Mike gave a low chuckle at the absurdity of Smythe’s comment and returned his focus to the plastic stir stick in his coffee.
“Remember?” Smythe continued. “We talked about you getting assigned a new partner this morning. You were very excited and telling me how much you were looking forward to it. Re-mem-ber?”
Seeing the expression on Smythe’s face Mike realized he wasn’t kidding. His initial, amused expression froze as his eyes darted between Smythe and the kid. He knew his imagination exaggerated the mental images of his new partner but he couldn’t believe how close he was on his physical characteristics. This kid didn’t look old enough to have hair on his sack and he’s supposed to be his new partner?
“Mike,” Smythe said snapping him out of his stupor. “Kevin McKay this is Detective Mike Anderson. He’s your new partner. He’s going to be the one showing you around and helping you get acclimated to your new surroundings and job.”
Kevin McKay reached out an unnaturally skinny, overly effeminate hand in Mike’s direction. He gave him a watermelon smile like he was meeting his new teacher on the first day of school. Barely five feet seven with unruly, ash blond hair Mike stared at an errant curl lying casually on his forehead and longed for scissors. His striking blue eyes exaggerated the ghostly whiteness of his skin making him appear florescent.
Mike regained his composure and shook Kevin’s hand careful not to crush it in his own meat-hook. Twenty years prior, Mike played defensive line in college and still had the residual physique. Standing six feet four inches tall he felt like a giant thumb next to an unpopped pimple.
“Well, it’s nice to see you two hitting it off already,” Smythe said with a knowing smirk. He placed both hands on Kevin’s shoulders as he continued. “Kevin, Mike is probably our best detective and one of our most experienced. You’re going to learn a lot from him. Don’t let his size fool you. He’s not just some big, dumb asshole either.”
Mike shot daggers at Smythe who smiled widely in return.
“Well, I won’t keep you two from it then,” Smythe said, his satisfaction oozing from every shrunken pore. He clapped Mike soundly on the back, turned and practically skipped down the hall.
Mike stared after Smythe, his mind maiming and brutalizing him in any number of painful and humiliating ways. He would have his revenge. He just wasn’t sure how.
Kevin’s new shoes creaked bringing him back from the massacre in his head and he cleared his throat. “So,” he didn’t know what else to say at that moment, the ways of getting back at Smythe still rolling around in his head. He gave him a closed mouth smile, turned abruptly and walked to his office. Kevin followed closely behind, running to keep up the few short feet.
On entering the office Mike motioned with his cup toward the chair in front of his desk as he walked around to his own chair. Kevin sat, crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap.
Mike opened his mouth to talk when Kevin interrupted him.
“Listen,” Kevin started, leaning forward slightly but still keeping his hands in his lap. “I understand you haven’t had a partner for quite a while and I understand this also wasn’t your choice but what you have to understand is that I didn’t pick this assignment either and while you may not be happy with the choice that was made for you I would appreciate you not taking your frustration out on me.”
He took a deep breath as if to continue but hesitated. He stared at Mike, whose surprised expression remained, exhaled and picked up where he left off.
“I understand I might not be exactly what you were expecting when you were told you were getting a new partner but I can guarantee I am just as competent and intelligent as any one of the police officers in this station and will have no problem holding my own in any situation. Furthermore…” Kevin continued by going over his credentials, not skipping a beat and barely taking a breath.
Mike was in mid-sit when Kevin began his speech. Even into his second year at Berkeley, Mike still hadn’t sat down. Surprised and a bit relieved at how ballsy the kid was, Mike smiled. At least his mousiness was only superficial. Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make his life a living hell but he decided to cut him some slack. Maybe.
“…so I think that it would be unfair for you to judge me without even getting to know me even a little. I understand that—”
“Alright, alright kid.” Mike waved him off as he finally sat. “You’ve made your point.” He sipped his coffee and waited for Kevin to respond. When he didn’t, he continued. “You’re right. I don’t like being assigned a partner and I especially don’t like being assigned a partner with so little experience.”
Kevin opened his mouth but Mike held up his hand.
“I appreciate how much you understand and now you will hear what I understand. I understand it isn’t your fault you got stuck with me—someone who does not want you—and I also understand I shouldn’t take my irritation at Smythe out on you either. I understand what it takes to do this job and I also understand what you’ve done to get here. Make no mistake, whatever you’ve done before doesn’t mean dick right now. The only thing that matters is what you do moving forward.”
Mike stood, walked around, then sat on the desk in front of Kevin and folded his arms. “I don’t care where you went to school. I don’t care how quickly you graduated from there or the academy. What I do care about it how quickly you became a detective. Too quickly. You might be able to pull all-nighters in college to cram four years into two but when it comes to detective work there’s no cramming. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, replaces good old-fashioned experience. And quite frankly you don’t have enough as far as I’m concerned.”
