by Brian Shea
Moving carefully, Kelly positioned himself up near the girl’s head. He squatted low and reached out with his gloved hand. He worked his fingers along her neck and pressed his index and middle fingers along the girl’s carotid artery, following with a silent ten count.
“Thinking Tweedledee and Tweedledum might’ve missed that?” Charles snarked.
“Did you work the Anita Tandy scene a few years back?”
“No, but I heard it was a bloodbath.”
“Something like that, yeah. I was on patrol at the time. My partner, Danny, and I caught the call, but another unit beat us in. When we arrived, the other guys told us the mother and child were dead. I decided to double-check, knowing the report would be in my name.”
Charles lowered his camera, intently waiting for the punchline. Kelly was happy to see the interest in the veteran tech’s eyes. Telling war stories to somebody with Raymond Charles’s level of experience was a slippery slope.
“Two things I learned that day—don’t trust, verify. And always check for a pulse.”
“Those are two very good lessons.”
“The two hotshots who jumped our call hadn’t cleared the entire apartment. Had they done an effective protective sweep, they would’ve located the doer hiding in the bedroom closet. He was still holding the damn knife when Danny and I snatched him up.”
“I would’ve been pretty pissed if I were photographing a scene and the perp popped out on me.”
“That wasn’t even the worst part. While Danny and I were walking the guy out through the living room, a hand grabbed my ankle. I’m not going to lie, I screamed like a little girl. Here was this woman, sprawled in a pool of blood, believed dead, clutching onto my leg for dear life.”
Charles chuckled. Kelly stood up from the girl’s body and exchanged the outer layers of his latex gloves. “So, life lesson for me. Now I always double-check the pulse.”
A rumble of tires across the dirt driveway of Sheffield Electric’s parking lot caught Kelly’s attention. He saw the oversized white van with the Medical Examiner seal on the side panel. “Hey Russo, let ’em know I’ll be over to meet with them in a bit,” Kelly hollered.
The stocky officer gave a thumbs up and walked over to greet the arriving van.
“What do you make of this grave?” Charles asked.
Another test. “Looking at the shallow depth, I’m going to take a guess and say it wasn’t a planned event. I mean, why would you leave a body partially exposed?”
“Good point. I like your thought process on that.”
“Thanks.” Kelly downplayed it but was secretly pleased at receiving the compliment. “I’m guessing either the perp got spooked or was in a state of panic.”
Kelly scanned the rectangular area of fenced-in property.
“What’re you looking for?”
“I don’t think this hole was dug by hand.” He saw a slight break in the fence line leading out toward a sparse bit of land abutting the T’s tracks. A couple buildings filled in the skyline beyond.
Without saying a word, Kelly slowly walked toward the small gap in the chain link fence. Reaching his destination, he bent down to survey the triangulated entryway. The fence had a gash approximately three feet high. The metal fence had been clipped and peeled open. He scanned the jagged pieces where the fence had been cut. Looking at the rust and grime on the cut ends, he didn’t assume it was made by the suspect. Then he caught the shimmer of a few sequins attached to a small bit of fabric. The material was at the base of the fence near the ground.
“Ray, I think we found which direction the girl came from. I’m also guessing she didn’t get here under her own strength. There’s a bit of her clothing at the bottom part of the fence. I’m thinking she was dragged here.”
“Maybe. Or maybe she crawled through.”
“Look at this.” Kelly pointed to the dirt around the fence. There was a smooth line approximately a foot and a half wide. More telling were the divots staggered on either side of the line. “If this girl crawled, the pattern would be more snaked. She would have shifted her hips to move. The line is relatively straight. Those marks on the outside of the line are indicative of the person pulling and digging their heels in.”
Without waiting for instruction, the crime scene tech began taking photographs. He took pictures from various angles and distances within the areas of interest. Kelly measured the heel print. Although it was not a complete shoeprint, it was different in size from the mismatched shoes of Blevins or the boots of Russo and Lancaster. This heel print was definitely smaller.
