Jimmy Parisi Part Two Box Set by Thomas Laird

Author:Thomas Laird [Laird, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Jimmy Parisi, 1980

The black eyes are laid side by side on the bed next to Mick O’Brien’s body. His hands and feet are locked together with duct tape, and the tape on his mouth muffled his screams. This tough guy did howl, looking at the tensed up muscles in his neck and face.

The blood is copious, of course. The sheets are laden in gore. A couple of uniforms who are virgins to Homicide work had to be excused. That’s nothing extraordinary. No one gets used to this kind of scene. My gorge rose, but I kept it under control. You think of it as business, and you tell the human side of yourself that it’s just that—routine police work. Only it isn’t. It’s savagery, and we know going in that it’s Casey McCaslin’s craftsmanship. We’re guessing without the ME’s help that it was caused by a very sharp blade, like a straight razor, the same MO as the girls in the Lake. This time he just took his eyes. The throat and everything else is untouched. The shock probably killed O’Brien before the loss of blood did.

“Get every fucking fiber, every fucking molecule that you can lift from this apartment!” I hear myself yell out at the crime scene techs.

Then I look at Doc, and he’s got a gentle smile on his face. He knows McCaslin never leaves any remnants, any evidence.

“He has to make a mistake. He isn’t a fucking criminal genius,” I tell my partner.

“He’s under your skin, Jimmy. That’s a terrible place for him to be.”

I want to tell him bullshit, it’s not true, but I don’t lie to Doc Gibron. It’s pointless because he knows me better than my father or mother knew me. He has that gift: immediate intuition. There’s no escaping his appraisal. He looks at you with his big brown eyes and he sizes you up right away. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s got to be a form of some psychic ability, as damn foolish as it sounds in my head.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” I say loudly to the crime scene technicians. “My bad.”

They all give me a wave of understanding. They’re very aware how frustrated the two of us are with not being able to catch him. Some of them have worked the scenes with the girls, and all of them know as well as we do who we’re after for these killings. The whole goddam Homicide division knows who did these murders, and none of us likes this feeling of impotence.

Sometimes I think I’m wallowing in self-pity, and it’s a real possibility. But then a wave of anger washes over me, and I renew my rage toward McCaslin and what he’s gotten away with to date.

We look over the final stages of the crime scene evaluation, and then we head out to the place where we do all our heavy crime solving.

*

The White Castle on 95th and Cicero in Oak Lawn is the closest of the restaurants to Mick O’Brien’s apartment.

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