Chapter 2
Special Agent Janette Pelto considered the drenched crime scene from a window seat behind blacked out privacy glass. The standard issue, black, FBI suburban sat idling, consuming gross amounts of gasoline at the government's expense just to keeping a current of warmth circulating the interior. Seniority had it's perks. She sat alone, beside an open laptop that had reverted to sleep mode. It amused her that her computer was a narcoleptic. She tapped the keyboard and waited while the memory drives struggled to throw off their power efficient dormancy. Logging past the security prompt the screen tiled a mosaic of sordid photos. Each photo documenting a pedigree of depravity whose only lack seemed to be sexual assault. But every society produced byproducts like the man that had done these acts.
The documentation on him was curiously detailed but it didn't explain why someone of her security clearance had been assigned to investigate his latest bloody act. His files were sealed, classified, and included a death certificate that should have signaled the end of his misdeeds. He had probably turned states witness. That was the easiest explanation for the inconsistency behind the death certificate and the act that had forced her out into the miserable weather. She scrolled down a detailed timeline of misdeeds. Tall, dark and corrupt apparently enjoyed travel, hobnobbing with local crime lords, and explosives. Most likely the product of an abusive childhood, Janette thought. Probably had exemplary parental figures she added sarcastically.
Janette sighed and locked her screen. This was a case better suited for the younger, more eager agents that had begun to supplant her colleagues. She pulled a compact umbrella from the pocket of her graphite overcoat and stepped out into the miserable DC morning. Her heels clicked with authority as she strode toward a cluster of officers taking shelter beneath the canvas erected to preserve the contents of a battered dumpster. Janette stepped beside the dumpster and shook out her umbrella. Rain clattered against the overhead canvas. She glanced over the dumpster's battered edge to study the pale fleshy shapes inside. A week of spring showers had likely scoured the corpses clean of evidence.
The ranking officer studied her with a hint of interest. She tucked that information, along with the fact that he wore a wedding ring away to be used at a later time. Appearance definitely helped in her profession. Being attractive could get you cooperation or by you leeway when stepping in to take over another man's investigation. So she doggedly battled age to keep her figure; awake every morning at 6 to hit the gym before work, lean meats, and a careful diet of whole grains with antioxidant rich fruits and veggies. Her only vice was the occasional whisky, an acceptable practice considering alcohol was a necessary ingredient for networking in Washington DC. Janette pulled a cell phone from the inner pocket of her tailored suit and programmed it to begin recording audio. Do we know anything? She asked.
Ranking officer J. McMullin shrugged. "Nothing concrete, we are still waiting for CSI to show up. But I have to assume our perp has a history of jumping state lines for you boys to show up." Janette considered then nodded, careful to keep her response off the audio record her phone was keeping. CYA was a hard habit to shake. She studied the dismembered pieces and J. McMullin stepped to her side. He clutched a steaming papercup emblazoned with dunkin donuts pink and orange. "Kinda looks like he's sending a message, huh?"
Each limb had been severed and piled together. A pile of feet. A pile of arms. Torsos… Every piece organized and accounted for advertising the lack of any head. "Have we located any of the heads?" Janette asked.
"Nowhere to be found." McMullin answered. "We had a couple k9 units comb the area. Won't be a problem IDing the bodies though. Young twenty something bodies like these here in DC most likely work in government. We'll get em off the finger prints."
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" Jennette asked.
McMullin transferred his coffee to a single hand and hooked his thumb into his belt while he gave her question some thought. Janette ignored his theatrics and turned back to the dumpster to make a preliminary body count. Four, one man, three women. But the CSI would have to confirm once they group all the pieces.
"Nah," McMullin finally answered with a huff. The action seemed to accentuate the pudge that had begun to collect over his belly. His wife was likely a decent cook. "We get plenty of wackos coming to the capitol, but anyone connected would have taken the hands as well as the heads. But that would have been my guess because tossing them in the garbage in neat piles seems like the deed of someone sending a message."
The agent assigned as Janette's driver jogged up handing her a rain wilted print out. Thumbing the touch screen of her phone to end it's recording she handed J. McMullin her card. "Thanks for the help. Call me if anything comes up." Janette said punctuating the invitation with an intimate smile. J straightened and pushed his chest forward like a preening rooster. Shame on you Janette thought to herself. Turning she ducked to share her driver's umbrella on the way back to the suburban.
Draping her overcoat over the back of an empty seat, Janette settled back into the cocoon of warmth beside her laptop. She skimmed the information on the limp slightly translucent paper in her lap. Her lips parted in surprise. "Well, well," she mused aloud. "It seems this storm has a silver lining after all." Her driver looked up to glance at her via the rear view mirror. "What's that?" he asked. Janette kept her eyes focused on the list of last know associates for the dead man she seemed assigned to investigate. "Seems we are headed to Miami" she murmured in answer. One name in particular stood out. Sam Axe. Her pulse fluttered with anticipation. If Sam were involved in anyway she could depend that things would indeed go sideways, and hell if she wouldn't enjoy the ride.