by Scott Young
Three hours later, Mancini and Crawley were still waiting in the reception area of Gene-Tech International, after undergoing the most thorough ID verification either of them had ever experienced. The head of security, a fastidious and slightly fascist man named Barnaby, was rude, overbearing and more than a little condescending during the process, so both detectives were beyond annoyed at the delay in getting to see Dr. Miller. For the first hour, Jeff tried to get his partner to give up any information about his meeting with the Captain, to no avail. Eventually they fell into silence, each stewing in their respective thoughts.
“I guess we should be glad there was no body cavity search,” Crawley joked to break the quiet.
Just then, a tall, gangly man exited the elevator and sauntered toward them. He had jet-black, spiked hair, multiple piercings in his ears, nose, and lips and he wore eyeliner. Jeff immediately thought of Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands as the detective rose to meet him. The name tag on his lab coat identified him as Holden Levitt, Lab Assistant. He never made eye contact with the officers, looking past them at something out the window as he said, “Dr. Miller will see you now.” Then he turned and walked back toward the elevator banks.
“I guess Jack Skellington wants us to follow him?” Crawley said.
“Let’s go, Kev,” Mancini whispered, “but keep the snide remarks to yourself, even if this Dr. Miller is equally odd. I need to know what happened to Emily and I don’t need your legendary ‘sensitivity’ to piss her off.”
Kevin Crawley started to say something in return but thought better of it after seeing the look in his partner’s eyes, so he kept quiet as they walked into the waiting elevator. The three men rode up to the 15th floor in silence. When the doors opened, Levitt exited the car, extended his left arm in an exaggerated manner and said, “This way, detectives.”
The lab assistant walked across the hall before opening a door marked Hematolog y/Research. The two men entered a huge room filled with an assortment of computers, microscopes, rows of beakers and test tubes, glass cabinets, as well as a multitude of equipment neither of them could hope to identify. In the back corner of the room was a woman entering data into a computer via a hand-held tablet. She had her back to them, not bothering to turn around as she said, “Just a moment, Detective Mancini. Caroline Mooney emailed me the particulars of this specimen. I will be through with my analysis momentarily. Please wait.”
“Do you have a prelim-” Jeff Mancini began to say, but Dr. Miller cut him off.
“No questions please, Detective,” the hematologist said stoically. “That’s one of the reasons I had you wait in reception until I was nearly complete. I don’t like needless questions and I don’t believe in supposition. Once I’m through with my analysis, I will state my findings.”
Crawley sighed loudly. Mancini threw him the dirtiest of all dirty looks, causing his partner to put both hands in his pockets as he began meandering around the room.
Detective Mancini waited patiently for a few moments. He was about to speak when Dr. Miller turned around, placed the tablet on the counter and picked up a remote control. When she finally looked at him, Jeff was stunned. She was a petite woman, no more than 5’1” and thin. She had dark brown hair pulled up tightly into a bun, giving the pale skin of her face a slight harshness that in no way diminished her beauty. She possessed delicate features: a narrow nose, high cheekbones, full lips, and big blue eyes that seemed to shine in the light of the computer screens. Despite her lab coat and turtleneck, it was readily apparent Rebecca Miller had a very feminine and attractive physique, including an ample bosom for a woman her size. She looked like every boy’s sexy librarian fantasy. Jeff understood Caroline’s parting shot at the morgue now. She was just his type.
“I’ve finished my initial analysis of the blood samples, Detective,” Dr. Miller said. “I’m ready to report my findings. Please note, a more detailed analysis will take at least a day, but Caroline said this was time-sensitive. I did what I could in the time frame allotted.” There was no urgency or stress in her voice. She didn’t smile or frown or even change her facial expression. Her entire demeanor reminded Jeff of Dr. Temperance Brennan from the TV show Bones: cold, calculating and without a hint of human emotion.
Detective Crawley was at the other end of the room in front of a large metallic door with a coded keypad next to it. He tried to look inside the room and knocked on the small window in the center of it.
“Get away from there,” Dr. Miller scolded.
