“I thought we’d already reached our quota for the day,” he said, staring blandly at the hose pumping poison beyond the door.
“That should do it,” said Katz, who was typically impervious to the moods of those around him.
“All I got to do now is clear out the fumes with the fan. That will take a minute or two.” He opened the door and we backed away. The overpowering smell didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
“He probably gets high off the stuff,” Marino muttered as Katz walked into the room.
“Ferguson’s got what appears to be human skin in his freezer.” Wesley went straight to the point.
“You want to run that one by me again?” Marino said, startled.
“I don’t know what we’re dealing with here,” Wesley added as the window fan inside the room began to whir.
“But we got one detective dead with incriminating evidence found with his frozen hamburgers and pizza. We got another detective with a heart attack. We’ve got a murdered eleven-year- old girl.”
“Goddam,” Marino said, his face turning red.
“I hope you brought enough clothes to stay for a while,” Wesley added to both of us.
“Goddam,” Marino said again.
“That son of a bitch.” He looked straight at me and I knew exactly what he was thinking. A part of me hoped he was wrong. But if Gault wasn’t playing his usual malignant games, I wasn’t certain the alternative was better.
“Does this house have a basement?” I asked.
“Yes,” Wesley answered.
“What about a big refrigerator?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen one. But I haven’t been in the basement.” Inside the bedroom, Katz turned off the window fan. He motioned to us that it was all right to come in.
“Man, try getting this shit off,” Marino said as he looked around. Super Glue dries white and is as stubborn as cement. Every surface in the room was lightly frosted with it, including Ferguson’s body. With flashlight angled, Katz side lighted smudges on walls, furniture, windowsills, and the guns over the desk. But it was just one he found that brought him to his knees.
“It’s the nylon,” our friendly mad scientist said with pure delight as he knelt by the body and leaned close to Ferguson’s pulled-down panties.
“You know, it’s a good surface for prints because of the tight weave. He’s got some kind of perfume on.” He slipped the plastic sheath off his Magna brush, and the bristles fell open like a sea anemone. Unscrewing the lid from a jar of Delta Orange magnetic powder, Katz dusted a very good latent print that someone had left on the dead detective’s shiny black nylon panties. Partial prints had materialized around Ferguson’s neck, and Katz used contrasting black powder on them. But there wasn’t enough ridge detail to matter. The strange frost everywhere I looked made the room seem cold.
“Of course, this print on his panties is probably his own,” Katz mused as he continued to work.
“From when he pulled them down. He might have had something on his hands. The condom’s probably lubricated, for example, and if some of that transferred to his fingers, he could have left a good print. You’re going to want to take these?” He referred to the panties.
“I’m afraid so,” I said. He nodded.
“That’s all right. Pictures will do.” He got out his camera.
“But I’d like the panties when you’re finished with them. As long as you don’t use scissors, the print will hold up fine. That’s the good thing about Super Glue. Can’t get it off with dynamite.”
“How much more do you need to do here tonight?” Wesley said to me, and I could tell he was anxious to leave.
“I want to look for anything that might not survive the body’s transport, and take care of what you found in the freezer,” I said.
“Plus we need to check the basement.” He nodded and said to Marino, “While we take care of these things, how about your being in charge of securing this place?” Marino didn’t seem thrilled with the assignment.
“Tell them we’ll need security around the clock,” Wesley added firmly.