Perfect Sinners

by Rick Murcer

  Her job, their job, was to secure the area against contamination, isolate the evidence, gather it, and then analyze what they found.

  God in heaven, she wished it were always that easy. It had been, almost, that simple for nine years. No thoughts of why people did what they did to one another, not really. She hadn’t been completely immune to the whys, of course. The mind went where it went. But her and her partner’s job had been to let the science do the talking and let the detectives do what they were trained to do.

  That was before the last case. That one had taken the phrase “sick bastard” to a whole new level and had landed her father in the hospital in the process.

  During that case, she’d seen a subtle shift in her way of thinking. She’d actually enjoyed what it had felt like to be a part of the investigation that hadn’t included test tubes, spectrometers, and blood spatter patterns.

  Particularly when Brice had asked her opinion on what she thought was going on, apart from the forensics evidence. Her job hadn’t changed since then, but how she looked at investigations was evolving.

  Even her friend, FBI Special Agent Sophie Lee, had told her she had at least some of the gift investigators needed to go from one step to the next. The ability, maybe, the desire to leave the lab? Well that was something else entirely.

  Ellen exhaled. “One thing at a time, girl,” she whispered.

  Focusing back on the severed limbs, she dropped to one knee from her squatting position and studied the package.

  The pale, purplish foot and hand were wrapped in what appeared to be some form of cellophane packaging that had been double layered then placed in a large, clear plastic bag.

  There were tiny, oblong blisters on the top of the foot and side of the hand and the darkening nails told her that the decomposition was probably in the second stage. It also meant that the decay was biotic and not chemical and that the wrapping had probably slowed down the process because of the lack of oxygen exposure. She guessed that the limbs had been removed some fourteen to eighteen hours prior.

  At first glance the cuts to the ankle and the wrist that had removed the hand and foot appeared to be smooth and clean, but as she considered them, she could see the tiny raised edges that formed a distinct pattern. She’d have to get a closer look under her microscope and compare it to her data base, but she was sure some sort of power hand saw or electric blade was used because of the mitigated trauma and ridges on the cuts.

  She frowned. There was a fair amount of blood at the bottom of the interior bag. It had turned dark but was somewhat measurable. If the foot and hand had been removed post mortem, there would be significantly less blood or almost none.

  Her pulse quickened at her next thought.

  These limbs had been removed when the victim was still alive.

  “Are you thinking what I’m seeing?” asked Aaron who had returned to kneel beside her. “And before you ask, the good guys are on the way,” said Aaron.

  “Good and yes, I think so. Somebody didn’t like this young man very well.”

  “You mean to cut off limbs when he was still alive or to kill him in general?”

  “Both. My dad told me once there are worse things than dying. I suspect having someone take a saw to your body while still alive might rank high up in that category,” answered Ellen, shutting off the idea of what that must have felt like.

  Aaron hesitated as she heard him swallow hard. “Yeah, hard to argue with that one.”

  “And before you ask, again, I don’t know what possesses people to do this to one another. Each time we see something like this there is a different, screwed up reason. We just need to do our job and see if we can help put this twisted perp away for a long time.”

  “You’re right, but that won’t help me with the nightmares, if they come knocking,” said Aaron.

  Ellen knew what that was about too. “I hear you. Maybe a couple of stiff shots of Jack Daniels will help, but meanwhile, we need to get to work. You take this side of the SUV and I’ll see what I can find around the perimeter.”

  The approaching sirens screamed in the background as she touched Aaron’s arm. “I can’t quite remember if I locked the door on the SUV.”

  Aaron’s brown eyes softened as he offered a small smile. “Ellie, I’ve never known you to not lock the door. You do this thing where you raise your arm a little over your shoulder and point the fob toward the vehicle.”

  “You weren’t with me this morning, so you can’t verify that I locked it.”

  “True, I didn’t ride with you this morning. But, I’d bet my next date you locked. It’s just what you do.”

  “Your next date? That would kill you,” she said.

  “I know, that’s how much confidence I have in you. Think back. Did you lock it?”

  Ellen closed her eyes and mentally traced backed to when she’d exited the vehicle and subsequently went to the crime scene. There it was. She’d raised her shoulder, pushed the locked button twice, and heard the quick beep confirming the unit was locked.

  “I did it. I locked this unit. So how did someone get inside?”

  “Good question.”

  Ellen shook her head slowly. “The fob could have been hacked. It’s not that hard.”

  “I know, but that takes some effort and you have to be in proximity to the vehicle when it’s being opened and closed—aww shit, really? Hacked?”

  “Can you think of anything else that fits? I mean, even if I’d left the door open, how would someone know and just happen to be packing a foot and arm as a present?”

  “Your logic makes sense,” said Aaron, frowning.

  Just then, two CPD squad cars skidded to a stop twenty feet away from them. A third, Brice and Bella’s unmarked sedan, were right on their heels.

  She turned back to Aaron as the multiple sounds of opening and closing doors echoed around them. “If that’s true, if I’m right, that someone hacked into this vehicle with the only purpose to drop off body parts, we’ve got bigger problems than two dead people.”