“What is that thing anyway? Looks like some kinda freezer,” Crawley said as he made his way back to Mancini.
“It is a cryonic preservation chamber used to store samples for use in my work,” the hematologist answered.
“You mean it’s a giant freezer filled with frozen blood?” Crawley asked with a wince.
“Blood, spores, cultures, infectious diseases and other necessary samples needed for my work, yes,” she replied. Dr. Miller turned to Mancini, clearly annoyed at this waste of time, and asked, “Are there any other superfluous questions or may I begin my findings?”
“Of course, Dr. Miller,” Jeff said, smiling. “Forgive my partner. His curious nature sometimes gets the better of him.”
The hematologist looked at him impassively before turning to the screen and pressing the remote control. “As you can see, I’ve isolated the different types of blood disorders found in the bloodstream by Dr. Mooney. She was correct in her diagnosis of Hemolytic Anemia, Aplastic Anemia and Thrombocytopenia. However, I have concluded that each of these was introduced as a direct result of an outside catalyst.”
“Catalyst? You mean, someone injected her with some kind of drug?” Mancini asked.
“Possibly. I can’t be sure without further analysis, but any drug or other chemical would leave traces in the body and the blood. All I can say with certainty is that these disorders were not naturally occurring in her circulatory system. I assume Dr. Mooney didn’t find any hypodermic marks or she would have mentioned it. It’s entirely possible the wound that caused the victim’s death was meant to obscure the injection site.” Dr. Miller turned and saw the pain on Jeff Mancini’s face. For the first time, she softened slightly.
“I apologize, Detective. Caroline told me of your relationship with the deceased. I didn’t mean to upset you.” she said. She took a half step toward him but hesitated and retreated back to her original position. It was almost as if she understood the emotions she was supposed to feel – sympathy or compassion – but couldn’t access them properly. Mancini had never met a more repressed or closed- off woman in his life. He wondered how long she’d been this way and just for a second, he wondered what her smile looked like.
Crawley put his arm around Mancini’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about ol’ Jeff, Doc. He’s made of sterner stuff than that.”
“Yes, it’s fine Dr. Miller,” Jeff said, removing his partner’s arm and walking toward Rebecca. “I appreciate your help in this matter. If you discover anything else, please feel free to call me, day or night. My cell is on the back.” Mancini handed her his business card. “Thank you again.”
His hand lingered on hers as she took the card and their eyes met. “Yes, of course. I will do my best,” she managed to say, but he could see the physical contact was making her agitated and uncomfortable. He quickly broke contact, turned and walked toward the door.
“And if you ever need anyone to heat up your freezer on a dark and lonely night, love... give me a jingle,” Crawley said quietly so his partner wouldn’t hear, putting his card on the counter before jogging to catch up with Mancini.
Dr. Miller stared at the two business cards for a long while. Then she took Crawley’s card and threw it in the trash can. With a small grin, she then placed Detective Mancini’s business card in the left side pocket of her lab coat and gave it a little pat.
At 10:23 p.m. that evening, Emily Sheppard’s car was found less than one hundred yards from where her body had been discovered. Mancini was
on his way to Kurt’s house when he got the call. As much as he wanted to check on his friend, this could be the break they were both waiting for, so he headed directly over to the scene. Kevin Crawley, along with the forensics unit, was already there when he arrived.
“Thought you were done for the night!” Crawley shouted from fifty yards away.
“I just heard so I came right over. Which officer found it?” Mancini asked.
“You’re lookin’ at him, buddy,” Crawley replied with a Cheshire-cat grin.
“You?” Mancini said, incredulously. “How the hell did that happen?”
“After we split up, I went for a couple of beers, but something stuck in my craw. Why here? Why was her body left here? I couldn’t shake the feeling that the location meant something, so I drove down here to think,” Crawley replied. “You know how I sometimes like to sit at a crime scene and let my subconscious wander; maybe see something I’m missing? Like on the Delgado case?”
“Yeah, you’re a regular mind freak,” Mancini joked.
