Throw Away

"Death cancels everything but truth."
Latin Proverb

CHAPTER 1

11:15PM

"Hello?"

"11:30 behind Tillman's Garage. Make sure you've got the money…all of it."

He looked down at the cellphone as the call ended, then hoisted a backpack onto his shoulder before trudging down the street. For almost three years he had been selling crack and meth, and in that time he had never been short when he turned over the money – until last week. It had only been twenty bucks but the way they acted it might as well have been a thousand.

As he turned at the corner of the drycleaners and started for the alley the knot in his stomach grew tighter. The money wasn't short this time but his sales were down. They weren't going to be happy. Turning left when he reached the alley, the fourteen year old couldn't shake the bad feeling and the thought of turning around and going home came to mind but home wasn't much better. His mother was the very reason that he had left home and started selling three years before. No, home wasn't an option, but a bus ticket out of town was going to be the next thing he did after the meet. The light behind Tillman's Garage flickered just like it always did and he looked up at it for a few seconds as he neared the rusted out Buick, the place where they always met. The next thing he saw was a board as it arced toward his mid-section, landing with a thud and driving him to his knees.

12:02AM

"So how do you like it?" Captain Frank Withers raised his voice and turned to look at one of the men sitting in the back of Engine 16's cab, the wail of the siren and honking horn almost drowning out the sound of his voice. The reply was two thumbs up and a big smile. The two had met about a year earlier when private investigator Matt Houston had come to the station while working on a case that had more of an effect on his life than he could have ever imagined.

The engine turned into the alley and the flames from the dumpster fire that they had been dispatched to extinguish were visible. As the engine came to a stop the firefighters scrambled down, following the captain's orders. Houston was assigned to one of the hoses as the crew began dousing the flames. In just a few minutes the flames were gone. As Houston and three of the other fire fighters checked to be sure it was completely out, the PI stopped. "Guys, we've got a body in here. Cap!"

Frank Withers approached the dumpster and looked down inside. The badly burnt remains of a hand and arm could be seen. "Oh man…" The captain radioed in requesting an investigator. "Too bad you don't have your gear with you."

"Yeah, but…" Matt took off the helmet and turn out coat. "That won't keep me from looking around."

"Alright guys – watch where you step and head back to the engine." He watched as the PI retrieved a flashlight from the cab and carefully walked back to the dumpster, examining the cracked pavement as he went. In the last several months Houston had been taking classes in order to become a fire investigator and his record so far was spotless. The Fire Marshal hadn't been too sure about the idea initially but after checking into the PI's background and with urging from Captain Rich Holt he had agreed and was now glad that he had: Houston had proven himself already and had eased the workload on the other investigators.

Squatting down about six feet from the dumpster he found blood spatter and something that looked like a sliver of wood about 4" long. He remembered seeing part of a two by four in the garbage. As he stood back up and shone the light around the area he saw more blood that was smeared.

Sirens drew nearer and then became silent as Houston was joined by Fire Inspector Rich Holt first and then Detective Lee Jennings of the LAPD. Looking over his shoulder at Rich he spoke. "Gonna need some markers, bud." The fire investigator nodded as he turned back to the SUV for equipment.

Lee carefully walked over. "Imagine meeting you here. Trying to make a fashion statement with the pants?" He gave his friend a grin.

"Tell ya what – I wouldn't trade these pants for a hundred head of cattle." Matt tapped the leg of the protective pants that were part of his turnout gear. "And the suspenders are kinda snazzy, doncha think?"

"What have we got?" Rich stepped up next to the pair and listened as the PI gave him the details so far.

"It looks to me like it started here…" He led them to the area of blood spatter that he had found. "Looks like the attacker was right about here and there's a sliver of wood here that looks like it might have come off a 2x4 that's in there." He pointed to the dumpster. "From the way it's smeared right here it seems like they were moving the victim toward the dumpster. All that's showing of the body is an arm and hand."

"Alright." Rich handed Matt a pair of gloves and began photographing the scene as Matt continued to look around.

"Who called it in?" Lee watched as the pair continued.

"Ask the cap – I don't know." Houston took a marker and placed it near a bloody footprint. "But I can tell you we were dispatched at 11:58." Just as they reached the dumpster a van from the Coroner's office pulled up. "Looks like we'll get to see who we've got pretty soon."

After photos were made of the way the body was situated in the dumpster, the two Coroner's assistants along with Matt and Rich pulled the partially burned body out of the dumpster and gently laid it on a tarp. The PI felt a lump in his throat.

