Blood Week

by J. D. Martin

  A quick chirp of the siren alerted officers on crowd control to slide the barricades aside as we pulled up to the crime scene. Dead bodies always managed to draw a few onlookers, but this one had pulled in more than its fair share; not uncommon for one of the Blood Week victims. While most killers hid their bodies, this one chose to display them. Whether as a message to the city or just to taunt law enforcement, the vigilante never left anything behind that could identify them.

  Parking the car, Delgado and I exited the Tahoe to join in on the fun. A huddle of uniforms stood in front of the coffee shop and above them was a white male, covered in dried blood, being lowered to the ground. Most of the blood came from the victim’s neck, which had left a large pool on the sidewalk that had expanded to the surrounding cracks. It was still tacky in places, but the majority would take a lot of cleaning to remove. The evidence of what happened here would not be quickly forgotten.

  Marcus and I arrived near the pool just as the body reached the pavement. After performing a preliminary report on the body—checking lividity and liver temperature—the coroner waved over her assistant. They both lifted the body up and placed it into a body bag while we waited to speak with them.

  The coroner wore dark blue scrubs with sleeves that stopped just below the shoulder. Small beads of sweat formed on her cheeks from the heat. Her fair skin was taut over her athletic frame as she assisted in sliding the body into the zippered bag. Once the body was secure, she removed her gloves and ran her fingers through her hair to secure any of the brown strands that had attempted to escape her pony tail.

  “Morning Saint,” she said as she finished with her hair. “Aren’t you looking good today?”

  “Well, you know, a girl has to keep her figure in check,” I said posing. Delgado snorted as I stepped over to stand next to our resident coroner. “What do you have for me, Amy?”

  “Not much. Your John Doe died between eleven last night and one this morning. He has small cuts to the upper right of his chest, but it was the one to the jugular that is our COD. I’ll know more once I get him back to the morgue.”

  Flashing a smile, I pulled out a small notepad and wrote down the information. After a pause, I stepped closer and quietly asked the question everyone wanted to know. “Do you know if it’s him?”

  “I think so, but I can’t say for certain until I get the body on my table and clean him up. That looks like his pattern,” she said, nodding towards the cuts on the chest, “but I won’t know for sure until the dried blood is washed off. I’ll have more for you in a couple hours.”

  “Alright, I’ll check in with you there once we’re done here.”

  With a smile that could melt the coldest hearts, she added “I look forward to it.”

  As the body was taken away, I heard my name from behind me. “Detective Saint?”

  “Yes”, I said turning to see where my name came from. I found a tall, slender officer with chestnut skin looking a bit shaken. I ventured a guess that this was his first dead body, or at least his first murder victim. I didn’t recognize him and I tried to make myself familiar with as many of the uniforms in my precinct as possible, so I figured he must be new. “What can I do for you officer?”

  “Umm, I was the first responder, sir. I was told you’d probably want to speak to me.”

  “Of course, officer….?” I trailed off as I clicked my pen to write down his information.

  “Kitna sir…Oswald Kitna”

  “Oswald? That’s not a name you hear everyday”

  “I know; caught a lot of slack in school about it. My friends all call me Dokie.”

  “Dokie?” asked Marcus.

  “As in Okie Dokie.”

  “Oh, I get it,” he said. “Because of your initials O.K., right?”

  Dokie nodded. “Well, Dokie,” I began, “this is my partner Marcus Delgado, and it would seem you already know my name. Can you run the two of us through everything from when you got the call until now?”

  Officer Kitna stated he had been on a standard patrol of the area when a call came over the radio that a body was found at the Java-Break on East 12th Street. Since he was only a few blocks away, he responded that he’d check it out. He knew that homicide would be coming down too, but it was always a good idea to get someone on scene as soon as possible.

