As the Crow Dies Read online

  They got out of the car, and Segal did just that: stood and looked around, so Dinah did too. The scene was complicated. They were at the intersection of Lyman Avenue and Riverside Drive, a broken landscape of old industrial and commercial buildings. The buildings were mostly brick, some painted with fading colors, some windows functional, some broken out, some boarded up. To the north, Riverside Drive continued past buildings and empty lots in much the same character or state of disrepair, depending on how you looked at it. Where the road bent out of sight, it passed under the high Patton Avenue Bridge, which spanned the whole valley that encompassed the River Arts District and the French Broad River itself. Toward the east, she could see the top floors of the Wedge Building, home to numerous art studios and the Wedge Brewery on the ground floor. Toward the west, Lyman Avenue made a sharp turn to avoid the river fifty yards farther on. That’s where most of the activity was. In between was a scruffy stand of poplar and sycamore trees and some brush.

  Dinah didn’t like the complexity of the scene—too many places for people to come and go, too easy to appear out of nowhere and then fade into nowhere, too difficult for her to work out a clear mental map. Hopefully, none of this would matter. It sounded like some poor guy had drowned upstream and ended up down here after following the vicissitudes of the current.

  They crossed the street to where a uniformed policeman was waiting for them, clearly anxious to turn this mess over to someone else. He motioned with a nod over his shoulder. They walked that way, through the trees to the river. High in a poplar tree, a squirrel chattered in a loud, long rant, possibly bitching about the scarcity of nuts.

  They came to the top of the steep bank bordering the river and looked down. Her years on the police force notwithstanding, Dinah was unprepared for the sight. At the bottom of the bank near the edge of the river, the body of a man floated spread-eagled, turning slowly in the shallow vortex of water. She glanced at Segal. He stood looking as if in a trance. A uniformed policeman waved to them as they stood watching the body turn and turn.

  “Thirty-three and a third RPM,” Segal said.

  Dinah watched as the uniformed cop’s eyes got big.

  “The speed,” he said. “The old record players. It’s like watching a record play.” He took out a small moleskin notebook.

  With a sidelong glance, she caught him writing down the number 33⅓. Dinah knew he often wrote down the first words that came to mind when he arrived at a crime scene. It was more a device for capturing the sense of the moment than recording data.

  “Should we pull him out?” the cop asked. Segal nodded.

  The cop grabbed the floater by the back of the collar the next time he came around, and Dinah scrambled down the bank to help pull him out. Segal helped, too, when they had the body near level ground.

  They all stepped back and looked at the body lying on its back in the grass. Dinah saw that Segal was looking at the guy’s shoes for some reason.

  “Tan suede desert boots,” he said. “They used to call them chukka boots when I was a kid. You still see them around, but they aren’t really what you’d call in fashion. I kind of like them. They’re more formal than running shoes but still casual and comfortable.”

  He came around to where Dinah thought he could see the soles more clearly, and other signs or clues that most people missed.

  “Slight wear on these,” he said, “not new but not ancient either. They would have lasted him a long time.” He sighed as if to indicate this was the most egregious part of the scene.

  The man’s left arm was extended above the head, his right arm flexed to the side, his fingers opened as if in his last moment he wanted to dig up a handful of earth. Dinah didn’t linger on the face but stood for some time in silence.

  The guy wore blue jeans and a khaki shirt and a ball cap, which was lying next to the body where the uniformed cop had dropped it after bringing it up the bank.

  “His hat didn’t float away when he drowned?” Dinah asked.

  “He was found by a couple of kayakers a little while ago,” the uniformed cop said. “They found the hat right beside him, so they fished that out, but they didn’t want to touch the body.”

  Dinah peered downstream and saw a couple of guys still in their flotation vests talking to another officer, who was writing down their statement, all trying not to look in the direction of the body but shooting glances from time to time anyway. She could understand their impulse.

  Dinah touched Segal on the arm and whispered, “Crawford’s here.”

  Crawford, the medical examiner, nodded as he brushed by, already with gloves and paper suit in place, all business, saying nothing. Segal and Dinah stood aside, giving him room to do his job.

  Crawford circled the body slowly. Dinah was not sure if he was humming softly or talking to himself under his breath.

  “He was found right here, but I guess he could have drowned anywhere upstream,” one of the uniforms said.

  Crawford shook his head. “You seen many drowning victims?” He appeared to size up the guy in uniform first, then turned toward Segal and Dinah.

  Dinah blew out a breath and no one answered.

  “They don’t look like this,” Crawford said. He knelt and with care turned the body over. A large entry wound was revealed centered between the shoulder blades. He looked at Segal. “Welcome back to active duty, Lieutenant Segal. Looks like you have a murder.”

  Dinah couldn’t tell if Segal was frozen in thought or just frozen. After a moment, he let her turn him away from the dead man. She had seen more of this kind of destruction than he had, owing to her military experience. She thought of sniper victims in Afghanistan. She knew there was little more the medical examiner would do here.

  They approached the uniformed policeman at the tape. “Anyone here that might have seen anything?” she asked in a low tone, possibly out of some combination of respect and superstition. The man nodded toward the porch of the barbecue place, where a thin man in an apron stood with his hands on his hips.