"Damn – he's just a kid. Can't be more than 15 or 16 years old." Rich sadly shook his head. "Who in the hell could he have pissed off so bad?"

"No telling." Lee looked back into the garbage. "Bet this backpack is his." He removed it and set it on the foot of the tarp as one of the Coroner's assistants checked the boy's pockets.

"Shane Allen Baxter – 14. There's an address on Atlantic." He handed the wallet to Rich, who along with Lee jotted down the information.

Matt knelt down and unzipped the backpack. Inside were a couple of t-shirts, a pair of jeans and several small packages of what appeared to be meth and crack. "Looks like he was dealing." He looked sadly up at the burnt body of the boy wondering if anyone even wondered why he wasn't home.

"There isn't any cash in his pockets." The Coroner's assistant spoke up.

"Seventeen bucks in the wallet." Lee showed the others. "Looks like somebody really worked him over."

Matt went back to the dumpster and retrieved what was left of the 2x4. "There's blood on here – and hair, too."

"Houston…" Captain Withers called out. "We've got another call – are you staying or going?"

Rich nodded toward the engine. "Go ahead – we've got it."

Houston stood. "Thanks. See y'all later." Jogging back over to the engine he handed the flashlight back to Withers and donned the jacket and helmet as he climbed back into the cab. The engineer pulled away as he hit the siren headed out to the scene of a car accident.

"So he's getting more on the job training?" Lee gestured over his shoulder.

"The boss thought it would be a good idea." Rich gave a chuckle. "He's been kept busy today. 16's been loaded down all day long. Frank called me earlier when they had a slight break in the action and gave me a report." The investigator pulled out his phone to request a truck to pick up the dumpster.

"And?"

"I don't think that there's anything in the world he can't do." Rich grinned.

The next afternoon CJ gently set Catey Rose on the bed and whispered to her. "Go wake up Daddy." The baby crawled up the bed and planted a big kiss on his cheek. "Up, Daddy."

"Hey there, Lady Bug." Matt scooped up the now one year old and began blowing raspberries on her belly sending her into a burst of giggles.

CJ stood watching the pair and smiling. "I thought you might prefer her to the alarm clock."

"I sure do." He began tickling the baby until both were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"Michael called earlier. He wanted to ask you some questions about the dumpster fire."

"Huh – don't know why – Lee was there and Rich landed the case."

"Well it seems that there was another boy killed a few miles away."

"Hmm…" Matt sat up on the edge of the bed and yawned before picking up his phone.

"Come on, Catey. Let Daddy get dressed." She gave him a kiss as she picked up their daughter.

"Hey – CJ said you called." He stood up stretching before padding to the closet for a pair of jeans.

"Yeah. I read Lee's report about the body you found last night. Another boy about the same age was found early this morning not too far from there – looked like somebody really beat him up bad. Would you mind taking a look at what we've got – see if they might be related somehow?"

"Your office?" Matt pulled a t-shirt over his head and grabbed a ball cap.

"Uh huh. If I'm not here it will be on the desk."

"See ya." The PI hung up and took the Glock out of the bedside table, tucking it into the back of his jeans as he walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. As he stepped out onto the patio he found CJ, Catey, and Tomás along with nanny Sheila Wentworth in the pool. "Can y'all stay out of trouble for a while?" He knelt down beside the pool to give CJ a kiss.

"We'll muddle through somehow. Be careful."

In his best hen-pecked voice he answered, "Yes dear." The response was a splash of water from Catey.

"Be good, Daddy." She gave him a devilish little grin.

"Uh huh. We'll see." He patted Tilly on the head and left.

After pulling into the garage at the police station, the PI clipped his LAPD ID on the collar of his shirt and hit the stairs up to the fourth floor where he stopped to grab a cup of coffee and talk to Luis Sanchez for a minute before going into Hoyt's office. The lieutenant was gone and Houston found the file as he dropped into the chair behind the desk. He took a sip of coffee and leaned back in the chair propping his feet up on the desk as he opened the file.

The victim was 15 year old Tino Octavius Washington – an African-American with an address on Medford Street. He had been found in an alley that ran behind the Utility Company located on North Soto. The boy had been beaten to death according to the ME's report. Washington had literally had his head beaten in on the left side by what had been identified as part of a concrete block. The pictures of the scene showed blood on the block and pieces of it had been found in the boy's head wound. A search of his pockets revealed three dollars and some change along with a couple of small packages of meth.