Kelly looked out through the fence. His eyes took in pieces of the landscape one small swath at a time. And then he saw it. A red handle protruding out between some clumps of patchy grass. Spring, by the calendar’s timeline, was still over a week away, but this was Boston and sometimes the warmer weather didn’t hit until June. Had it been a month or two later, Kelly might not have seen the handle due to overgrowth. Not the case on this cool Tuesday in March. Kelly pulled out his personal camera and snapped a couple photographs in the direction of the handle.
“Looks like our doer left something behind.” Kelly walked with purpose toward the crime scene tape, leaving Charles behind to complete his photographs. Kelly slipped under and noted the time he left the scene. He did this every time he or anyone else entered or exited. He knew by protocol Russo and Lancaster were tasked with keeping a running crime scene log, but Kelly believed redundancy was essential.
Kelly walked over to Sergeant Paul Massie’s SUV. This time Massie didn’t exit into the cold. He just rolled his window down instead. Kelly was bathed in the warm air pouring from the vents.
“Hey Paul, I forgot to ask. You didn’t by chance happen to run a dog track?”
“I called for one, but the Staties and DEA were running some early morning drug raid in Mattapan and they were tied up assisting on that. Might be one available now if you still think it’s worth it.”
“Do that. Thanks.”
Massie called in on a back channel and requested K9 support to the scene. Dispatch stated there was a unit available and the team would be en route. Kelly turned and began making his way back to the scene.
“Guess we’re not getting out of here anytime soon?”
Kelly shot a glance over his shoulder. “Doesn’t look that way.”
Jane Doe had been face-down long enough that, when rolled, her skin carried the dimpled impressions of the gravel from her grave. Cold temperatures had slowed decomp, but Kelly had a window of time when the body could have been dumped. Sheffield Electric closed at 7 p.m. and the shop’s foreman stated he’d stayed until 8 p.m. to finish up some purchase orders. The girl was buried between 8 p.m. on Monday and 4:17 a.m. today, the time when Blevins called it in to police. The foreman also admitted the surveillance cameras on the exterior of the building weren’t working and hadn’t been functional for quite a few months.
After rolling the body, Kelly confirmed no signs of bullet or knife wounds. There was a contusion on the back of the girl’s skull and some blood in her matted hair. He’d have to get her on the table before he could determine cause of death.
Kelly bent to bag the girl’s hands. If there had been a struggle, trace evidence could be contained under the fingernails. Before he did so, he grabbed a print card from his bag. Kelly took the girl’s left hand, assuming by law of averages she had been a righty, and lifted a print from her left ring finger. He wanted to expedite the identification process. A print match was a long shot, but he figured breaking protocol might be worth the risk. The girl had no purse or identification. Hard to tell her age because of her condition, but Kelly guessed her to be a teenager. With the print lifted and then stowed, Kelly finished bagging the girl’s hands and feet.
Sherryl Tinsley, an investigator with the Medical Examiner’s office, wore khakis and a light blue parka with her title and name embroidered above the front left breast pocket. Her long black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She
had a serious look about her. Kelly had some experience with her from a month prior, working a previous case.
“Thanks for being patient with me on this.” Kelly made a subtle apology for the hour-long delay she’d stood by while he did his initial scene assessment.
“I’d rather you take your time and get it right.” Tinsley had a deep voice contradictory to her diminutive features.
“Sherryl, I know you guys are back-logged, but do you have any idea of when you’ll be able to get her on the schedule?” Kelly had waited weeks for an autopsy in the past, but the process varied. He’d also been good about bringing a box of joe every time he made a visit. His hope was to keep in their good graces for times when he needed a favor.
“It’s already on the schedule for tomorrow morning.”
“Wow, that’s fast.”
