweetie,” she said. “I just saw a mouse running along the baseboard... You know that little mouse we’ve been trying to catch.”

  Caroline nodded.

  Her mother looked at Jericho. “I have to tell her, don’t I?”

  “Not now. You can wait.”

  “I think now is best.” She gathered her daughter in her arms. “Sweetie, these nice people brought us some bad news. Your daddy’s not coming home...he, he died and he’s gone to heaven.”

  Caroline looked at her mother blankly.

  “Daddy died, sweetie,” Paz said, “He’s w
ith the angels”

  The little girl nodded her head up and down, up and down. “Can I go watch TV?”

  “Sure.” Mrs. Lopez turned to Vangie. ”There’s a small TV in her bedroom. It’s on this floor, just down the hall.”

  “C’mon, darlin’,” Vangie said. “Show me where your room is.”

  Jericho and the widow sat silently for a while. Finally Mrs. Lopez spoke. “I’m sorry I lost it back there.”

  “I understand.”

  “My boys will be coming home from school soon.” She sighed. ”I’ll have to tell them.”

  Jericho nodded. “How old are your sons?”

  “Sixteen and seventeen,” she said. “They’re gonna take it real hard. They loved their Dad. We all did.”

  Jericho nodded

  “He’s a community activist, y’know,” Mrs. Lopez said. “Last night Carlos made a speech in front of OLA, a big Latino organization. He’s president of the Amagansett chapter.”

  “Where was the meeting?”

  “American Legion Hall.”

  “Did he drive there?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “2011 Buick. Blue.”

  “We’ll try to find it,” Jericho said. “Do you have another car key?”

  “Yes. It’s on a hook by the front door.”

  “I’ll grab it on my way out.”

  “Detective,” Mrs. Lopez said after a pause, “...Where is my husband... I mean, where is his, um, body now?”

  “The Medical Examiner’s office in Hauppauge.”

  “Can I... can I see him?”

  “You can if you wish,” Jericho said. “But I have video of

  Mr. Lopez and you can ID him from that. It’s up to you.”

  “I... I want to see him.”

  “I’ll arrange for a police car to take you over there tomorrow.”

  There was a pause before Mrs. Lopez spoke again. “So... so what happens now?”

  Jericho felt a certain relief. She was asking a nuts-and-bolts question. It was easier to discuss police procedure than to deal with her grief and loss.

  He said an autopsy would be performed, which upset Mrs. Lopez, but Jericho explained it was the law in a homicide. And it also might help solve the case.

  He remembered a phrase from his Next of Kin Death Notification Handbook: “Do not give details of your investigation to the NOK.” God, he hated that dehumanizing acronym. NOK!

  He told Mrs. Lopez she should notify the Medical Examiner about preferred funeral arrangements. And that fingerprints might be required of the family to compare with latents that could turn up in the car. He also said he’d like to meet her sons in the next day or two.

  He gave Mrs. Lopez his card and told her he’d always be available for help and support.

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  “Do you have anybody you’d like to call? Someone who could come over and be here when you talk to your boys?”

  “I... there’s family, friends, but... it’s not something I want anybody around for. I’d rather handle it myself.”

  “That’s not a real good idea,” Jericho said gently. “I’ll have Officer Clark stay for a while and look after Caroline. You’ll certainly want to talk to the boys alone. Otherwise it might be further traumatic for your daughter.”

  Jericho went into Caroline’s bedroom and saw the little girl lying on her bed watching TV cartoons. Spread randomly around her was an assortment of Cabbage Patch Kids dolls. Jericho recognized Monkey Cutie and Sadie the Rocker Bulldog, from his daughter’s own collection.

  Vangie was sitting on a corner of the bed, also watching the TV. Jericho asked her to stay for a bit. She said she’d be glad to.

  “Thanks,” Jericho said. “Take a cab home, and bill the Department”

  “Not a problem,” she said. “I guess there’s gonna be an autopsy, right?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow morning.”

  “Where do they do that?”

  “Up island — Hauppauge.”

  “Listen, Detective,” Vangie said. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to drive the family over there. I’m sure they’ll need all the support they can get.”

  “That’s real nice of you, but...”

  “I’ve been handlin’ 911 calls for years, and, well, this is my chance to make a more personal contribution.”

  Jericho smiled and nodded.

  He returned to the living room. Mrs. Lopez was sitting with her head down, eyes closed. She looked up when the Detective came in.

  “I was just thinking,” she said. “I told you everybody loved Carlos, but that isn’t quite true. There are some folks ‘round here who don’t like his ideas... y’know, about making our community into a political force. And you know, there’s a lot of anti-immigrant stuff going on these days. Maybe... maybe that has something to do with what happened to him.”

  Jericho nodded. It was a notion that was already surfacing in his mind — Hate Crime.

