by Matt Lincoln
I’d graduated high school at fourteen and college at nineteen, and ever since I was a kid, people had disliked me merely for being able to do things at an unusually young age. My mother had always told me that they were just jealous or felt threatened that I was more capable than they were. A part of me knew that was true, but it didn’t make it any easier. It was always horribly lonely, being the only child in a sea of teenagers, then the only teenager in a sea of adults who, even though I had made it this far by my own merit and hard work, always seemed to assume my age meant I was somehow inferior or inadequate. It certainly didn’t help that I had a name like Junior.
Thanks for that, mom, I couldn’t help but think as we drove along in silence. I knew that Hills was looking at me the same way my peers at the police academy had looked at me. The thing was, I wasn’t friendly to people out of naivete. I had seen the force take my kind and cheerful father and turn him into an impatient brute who took his frustrations and anger out on his family. I had seen how working as a police officer turned him into someone I barely recognized. The job had chewed him up and spit out a sad, former ghost of the man who had once filled my life with joy, right up until he wasted away into nothing.
I wouldn’t end up like him, though. So I kept on smiling and being friendly, even though I knew what people thought of me. I wouldn’t let them change me and turn me into a bitter, angry, unkind man the way they’d done to my father.
With that in mind, I took a breath, braced myself, and did my absolute best to engage with Hills. After all, we couldn’t be sure how long this mission would take to solve. We could be working together for days or even weeks, and I was determined to find some common ground with Hills. We needed to be able to communicate and get along if we were going to work together effectively.
“So this is a pretty wild case, huh? Not that, well, no pun intended or anything,” I said, with about as much grace as a rhino.
Hills just raised an eyebrow at me without saying anything. Perfect, what a great start.
“I’ve never heard of a wild animal being found in a city like Las Vegas, have you?” I continued, my voice sounding far more meek and uncertain than I meant it to. I had heard of bears wandering into cities in California and wondered if I should bring that up.
“Can’t say I have,” said Hills, seemingly determined to have the conversation die there. I wasn’t willing to give up that easily, though.
“There have been cases of bears wandering into cities in northern California. And I think I’ve heard of bobcats being spotted in southern areas of the United States, but they’re not as big as a cougar, and there’s never been anything as serious as a mauling, I don’t think.” I hoped that was enough to keep the conversation going.
“Wow,” was Hills’s only reply, and I found myself feeling more irritated than sad at being brushed off. This guy was so rude.
“So, you were a cop before this, right? Nelson mentioned something about that,” I continued, determined to at least annoy him by talking if I wasn’t going to be able to engage him in a meaningful conversation.
“Yeah, up in northern Nevada,” he said.
“Me too. Not in Nevada, though. A cop, I mean, in Arizona.” That was what finally prompted Hills to look over at me, seemingly in disbelief.
I was even more irritated now by his blatant incredulity at the idea that I was a police officer. I was used to people looking down on me, but it still stung anytime it happened.
“You were a cop? How old are you even?” He asked, turning his attention back to the road.
“Twenty-six. I graduated from the academy right at twenty-one and was a cop for three years before joining the FBI at twenty-four. What about you, how long were you a cop?” I was still a little annoyed at how rude he was being, but I was also a little excited that we seemed to be finally finding some common ground. Maybe this car ride wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
“Two years. This is my first job as a federal agent,” he said, and it honestly surprised me.
“That’s less time than I would have guessed. You seem like the kind of no-nonsense guy who knows what he’s doing,” I said honestly.
Hills gave me a look I couldn’t quite read and seemed to be hesitating for a moment before answering. “Yeah, well, there are a lot of different ways to learn about the kind of criminal scum that exist right under our noses than by being a cop. Before I became a police officer, I was… I guess you could say on the wrong side of the law more often than I was on the right side.”
Hills looked at me expectantly, as if wondering what I would say to that. A thousand different responses flitted through my mind, and I felt an immense pressure at the thought that whatever I said now could potentially affect how well we would get along in the future.
Before I could over-analyze and say something stupid, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which was, “That’s pretty badass.”
For a moment, I worried I had made the wrong choice, but then Hills snorted out a short bark of laughter and rolled his eyes, and I felt confident I had chosen correctly.
7
Charlie
The apartment building was located in a rather run-down part of the city. Huntridge wasn’t that far from downtown Las Vegas, but the difference was obvious. Gone were the skyscrapers, casinos, and glittering lights, replaced instead with dusty yellow and white buildings and tangled nests of power lines. I slowed the car as we approached the address Nelson had given us, and, taking care not to drive into the massive pothole that was right by the main entrance of the parking lot, I worked the car into a spot. There were only a few other cars in the parking lot, and the building itself looked unremarkable. From what I could see, there were two floors, with doors lining the outside of the building and an exterior staircase that lead up to the second floor. It actually looked a lot like a cheap roadside motel, and I wondered if maybe it was one that had been renovated into individual apartment units.
