Tugger, Sticker and Howe
I thought it was amusing that her toe nail polish was blue. It matched the mottled color of her skin. She’d drowned in the tub, gone stiff and turned blue but hadn’t yet acquired that bloated look of a corpse that’s been in water for a while. The only parts of her sticking out of the still clear, lukewarm water were her tits and toes. Both were nice. Her floating blond hair covered her still face like a halo slipped askew. I gave my partner a grin. “What a shame. Great rack.”
She knew I was yanking her chain but she sneered and gave me a line anyway. “Sticker, you’re such a pig.” She knew I liked to tweak her sensibilities but she always rose to the bait. She wasn’t known for her self-restraint and I wasn’t known for my soothing demeanor. I’d tell you that all of the cops in the precinct called me annoying but that wouldn’t be true. They all called me Sticker. Annoying came with the name.
It was a small bathroom and with me and Tugger already crowding the bath tub the guy from the coroner’s office could only stick his head in and look over our shoulders. “Sticker? How’d you get that nickname?” I turned and shot him a sour look but before I could respond my partner laughed and joyfully reeled out the tale.
“He was nailing a paralegal in the Captain’s office and she was loud. Really loud. So loud that everybody on the floor could hear her moaning and yelling. She kept saying ‘stick it to me’ over and over. We all just figured she was anxious and he couldn’t find the hole. Ha! The precinct got a laugh but I don’t think Cap appreciated it. Either way, the nickname stuck.” She grinned and I groaned. I was never going to live that one down. It didn’t help that Stephanie, the paralegal, was married and built like an old world war two liberty ship. We cops never forget an embarrassing story. Well, as long as it’s about somebody else. I feigned embarrassment and turned back towards the tub and just when my partner thought she had the best of me I wiped the laugh off her face with a question.
“Did you ever hear how Detective Jarras here got the nickname Tugger?” I was gratified by her look of scorn as her eyebrows went flat. I didn’t wait for his answer. “It’s because she’s always pulling on her nipples. It’s like an obsession with her. Seriously, the ends of those things have to have callouses on them by now. I guess if you’ve got nobody to scratch your itch you’ve got to do it yourself.” I ducked away from the slap. I’d known it was coming and she hadn’t really intended to connect.
“Liar. I don’t do that. Anyway, I stopped buying my bras too small so I’m not pulling at them anymore.” We both knew that as soon as she turned around the coroner’s flunky would be staring at her chest now. He wouldn’t be able to help himself after my only partially embellished story. I don’t think she minded. As long as you weren’t a cop or a perp, both are equally bad in her book, she loved to flirt. Men from either of the banned categories got slapped down quickly.
The CSI boys had already tagged, bagged and hit the road with the majority of the evidence from the scene so we could let the man from DoC, Department of the Coroner, in to bag and tag the last bit. We squeezed into the hallway, yes, he looked, and past the meat cart which was covered by the soon to be occupied body bag. Why did the bag have to be such a cheerful yellow? Did they get a discount on that instead of the black? Back in the living room I took out my tablet, opened the cover and logged in. Time to dig in the dirt.
“Do you mind if we sit down?” The man on couch raised his head and looked at Tugger as if he were unable to understand her question. His eyes were bloodshot but he hadn’t been crying while we’d been there. Since he was the one to make the 911 call it’s possible he did his crying before we’d hit the scene. We both sat on the couch and looked at him across the stylish glass coffee table. We’d only been being polite by asking. We were going to sit whether he liked it or not but when there’s a dead body around it’s usually a good idea to at least pretend to be polite. At least with the civies. Cops don’t care about bodies. Stiffs get to be like furniture after your first half dozen or so. I pretended to scroll through my notes and let Tugger start off. I’d let her set the game plan and join the fun once I knew how she wanted to proceed.
“So, Mr. Johnson, how long have you been dating a hooker?” His name wasn’t Johnson but rather John Howe. It never hurts to let the interviewee think you’re disorganized or just plain stupid. Either way, his expression went from sad and slightly pleading to confused and angry fairly quickly. Tug’s question let me know the tack she was taking with the interview while his expression and response told me how this was going to go. We could have stopped now but you have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Besides, why spoil the fun?
“WHAT? Kelly wasn’t a hooker! She was a travel agent! That’s not funny.” I didn’t get the sense he was faking his outrage but I’ve meet some amazing liars in my time on the force. That’s not even counting the sociopaths, some of which you’ll find on both sides of the bars. Cops and criminals. It’s a fine line.
His face was turning red but he hadn’t stood up or made a move towards us which means he was open for a bit more pushing. I decided to enter the fray and see if we could get a better feel for how much he knew.
“Come on, we found her appointment calendar which listed the dates, times and prices as well as the names and phone numbers. You don’t have to lie to us. With the money she was making it had to be pretty obvious she was selling her ass. Besides, it’s the twenty first century… the internet put travel agents out of business a decade ago.” Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. It’s the god damned twenty first century so nobody has an appointment book anymore and you’re right. But she’d kept all that on her phone, which was locked with a pass phrase because Kelly may be dead but she wasn’t stupid. Ok, she was a little stupid. Her phone synced up with her iPad which wasn’t locked so we’d gotten all the information we’d needed off that along with some pictures and video that were going to make the boys down at the station quite happy. I had screen shots on my tablet since both phone and iPad were currently in brown paper bags in the back of a white CSI evidence van. Tugger wasn’t wrong when she called me a pig.