“Whatever, dude. Well, I drive down here and first thing I see is the car. I run the tags and boom! Emily’s car,” Crawley said, puffing out his chest in victory. “Whoever our perp is, I think he’s playing games. No reason to dump the body and car separately otherwise. At least not in the same fuckin’ place.”
Mancini nodded in agreement before asking, hopefully, “CSU find anything?”
“Let’s find out, partner,” Crawley said.
The Crime Scene Unit was scouring the immediate area looking for any new evidence that might have been left when the car was dumped. Various technicians moved in ever-widening concentric circles from the car wearing their wind breakers and pale blue gloves as Jeff and Kevin crossed over to Emily’s Green Ford Focus. Mancini already knew they were in a dead zone as far as traffic or other cameras, so there’d be no footage of the car dump. As he looked over the car, there didn’t seem to be any exterior damage and no signs of a struggle. The officer in charge, Sasha Montgomery, was going through the trunk when the two homicide detectives reached the car.
Montgomery had worked with the Crime Scene Unit for the past 8 years, ever since graduating from the academy. She is a petite woman, no more than 5’3” with a take-charge attitude and an eye for detail. Sasha was always easy to spot with her short, cropped fiery red hair, large black glasses and wide smile, not to mention her bottom-heavy figure. She always joked about being shaped like a bowling pin, small on top but big on the bottom. What Mancini always noticed was how she frequently changed the jewelry in the 7 piercings adorning her left ear, but always wore the same hoop in the one piercing in her right ear. The detective in him wanted to hear the story behind that, but now was neither the time nor the place. Truth be told, he liked and respected Sasha Montgomery as both a police officer and a human being.
“Anything good, Gum?” Crawley asked, using his own personal nickname for the CSU officer.
“Nothing yet, Creepy,” Sasha responded without looking up, smiling at the use of her own nickname for Crawley. “In fact, this is the cleanest car I’ve ever seen.”
“Emily was something of a neat freak, Montgomery,” Mancini offered.
Sasha Montgomery looked up from the trunk. “Not tidy, Jeff. Clean. No particulates, no fingerprints, no DNA. There is no evidence of any kind in this vehicle,” she said, exasperated.
“How is that possible?” Mancini asked.
“It’s like someone knew exactly how to get rid of every piece of forensic evidence. It’s uncanny,” Montgomery countered. “But don’t worry. No one can hide everything from me. I’ve yet to roll up my sleeves and dig deep. Once I get this car back to the lab, I’ll go over it with the finest of fine tooth combs. We’ll nail this bastard.” She placed her hand on Mancini’s shoulder for emphasis.
“Thanks, Sasha. I know you’ll do what you can,” Jeff said.
After a few hours assisting the Crime Scene Unit, and despite his growing exhaustion, Jeff Mancini headed back to his original destination for the evening: the home of Kurt Sheppard. The detective knew he was pushing himself too hard and eventually the lack of sleep would catch up with him. He hoped to bring Emily’s killer to justice before it became a problem, because whenever he thought about sleep, he couldn’t bring himself to lie down, choosing to go over the case one more time instead. Still, he understood that his growing exhaustion, the grief he was compartmentalizing and the conflicting emotions coursing through his mind were a bad combination. Sooner or later, he’d get sloppy, start making mistakes, and pay the price.
As he approached his destination, the fatigued officer spotted someone near the side door of the Sheppard home. He caught a glimpse of a white shirt or nightgown before it disappeared behind a tree. Instinctively, Jeff turned off his lights and engine so he could silently coast to a stop before the hedges that separated his friend’s house from its neighbor. He was out of his car in an instant, drawing his weapon and freeing the mini flashlight from its compartment on his belt without turning it on. It was a cloudy night with no moonlight to illuminate the grounds, so his visibility was sorely limited. Silently, he approached the side of the house, stopping every 3 or 4 steps to strain his hearing for any signs of trespassers. Suddenly, the detective spotted something in his peripheral vision and spun toward it, turning on the flashlight at the same time.