  CHAPTER-8

  Ellen sat down at her desk, the large yellow envelope with Aaron’s writing on the front held tightly in her hand.

  The envelope contained the identity, among other items of information, of the male victim found with Ramona Ackles. As was his practice, he hadn’t told her about the contents after he reviewed it.

  They both agreed it was better if she saw the information on her own terms, allowing her own first impressions of the photos and evidence to help her form an objective opinion on the evidence. Then they could discuss what they saw.

  Objective? Murder was anything but that.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the envelope and grabbed the cover sheet attached to several eight by ten photos. The top photo attracted her gaze. She couldn’t help but stare. The young man’s eyes were now a dull blue, but she imagined they had been bright and piercing a day or so ago. That would have only added to his above average good-looks.

  The sudden pang of sadness took her by surprise.

  Big Harv had talked about senseless killing since she could remember and it had hit home to her a few times during her investigations. Yet, the point had been driven home more directly during the previous case where four young ladies had died in a disturbing manner.

  Now this.

  She looked to her tiled ceiling, remembering what one of her professors had said in a class of basic psychology required of every cop and forensic tech. Never try to figure out the motivation for the violence people perform against one another. They’ll tell you when you catch them. So catch them.

  Some wisdom is eternal.

  Her eyes moved from the photo and then to the cover sheet.

  Benjamin Castle, age twenty-one, no known employer. IQ around 130, but not a registered college student. Two arrests for possession of cocaine and other illegal drugs. One for assault that was dismissed and three charges of petty theft.

  Castle possessed a classic profile for addicts in Chic
ago.

  This young man could have, and should have, been so much more.

  She ran her finger along his pale chin. None of that other possible future mattered today. His chance on this earth had come and gone.

  Closing the envelope, she sighed. Asking why wouldn’t bring him back. All she could hope for was justice and to find the people responsible. She’d break her fanny making sure that happened.

  Turning in her chair, she hit the “on” button to her computer and waited for it to fire up. As the computer came alive, the familiar dance of manila file folders gyrated around the screen, halting after a few seconds to spell out the word QUEEN in quivering, Old English letters. Five seconds later, the files arranged themselves in order, based on open case name, lining up perfectly from left to right running down the left side of her twenty-two-inch screen. A moment later, We Are the Champions, streamed from her dual speakers, the obvious reference not lost on her since it was one of the band Queen’s greatest hits.

  The presentation always brought a smile to her face, although most days it was melancholy at best. Oscar had put together the computer’s startup program as a bit of a prank after she’d been dubbed The Queen of Forensics by her coworkers.

  She still missed him. A lot. She sometimes drove the ten miles to his home to visit his wife and children and to capture a little of his essence. She sometimes brought gifts for the kids and his wife, but mostly she went to see how they were doing and if they needed anything. The answer was always the same.

  “No thank you, Ellie, we’re doing as well as could be expected. We’d just like Oscar back,” his widowed wife would say, breaking Ellen’s heart all over again.

  Big Harv had told her losing partners was the Hell on earth that working as a cop in Chicago brought to pointed reality. Given that, there was almost nothing worse than losing your first partner. He had been more than right about that. She prayed she’d never find out what it was like to lose a second.

  Reaching for the desktop phone, she hit the blinking message button and saw she had four.

  The first one was a routine department warning not to visit porn or other inappropriate sites on the CPD’s computers and smartphones. She wondered if that included anything to do with Bruce Jenner and the Kardashians as well.

  The next one reminded her of a court date as an expert witness in three weeks.

  She didn’t particular enjoy those sessions but if it put someone away for a long time, she’d do what she could. The problem came when the prosecutors wanted her to juice up the testimony with a few exaggerated pieces of information, telling her it was good for the overall show in front of the jury and judge. She’d always tell them no. She was a facts person, not a damned storyteller.

  If the facts didn’t do the job, then it didn’t. But telling the truth was usually all it took to set things right, guilty or not. People respected an honest expert and she was that, if not the Queen.

  The next message cued up. “Hey, darlin’ I hope you’re doing good. Old George and I are hangin’ in there so don’t worry that pretty head about that. I’m just callin’ for two things. Remember you and Brice are comin’ to the store to eat pizza and shoot those new Beretta pistols tomorrow night. That APX we picked up in Nashville at the NRA convention is a beauty and that upgraded Pico is a cute lil’ thing. It’d fit right under those tight jeans you wear. Which I don’t care for but I suppose old Brice takes a second look or three.

  “The other thing we’re needin’ to talk about is what you know about those new gun laws for this messed up city. They best not be screwing with me and George on that one. That’d be anti-American so I need to hear what you know.

  “I know yer busy. I love you almost as much as Mable and Pearl. Call me. Your friend, Kate Mortimore.”

  Ellen laughed. Kate hated technology so this message was a rare one. She always ended them, however, with her full name, as if Ellen might not understand who was calling.

