Death to Blonds Ch. 07

"We're down here on the docks. There's been another one. You should be here."

"I'm on my way. Where, exactly?"

"Go to the end of Christopher Street, point your nose at the Larnaka Star where it's docked, and then you'll find us between some containers off to the right. You'll be able to pick us out because of the police cars and the bright lights."

"Right. What a surprise. Be there soon."

Clint just stood over the body of the beaten man when he got to the docks. He didn't say anything until Danny nudged him.

"Yeah, I recognize him. From the interview yesterday that you conducted in the tombs. I guess it doesn't matter much to Brunelli—having his possible alibi bop out on him. He's not in the best condition today either." Clint was thinking on just how long it had been since he'd seen Greg Garrison alive. And he was remembering that Garrison seemed really alive, keyed up at having gotten his revenge on both Brunelli and Pendleton—not to mention a good fucking from Clint. Something inside Clint made him glad that Garrison had gotten his own before someone beat him to death and left him out here on the docks between two shipping containers half clothed.

Were these the same containers the stevedore had started fucking Clint between the other day? Yes, he thought they were—or ones that had replaced those. Was there any connection? Yes, possibly. Clint, the detective, wasn't about to overlook any possibility.

Danny was talking to Burton Kahn. "We need to know how long he's been out here, Lieutenant. And put a rush on the workup too. Brunelli was real pissed that this guy reneged on his alibi."

"You can't kill Brunelli again, Danny," Clint said, turning his head away from the corpse of Greg Garrison. "And you can't pin this on him either. You had Garrison in hand yourself yesterday when Brunelli was marched off to his death."

"It could have been one of his guys, though," Danny said stubbornly. "Maybe the bodyguard, Wilde, before we caught him."

"Wilde was caught so far down I-95 that he must have left as soon as we took Brunelli into custody. And Wilde's been in custody since last evening. Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, he has. And he's singing like a bird. We got the guy who knifed Brunelli too. It was an inside job. The bodyguard admits to setting it up, and he's saying that Hodgkins was in on an attempt to deep six Brunelli and take over his operation."

That's taken care of then, Clint thought. That was a main reason for me to turn in the summary of what Greg said. We needed to get the bodyguard and Hodgkins pinned down for their part in this. What he said, however, was, "Then the bodyguard is out too. I was with Garrison earlier today. I can vouch that he was alive at least until a bit after 5:00 p.m. So can others at The Dugout bar. He was working."

"And you went to see him?" Danny asked. Clint turned to see his partner looking intently at him. He was getting tired of Danny's attitude in all of this.

"Yes. And don't hurry too fast on those lab results. Because when you get them, you'll find out that my DNA is in there too."

"Shit, Clint. You just can't keep your pants up, can you?"

"I don't see that that's any concern of yours, Danny." Clint shot back. "And I had my reasons, even though that don't seem to matter much anymore. But, keeping us on the important subject, my vote is that this was a another killing by the serial killer—that it had nothing to do with Brunelli. I say we get real justice for this man rather than just sweeping everything that comes along into Brunelli's grave. I say we get cracking on those interviews with the crew of the Larnaka Star." With that, he turned and walked away.

He walked and walked and walked. Unsure again whether his steps were taking him back to the squad room at the precinct, home, or to the gay bars to try to drown himself in mind-numbing sex.

When he reached the squad room, Clint went directly to his computer, which was still on, pulled up the file he had created earlier in the day, and pressed the delete button. Yet another judgment stolen, he thought. Without Greg being here to question, nothing that Clint had written could be taken as the truth.

"Note to self," he said aloud as he stood up from the desk in the deserted squad room, "never let yourself get this close to a case again."

"Another note to self," he muttered as he headed for the door. "Let's get wasted. Then let's get this serial killing pinned down."