“Whoa! What the hell!” Kurt Sheppard screamed, jumping back as he shielded his eyes with his arms.
“Kurt! Geez, man! You scared the shit out of me!” Mancini said in a quiet voice, turning off the flashlight and lowering his weapon. “I thought there was someone out here when I pulled up. I was just taking a look around. Let me check it out. Stay behind me.”
Kurt fell in behind the police detective as he headed toward the backyard. They both strained their eyes against the darkness, searching for any sign of an intruder. Just as they got past the side entrance, the wind whipped up and Jeff saw something to his left. Once again, he switched on the light as he whirled to face his attacker. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. He began to laugh. It was a white bed sheet, caught on the branches of the tree that separated the Sheppard home from the Capriati house next door.
“Shit! I almost shot a sheet!” Jeff said, still chuckling and shaking his head as he holstered his weapon. “I must be more tired than I thought, buddy.”
Jeff turned toward Kurt, keeping the flashlight down so as not to blind his friend again. Kurt’s face was dimly lit by the reflected light and he looked pale and gaunt; like a desperate soul searching for salvation. Kurt looked up at the sky and placed his hands on his head, shaking it back and forth.
“I really don’t think it was a sheet. I think there was someone out here, Jeff,” Kurt muttered softly. “I was sleeping when I heard someone call my name. I swear...it-it sounded like Emily. I could’ve swore it was her.” When he lowered his head to face Mancini again, tears were streaming down his cheeks.
“Oh, Kurt, buddy. Don’t do this to yourself,” Jeff said sympathetically.
“I’d do anything to get her back.” Kurt sobbed. “Anything to have just one more day with her. Oh God, please...please, I’ll do anything.”
Jeff Mancini’s heart broke seeing his best friend like this. He was worried Kurt might be losing his grip on reality. The detective hugged his friend and led him back inside. They talked for a few hours on the living room sofa where they’d shared so many good memories with Emily: holidays, movie nights, football games and other joyous events. Eventually, Kurt fell asleep, emotionally spent. The police detective placed a blanket over his friend, watching him sleep for a bit before nodding off himself.
On his way to the precinct less than three hours later, Jeff felt his phone vibrate. He noticed he had two missed calls. He put it on speaker and placed the cell on the seat next to him, turning the volume down on his police radio so he could hear the messages.
“You have two new messages. To play your messa-” Mancini pushed 1 on his keypad a
s he drove past the basketball courts where he and Kurt used to play pick-up games when they were teenagers. The messages began to play:
“Beep. Mancini, Montgomery in CSU. Need you down here ASAP. Got something for you. Something weird.”
Maybe I finally caught a break, Jeff thought to himself.
“Next message.”
“Beep. Helloooo, Detective Mancini. This is Rebecca Miller calling but you can call me Becca if you want. Do you? Do you want? Hee hee hee. Anyway, how are you?” Dr. Miller spoke in a soft tone, almost a whisper. “I have some information for you. I think you’ll like it very, very much. I need to see you as soon as possible. Come see me day or night. I’m always here for you, Jeff Mancini. You know what I mean. Byeeee.”
“To replay this message, press-” Jeff hung up the call and smiled. Did the stoic and ultra-professional Dr. Miller just drunk dial him? He wasn’t sure since her words weren’t slurred and there was no sign of impairment in her speech patterns. Mancini didn’t know the good doctor very well, but that call definitely seemed out of character. She sounded like one of the women on those phone sex commercials they played late at night. He chuckled at that thought and made a mental note to definitely return that call after stopping in to see Sgt. Montgomery in CSU.
After a quick stop at his desk to check messages and see if Crawley was in yet, Jeff headed down to CSU. Sasha Montgomery was sitting at her desk, bleary eyed but working.
“What do you have, Sasha? Something to help me nail this bastard?” Jeff asked, purposely repeating her words from the night before.
“You’re the detective. I supply the info, you figure out what it all means.” Montgomery said, yawning and stretching. “Where’s ‘creepy Crawly?’ Usually you two are attached at the hip.”
