"Randy Dunn's wife and her sister are driving down to identify his body," Julianna Dudek said to Meg Chander as she handed her a file while holding her her phone between her ear and her shoulder, "They're pretty upset, as you can imagine. It's going to fuck up every Thanksgiving and Christmas for them from now till kingdom come. It's your case, so you're on the hook. They should be here in a bit over four hours. Run them over to the morgue, and then get into what he was doing in the city, and who might have had it in for him. Also, did he know the other two guys?"
Detective Meghana Chander positively hated dealing with grieving family. She never got the hang of it, and had a not totally irrational fear that she would burst out laughing while interviewing them, or standing with them when the sheet was draw back to reveal what was left of their loved one, or any and every other way she could fuck up so totally that Detective Lieutenant Julianna Dudek would have no recourse but to give Meg a seven day RIP.
Meg's voice indicated just how much she wanted someone, anyone that was not named Meg Chander, to assume this task. "It's the task force's case, Loo; can't they get someone else to do it?"
"I'm not asking you to cut the fucking guy open while they watch. Christ. Just take them over there, wait for the coroner to do his thing with them, they give you the nod, you come back, offer them the shitty coffee from the break room and start in with them," Lt. Dudek replied before turning her attention to the phone that had achieved body temperature some time ago. "Yup, still here. I need somebody from your department to make a death notification."
From the look on Julianna Dudek's face, the response she received from the Hot Springs Police Department was similar to what she had received from her own detective. "No, goddammit, I'm not asking any of my people drive all the way out to bum fuck nowhere and do it. Get off your Ar-Kansas ass and do your fucking job, or give it to some other local yokel that's willing to do it."
Meg stood quietly for the two seconds it took for her boss to remove the phone from her ear and look at Meg in bewilderment and spoke. "They hug up."
"Wow. Can't understand why."
"Any luck with either of them?" Captain John Dorazio asked.
"Red Bank is happy to make the notification, and they might shake a detective or two loose for interviews, but anything else, they say, is on us. Hot Springs gave me the silent go fuck yourself, but I'm going to try again."
John smiled warmly at the woman who he knew well enough that he could have predicted (and, in fact, had predicted) how her initial attempt to get assistance from the small police department would go. "Maybe let me try again. You have enough to do as is. I can lay it on thick, piss in their ear a bit. They'll help."
Juli Dudek's tone of voice when she replied was slightly less caustic than what she used on the desk sergeant in Hot Springs. "You're gonna play the she's just a woman, what do you expect card? Wait let me find the phone number for IAB."
John took in a deep breath before closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. "You want their help, or don't you?"
"Fine. But if you mention me use a fake name. They probably already forgot mine."
"So would I in their shoes," John Dorazio replied. He was saved from the sharp retort that Lt. Dudek had locked and loaded when Meg Chander walked into the office that was mostly taken up by the large CPD Captain. She laid three photos on top of the disorganized pile that had hidden Lt. Dudek's desktop from sight for as long as Meg could remember.
"What's wrong with these pictures?" Meg asked.
The two officers stared at the photos for barely ten seconds.
"They're all dead?" Juli Dudek offered.
"You literally beat me by two seconds." John added as he looked at the three photos of the until recently unidentified men found in the Chicago River.
"They look like skels. They look like their addicts, or homeless, or something. What they don't look like are a Deployment Support Supervisor, or a Senior Specialist in Biologics, or a Sales Account Manager."
"Huh," Captain Dorazio said, "that is odd. Unless they fell from the lofty heights of gainful employment. Maybe they actually were addicts."
"Addicts who were tortured and strangled and dumped in the river? And then had their identities wiped or hidden?" Meg asked.
"Gambling addicts?" Juli offered.
"All three of them?"
John Dorazio did not think so. "Maybe if they had been found in Lake Mead. But you don't collect gambling debts from dead men. You don't collect anything from them for that matter."
Another few seconds of silence preceded John's next comment.
"Camouflage. They were made up to look like someone who was likely to turn up dead in the river with no ID, not someone making six figures."
Julianna Dudek nodded in agreement. "In that case, someone went to a lot of trouble trying to hide them from us."
"Kidnap them, keep them alive, but not too alive. Starve them a bit, change their clothes, don't let them wash, or shave. When they look shitty enough, torture, kill, dump. Then let the water do its thing."
"Get back to all three departments for these guys. I want to know if anyone filed missing persons reports on them. We should have thought of that earlier. That's on me. Each of them must have had cars. Where are they now, and what's in them? If they're still in their home cities, how did these guys get here, why did they come, and was it voluntary, or were they snatched and brought here?"
Something had been bothering Meg, and she finally spoke it out loud in the presence of her superiors. "We are positive that those IDs are right? These three bodies belong to those three names? We are sure if this how exactly?"