“New management. They’re pushing for a faster turnaround on any potential homicide. The office has pushed the overdose-related deaths to the back burner. We were getting killed on those lately. The rest of my team is working a multiple-fatality crash in the tunnel. Give me an assist on the lift?”
“No problem. Just me today on this one. I guess we’re all running short this week.”
Tinsley placed a large, clear plastic tarp beside the girl. All of the photographs and evidence around the body had been tagged, photographed, and removed. Charles was in the process of loading bags back into his van.
“I’ll take the top and you grab her ankles.” Tinsley squatted near the girl’s head. She slid gloved hands under the front of her bare shoulders and looked up at Kelly, who took up a similar position by the feet. “On three.”
They lifted the dead girl in unison. Her body was rigid, a combination of cold and the onset of rigor. The two experienced a bit of resistance. The sequined dress stuck to the cold ground as they hoisted her from her shallow grave. They moved the body to the tarp as gently as possible. The momentum used to extricate her from the hole caused the girl to roll over to her back.
Kelly had looked death in the face more times than he cared to admit, but it always gave him pause. The girl’s ashen, rock-dimpled face had a twisted serenity when cast skyward. Her eyes were partially closed. The exposed parts were covered in clumps of dark brown dirt. Kelly didn’t look away. In fact, the opposite occurred. He intensified his stare, etching every possible detail into his mind’s case file. It was his job to speak for the dead. To do that effectively, he wouldn’t shelter himself from any gruesomeness. To do so would be a disservice to the girl supine before him.
“Dog’s here,” Massie called from beyond the tape.
Tinsley set about her work, wrapping the girl’s body into the tarp. She was careful to fold up the edges so no part got exposed during transport. The goal was to minimize the risk of contamination. Content with the packaging, she dusted herself off. Kelly and the death investigator hoisted the wrapped body onto a gurney.
The wheels squeaked loudly, and the metal frame jingled in a symphonic procession as Tinsley pushed the gurney toward the back of her van.
Kelly noted the time and followed Tinsley out beyond the tape’s barrier.
“Davin Graver, how long has it been?” Kelly approached the man standing at the back end of a police cruiser. Even in the cool temps the door fan was running, circulating air for the four-legged tracker panting inside.
“Michael Kelly, Homicide detective. Never thought I’d see you in a button-down shirt. Always figured you for the street.” Graver had a thick Georgia accent. A foreigner by Boston Police’s norm, but Graver came to love the city during his years at Boston University and never left. His Southern charm and mannerisms were always treated as novelty when he responded to calls in the Southie. Kelly had worked with Graver for a few months after the death of Danny and prior to his transfer out of Patrol.
“I heard you took a K9 spot. Seriously, how long has it been?”
“I’ve had Biscuit going on four years now. It’s been a spell, ain’t it? How goes the fight?”
“Some days I’m up. Other days I eat the mat.”
“Well, let’s see if my partner and I can give you a win today. What d’ya got?”
“Dead girl was found early this morning in that ditch over there. Patrol called for K9 to run a track, but everybody was tied up. It works to my advantage anyway. I prefer to be on scene whenever a dog is used. Plus, I’ve got a good start point.”
Graver opened the door and his four-legged partner leapt out and came to heel immediately. The German shepherd sat unleashed next to Graver’s right leg. The handler moved to the trunk, popped it, and brought out a water dish. Filling it, he stepped back, letting Biscuit lap it up. “It was a long morning for us. Multiple target DEA raid up in the North End. He’ll be good to go in a second.”
As if on cue, the dog stopped slurping and came back to a seated position next to his handler. Graver snapped a leash to the collar. “Ready whenever you are.”
Kelly brought Graver and Biscuit to the taped perimeter at the edge of the fence line. He climbed a three-foot mound of dirt at the end of the parking lot and continued along the outer fence, rounding it until he came to the cut-open portion where he’d found a bit of the girl’s dress. Graver and Biscuit followed close behind.