  “How about we go talk to that guy,” she said to Segal. She could see he was still either deep in thought or in shock at the sight of the dead man and the realization it was murder. She hoped the uniformed guy didn’t notice. She knew there were still doubts about Segal in the department, and this was the kind of thing that could get people talking.

  Segal touched the book in his coat pocket, then seemed to snap out of it. “Yeah, good idea. We’ll talk to the guy.” He headed out.

  Dinah followed and caught up fast. “Look, Segal, this is looking kind of involved all of a sudden. We got those other cases we’re working. Philips and Meyers are on morning shift today. If you want, I could call and see if we could toss this one to them.”

  He stopped and looked at her and smiled. Her attempt to throw him a rope might have been too obvious. One of her jobs was to protect him, but she realized she might be over-protective. After all, injury or no injury this was Segal. She studied his face for some sign of embarrassment or resentment, but true to his nature she saw none. He knows what I’m doing better than I do, she thought.

  Another quick scan of the area and Dinah was satisfied they’d done what they could. In the top of one of the scrubby poplar trees, a crow perched, as if keeping an eye on the proceedings.

  “There are a bunch of other crows over by the river,” Dinah said.

  “Yeah,” Segal said. “And they set this one as a watchman.”

  Through the trees, Dinah saw the guys with the stretcher making their way toward the river. She heard the buzz and click of radios. Segal was apparently deep in thought, running his thumb over the pages of the book in his coat pocket in that self-soothing motion she’d noticed so many times before.

  “We might as well talk to the guy at 12 Bones since we’re here. Then we’ll see if we stick with it or not.”

  The crow raised its beak and let out two caws.

  They turned toward the bird. “That bird needs to shut the hell up,” Dinah said
.

  CHAPTER 2

  Morning Shift

  Segal sat at a table on the porch at 12 Bones talking to the first man on the morning shift. By this time, another employee had arrived, a woman of middle age whom Segal remembered seeing behind the counter in the happier days when he was just a customer. She attended to some of the opening chores, although Segal could see she was upset by what had happened so close by. Dinah was at the next table, carefully removing the contents of the victim’s wallet, laying things out on a paper towel per protocol, to blot away the moisture.

  The man told Segal what happened earlier that morning. He had parked a little distance away, closer to the river, and had walked up Lyman Avenue as he did every morning. He became aware of loud sounds off to his left.

  “Only reason I took a second glance toward the river was the way the birds were acting,” the man said. “Crows. Calling to each other like they were upset or excited or something. I was afraid they got into the garbage again, which they do if the night crew don’t close up the cans. That’s when I saw the kayakers and they called to me, and that’s when I called the police.”

  “You didn’t try first aid?” Segal asked.

  “I didn’t see any point in that. They said the man was dead.”

  “Did you recognize the guy?”

  “I think so, maybe,” he said. “It was hard to make out, the way he was turning and turning, but from what I saw and from the way he was dressed, I think he’s one of the guys used to come in here pretty often, like once or twice a week—but I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  Segal waited, then asked, “You know his name?”

  “Chickey,” the man said. “I think that’s who he is.”

  “Chickey?” Dinah asked. “Not Chuckey?”

  “No, they called him Chickey. I remember ’cause it was a weird name and I thought most guys wouldn’t like it much if people called them that, but this guy didn’t seem to mind. There was something about how they said it made it okay. It wasn’t like they were using it to put him down or anything.”

  “You say he used to come in with a group of other people?” Segal asked.

  “Yeah, a few, mostly the same people, it seemed like. I think maybe they worked together.”

  “Creatures 2.0,” Dinah said. She held a damp business card between two fingers. “Charles Atley. Job title was Manager, Behavior Augmentation, whatever that is.” She flipped the card back and forth and handed it to Segal.

  He studied it and flipped it over again. A phone number was written on it in black ink. He showed it to Dinah. He himself did that from time to time. It was not a great way to record things, as he was likely to forget and hand the card to someone else. He watched Dinah write the number in her notebook.

  Segal brought his mind to the task at hand. He could see that the man had no other information. “These guys will be out of your hair as soon as possible,” Segal said to him, indicating the crime-scene crew outside. “Sorry, your day got off to a bad start.”

  “Not as bad as Chickey lying out there,” the man said. He remained at the table with his arms crossed and his head down, as if the finality of death sat there beside him.

  Segal scanned the inventory Dinah had made of the wallet but found nothing out of the ordinary.

  “No family pictures,” Dinah said.

  “That’s good, I guess,” Segal said.

  “What do you think? Should we call in and talk to the captain, or do you want me to check out Creatures 2.0 first?”

  Segal pursed his lips when she mentioned their boss. It was a not-too-subtle reminder that the captain didn’t want him too extended too soon. But it didn’t feel right for him to bow out.

  “I’ll come with you to Creatures 2.0, whatever that is,” he said. “I have a feeling there’s not much for us here. We’ll stick with the case awhile longer till we know what we’ve got.”