Pulling a notebook out of his pocket the PI wrote down the boy's information. As he finished writing, the door opened and Michael Hoyt entered. "Comfy?" The cop removed his suit jacket and hung it up. Matt started to remove his feet from the desk but stopped when his friend shook his head. "No, stay there. I'm going to land on this couch for a few minutes." The cop stretched out and blew out a breath.

"Rough day so far?" The PI closed up the notebook and replaced it.

"The utter stupidity of some members of the human race is appalling." Hoyt closed his eyes. "I haven't read the file on the boy found in the dumpster; Lee hit the high points when we crossed paths this morning. He heard about the second boy and wondered if there was a connection."

"There wasn't a fire on the second one. I don't know." Houston stood up and yawned as he replaced the folder. "Has anybody notified the families yet?"

"Lee attempted to on the Baxter kid but no one was there."

"Richie Valdez worked the other one…" He looked out in the squad room and spotted the detective. "I'll ask him." Downing the last of the coffee the PI threw his cup in the trash while he went to the door. "Hey Valdez – got a second?"

"Sure." Sergeant Richard Valdez had transferred into the squad a couple of weeks earlier. Other than being introduced briefly the two men hadn't spoken.

"On the Washington case: has the family been notified?"

"Yes and no; I went to the kid's address. He lived with his grandfather. The guy was passed out drunk on the front steps – had to call an ambulance for him. Evidently he cracked his head when he hit the porch."

"Where is he?"

"They took him to Memorial."

"What's his name?" the PI pulled out the notebook once again.

"Martin Washington."

"Thanks." He turned back toward the lieutenant's office and opened the door. "Hey…"

Michael opened an eye and looked at him. "Hmm?"

"I'm going to try to make contact with both families and check out the second scene. You okay?"

Hoyt sat up on the couch. "Yeah, it's just been a long day."

"Alright. See ya later." Houston hit the stairs at the end of the hall and then collected his truck in the garage. His first stop was the scene on North Soto. As he got out of the truck Matt reached into the console for his camera before walking across the alley that consisted of cracked asphalt and gravel. The spot where the boy had died was easy to find: there was a large patch of gravel that was now a rusty-brown color with a void in it where the body had been. The concrete block had been taken by the crime scene techs but there were several others scattered next to a chain link fence. As he took a couple of shots of the area his mind drifted back to the pictures of Tino Washington whose face had been so badly smashed and the thought that too many young people were dying violent deaths went through his mind.

Walking down the alley looking for any other clues that might help them discover who had murdered the boy, Matt thought about the other victim. Both murders were extremely violent. It took a lot of force to do the damage that both boys had suffered. Although he hadn't seen the report on Shane Baxter he knew that the teen had been badly beaten.

He turned back after reaching the end of the alley. Baxter had been 14 and Washington 15. Both had been found with drugs and from what he had heard from Hoyt and Valdez, neither seemed to have much of a home life. As he reached the truck he turned back to look at the scene once more thinking sadly that the two were far too young to die.

Once behind the wheel he looked at his notebook and thought about what Valdez had told him about Martin Washington. Most likely he was still at Memorial so the PI dropped the truck into gear and headed for the hospital – a place where he had spent way too much time. Not only was it where his dad has died but where he had proposed to CJ. The Houston's nanny, Sheila Wentworth, had been a nurse at Memorial and taken care of Matt on numerous occasions before being laid off after several years on the job.

About five minutes later his phone rang and he hit the speaker button. "Hey Lil Mama – what's up?"

"I just wanted to remind you about tomorrow."

"You didn't really think I would forget that did ya?" He was smiling. The hearing for the adoption of Tomás was scheduled for 10:00AM. "How's he doing?"

"Just a little nervous. How's the case going?"

"It's depressing. I'll tell you about it later. I'm trying to catch up with the grandfather of one of the victims."

"Just be careful. Love you."

"Love you, too. 'Bye." He hung up and couldn't help but smile. The adoption process had moved much quicker than they had anticipated. As he parked and went toward the front doors of the hospital he wondered what Washington would have to say.

The emergency room wasn't overly crowded for once and he waited in line at the desk for a couple of minutes. The nurse looked up at him somewhat surprised. "Houston? You usually get brought in by the paramedics – what gives?"

"How ya doin', Simone? I'm not here as a customer today. Could you tell me if Martin Washington is still here? He was brought in this morning."

"He…" She worked the keyboard. "…left about an hour ago."

"Well that was a wasted trip – except for seeing you." He gave her a big smile.

"So how are CJ and the baby?"

"Oh, they're just fine. We've got a pair of twins on the way, too. Gotta keep Sheila busy ya know." The look of shock on her face gave way to laughter.