  Dokie didn’t see anything when he first arrived, so he thought it might’ve been a bogus call for the newbie. Some of the veterans on the force were known for hazing anyone fresh from the academy. That was until he found the pool of blood on the sidewalk when he walked up to the coffee shop. He became fairly sure it wasn’t a prank at that point. However, there wasn’t a body to go with the blood. It was possible that someone had moved the body, but he didn’t see a trail going in either direction.

  Again, thoughts of an elaborate prank filled his head. You could buy fake blood in stores that looked incredibly realistic, and Kitna wasn’t experienced enough to tell the difference. He was just grabbing his radio to report in when he felt something wet hit his arm. Seeing as it had rained a bit the night before, he assumed it was water dripping from the awning over the entrance. But then he realized that this store didn’t have an awning, and noticed the drop on his arm was dark red.

  Curiosity was followed by disbelief as he slowly started to look up. Oswald said it felt like a scene right out of a bad horror flick. The blood dripping down alerted him to the body hanging above. It was classic slasher film, and he was the latest star. He found the body hanging from the roof with tiny red droplets trickling down to the sidewalk like a leaky faucet.

  Kitna immediately grabbed the radio on his shoulder and called in to confirm the body. He requested homicide and the coroner brought in. He then went into the building and spoke with Mr. Williams, the owner of the coffee shop. I stopped Okie Dokie before he went any further as I preferred to get the accounts of Mr. Williams directly from him. He finished by stating that he was inside getting the statement from the owner until he’d seen me speaking with the coroner.

  Thanking Officer Kitna for the information, I nodded to my partner who was also writing everything down. It was nice to see my partner didn’t waste time working into his new position. Too often people try to acclimate to the people and area before jumping into the mud of the job. It was clear that Delgado wasn’t one of them. Finishing his note, we moved inside to speak with the owner.

  Inside we found a few uniformed officers conversing while sipping cups of coffee. I noticed a short, balding man with copper skin wearing a white apron and carrying a tray of assorted pastries around to them. When he spotted us, he set the tray on a table near the officers. Smiling at them, he gestured with his palm for the officers to have their pick. Turning back, he quickly walked towards us as he noticeably avoided looking at the scene out front. He greeted us with a smile that that made the lines in his face join with the grey in his goatee to show his age.

  “Good Morning, gentlemen. What can I get you?” With all that was going on in and out of his store, it was amazing to see the man taking the time to be so kind.

  “Morning. I am Detective Saint and this is my partner Detective Delgado. Are you Mr. Williams?”

  “That’s me, but seriously, what can I get you?” Before I could say that I didn’t need anything he added, “I insist.”

  “Well…” I started.

  Delgado leaned in to me and whispered, “I’d recommend the black-bean coffee.” I stood slightly puzzled as to how he’d know what to recommend. Catching on, Marcus filled in the blanks. “I’ve been here a few times with my mother-in-law who works a few blocks from here at the elementary school. She introduced me to it.”

  With his sound advice, I decided to indulge. “I’ll take a cup of black-bean coffee with a croissant, please.”

  Mr. Williams nodded politely as he poured me a cup and retrieved my pastry from the tray. Afterwards, he turned to my partner, “and for you Detective?”

  “The same, thanks.” While he took care of the order,
Delgado turned back to me. “I had some of the coffee recently and it was amazing. I was actually hoping to get more, but hadn’t had the chance yet.” After taking care of us, I asked Mr. Williams what he recalled from that morning.

  “I arrived at 5 this morning with my wife just like every weekday. We officially open at 6:30, but we have to prepare the store for our breakfast customers before opening.”

  When they arrived, he pulled his car down the alley and parked behind the building. After walking back to the front door, he noticed a puddle just outside the entrance. It was still dark, so he couldn’t make out what it was. But he could tell it was thick when he’d accidentally stepped in it. Once inside, his wife went to the kitchen to bake the morning pastries while Mr. Williams turned on the lights and retrieved an old mop.

  After filling a bucket with warm water, he went back to the storefront where he found red foot prints on the white tile. It had been dark when they walked in since the lights were behind the counter. This was the first he’d seen of the color.

