Cut, Paste, Kill by Karp Marshall

Author:Karp, Marshall [Karp, Marshall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2010-06-02T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“This is not our killer’s best work,” Jessica said. “She really didn’t put her heart and soul into this one.”

I looked over at Jock Noonan, still in his death chair, pants bunched around his ankles, his final pathetic attempt at self-gratification now being captured from every angle by a crime scene photographer.

“He looks pretty dead to me,” I said. “I don’t know how much more heart and soul she could have given it.”

“I’m talking about the scrapbook,” Jess said. “It’s not nearly as inspired as the others.”

“Gosh,” Terry said. “You would think a tequila-swilling, chicken-choking, steroid-popping Hollywood asshole would be an inspiration to any artist.”

“Are you sure it’s the same killer?” I asked.

“I’m not ready to testify till I take the evidence back to the lab, but look at the body,” Jessica said. “Look at the position of the murder weapon. This killer is so precise, so consistent, so incredibly lethal.” She paused and gave us a happy smile. “I just think her scrapbooking is getting shoddy.”

“Maybe you ought to talk to her about that,” Terry said. “We really should try to find her.”

Simone Trotter came down the basement steps. “Well, that’s apretty sight,” she said. “What have you got?”

“Jock Noonan,” I said. “Hollywood stuntman. Recently retired from the biz.”

“He thought he was coming,” Terry said, “but it turns out he was going.”

“It looks like Gladys Wade called it,” I said. “Did you get the green light from Garet Church, so we can cut a deal with her?”

“Sorry,” Simone said. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Are you gonna let a little thing like a homicide stay you from the swift completion of your appointed rounds?” Terry said.

“One homicide, no,” Simone said. “Two, yeah. We’ve got another body.”

“Anyone Gladys knows?” Terry said.

“Our slumlord, Johnny Walmark,” Simone said. “I sent a team to warn him, but they got there a few hours too late.”

“A few hours wouldn’t have mattered,” Terry said. “The law says you always have to give a landlord a month’s notice.”

“We tracked down three of the other people Gladys gave us,”Simone said. “They’re all okay, and the Korean lady is visiting relatives in Seoul. We reached her by phone and told her to stay there.”

“So it looks like Gladys has brought a new sense of credibility to the term prison snitch,” I said. “LASD should have transferred her downtown by now. How long will it take us to get the paperwork so we can get her to tell us the rest of the story?”

“An hour,” Simone said.

It took four. The wheels of bureaucratic progress turn slowly, no matter what’s at stake. It was 8 p.m. by the time Simone, Terry, and I finally walked into an interview room in the Sheriff’s jail on Bauchet Street. Gladys and Karen were waiting for us.

“I love reunions, don’t you?” Terry said, as we sat down.

We handed Karen the letters of agreement, one signed by the DA, the other by Special Agent In Charge, Garet Church.

Karen put on her glasses and began reading. At one point she stopped.

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