John Dorazio's head did not turn as he glanced at Julianna Dudek in that manner that she had long ago learned meant how much of this do we want to tell her? He was still not sure of the answer to that question, but he felt it was wrong to keep the best investigator on his task force completely in the dark.
"The commissioner has a consultant. Said consultant used the prints you took off John Doe 2022-11 and...well I'll spare you the details, but they got a match; which led them eventually to the other two."
Meg's confusion was clearly written on her face. "I don't understand. We draw a blank, but IAFIS coughs up three names for the commissioners consultant? Why did he even have someone else working on this, and how did they do a better job than the CPD or CCME?"
John repeated the glance towards Juli before he answered the detective.
"We don't have all the pieces of this puzzle yet. We're getting copies of everything we sent to DOJ. We'll compare it to what Commissioner Gordon's office found. We'll know more then. But that's not your job. Keep your eye on the ball."
Meg Chander had been a detective long enough that she could tell something was not right. He's not telling me something. And he's worried.
She took a moment to collect her thoughts.
"OK. Eye on the ball. Why here? Why bring them here? Three deaths in three different cities, hundreds of miles apart...they would never have been connected to each other. But this...and why torture them?"
"Why do you ever torture anyone?" John asked.
"Me personally? I don't," Meg answered.
Juli Dudek pounced. "Not true. I've heard you sing."
"What the Hell?" Meg asked her boss as her hands came up in protest.
Jesus, John thought.
"For information, is where I was going. Someone wanted to know something, and they thought one of these three guys knew it. Maybe they each had a piece of a larger puzzle."
"So they were tortured first, and either gave up what they knew, or the guys that took them realized that they didn't know anything, and everything else happened afterward," Juli Dudek said as her eyes went back to the three photos on her desk.
There was still a lot they didn't know, but Meg began to see how the pieces they had began to fit together. "It fits what we know, at least enough to work with. What did these three have in common? What pieces of what puzzle could any of them have had that cost them their lives?"
"All good questions. Let's go find some answers."
"Do you know anyone in Jersey?" Trish asked.
"Why the fuck would I know anyone in Jersey?" Jessica Jones asked.
"Landon Thomas. We need to track down his car. Red Bank PD say it's not at his house. 2005 Land Rover Discovery 3. Jersey Plate C90-ELE.
Trish heard Jessica typing on her laptop. "Stiff number 2."
"John Doe 2022-07."
"Second guy they fished out. It's only an hour drive from Manhattan. Why not ask Kyle to put somebody on it?"
"Because its got nothing to do with Kyle Richmond, and I'd like to keep it that way. Can't you do it?"
"Do what? Comb every inch of Red Bank looking for a 2005 needle in a haystack?"
"Do some of that magic detective shit. Do a search of all the CCTV footage and figure out where and when it was seen last."
"Whatever fucking TV shows you're watching, you need to stop. They're rotting your brain. How the fuck would I do any of that? Besides, it's Jersey, they barely have electricity."
"Well, what can you do?"
"I can ask who is paying me, and how much. In case you forgot, my landlord expects to be paid in cashy money. As does my local bodega liquor store."
Trish took in a deep breath. "Let me see what I can work out with Laurel. Maybe I can get her to list you as a special something-or-other and get you onto her payroll. In the mean time..."
"In the meantime I'm keeping track of exactly how much time I spend on this case. Plus essentials."
"Essentials?"
"You think I'm going to wander around Jersey sober, do you?"
"So, do you use that arm for everything, or do you have, like, a closet full of arms, and you pick from your collection? This one for typing, that one for driving..."
"You do know this thing cost Danny about thirty five million dollars, don't you? How many do you think he'd spring for? It's not like he really knows me."
"He owed you. You only lost your arm because of him, and that fucked up mess that he called his life at the time," Jess answered before a thought occurred to her. "Thirty five million just for the arm, or does that include the hospital he bought just so they would do the surgery?"
"Just the arm."
"Wow. In that case, forget I asked."
Great Western Biotech was located just off State Highway 35, less than an hours drive from Red Bank. Owing to their totally unofficial status, The Red Bank Police Department had been unwilling to share even the smallest of details with Jessica Jones or Misty Knight. If it had not been for the fruit of their own efforts (the details of which they had declined to share with the RBPD, so Jess figured that made them even) and a bit of assistance from Google Maps, they would have no idea where to start and end their search, or what route they should take to do it. It had been Jessica's idea to trace Landon Thomas's steps, or rather his movements, as best as they could figure them, and the quickest way to start off was to retrace what both women thought was the most likely route anyone living in Red Bank would take to get to to GWB. The two level gray house with the white door that stood between two fake red shutters had a narrow driveway that just barely fit between Landon's house and the one just to his right. The driveway was empty, as was the small garage that stood at the far end. Neither women was any sort of lawn expert, but it looked to Jess as if Mr. Thomas's front yard had experienced months of neglect. That fact was reinforced by the sheer volume of mail that the local carrier had tried to stuff into the mailbox that stood just to the right of the three steps that led from lawn to front door. A message was fixed to the glass pane of the storm door that was old enough for the printed text telling Landon Thomas that his mail deliveries were suspended was barely readable, but the hand written date had not survived the onslaught of weather.