As I parked the car, a wave of nerves suddenly hit me. I’d been so distracted by all the tedious introductions that morning that it hadn’t really sunk in until right now that this was really my first mission as a federal agent. Before now, this had all just been a vague idea in my mind. Now that I was really right here, about to enter a crime scene, I could feel a knot forming in my stomach. I was excited about the prospect of investigating an international crime, but I also felt fear. What if I failed? What if I completely screwed this up, and Nelson decided he had made a mistake in hiring a nobody cop like me?
I gripped the steering wheel tightly and silenced the disparaging thoughts. Worrying about it wouldn’t get me anywhere, and if I believed that I would fail, then I would. This job was what I’d worked so hard for. I wasn’t going to squander the opportunity now that I was here.
I took a look around the area as we exited the car, and it wasn’t lost on me that I didn’t see anyone around, despite the fact that there were definite signs of life dotted around the parking lot and the exterior of the building, such as the plastic lawn chairs sitting outside of one unit or the child-sized bike which lay forgotten at one edge of the parking lot.
It wasn’t that surprising. News tended to travel quickly in these types of communities, and the news of a death involving a wild animal was sure to have spread by now. That being said, the people living here would be unlikely to welcome the police into their neighborhood with open arms. Although Junior and I were federal agents and therefore an entirely separate entity than the police, to most of the residents here, we’d be considered one and the same. Figures of authority who only ever showed up to arrest someone or otherwise make life even more miserable for them. Having been in their position myself, I could understand their perspective.
A second look toward the buildings surrounding us was all I needed to confirm my suspicions. I could see faces peeking out from between blinds and from behind curtains, clearly curious but still unwilling to speak with the cops.
I sighed as I turned my attentio
n back toward the matter at hand and began to walk toward the entrance of the building with Junior. This was definitely going to be difficult if we couldn’t convince any of the neighbors to speak with us. Surely, someone would have noticed something. After all, it would be impossible for someone to get a giant, live wildcat into a cramped apartment unit without drawing some kind of attention. I had a sinking feeling, however, that anyone we spoke to would claim to not have seen or heard anything.
There was a police officer standing by the base of the stairway leading up to the second floor of the building who eyed us warily as we approached, shifting his stance into a more defensive one almost imperceptibly. Years of living on the street and having to make split-second decisions had taught me to notice these kinds of small changes in behavior and body language, and I hurried to set him at ease.
“I’m Agent Charlie Hills,” I said, pulling out my ID and presenting it to the officer. “And this is Agent Arnold Chapman.” I gestured to Junior, whose first name I had almost used just now. It was easy to think of him that way, considering how young he looked and acted, but he had said he preferred going by his middle name, and turbulent as our prior interactions had been, it wasn’t like I was deliberately trying to pick on him. “We’re agents of MBLIS, here about the crime scene in apartment number two-seventeen. The case will be under our jurisdiction from now on.”
The officer visibly relaxed then, seeming almost relieved to discover we were there to take the case over. “I’m Officer Bells,” he said. “Go right up. Animal control just left, and I think our investigator was just about done, anyway.” He moved aside then, pulling out his radio to alert his fellow officers upstairs to expect us.
I was a little surprised. I had been expecting some kind of resistance or hesitancy at being told the feds were taking over their case, but Bells had been more than willing to let us take over. As a small-town police detective, I didn’t have much personal experience dealing with federal agents, so I wasn’t sure what I should have expected. Maybe I had just watched too many crime shows?
“Did he seem kind of skittish to you?” I asked Junior as we made our way up the metal staircase.
“Yeah, that was kind of weird. Usually, the police will at least ask some follow-up questions about why the feds are taking over the case if they don’t get outright territorial,” he responded, reaffirming my own thoughts. Unlike me, Junior actually had a few years of experience as a federal agent, according to what he’d told me in the car, so if he thought it was odd too, then it wasn’t just my imagination.
“How did this guy even afford to buy a cougar and have it shipped here from South America?” I asked aloud, turning to Junior as we climbed the stairs. “This apartment building is in shambles. I somehow doubt the average resident here would have the disposable income necessary to drop on a cougar, of all things. Not to mention he’d then have to haul it all the way up here since there’s no elevator.” Two floors may not seem like a lot, but it had been a trial for me to transport a single leather couch up the same distance. A live cougar which likely weighed even more than that couch, would no doubt be even more difficult.
“So either someone else bankrolled the purchase for him, or he suddenly came into a lot of money by less than legitimate means,” said Junior, finishing my line of thinking for me.
“Either way, someone broke the law, and we need to find out who and why,” I said as we reached the specified apartment.
Standing outside was another officer who was looking at something on his phone. He glanced up at us as we approached.
“Hey gentlemen, Detective Sinclair,” he said, shaking mine and Junior’s hands in turn. “Y’all must be the federal agents Bells radioed up about. My partner’s inside finishing up now. I wish y'all had made it here a little sooner. It would have saved us the trouble of conducting our own investigation.” He had a southern lilt to his voice that reminded me a little of Chrys, and I wondered where he might be from.