  CHAPTER 5.

  Jericho found the blue Buick in the American Legion Hall parking lot. It was unlocked.

  There was nothing remarkable inside the vehicle, except for a small bloodstain on the front seat. It was most likely the victim’s blood, suggesting Lopez was killed in the car. It also might be the killer’s blood, a result of a struggle with the victim. He’d have to wait for a forensics report.

  Jericho called Dobrowolski and instructed him to bring a fingerprint crew over to process the Buick.

  “McCoy too?” Vic asked. “He told me he wants to be kept in the loop.”

  “Fine.” Jericho replied. “But tell him to bring gloves.”

  “What kind?”

  “I hear he’s into latex.”

  As expected, there was a hodgepodge of prints in the car. Luminol revealed the lone blood spot Jericho had noticed. With his penknife he cut out the small bloodstained section of the car seat and put it in an evidence bag. After filling out the chain-of-evidence label, he gave it to a patrolman and told him deliver it to medical examiner, ASAP. The Buick was then driven to the EHTP impounding garage and sealed with tape.

  Back in his office, Jericho immediately went to his computer. On Google he typed in 8668.

  This resulted in an endless stream of entries such as:

  8668 www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/...

  National Center for Biotechnology Information

  EIF3I eukaryotic translation initiation factor 3, subunit I [ (human)]. Gene ID: 8668, updated on 15-Nov-2015. Summary. Other designations. TGF-beta ...

  8668 www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/gene...National Center for Biotechnology Information

  EIF3I Official Symbol: EIF3I and Name: eukaryotic translation initiation factor 3, subunit I [Homo sapiens (human)] Other Aliases: EIF3S2, PRO2242, TRIP-

  8668 - HUGO Gene Nomenclature Committee www.genenames.org/cgi-bin/gene_symbol_report?hgnc_id=8668

  Cached

  Similar

  HGNC approved symbol report for the gene PCDHA2 (HGNC_ID:8668)

  4. 8668 000250 Belden Wire & Cable | Mouser

  www.mouser.com/ProductDetail/Belden-Wire-Cable/8668-000250/?qs...

  The endless stream of Internet data was frustrating and worthless. Maybe it’s not a hate crime, Jericho thought. Maybe the numbers 8668 have a special meaning to the killer — something ritualistic. Or are they meant to be a challenge, a mysterious clue for the police to figure out? At this point — hard to say.

  I’m still leaning towards hate crime.

  Jericho scanned through about twenty more pages of 8668 entries but finally gave up. Google supposedly now contained all the knowledge in the world, but the result was TMI: Too Much Information.

  The phone rang. It was Jericho’s six-year old daughter Katie.

  “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hi, Sweetie.”

  “You were supposed to call an hour ago. Did you forget? Mom says you have a trendency to forget stuff.”

  “Yeah,” Jericho said smiling. “I do have
that trendency. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy working.”

  “So Mom said I should call you. Good news, Daddy. Easter Vacation is coming up in two weeks and Mom says I can come visit you.”

  “Oh, that’s great news!” her father said. God, how will I manage this? What if this case leaves me no time for her?

  “I’ll have to check my schedule,” he said. “But I’ll sure try to work it out.”

  “So... so does that mean I can come?”

  “Um... absolutely. Unless... well, we won’t worry about unless. I’ll call you in a few days to confirm.”

  “Please, please, Daddy. I miss you a lot. I mean, Irwin’s a good guy and all, but he’s not my Daddy.”

  Her words stung. Katie meant everything in the world to Jericho. And since his ex-wife had re-married and moved three thousand miles away, Katie’s absence had grown even more painful.

  “Don’t worry, Katie. It’ll all work out.”

  “Goodbye, Daddy,” she said, hanging up abruptly. It was what she always did when these long distance calls made her anxious.

  I have to make it work, Jericho told himself.

  The detective checked his watch. He’d have to hurry to make his dinner appointment with McCoy in Sag Harbor.

  He smiled, remembering Katie’s comment that he had a trendency to be late. Of course there was no such word, but Katie had invented one that made perfect sense. “That kid’s pretty damn smart,” he said out loud.

  CHAPTER 6.

  Detective Fred McCoy was driving home after his dinner with Jericho at Il Cappuccino. He had to admit Jericho was pretty nice to buy him dinner and talk shop with him. The food was great, but it seemed weird that Jericho only picked at his pasta. But then Jericho’s a little weird, he thought.

  He crossed over the small Sag Harbor Bridge, then headed west on Long Beach Road to his house in Noyack. McCoy had a bit of a buzz on — well, maybe a little more than a buzz — from the bottle of Chianti Jericho had ordered with the meal.

  When the wine came Jericho had poured a glass for McCoy, but not for himself. McCoy asked him why.