“What? No! You must have misread that. She met clients to plan their trips and check out new local venues like wineries and shows and things!" His out-of-his-league, hottie girlfriend was dead and instead of letting him grieve we were casting aspersion on her good name. He was having an epically bad night and he was pretty sure we were kicking him while he was down and while he wasn’t happy about that but he didn’t think there was a way he could stop us from going on with it. He was right on both counts.
“Mr. Johnson, we found multiple entries, one of which was for a regular customer who wanted to tie her up and fuck her in the ass for which he paid her eight hundred bucks. The only trip that was being planned was a monthly jaunt down the Hershey highway.” My quip had raised his blood pressure to the next emotional level as I’d intended. He was quickly on his feet and coming around the table at me when my partner stepped between us and held up her hands.
“Christ, Sticker, take it easy with the details. The man just lost his girlfriend.” He seemed to calm down and started to sink back down onto the couch with his head in his hands again. Time for the kill shot. I hit him while his back was turned. Metaphorically speaking that is.
“You mean he just lost his meal ticket? Admit it, Johnson, you’re her pimp, right? Did you kill her because she was holding out on you? Had to teach that bitch who’s the boss? Or maybe she wanted to go solo and cut you out altogether.” Once again Tugger was between us holding up her hands trying to sooth the kid while also keeping him from doing something stupid which would get him arrested and me in trouble with the Captain. Maybe I should say keeping me from even more trouble with the Captain. My mouth is always writing checks.
“Fuck you, you piece of shit! I’m a sales associate for a major pharmaceutical company and I make a good damn living on my own! My uncle’s a lawyer and I’m going to sue your ass.” He was angry enough that I could see the truth. Not about his income but about the girl. Seems like his now ex had fed him a line and he’d opened up so wide that he’d swallowed the hook. I’d wondered how a man could knowingly date a woman whose vagina came with a coin operated turnstile but he hadn’t had a clue after all. Dumb bastard.
“Okay, okay, take it easy. I guess I was wrong. I’m sorry.” His face went through a series of expressions from anger to hope before settling on confusion.
“You mean she wasn’t really a hooker?” Tug rolled her eyes while I gave a derisive snort.
“Oh, no. She was really a hooker who sold her ass, literally as it turns out, to pencil dicked, old fuckers who can’t get a woman without a wad of cash. I was just wrong about you knowing about it.” Anger to confusion and back to anger. I thought he was going to bust a vein. His face was crimson and his nose was flaring as he took deep breaths. Two out of the three people in the living room were carrying guns and it’s a damn good thing he was the one and not part of the two. Well, good for me at least. Good for him too since a cop killer, murder charge on the day his girlfriend mysteriously checked out means he’d have gone to jail and been hogtied and butt fucked for absolutely no money whatsoever. “The truth is that we’re pretty sure she overdosed in the tub. We found an oxycontin bottle open on the sink, some coke on her hand mirror along with a wine glass and a mostly empty bottle in the kitchen. It looks like she got so fucked up she passed out and slipped under the water. Lab and toxicology results will be back in a couple weeks to confirm. Hookers and blow. Two great tastes that taste great together.”
“Look, am I free to go? This has been the worst night of my life and all this isn’t helping.” His eyes were back to pleading again. He just wanted to get away from me and forget that I even existed. It’s okay, I’m used to that. It’s the usual reaction folks have to me. I’m a people person. Honest.
Tugger took pity on the man. She pulled one of her cards from her left breast pocket and handed it to the man. “We have all your information. We’ll get back to you with the toxicology reports when they come in. Please let us know if you plan to do any travelling before the results came back. Thank you, sir.”
I had to get in one last shot. “Have a good evening, Mr. Johnson.”
“Damnit! My name is Howe, not Johnson.” He said between clenched teeth. “Johnson Howe.” Before I could respond he pivoted, grabbed his coat off the chair and headed out the front door.
“Christ Stick, took that a bit too far this time, didn’t you? Some day one of these jackasses is going to take a swing at you and I won’t be able to smooth things over. You know the Cap is just looking for a reason to shit can you after you jizzed on his desk.” She closed up her tablet and tucked it back into her jacket.
“Oh come on! I can handle that guy. And the Cap had a blotter. That’s what a blotter’s for, to prevent your desk from getting stained, right?” As we followed in the recent footsteps of the non-pimp boyfriend we could just hear the splashing noises of the coroner’s crew fishing the body out of the tub.
“You’re such a dick. I don’t know why I haven’t requested a new partner. Yet.” She graced me with a fond smile after she said it so I’d know she wasn’t really going to break up the team.
“Another case solved by Tugger and Sticker! And I even managed to have some fun and see some tits while we did it.”
“Dead tits. Do you really count that? You need a life.” The smile was gone and Tugger was sneering at me again. There was only one suitable reply.
“I love my job.”
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