  Kate was a large, crusty woman who loved her bible, her God, her gun store, and her guns, Mable and Pearl, as much as she hated government interference with her rights, taxes, and barely tolerated liberals. Despite a shortcoming or two, Kate was also someone who possessed a heart of pure gold and that made her real and someone you wanted on your side, too.

  They had met when Ellen was picking out her backup weapon in Kate’s store and had hit it off. Their friendship had evolved and Kate had become more than that after Ellen’s mom was killed. She’d been self-christened as Ellen’s replacement mother and a confidant of sorts.

  Those things meant far more to Ellen than Kate had probably realized, especially during her divorce. Priceless hadn’t covered the support.

  She wrote a quick note to call Kate when she had time and talk more about tomorrow night. But that was predicated on how this new, bizarre case was going.

  The last message was from Brice.

  “Hey. Just wanted you to know you are on my mind even more than normal. And, ahh, well, oh damn. I’m not that good at this romantic stuff. I only want you to know that I can’t wait to see you again. How’s that?”

  Then he laughed and the message ended. Her heart, on cue, began to beat faster at what later might mean.

  Oddly, they hadn’t, as consenting adults, made love. Hot, heavy kissing for sure, but Brice had voiced his appreciation of old-fashioned values and she’d fallen in with it, almost in relief. She wanted him. She wanted his strong hands and arms around her. She wanted to see his ripped abs and feel his warmth closer to her than they’d experienced so far and yes, things almost got out of hand more than once. But those moments just hadn’t seemed like the time had been right. She’d know when it was. Besides, she hadn’t let anyone except Mulder, her cat, see her naked in a while. That was going to be a huge step.

  She played his message over and smiled, again.

  Before Brice, her ex, Joel Harper, had been the only man that could make her pulse race by just the sound of his voice. But it had never been like this with Joel. She wasn’t sure why because Joel had been everything she’d ever wanted in a man--until he wasn’t.

  Maybe it was because Brice had known Ellen held an issue or two, and hadn’t cared. He’d accepted her right where she was in life and hadn’t tried to change her.

  Isn’t that what knights in shining armor do? She wasn’t totally sure about that, but never once had she felt anything except his affection toward her. That was deserving of knighthood in itself.

  “It doesn’t hurt that you’re the hottest cop on the planet, either.” she said to herself, exhaling.

  Her mind settled back to the case.

  He was a great cop on top of everything else. Bella Sanchez was no slouch either. Ellen hoped he would have an update for her on what could have happened with the two murders down at the river’s edge.

  Meanwhile, her and her office had to start somewhere in identifying who had placed the severed limbs of the now identified man at her doorstep.

  She looked back at the file. It was almost a sure thing Castle had lost them before he died, and it had taken a while for that to happen. If so, he’d, obviously endured a horrendous last hour of his life.

  Shaking the predilection to shudder, her mind dove past its disgust.

  Why sever his limbs? A lesson for some perceived wrong? Maybe. It could have been drug related, given his history, but she thought his death and mutilation not pointed enough. The gang killings she had seen revolving around drug situations had been far more violent.

  Gangland type of killing? Maybe. Again, the style would have been more like a Sicilian necktie or even his genitals stuffed in his mouth.

  Personal vendetta leading to a crime of passion? Did someone simply hate Ben Castle and want to kill him for the sake of getting rid of him? That was usually the top of the pecking order when it came to murder. Yet, in her mind, this one didn’t fit that profile totally.

  Ellen shook her head. She’d definitely been hanging out with Brice and Bella too much. The Queen of
Forensics relying on instincts instead of science to formulate an opinion?

  Damn. She would have her Forensic Science membership card forcibly revoked and be drawn and quartered at the next department meeting if that were ever unveiled. Still, she thought she was right.

  Throw in why someone would drop off the bloody bag of goodies inside her SUV and apparently go through the trouble of getting into the unit illegally, and the case became more of a head scratcher.

  The person who got into her truck had to know that her department would be able to dig deeper and quicker into the evidence.

  On top of all that, she wasn’t even sure of how Castle had died, yet. And how was his murder related to Ramona’s death? Or was it at all?

  She needed some small answers to small questions to get to the next level.

  Those answers came from what she and her staff did best; putting the pieces of the puzzle together on a microscopic level.

  The computer screen flashed again, drawing her attention to the email notifications that ran half way down the screen. She ignored all of them except the two that had to do with the case she was working.

  Clicking on the most recent email marked TEST SAMPLES originating from the Cook County Medical Examiner’s office, she opened it quickly.

  She’d given the ME’s office a list of nine initial test samples she wanted taken from both bodies. Then added four more to have processed on the limbs and packaging left for her after she and Aaron had delivered the morbid bundle.

  FT SUPERVISOR HARPER.

  We have ready the samples for preliminary testing requested from you and your office. In the interest of saving time, we’ve sent a currier to your lab. She will be there within the hour.

  Please advise if you need further assistance.

  Carla Olsen

  Medical Examiner Supervisor

  Cook County, Illinois.