  Activity, shouts, and radio garble surrounded the site of the body. Two technicians were searching the area for evidence, but the way they were working—tracking the grass, then moving on—told Segal they weren’t coming up with much. At the same time, Crawford and his assistant were wrapping up.

  The medical examiner started talking as they approached. “Not much doubt about cause of death here. Bullet wound apparently caused almost instantaneous death. You can tell by the relatively small amount of blood. Heart stopped beating right away.”

  “No way to tell where he was standing when the bullet struck?” Segal asked. He reflected on what one of the cops had said, that maybe the guy went into the river upstream and floated down.

  “I think it happened right here,” the examiner said. “Look at this.” He led them closer to the river, to the place where the body had been pulled out. A Styrofoam cup floated, moving in little circles. “See, there’s a little pool formed by the rocks and this recess in the bank. One of the guys put that cup in, and it just circles and goes nowhere.”

  Segal could see this was the case.

  “Yes, and if you look at those rocks on the other side of the eddy, they’re close to the surface. I don’t see how the body could be out in the river, then float into this pool,” Dinah said.

  Segal picked up a stick and threw it into the current a little upstream from the cove. They watched as it moved toward the center of the river, further confirming the point.

  Segal glanced at the thicket of trees and bushes, where an assailant with a handgun might have been standing. “I assume you guys are checking in that direction,” he said to the technicians. They nodded, but given the thickness of the vegetation, Segal thought they didn’t stand much chance of finding anything.

  He studied the face of the victim. Considering the violence that made up his last moment of life, Chickey’s face held a surprisingly calm expression. Never knew what hit him, Segal thought.

  “Let’s get out of here and let these guys do their work,” he said to Dinah.

  She brushed her hair aside and shielded her eyes and looked toward the Wedge Building some distance away.

  “You see something?” Segal asked.

  “Probably nothing,” she said. “I’ll check it out later.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Creatures 2.0

  Dinah drove and Segal held the business card.

  “Nine-one-three Oakmont Drive.” Segal punched the address into his phone. “That’s what I thought. The place is near the Grove Park Inn—in that neighborhood, anyway.”

  “Whatever they do, they must be making some bucks,” Dinah said.

  They drove through the heart of downtown Asheville, from the old industrial river district southwest of town through the commercial and historical district and into the oldest and by far most prestigious residential part of town, on the northeast side. The streets there wove up the lower side of one of the mountains ringing the town. The oak trees were large and spreading and the twisted rhododendrons must have been ancient. The houses and buildings ranged from ample to majestic. They were of brick and stone for the most part with ceramic tile roofs and copper gutters. Everything spoke of power and permanence and wealth. Late eighteen hundreds, early nineteen hundreds.

  On the edge of this neighborhood, Segal saw a building of more recent construction. Even though it was made of more modern materials it fit perfectly with its surroundings, owing to its color and sense of proportions. A plaque above the address confirmed that they were at Creatures 2.0. Segal surveyed the hills around them as they approached the front door. He surmised they must be on the lower edge of the grounds owned by the Grove Park Inn itself.

  Inside the front door, they found a young woman working at a desk. As Dinah took out her badge and approached, Segal sought some clue as to what Creatures 2.0 was all about.

  “Who would you like to see?” asked the woman, who introduced herself as Gloria Harden. She wore a short, checkered blue skirt and multiple silver necklaces. Her hair was shiny, long and dark. Mid-twenties. She appeared flushed in her cheeks and throat, not a
n unusual reaction to the badge.

  “Do you know Charles Atley?” Segal asked. He approached the desk.

  Gloria’s face lit up. “Sure, he works here.”

  Segal waited to see if she would offer anything else.

  “But he’s not here right now,” Gloria said.

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Dinah asked.

  “Last night, after work. Some of us went out to eat.”

  “At 12 Bones?” Dinah asked.

  Gloria’s eyes went wide. “Yeah.”

  “And how late did you stay?”

  “Not late. I mean, I wasn’t late. I was one of the first to leave.”

  “And what time was that?” Dinah asked.

  “About eight or eight-thirty.”

  “And Mr. Atley was still there?” Dinah leaned in.

  “Yeah.” She rocked her head back and forth between Segal and Dinah, paling in color. Her voice became lower. “He hasn’t come in yet today. Lewis just asked me to call and see where he is. Is that what you’re here about?”

  “I think you’d better let us talk to whoever is in charge,” Segal said.

  Gloria hesitated.

  “Would that be Francis Elah?” Dinah asked, lifting her eyes from a company brochure she had picked up.

  Gloria nodded but still seemed confused. “Francis is away.”

  “Away where, exactly?” Dinah asked. “How can we get in touch with him?”

  Gloria’s mouth clenched and she didn’t answer at first. “I’m not sure how I can explain that.”

  “Well, who is in charge in his absence?” Segal asked. He was beginning to get interested in the way this receptionist was reacting to some very basic questions.

  “That would be Chickey—that is, Charles Atley,” she said. “But like I told you, he hasn’t come in yet.”

  Segal had a rhythm with Dinah. He waited a beat before asking the next obvious question. And sure enough, the Gloria figured it out for herself. “Lewis Abraham,” she said, the light bulb going on in her head. “Let me go and get Lewis for you.”