"Now how come I'm not really surprised? Tell everybody I said hello."

"I'll do it, hon. Thanks for your help."

Back in the truck he looked up Washington's address and started that way. He pulled up outside of the duplex to find a man of about sixty sitting on the front porch, a bottle in his hand and row upon row of wrinkles furrowed into his dark face. That's got to be him. Stopping at the bottom step he spoke. "Mr. Washington?"

Dark brown bloodshot eyes scrutinized him. "Who's askin'?"

Houston showed his ID from the police department. "I'd like to talk to you about Tino."

Washington took a long swallow from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "He ain't here."

"Yes sir. Do you remember talking to Detective Valdez this morning? He was the one who called the ambulance for you when you fell."

"Huh…no, don't recall that."

"Mr. Washington…" He paused for a minute, looking down at the ground; death notifications were rough. "I hate to be the one to tell you this but Tino was killed last night."

The older man just looked at him for a minute before raising the bottle to his lips again. After another long swallow he spoke. "What happened?"

"He was beaten to death in an alley off of North Soto. Do you know of anyone he was having problems with?"

"Nope."

"What about friends? Can you tell me who he ran with?"

"Nope." Washington began to raise the bottle again but was stopped when the PI grabbed his arm.

"Do you even care that he's gone?" Matt's anger began to rise. The man just looked at him. Releasing his arm he looked upward for a minute. "Can I take a look at his room?"

"Help yourself." Once more the bottle was raised as Matt went through the front door.

Inside the apartment was dark and filthy, the smell of rotting garbage nearly overwhelming as the PI put on a pair of gloves. Walking through the living room he turned to the right and found Tino's room. Clothes were strewn across it and fast food wrappers were scattered around the overflowing trash can. A bare mattress on the floor and a blanket were in one corner of the cramped room while a stack of CDs and videogames and gaming system along with a TV took up the opposite wall. As he looked through the jumbled mess he found three eighth grade textbooks and a couple of notebooks. Next he set the mattress on end and let out a disgusted sigh as several cockroaches and a small colony of ants scattered. Aside from some old issues of Playboy he found a cell phone with a cracked screen. Pushing the power button didn't get him anywhere so he pulled a small evidence bag out of his pocket and labelled it, then filled out a receipt for it. Looking around the room once more he went back out on the steps and handed the receipt to Martin Washington along with one of his cards. "If you happen to think of something that might help us give me a call."

Washington took both without a word as Matt turned and went to his truck. Giving one more glance back he saw the man wad up the receipt and card, tossing them out into the small bare yard. "No wonder the kid was out running the streets."

The truck stopped in front of the apartment building on Atlantic and the PI consulted his notes once again before exiting the vehicle. He didn't like the look of the place any better than the Washington home. Without really knowing why, he reached in and removed the holster from the truck's console and strapped it on and then the bullet proof vest. After clipping on his ID, Houston locked the truck and went to the front entrance where several teenagers were gathered. "Do any of y'all know Shane Baxter?" The group fell silent and he looked around at all of them. "Nobody?" He caught sight of a girl at the back of the group who was sitting on an overturned milk crate. She looked like she had been crying recently. Their eyes locked for a second and she quickly looked down. Matt entered the building and could hear as the group once again went back to what they had been doing. He looked over his shoulder at them as he punched the button for the elevator. The doors opened jerkily and he stepped in hitting the button for the tenth floor.

Houston turned to the right when he exited the elevator and nearly tripped over a bag of garbage in the near-darkness. The only working light fixture was two-thirds of the way down the hall. He stopped outside of apartment 1023 and knocked. After waiting a minute he knocked again, louder this time. Hearing slight movement on the other side of the door the PI pounded loudly. It was then that he heard a loud crash. Pulling his pistol and taking two steps back he hit the flimsy door near the lock and watched as it swung inward and bounced crazily off the wall behind it and then completely fell off the door frame. A sickening smell assaulted his senses; the odor of garbage, human waste, marijuana, and something that he couldn't identify turned his stomach. "LAPD – show yourself!" He started through the apartment that was littered with all sorts of half-eaten food, take out containers, and dirty diapers. It was then that he saw a woman slumped in the floor near the grimy window. As he discovered there wasn't a pulse he heard a small cry coming from the piled up couch. Moving over he saw a tiny baby. "Oh, my God." He pulled out his phone, first calling 911 and then Hoyt. "Come down to 17322 Atlantic – apartment 1023."

"What's going on?" The lieutenant knew something was off by the sound of his friend's voice.

"Just get here quick, Michael."