  Mr. Williams mopped up what he thought to be spilled slushy or something like that. Once the floor and the bottom of his shoe was clean, he flipped on the coffee grinders and placed clean trays in the display case for when the first batch of pastries were ready. He began to go on a tangent about how the key to his famous black-bean coffee was the fact that he ground them fresh each morning. Getting him back on track, he stated that he moved the coffee grounds to a filter and put them in the brewer before going back out to the sidewalk.

  It was when he got back outside with the mop that he saw a ripple in the puddle. At first, he ignored it and started to wet his mop, but then he saw it again. Looking up, he could see something was there but the sun hadn’t quite peaked over his building enough to make it out. Mr. Williams returned to the store and turned on the neon sign to add some much-needed light.

  With ‘Java-Break’ flashing through the front window, he was finally able to see what was making the puddle. He rushed back into the store to tell his wife, and shortly afterwards they dialed 911. While on the phone with them, the sun had crept high enough to cast a ray of light to illuminate the body hanging from his roof.

  He told me that the first officer arrived about a quarter after six; fifteen minutes after he’d found the body. Since he was unlikely to get any real business that morning—shutting the place down due to a crime scene had that effect—and he didn’t want everything he’d prepared to go to waste, so he decided to serve breakfast to all the men and women in blue.

  Feeling bad that Mr. Williams had lost a day’s business, I thanked him for his statement and his hospitality with a tip of $100. Delgado dropped a twenty as well and asked where the roof access was located.

  “Yes, it’s right down the alley,” Mr. Williams said.

  I thanked him again before continuing the investigation. Following Delgado, we passed the uniforms on crowd control and turned down the alley. Walking alongside the Laundromat, Marcus kept his eyes fixed to the ground along the edge of its wall while I did the same on the Java-Break side. It was another mark of a seasoned professional. We didn’t need to discuss this tactic beforehand; it just happened.

  As we surveyed the alley, I found newspaper pages, coffee cups, napkins, an old McDonald’s bag, and a fresh pile of dog shit. Marcus’ discoveries were similar, although he was lucky enough to find a used condom. It looked like it had been discarded recently since it was one of the few items in the alley that wasn’t covered in dirt and grime.

  He flagged a forensics analyst bag and tagged it, but I didn’t expect it to be of much use. It was hard to believe that our victim was having sex here just before dying. Getting your throat slashed would have been a hell of a way to climax, but human relations didn’t usually go down the same roads as the praying mantis. It would certainly make men reconsider their decision on the possibilities of a one-night-stand.

  Delgado and I reached the parking area at the back of the alley at the same time where a forensics tech was examining the ladder that led to the roof. Looking flustered, he kicked the box at his feet that contained his tools for acquiring and testing samples.

  “Damn it!” He sat back on his heels and stared at the ladder. “Hey Detectives?” Judging from his elevated voice, the tech didn’t realize we were standing right behind him.

  I cleared my throat, startling him. “Oh, detectives…I can continue dusting but I doubt we are going to find any prints. It looks like he may have been wearing gloves. I found a piece of what looks like blue nitrile. It was caught on a jagged point of the rung here. I’ll have to test to confirm, but it’s used heavily in these.” He held up his hands to show a pair of medical gloves on his hands that matched the material.

  “Could it belong to any of us?” I asked.

  “I doubt it. Only Robert and I have gone to the roof so far. We were the ones that lowered the body. He’s still up there, but I just had him check his gloves. He doesn’t’ have any tears in his and neither do I.”

  “So, prints probably won’t be found anywhere,” said Marcus.

  “Probably not. This guy is smart enough to wear gloves, but only the idiots don’t take that precaution.”

  “Sounds like business as usual,” I added.

  Making a note of the gloves possibly used by our killer, I looked up wondering if Robert had found anything up top that could be incriminating. Glancing at Marcus, I stepped back smiling and gestured to the ladder, “After you.”