“This is the point of entry I believe our perp used to bring the vic inside the fenced area. There’s a bit of clothing from the victim attached to that piece of fence right there. I wanted to leave it until your partner had a chance to catch the scent. I know it’s been a few hours, but I’d like to see if we can pick something up.”
Garver brought the dog close to the fence. “Seek, Biscuit. Seek.”
The dark head of the shepherd dipped. The golden trail of fur along his snout ruffled as his nostrils flared and the tracker noisily drew in the scent from the bejeweled fabric. His head popped up and his ears perked into perfect triangulation. Looking up at his handler, he patiently awaited the next command.
“Find.”
The dog began moving away from the fence. His head stayed low to the ground and bobbled back and forth from side to side. The limited K9 knowledge Kelly acquired came during the police academy over eleven years ago, but he remembered the instructor saying they moved back and forth because scent isn’t cast off in a straight line, but in a cone shape. The dogs move along the bits and fragments they pick up, always seeking the strongest point of origin.
Kelly watched the dog move quickly through the patchy grass and uneven dirt mounds. The dog closed the distance toward the object of interest, the red handle becoming more visible as they approached. The dog moved to the shovel and sat, alerting Graver of his find. Kelly noted the time the item was located. He took a photo before moving on with the duo.
K9 Biscuit came to the T rails and paused. A gust of wind whipped across the open space, kicking up bits of dirt and debris.
“Did we lose it?” Kelly asked.
“Not sure. Let’s give him a second. Biscuit’s a good tracker, but at times I think he’s got a bit of the ADHD.”
A few moments passed where Biscuit meandered right to the track. Then, his ears perked again, and he redirected his attention back toward the rail. Biscuit gingerly navigated over the third rail and focused his attention on the opposite side’s first rail, moving along to the right, occasionally dipping his nose on the metal. He came to a stop and sat.
Kelly approached, at first not seeing anything. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a dark spot on the outer edge of the rail. The rust on the steel camouflaged the mark. Kelly took a picture. He then photographed back in the direction of the fenced area, then in the opposite direction, out toward the buildings.
Kelly pulled out his phone. “Ray, we’ve got two more things to tag for processing. A shovel and blood. Follow the cut in the fence out to me. We can pick up the shovel on the way back.”
“I’ll see if Biscuit still has the scent.”
“I’m going to stand by until Ray gets over here.”
Graver
gave a slight tug of the leash and Biscuit began his search in the next open field between the T tracks and a parking lot. Kelly watched as the dog stopped and redirected back in the direction of the railway. He then turned around again. Graver shouted over the wind, “He’s lost it.”
Kelly noted the time. And took a photo of the K9 team at their current position as Charles came huffing up.
“What did you find?”
“Some blood.”
Charles withdrew a package. He opened it and removed a long, wood-stemmed swab. The end was moistened with purified water to assist in removing the sample. The tech bent down, groaning with a crack of his knees, and began vigorously rubbing the stained rail. The white cotton end became a dirty brown tinged with red. After extraction, the end was capped to preserve the contents and placed into an evidence bag. The tech repeated the process two more times.
Graver returned, with Biscuit proudly strutting by his side. Biscuit was a reward dog and had been playing ball in the field for the few minutes while the rail evidence got collected. The shovel, etched with the Sheffield Electric logo, was added to the evidence stacked in the back of the crime scene van.
Massie and his two patrolmen were still on scene holding the area’s status quo.
“Your relief never came?” Kelly asked of the sergeant who now stood outside the warmth of his Explorer.
“Canceled ’em. The boys and I figured we’d make some easy overtime.”
“Well, I think I’m wrapping things up on my end. Charles is going to take some overall pictures of the scene, documenting how we left it, and then I think we’re good to go.”
Kelly looked down at his watch. It was already close to noon. No way he’d be able to pick up Embry from school. Someday she’d understand, but he was certain it wouldn’t be today.
5
“Smells good, Matka.” Aleksander Rakowski walked into the back room of the Polina Deli.
