Tell Me Your Dreams

Fifteen minutes later, Deputy Blake was walking into Dennis Tibbie’s apartment. A patrolman in the living room was talking to the building superintendent.

“Where’s the body?” Blake asked.

The patrolman nodded toward the bedroom. “In there, sir.” He looked pale.

Blake walked to the bedroom and stopped, in shock. A man’s naked body was sprawled across the bed, and Blake’s first impression was that the room was soaked in blood. As he stepped closer to the bed, he saw where the blood had come from. The ragged edge of a broken bottle had punctured the victim’s back, over and over again, and there were shards of glass in his body. The victim’s testicles had been slashed off.

Looking at it, Blake felt a pain in his groin. “How the hell could a human being do a thing like this?” he said aloud. There was no sign of the weapon, but they would make a thorough search.

Deputy Blake went back into the living room to talk to the building superintendent. “Did you know the deceased?”

“Yes, sir. This is his apartment.”

“What’s his name?”

“Tibbie. Dennis Tibbie.”

Deputy Blake made a note. “How long had he lived here?”

“Almost three years.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Not too much, sir. Tibbie kept pretty much to himself, always paid his rent on time. Once in a while he’d have a woman in here. I think they were mostly pros.”

“Do you know where he worked?”

“Oh, yes. Global Computer Graphics Corporation. He was one of them computer nerds.”

Deputy Blake made another note. “Who found the body?”

“One of the maids. Maria. Yesterday was a holiday, so she didn’t come in until this morning—”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get her.”

Maria was a dark-looking Brazilian woman in her forties, nervous and frightened.

“You discovered the body, Maria?”

“I didn’t do it. I swear to you.” She was on the verge of hysteria. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“No. You don’t need a lawyer. Just tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened. I mean—I walked in here this morning to clean, the way I always do. I—I thought he was gone. He’s always out of here by seven in the morning. I tidied up the living room and—”

Damn! “Maria, do you remember what the room looked like before you tidied up?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you move anything? Take anything out of here?”

“Well, yes. There was a broken wine bottle on the floor. It was all sticky. I—”

“What did you do with it?” he asked excitedly.

“I put it in the garbage compactor and ground it up.”

“What else did you do?”

“Well, I cleaned out the ashtray and—”

“Were there any cigarette butts in it?”

She stopped to remember. “One. I put it in the trash basket in the kitchen.”

“Let’s take a look at it.” He followed her to the kitchen, and she pointed to a wastebasket. Inside was a cigarette butt with lipstick on it. Carefully, Deputy Blake scooped it up in a coin envelope.

He led her back to the living room. “Maria, do you know if anything is missing from the apartment? Does it look as if any valuables are gone?”

She looked around. “I don’t think so. Mr. Tibbie, he liked to collect those little statues. He spent a lot of money on them. It looks like they’re all here.”

So the motive was not robbery. Drugs? Revenge? A love affair gone wrong?

“What did you do after you tidied up here, Maria?”

“I vacuumed in here, the way I always do. And then—” Her voice faltered. “I walked into the bedroom and … I saw him.” She looked at Deputy Blake. “I swear I didn’t do it.”

The coroner and his assistants arrived in a coroner’s wagon, with a body bag.

Three hours later, Deputy Sam Blake was back in the sheriff’s office.

“What have you got, Sam?”

“Not much.” Deputy Blake sat down across from Sheriff Dowling. “Dennis Tibbie worked over at Global. He was apparently some kind of genius.”

“But not genius enough to keep himself from getting killed.”

“He wasn’t just killed, Matt. He was slaughtered. You should have seen what someone did to his body. It has to be some kind of maniac.”

“Nothing to go on?”

“We aren’t sure what the murder weapon is, we’re waiting for results from the lab, but it may be a broken wine bottle. The maid threw it in the compactor. It looks like there’s a fingerprint on one of the pieces of glass in his back. I talked to the neighbors. No help there. No one saw anyone coming in or out of his apartment. No unusual noises. Apparently, Tibbie stuck pretty much to himself. He wasn’t the neighborly type. One thing. Tibbie had sex before he died. We have vaginal traces, pubic hairs, other trace evidence and a cigarette stub with lipstick. We’ll test for DNA.”

“The newspapers are going to have a good time with this one, Sam. I can see the headlines now—MANIAC STRIKES SILICON VALLEY.” Sheriff Dowling sighed. “Let’s knock this off as fast as we can.”

“I’m on my way over to Global Computer Graphics now.”