  “I haven’t found any epithelial cells on the rope ends, but there were a few drops of blood on the ledge,” said Robert as he gave us his report. He continued examining and taking photos of the ropes as he spoke to us. “Most likely it belongs to the victim, but Kathryn will test all of it back at the lab.”

  “Kathryn?” asked Delgado.

  “She’s another one of the forensics techs,” I said, “but she specializes in blood samples. These guys gather everything physical and test it, but the blood goes to her.”

  Leaving Robert to his work, I looked around the area to see if anything had been missed. The forensics team was thorough, but we were all human. Any of us could miss something, which is why we worked in teams. In a corner along the northwest wall, I spotted a red smudge hidden behind a wooden crate. After setting it aside, I interrupted Robert’s examination of the rope fragments. “Mr. Jones, we’ve got more for you over here,” I said.

  Marcus looked up at the sound of my voice and followed the tech over to me. Robert asked us if we could step to the side while he snapped some photos. Written on the wall in dried blood were the words ‘Ex malo bonum’. Delgado’s response to it surprised me.

  “Good out of evil,” he said. With a raised eyebrow, I tilted my head at him like a dog hearing a strange sound. “It’s Latin. I studied it in college. It seems our killer is leaving us a message.”

  “Yeah, we find this at every scene,” I said. “It’s like a calling card. You don’t find many people that read Latin.”

  “Yeah, it’s a dying art. What I don’t understand is what that message is. Is he trying to tell us that murder is a good thing?” I didn’t have a response for him. To date we had assumed the killer meant that a bad person being stopped permanently was a good thing even though murder was evil, but there is no way to know for sure until the vigilante is caught. Until then, it’s all speculation. The silence was ended with a camera snapping more photos.

  “Look at the scholar over here,” I joked. “Quite impressive. You’re running along the same lines that we’ve been though. We believe he’s sending us a message that he’s one of the good guys, but he does bad things to make that good. We’ve found this at every scene since the beginning. It’s so popular that everyone in the precinct knows the translation.”

  Allowing the forensics team to finish up, we left with what we had so far and took our questions to the morgue. Amy would be there cleaning the body by now, and hopefully she would have some answers for us.

  Chapter 6

>   We descended into Madame Amy’s Palace of Death, as our resident coroner liked to call it, at half past nine in the morning. Amy had a quirky sense of humor that you couldn’t help but appreciate. It probably came in handy entertaining herself since she spent most of her day in the basement alone with nothing but assorted corpses to keep her company.

  I remembered the first time I came to the morgue during training when an older man worked there. He wasn’t far from retirement at the time and he’d had an odd sense of humor too. He liked to tell this story to new recruits about a time he was down there late at night and he heard scratching on one of the steel doors to the cold storage. He would reenact the story as he told it, approaching the doors as he tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. Bringing the trainee to one of the doors in question, he’d open it to show the body inside.

  After pulling the tray out, his cohort on the table would suddenly sit straight up screaming at the top of their lungs. Every year at least one trainee would tumble backwards in fear, shouting profanities as he fell to the tile floor. It would always get a good laugh from everyone that was in on the joke. For the life of me, I couldn’t recall his name, but I did take pride in that I was lucky enough not to be the one falling prey to his prank.

  Stepping through the swinging doors of the death palace, I found Amy bent over a table looking over our dead body. Her back was to us from where we’d entered, and I could see the curvature of her hips through the pants that hugged her so tightly. That area just below her back was exquisite, and it was one of my favorite physical qualities on her.

  Amy was very gifted in that department, and she was fully aware of the attention it drew from others. Her ass had been in my top three for many years, and it looked just as fantastic under the sheets. Clothing could sometimes play tricks on the eyes that fall apart once the skin is laid bare. What Amy had was not a trick, and the most recent pleasure I had to view it was just a few nights ago. She seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to catching men staring at her hindquarters though as she busted me again.