Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue
It was going to be one of those days...
Detective John Sheppard muttered the words as he sat in his car. Hands still grasping the steering wheel as he stared ahead of him. The heat of the day was rapidly penetrating the vehicle, sucking what little was left of the air conditioning. Peering through his sunglasses he surveyed the crime scene. A swath of yellow tape encompassed what appeared to be some kind of excavation. An archaeological dig. No, that wasn't it. He frowned, trying to recall the exact details. Gave up and exited his dirty red car.
Heat hit him, enveloping him like a second skin. He had started to sweat and he hadn't even taken a step yet. He cursed fate for bringing him to a crime scene in the middle of the God-forsaken desert instead of an air-conditioned casino.
At his approach the swarm of activity paused. He flipped open his rumpled grey jacket, flashing the police badge at his hip. The forensic team parted instantly. Silently he stepped under the crime scene tape, strode and stopped. More forensic specialists were in a deep trench. Mapping every inch with string. Taking photos. Amid the odd debris field of bones and rocks and roots was sprawled a decomposing corpse. Remnants of clothing clung to the bony protuberance of the skeleton. The medical examiner was hunched over it, latex gloves encasing her hands as she examined the corpse. Her touch as gentle as a lover's.
John stood a moment. Placed his hands on his hips. Something about the dessicate body was familiar but he couldn't place it. He glanced up to the phalanx of policemen surrounding the area. "Who's in charge?" he asked.
"Sayles," answered a young man, clearly disturbed by the body. He jerked a thumb towards a bulky man who was even now heading for him. Leaving some kind of argument. A woman's voice was railing at his backside as he reached John.
"Sargeant Sayles," the man introduced himself.
"Detective Sheppard," John returned the favor. Waited.
"We're about to move the body. We left it in situ for the forensic guys but they are almost done now. It's some sort of paleontology dig when they discovered the body, but they aren't cooperating fully."
"Who's in charge?" John repeated, glancing past the corpulent man to see another dig site a few yards away being cordoned off under vociferous protest.
"Doctor O'Meara."
"Great. An Irishman," John muttered. He headed for the second dig site, glancing back to see the body being gently shifted onto a canvas bag before being lifted from its erstwhile resting place. John wove through the milling crowd of technicians and policemen and cars. Paused, assessing the group ahead of him. His eye lingering on the young buxom blond who was talking excitedly on her cell phone. Dismissing her and the other grad student, a lanky young man who looked as if he was going to be sick. He regarded an older man. Impeccably dressed in a tweed suit and bow tie, gray hair short, glasses perched on his nose he was gesticulating back towards a tent. Arms flailing in the heat, creating waves in the air that made the distant hills shimmer.
He approached, confident, but his eye was drawn to a woman who was taking down the crime scene tape as a hapless policeman was trying to put it back up.
"I said no! This is not the crime scene! There's no murder here! None! It's over there! Didn't they teach you anything in police school? The body's a dead giveaway, isn't it? We have a time line here and it's bad enough you have compromised one dig site, let alone two! Do you have any idea how much scientific data you have destroyed? No, of course you don't!"
John smiled, approached as the man tried to stammer a reply of some sort. "Easy, Morton. I'll take it from here." The young man nodded gratefully, fleeing. John turned back but the woman had continued moving, rolling up the tape and removing it. She squatted near a trawl, staring at the protruding bones in the pit. John let his gaze wander across the long, brown ponytail snaking down her back. The khaki woven shirt. The khaki shorts hugging a very shapely rear. The fabric dipping down, gaping to give him a glimpse, just a glimpse of pink plaid panties. "What's so damn important down there?" he asked at last.
Doctor Moira O'Meara looked up at the slightly husky, low voice interrupting her. The tall, lean form of a man was blocking the sun. His trim, muscled body cast a long shadow across her, across the dig. She pivoted on her heels. Stood. His clothes were rumpled, oddly casual, belying the badge at his hip. Colors indeterminate as the shadows changed everything to murky hues. She found herself staring, staring at an impossibly handsome man. Dark hair askew. A trace of stubble on his face. Full perfect lips with the hint of a smile as he waited for her answer. Dark shades concealed his eyes. Moira regained her composure. "If you must know, Archaeotherium." He was silent. She frowned. "An entelodont. A prehistoric predator distantly related to the modern pig, but much, much larger and quite different in their physical appearance. Not to mention a host of other significant fossils all dating from the–"
"What's that?" John cut off the flow of words, her enthusiasm. He pointed.
