Read Online Delivering Death: A Novel (Riley Spartz) by Julie Kramer - Free Book Online Page A

photo looked confident, despite his circumstances, though his eyes and smile seemed to hint at something furtive.
    To me, he was a stranger. “I don’t know anything about him.”
    “Hmmmm. We’ll see.” Chief Capacasa took control of the interview, maintaining eye contact with me as he asked the next question. “Was he a source of yours?”
    “If he was, I’m not sure I’d tell you.”
    My answer didn’t please my audience. “You don’t need to worry about protecting his anonymity.” Capacasa drummed his fingers impatiently against the desk. “He’s dead.”
    With that news, I saw no point in playing coy. I realized I was on the verge of landing a scoop. After all, I was the only reporter in the room, and no one had mentioned anything about our discussion being off the record. Even if they had, I don’t think I would have agreed to that kind of deal. I like to know more about what I’m trading silence for first.
    “I’ve never seen him before.” If the cops had the guy’s mug, they also had his name. I knew the system enough to make them squirm. “Why don’t you just tell me who he is? Maybe this will go faster.”
    “Leon Akume,” Delmonico said. “His name is Leon Paul Akume.”
    That info didn’t help. I tried to concentrate, closing my eyes as I repeated Leon Paul Akume to myself a few times. Ten seconds later, I opened my eyes and shrugged. “No. Never heard of him.”
    “Then why did you have his teeth?” the chief asked.
    “So that’s what this is about.”
    I hadn’t expected the teeth to be identified so quickly. Forensics usually take more time because of the crime lab backlog. The teeth must be high priority. I stared at the mug shot again and tried to imagine Leon Akume without his cocky smile.
    I glanced toward Delmonico, wishing he’d given me a head’s up. “Certainly you read my statement. The teeth came in a package in the mail.”
    “But why you?” Delmonico asked. “What’s your connection?”
    “I have no idea, Detective,” I said. “But for you to pull this identification together so fast, makes me think you already suspected whose mouth the teeth belonged in when I dropped them off. Why don’t you tell me what else you know about Mr. Akume?”
    Delmonico glanced over at Capacasa, who glared in the direction of the FBI guy. That move seemed odd to me. Even though we were sitting in the chief’s office, who was actually in charge of this investigation?
    “Agent Jax, what’s your interest in this case?” I asked.
    “That remains to be seen.” His arms were crossed and he spoke in a grave voice as if discussing something important—a national security issue, maybe.
    But I didn’t believe him. I had the feeling the three men had deliberated their plan earlier and saw no option other than toshare some information with me. If there was a chance I held a clue, they had to take it.
    “So how long’s our guy been dead?” I prompted them.
    “About a week,” the homicide cop said, explaining that the body had been found near a Dumpster in an alley in north Minneapolis.
    The details sounded familiar. “Exactly where did this happen?” I asked.
    “The Hawthorne neighborhood. A few blocks from Farview Park.”
    “I was there.”
    “We know.” All three men answered simultaneously, making me feel outnumbered—three to one.
    That part of the city was best known for vacant houses and drive-by shootings. I’d reported a routine live shot about the homicide a week or so ago and remembered standing just outside the yellow-and-black crime-scene tape with gawkers. Not much information had been available for viewers. No victim name, no suspects; the only witness was a homeless man who had discovered the corpse while foraging through garbage from alley to alley. I remembered him being disheveled, shaken, and too intoxicated for our on-camera interview. Who could blame him?
    The only official comment from the police attributed the cause of death to foul play.