He leaned forward. “Now, there’s nothing I can do about you being here and there’s nothing I can do about being stuck with you. I’ll do everything I can to help you and try and keep you from getting yourself killed and more importantly getting me killed but this isn't baseball kid and you don't get three strikes. Screw up one time and you're done,” Mike paused. “New policy or not I’ll bury you so far under paperwork Indiana Jones couldn’t find you. Get it?”
Kevin sat back and cleared his throat. “Got it.”
“Good,” Mike said as an impish smile tickled his lips. “Now, you’re not squeamish are you?”
Chapter 4
The clear, sunny skies were misleading as the unseasonably chilly October breeze rustled the mesquite sending rice sized leaves into tiny twisters of desert vegetation. Chain-link fences, wild rosemary and weed filled rock lawns outlined the rundown streets of the inner city as Mike drove his new protégé to their first murder scene.
Broken segments of particle board and discarded two-by-fours skinned the windows of the abandoned two-story house in a misguided attempt to keep out stalwart squatters. Two forty foot palms flanked the stone walkway like spires of earthly sentinels as drying tumbleweed and London rocket blanketed the small front yard like arrogant intruders.
Anxious to watch Kevin’s behavior at a crime scene and still chafing with the perceived babysitting duties Mike resisted the urge to direct instead letting Kevin make his own way. Aside from sending him to find the first officer, Mike left him to his own devises ready to grill him later depending on how his investigation unfolded.
The chaos of the crime scene was a frenetic spin of professionals swarming around the premises like bees from a disturbed nest. Light bulbs flashed as the forensics unit gathered all possible evidence. Police knocked on doors and stopped cars but it wasn’t exactly Mr. Roger’s neighborhood. Most occupants were illegals who weren’t about to answer the door not to mention any questions.
He hated callers in this area, the neighborhood filled with coyote dumps, meth heads and the occasional runaway. More times than he could count he had been on this very street left with the impossible task of not only identifying a body but then finding who was responsible. He assumed this would be just like every other case. He only hoped it wasn’t another child.
Now, s
tanding in an upstairs bedroom, he stared at the spectacle in front of him. Twenty-two years on the force made him a seasoned investigator but this was one for the record books. He felt a perverse sense of pleasure in the nuance of the setup and his face betrayed his thoughts.
He scratched the salt-and-pepper stubble growing on his chin as he stepped closer to get a better look.
“You aren’t about to touch my body are you Mike?” A winded voice came from behind him.
“It’s only one flight of stairs Greg. Am I going to need to call another coroner for you?” Mike teased.
“Hey, I’m up to fifteen minutes on the Stairmaster thank you very much.”
“Good for you. How many cigarettes you smoke today?”
“Blow me.”
Mike smirked at Greg’s usual, spicy language and stepped back into the hallway so he could get his large frame past him.
“This is interesting,” Greg said. “Haven’t seen anything like this before. You?”
“Nope.”
“You got a total hard on for this don’t you?”
“You know me. I’m a student of the perverse. Why do you think I became a cop?”
“You’re an idiot?”
“Well, there is that.”
Greg huffed an appreciative laugh. “Wanna’ make any guesses?” He grunted as he struggled to lower himself closer to the ground while beads of sweat formed under his thinning hair.
“You know I don’t make guesses before I have all the…uh…pieces.”
“Pieces,” Greg laughed as he motioned toward the body.
Mike felt a puckish urge to needle Greg as he watched his face scrunch with confusion. “Having trouble?” He baited.
Greg let out a strained grunt in response as he pushed himself back up to a standing position.
“Time of death?” Mike provoked.
Greg shot him a go-fuck-yourself look before laboring to the other side. “Under the…a…circumstances I’m gonna’ wait to get him on my table before I sign my name to anything but he’s starting to stink like three-day-old ass so I’m guessing he was killed a few days ago.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Greg pointed around the scene as he answered. “The obvious lack of blood indicates this isn’t the primary crime scene. I’m surprised there isn’t anything, not even a drop. The condition of the body’s gonna’ make it difficult to determine a more exact T.O.D. but I’ll have it for you with my final report. His fingers’uv been cut off and his teeth extracted. Freaks.”
Mike smiled. He liked listening to Greg’s op-ed commentary when he assessed a body. It was occasionally insightful, marginally amusing and always colorful.
“What kind of person would do something like this to another human being?” Greg asked.
“You know better than to ask that question,” Mike responded. “We’ve both been in the business far too long to try and figure that part out. Every time I think I’ve seen the worst thing one human being can do to another something like this happens and I’m back to shaking my head in disgust.”
“He’s all yours,” Greg said as he waddled through the doorway. “I’ll send the rest of the team up after you’re done.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Hey, where’s your little shadow?” Greg asked with a wry smirk on his face.
“My what?”
“Your shadow. I hear you’ve got a new partner.”
“You did, did you?”
“News travels fast around here.”
“So it seems. I sent him to get the low down. Told him to ask a lot of questions and learn what he could. Just wanted some time on my own first.”
“So you pawned the poor schmuck off on someone else. Nice,” Greg smiled broadly. “There’s a pool on you by the way.”
“Pool?”
