by Eli Constant
I can turn around, walk away, get in my truck and go make some ramen. He knew he couldn’t do that though- wasn’t his style. Mark opened his eyes, straightened his tall frame to its full height and surveyed the scene again. The dozen officers keeping the civilian onlookers and press at bay were really getting a workout; one cameraman even breached the barrier by crawling on his knees between two of the officers.
So many people for one growing-ever-colder body. Who the hell is dead in the middle of that swarming crowd? Mark thought.
Of course, it was never surprising to see a slew of civilians gawking at death– natural or unnatural. It seemed human nature to be drawn compulsorily to mortality. It seemed wrong though, odd- the happy vision of children’s play area defined by the garish yellow crime tape and lifeless adult body. Mark turned, taking in the apartment buildings nearby and the covered parking garage. His brain took him backward, to his first months out of the Academy.
That was the only other time he could recall police activity in a Morgantown playground. He’d been barely out of training and already assigned to the Street Crimes Unit. Mark and Allen, his partner back then, had chanced upon a man peddling smack to a park-full of kids. When confronted, the dealer had pulled a gun and shot at Allen. Mark had taken the bullet to the right shoulder, jumping in the marksman’s path and protecting his partner. Not one of his best days on the force. Hurt like hell. Between the bullet wound and the extensive burn scars, Mark’s body was the picture of less-than-better days.
The gunman had been so surprised by Mark’s sudden movements that he’d hesitated just long enough for Allen to get the jump on him. Allen hadn’t lasted long on the force– meeting a gorgeous Turkish exchange student at the University and following her back to Izmir, Turkey. Mark didn’t blame him. If he had to choose between the right woman and the job, he’d choose the woman. Hands down.
Mark had passed the detective exam and transferred to the Detective Division after six years on the Street Crimes Unit. He’d been a detective for nearly a decade now and had passed up being Division Supervisor not once, but twice. Everyone gave him shit for passing up the promotion, but Mark knew his nature. He wasn’t one to spend more than half his time slogging away at a desk, signing paperwork and delegating the more interesting duties.
Mark’s eyes began to rove again as he walked forward; his gaze returned to the black SUV where a blonde woman, her hair trailing out of a navy blue ball cap, and two men were now talking. He recognized the woman. The sight of her always brought a mental smile, even in severe, grisly circumstances. Where were you hiding? Mark’s mental smile now translated to his face.
He flashed his badge to the policemen holding back the salivating reporters and the officers quickly ushered him through. Several long strides and he arrived at the body; Detective Brewer and the four officers had relocated nearby, sipping coffee and conversing.
“Son of a…” Mark mouthed soundlessly when he saw the lifeless girl illuminated beneath the garish standing work lamps.
The body was perfect. The skin was peachy and pale and radiant as moonlight– despite the harsh industrial lighting. Vibrant red hair cascaded around the girl’s head, framing the face of an angel. Her lips were parted seductively and they were the color of eggplants: deep, rich, and moist.
She would have been nude if not for a white sheet covering her from torso to collar bone. The pale cloth was beautiful against the clear skin. The red of her hair was mesmeric against the emerald grass. It was unreal, a painting by a master in realism.
Beside her body was a large cellophane bag. Something silver was folded inside. It sparkled, catching the light. He could see a hint of cobalt tucked beneath the silver and a pair of bright yellow high heels rested against the folds of cloth. The bag was marked ‘personal effects.’ A second bag lay nearby, but Mark didn’t bother to read the hand-written label.
She was so perfect looking. It was almost as if he could see her chest rising and falling in peaceful rest. Mark blinked, rubbed his eyes vigorously. Had her chest really moved? Was she breathing? No… no. No. Mark chastised himself.
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