At that moment, another police officer came out of the apartment, ducking beneath the yellow crime scene tape. She had a binder tucked under one arm and a bag slung over one shoulder, which I assumed was filled with evidence samples.
She looked up and smiled when she noticed us standing there. Unlike the other officers I had encountered so far, who had seemed either uncomfortable or downright distraught, she seemed very at ease.
“Hi, you’re Agents Hills and Chapman, right? Terry radioed up to let me know you were coming,” she said, taking time to shake both mine and Junior’s hands just as Officer Sinclair had.
“I’m Detective Anderson, CSI division,” she continued. “I was just finishing up in there. You’re taking over the case, correct? In that case, I’ll forward all of our information to you just as soon as we get it inventoried and cataloged. I know it’s not ideal, but technically since it’s already in my possession, I have to go through all the red tape to get it transferred over to you guys. Bureaucracy, right?”
She huffed out a chuckle. No wonder she seemed more relaxed. As a dedicated crime scene investigator, she was probably used to being around blood and dead bodies, so it made sense that she didn’t seem as squeamish as the other officers. “Anyway, the victim’s name is Dean Everett. Lady at the leasing office says he’s lived here for about two years. Never had a problem with him until today.”
“Hell of a first problem to have,” I responded, preparing to step by her and into the room.
“Oh, before I forget,” she started, twisting to rummage through her bag before pulling out a small plastic bag.
“The victim’s phone,” she said, offering the bag to me. Inside was a small smartphone that looked to be unscathed save for the splotch of dried blood crusted over the top right corner. “Or maybe I should say suspect. It’s hard to tell what exactly went down here and what all this guy was planning.” She looked toward the apartment and shook her head like a disapproving mother. “Anyway, we got a call from the higher-ups that said we should turn the phone over ASAP since it’s important to your investigation. The rest of the evidence might take a few days to get transferred over, and they didn’t want the phone lost in the shuffle. Oh, and the cougar’s gone!” She added the last part almost as an afterthought. “Y’know, just in case you were wondering. Animal control came and got him just a little while before you showed up.”
“That’s great, thanks,” I said, taking the phone. “Our intelligence analyst really needed it.” I was about to place the phone in my pocket before thinking better of it and handing it over to Junior. He was carrying a laptop bag that would probably be a safer location for it than in the pocket of my suit jacket.
“Well, I think that’s it, then,” Officer Anderson said, readjusting her bag and stepping aside to allow me space to enter. “Good luck in there. It’s a… nasty one.” She gave me an apologetic smile and began to walk off, giving us space to move inside and begin conducting our own investigation.
I turned toward the apartment, and before I had even ducked under the yellow police tape, the smell hit me. Most civilians don’t know, but blood, in large quantities, has a distinct smell. Even when a body is still fresh and hasn’t had a lot of time to decompose, there’s still the unpleasant smell of metal and salt that only accompanies very violent, very bloody deaths.
Immediately recognizing the smell for what it was, I braced myself for the worst as I moved past the doorway and into the main area of the apartment. I still was not prepared for what I saw.
As a homeless teenager on the wrong side of society, I had witnessed and been the victim of countless forms of violent crimes. Gunshots, stab wounds, and maybe the occasional broken bone. The worst I had ever seen was a buddy of mine who miscalculated a jump as we were attempting to hop on a train and ended up having his leg pulled under. It was awful and bloody, but in the end, he survived, and the injury healed.
The body in front of me was unlike anything I’d ever seen, and it took me a moment to figure out what exactly I was lookin
g at. Once I did, though, I glanced over to Junior, who I worried might throw up or faint, as was possible even with older, seasoned cops, but aside from a slight pallor, he didn’t seem any worse for wear. I had to admit, I felt a modicum of respect for him, as he seemed to be taking in the scene more calmly than I was. With that thought in mind, I quickly shut out any feelings of shock or disgust and put my mind to work.
I closed my mind off to everything around me except for the details of the scene. I just had to look at it like a game or a puzzle. There was a correct answer here, and all the pieces that I needed to figure it out were in front of me. Maybe not in plain sight, but they were here. There was no such thing as the perfect crime, and I knew I could figure this one out too.
In the den, an armchair was overturned, and there were bloody marks on the backrest area but nowhere else. Judging by the positioning of the blood and the way the spatter was directed, I could tell that this is most likely where the struggle began. The cougar probably attacked directly, pouncing on the victim from the front, which caused the armchair to fall backward and for the victim’s blood to spurt in the direction that it did.
The victim fought back, and the cougar tore off the victim’s arms as he struggled. It would make sense to eliminate its prey’s main source of defense. Then it bit down on his leg and dragged him out toward the hallway which would explain the bloody drag marks on the carpet and the victim’s almost entirely severed leg. The blood had pooled the thickest here, which meant that this was where the victim ultimately bled out. The animal continued its attack, which explained the heavy claw marks on the victim’s face and upper chest. Finally, the cougar moved toward the bathroom where they had found it. There was a trail of bits of cloth, flesh, and blood leading from the body to the bathroom. He probably wanted a small, enclosed space to eat.