“Yeah, to see how long it takes for him to be the victim at your next crime scene.” He let out a throaty laugh and headed down the stairs his fingers tickling his pocket for a smoke.
“Put me down for fifty,” Mike yelled after him then said to himself. “I’ll need it for my lawyer.”
Mike turned back to the body. The reason for Greg’s laughter at his use of the word “pieces” lay in front of him. He stared at the dismembered body of a white male, his body parts placed in the floor of the second story master bedroom. Heavier pieces lay over the ductwork with the smaller pieces scattered around the room making the space look like a mannequin exploded.
Greg was right about the blood. Mike couldn’t find a drop. No one was that perfect in transporting a body with that much damage and not miss something. It seemed excessive and could only be for making a specific point which he was obviously missing.
The forensics team filtered upstairs and Jill Moore was one of his favorites. Quirky was the word he always used to describe her. Black lipstick and mod dress, she was cocky bordering on arrogant but he appreciated confidence when justified. She had a butch dog-with-a-bone quality that favored her attitude as well as her stature. A long, jet-black ponytail fell down her back as chipped, black nail polish highlighted her chewed fingernails.
“Interesting case don’t you think?” She said walking over to him. Her Doc Martens made heavy clomping noises on the floor.
“Yep, this one will definitely be one of those that keeps me up at night. Nice nose ring by the way. New?”
“Yeah, just trying something different. The gold hoop just didn’t go well with my leather pants last night.” She smiled pushing up her heavy, black-rimmed glasses with her tattooed right forefinger.
“I can imagine. You forgot your nail polish,” he said pointing to her hands.
“Yeah, I didn’t realize that until after I got here.” She pulled at the latex on her hand. “That’s what the gloves are for.”
Mike smiled.
“So this one’s gonna’ keep you up at night, eh?” She asked picking back up from his last statement. “I didn’t think you took your cases so personally.”
“Not personally. I just know that this guy isn’t done. No one spends this much time on only one body. He’s got something to say and one body isn’t going to say it for him.” His arrogance was a self-preservation technique he used to fight off the depressing circumstances which was why he accepted it in others.
“How can you be so sure he’ll kill again?” She asked.
He pointed around the room. “There isn’t any blood.”
“So?”
“So. Obviously the person who did this was very meticulous in ensuring there wasn’t any blood. Not that it should matter given the condition of the house or the fact we have the body but even with this guy’s arms and legs cut off there isn’t a drop of blood on the floors, walls or ceiling. Not one. He wasn’t just trying to kill this guy and it obviously wasn’t a crime of passion otherwise this place would look like Sweeny Todd’s station. This guy is making a point. I just need to find out what his point is.”
“Any guesses?”
He sighed. “I don’t guess.”
“Right. But you’ve got to be going in some direction, right? You can’t be on this job for as long as you have without making some assumption about the site. Does the word ‘posit’ make you feel better?”
He half smiled. He tried not to make rookie mistakes by creating mental pictures. It always made it harder to reconcile new evidence moving forward. He already surmised what happened, how it happened and to a certain extent why but assuming wasn’t going to bring him any closer to solving the case. It was a semantic distinction but it was his to make.
“This is interesting,” Jill said.
“What’s that?”
“There is something sticking out of his right pants’ pocket. At least what used to be his pants’ pocket. It looks like piece of paper or something.” She photographed while she talked.
He leaned in to take a closer look. “Do you have all your pictures of the body?” He asked.
“Yep. He’ll be perfect as Mr. October.”
>
“Keep taking pictures as I take it out. I want to make sure we get everything just in case. I can’t tell how compromised the paper is not knowing how long it’s been in there.”
She handed him a pair of forceps from her kit and moved around to get a better angle. He reached in and grabbed the corner of the tightly rolled scroll. Slowly, he removed it as the whirring and clicking sounds of her camera captured every movement.
“Shit,” Mike hissed as he dropped the piece of paper. It was an inadvertent reaction to his newly assigned lapdog bumping into him. “This isn’t a mosh pit you jackass.”
“Oh, sorry. These stairs are kinda’ weak. I was trying not to fall through,” Kevin replied sheepishly.
“Be more careful next time. You know jumping from stair to stair is worse if the wood is compromised than walking lightly from one to the next, close to the edges. Didn’t you go to college?”
“Well, you know I did but I—”
Mike turned his back and refocused on his original task. He bent down and picked up the rolled 5x7 note card, held it up and turned it around assessing its integrity and determined the best approach.
“What does it say?” Jill asked.
“Can’t quite tell.” He unrolled the tiny scroll ensuring he didn’t tear or compromise it in any additional way.
“Well? What does it say?” She asked again.
“Huh? What? Oh, it’s just a bunch of garbage. Some psychopaths’ babbling,” he responded.
“And what is he babbling about?” She pressed.
Silence.
“Mike?” She interrupted again.
“Oh, right, sorry. It says,
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs. I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye – not even his – could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out – no stain of any kind – no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all – ha! ha!”
Burdened By Guilt Page 2