She followed his finger to the skull protruding from the side of the earthen wall thrown up by the excavation. "It's not human, if that's what you're thinking. It's proto-human possibly, or an early ancestor. I haven't excavated the–"
"With those teeth?" John was staring at the partially revealed skull. The rows and rows of teeth. A memory tried to surface in the recesses of his mind but he couldn't catch it. It proved to be elusive. Fleeting. Like a dream. The whole area was making him feel on edge, and it had nothing to do with the crime scene or the dead body. He absently touched his chest where a bullet scar itched.
Moira glanced at the skull. "Yes. That threw me too. I won't know anything until it is completely excavated and I have it back in the lab for a full analysis." She eyed him, but he was staring at nothing. Hand at his chest, seemingly lost in himself. "Was there anything further, um, um..." She wasn't sure what to call him. What rank, what name.
He blinked. Met her gaze. "Detective, actually."
"Oh. Detective Actually, that's an odd name. If we're done here I'd like to get back to work."
He smiled. A genuine smile. He removed his shades. A slow motion of his hand pulling them off his face to reveal his brilliant green eyes. The merriment in them. "Detective John Sheppard," he corrected. "I take it you are Doctor O'Meara. Not an Irishman at all." He licked his lips, gaze traversing her form as if to confirm his deduction.
Moira stared, transfixed by both the revelation of his further beauty and the brief motion of his tongue over his full, perfect lips. "Yes," she replied, reprimanding herself.
"Don't you scientists have first names?"
"What? Oh. Yes. Moira. Can I get back to work now, detective?"
"Yes, doctor. Here." He handed her a card. "Let me know what you find out about that thing" He gestured at the skull again.
Moira took the card. Their fingers brushed. "Okay."
He waited, hand still out. Expectant.
"Oh! Here." She realized, handed him a card. "My contact information. Do I need to reiterate my statement?"
"No. I can read it later. But I may need to follow up." He took the card, pocketed it as she pocketed his. An odd mimicry of movement, hands sliding into pockets, sliding out empty.
"Well, I should, I should get back to work." She turned away from him. But turned back as a thought occurred. "Detective, do you need to confiscate everything in site one? Those are valuable, delicate specimens and I–"
"I'm afraid so. Evidence. It will be returned ASAP once forensics goes over it. As for now site one is a crime scene in an ongoing investigation."
She frowned. Turned and walked away from him. He stood, watching as she deftly jumped into the pit, began to dig carefully around the skull. Heedless of the dirt flying around her. Heedless of the way the khaki shorts hugged her rear. Heedless of the way her shirt lifted to give him a brief view of her naked back.
"Detective?"
The voice broke his salacious thoughts. He scowled, slid on his sunglasses and turned to the man interrupting him. "What?"
"We've taken all the statements. Can we release the witnesses?"
John glanced at the group waiting. The blond girl was giving him the eye. "Yeah. Let me see their statements." He took the notebook. Flipped through it, walking towards his car. It was a pretty straightforward account. The body had been discovered during the excavation, and the police had been called.
Once in his car he set the notebook aside. Lifted his shades to rub his eyes. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, down his sides. He looked at the taped-off crime scene again. The desert spreading out all around him. Dirt and scrub and nothing for miles and miles. The power lines that were soon to be replaced, having collapsed under some kind of overload. Circuits blown and fried.
The feeling of deja vu would not go away, but for the life of him he couldn't quite place the memory. Scattered images made no sense to him. They were too fleeting. Too disjointed. He absently scratched at the scars again. Sighed. Focused his thoughts on Doctor O'Meara in those tight, tight shorts. With a smile he started the car. Mind returning to the investigation.
Yes. It was going to be one of those days.