A quick scan of the exterior of the home showed a complete lack of anything. No scattering of toys, or old appliances, or motorcycle parts, nothing.
"So he disappears, his mail piles up, and no one calls it in? No missing persons complaint on him?" Misty asked as she continued to survey the back yard before looking through the glass panels in the garage door.
Jessica stepped up to the back door and looked into a kitchen that was tidy but sparsely furnished. "Looks like he lives alone. Maybe he didn't get on well with his neighbors, and when he doesn't come home they figure, good fucking riddance?"
"Maybe," Misty said just as a woman exited the front door of the house across the street and began to walk towards the curb, and what Misty assumed was the woman's car. The woman, who was probably in her seventies, was nicely dressed and was carrying two full reusable bags embossed with the words Take Them a Meal in green letters, with the l replaced by a stalk of asparagus. She returned Misty's wave with a slight head nod but seemed determined to avoid any sort of interaction with the two strangers, given the chance, which Misty did not provide.
"Ma'am, can you tell me when you last saw the man who lives in this house?" Misty said in her I'm a cop and I need to ask you a few questions voice.
"Is there a problem?" The woman asked as she opened the trunk of her car and placed the two bags, that appeared to contain prepared meals in commercial take out containers, inside before closing the trunk again
It was the most common question someone asked a cop in circumstances like this, and it was shorthand for, is there a problem, and does it involve me? Misty's face donned a false smile as she shook her head and softened her voice. "No problem. Do you know him? Have you seen him recently?"
The woman glanced across the street before turning back to look at Misty and Jessica, neither of whom looked very much like law enforcement officers. "Not since the summer. Maybe around Labor Day? Are you from the city? If you are, you're a little late."
"Late?" Jessica asked.
"We called a bunch of times about him not mowing his lawn. We were worried that rats would start to nest in the tall grass in his back yard. Denise's brother finally just mowed it himself even though Denise said he could get in trouble for doing it without getting permission first."
"Which house is Denise's?"
The woman hesitated a moment.
"No one is getting into trouble for mowing someone's lawn," Jessica added gently, "Denise's brother has nothing to worry about."
The woman pointed to the house next to door to Landon's. "That one."
"Does Landon have any family? Has anyone else come by and asked about him?"
"Is that his name? Landon?"
"Yes. Landon Thomas. He drives an old Land Rover. Do you remember seeing it in his driveway?"
"All the time. Then one morning I was trimming my hedges and I realized that I hadn't seen it in a while, and that he hadn't been collecting his mail."
"And you think that might have been around Labor Day."
"I spent Labor Day weekend with my sister in New Haven. I thought his truck was there when I left, and I'm pretty sure it was gone when I got back. I haven't seen it since."
"And you would have noticed if it had?"
"I deliver meals thee days a week. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. His driveway's been empty every morning since Labor Day.
"Ever deliver meals to him?"
"No, he gets around just fine. We deliver to people who can't get out on their own, and don't have anyone to help them."
"It's a wonderful thing you're doing. What a blessing it must have been for those people yesterday."
"We partnered with Feed America and the local churches who hold community Thanksgiving dinners to transport all of our regulars that are mobile enough to get out of the house, and anyone else who have nowhere else to go. For the others we made sure that they enjoyed a traditional turkey dinner at home."
"Did Landon Thomas ever help deliver meals?"
"No. He wasn't really interested in community things. He was never home on Halloween, he never put up any sort of holiday decorations for Christmas."
"I guess you two weren't close if you didn't know his name."
"Not really. Maybe he's traveling for work or something? He used to do that, I think. He'd be gone for a week. But he'd always come back."
"Any idea where he would travel to for work?"
"No idea. If it was even for work."
"Do you know what he did for work?"
"No. If you saw him you'd think he worked with his hands, but he talked to me about the Coronavirus once, and from the way he talked I was sure he was a doctor or a scientist or something."
Misty nodded her head across the street towards the white door with the red shutters. "Did anyone else live there? Did he get many visitors?"
"As far as I could tell, he lived alone. If anyone visited him I didn't notice."
"Thank you, you've been very helpful, Ms..."
"Lake. Irene Lake. Do you think something happened to him?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out. Thank you, Ms. Lake."
The two women walked east on Webster Street, away from the former home of Landon Thomas, and the current home of Irene Lake. From behind them the sound of a car starting signaled the departure of the woman who was off to deliver meals to those in need, and who had delivered to Jessica Jones and Misty Knight their first solid lead.
