The weekend is upon us. And it will be a busy one. I was really looking forward to finally taking it a bit easy after the pre-winter marathon of the past 6 days, including a sick day I spent doing anything but recovering but…if the new neighbor comes over and offers you a chicken coop for free as long as you remove it yourself, you will go ahead and grab that thing. And order 60 new baby chicks from the hatchery because it helps to get motivated when you got that sort of pressure stabbing you in the back. My husband says I am glutton for punishment. I say it's healthy to stay busy. We'd be bored otherwise. Unfortunately, that means I won't get to publish quite as many chapters as I'd like, but I will try to catch up asap. Stay safe and healthy everybody.
By the time Mike returned from his meeting, he found his partner deeply engrossed in front of a large map of northern California, marking locations with little red flags and others with yellow ones. From his distance, the Lieutenant couldn't make out an exact pattern, but there was a distinctive urgency about Steve's actions that indicated a change in pace when it came to their investigation. With his lean back toward the door, the young Inspector never even noticed him return, until Mike stood right next to him.
"Who knew that blood sucking mythical creatures travelled around so much…", he said with a smirk and glanced over the map, only to watch his partner mirror the gesture.
"Seems like they do prefer Union gas over the old Mobil sludge.", Steve answered cryptically, before adding another yellow flag to the map by his desk over a spot near Middletown.
Mike waited patiently until his partner had marked the last location off the handwritten notes in his black booklet, before clearing his throat again.
"Okay, let's sit together for a moment, shall we?"
Motioning for the young Inspector to follow him into his office, Mike stopped for a second to refill his coffee and then turned around to face his partner.
"I take it you've made some headway?"
Unlike other times when they met to reconvene, Steve never attempted to sit down. Instead, the young Inspector paced the length of the glass-walled office nervously, his cheeks flushed in agitation.
"I think I've got a pattern. But I can't be sure until we get an ID on our victim."
"Let's hear it anyways."
"I've got a request into R&I, but I think that whoever picks these people out for…well, for stealing their organs and killing them…he's frequenting a certain type of gas station. A Union 76. So far I have gathered three of our fifteen files that have a direct link to it, either the person was getting supplies there, or broke down near one, disappeared hitchhiking back to their car after getting automotive supplies there. There's a fourth case with a link to a gas station, it's a Mobil now, but it used to be a Union 76 up until five years ago…"
Mike pursed his lips, a distinctive unease flooding his senses. Putting on his black reading glasses, he accepted the list of Missing Persons from his partner, reading through every name to help him focus.
"That sort of makes sense…", he breathed, as his eyes drifted over the various locations, "Could be somebody familiar with the brand, having frequented it in the past. Maybe a truck driver or delivery driver…That almost reminds me of a serial killer, a certain pattern used as a form of identification…"
"Except, we're not after a serial killer here, but a surgeon who sells organs on the black market…", Steve added, only to watch Mike shrug.
"I don't know, Hotshot…Perhaps we're after both."
His solemn comment made both detectives fall silent for a few long moments. Even though the gas station clue was only their first one in what was quickly becoming an incredibly elaborate underground operation; Mike felt a distinctive certainty in his gut about this case. The one that always meant that things were becoming a lot more complicated than they initially seemed.
"How far did you get on the body? And did you get a hold of that magazine?"
Steve snapped out of his daydreaming when he asked those questions, making Mike wonder if the young Inspector perhaps shared the same foreboding worry about this case.
"Yeah, ehm…I called the Sheriff's Office in Clear Lake, Sherriff Luther Watson. He's currently on patrol but I gave his secretary my phone number and asked that he call us when he gets back. The paper…their office was still closed due to the holiday. It's a periodical, and by the sounds of it they only work a couple days a week. It's published by four college dropouts. They went to school for anything from Astrophysics to Journalism, Political Economics and Biology. Your typical nut jobs. Julie Holstein confirmed that the timing of Emily Smith's disappearance is congruent with what the paper said, but that's about all. According to her, the sheriff called her when they found a body that had gotten sucked into a boat propeller in Clear Lake, and somehow they managed to identify it. I can't seem to find any record of it anywhere."
"Then how did the Sheriff not sense foul play, if Julie Holstein filed the missing person's report with him back from Mendocino Park a few weeks earlier, and their person winds up getting sucked into a boat propeller in Clear Lake?"
Mike scratched his chin, before grunting in frustration.
His question caused Steve to shrug insecurely, his normally bright green eyes dull and red-rimmed from staring at the map for too long.
"I'm afraid we won't know until we talk to him in person, Mike…"
"I think you're right…", the Lieutenant answered and sipped on his coffee one last time, before getting up from his desk, "In the meantime, let's go see Richard on that sketch drawing of our John Doe. If your hunch is right, we should circulate it in every Union 76 gas station in this state."