GUTTERS AND ALLEYS
CHAPTER EIGHT
187 HOMICIDE
You're first reaction when approaching a crime scene is to turn and run. It's a nightmare none of us wants to walk into. The images and silent screams haunt you in your sleep. Yet, here we are in the midst of the nightmare -- doing our jobs.
I exhaled sharply, and slowed my breathing as we approached the scene. This was the part of the job we all hated-- but had to do. The crime scene. This is where it all starts. Where the next bad guy is added to our long and growing list. I lagged behind Hutch a few steps. It was his turn to take point, as I stopped to take in the scene he flagged down the coroner.
The air was moist, and a chill came over me. I could almost smell the blood that I knew had been spilled here. By day the swampy area was flooded with sunlight, pretty wildflowers, and life. By night, shadows, predatory animals, and the stench of death. Tonight, the marshland was flooded with the spotlights from three black and white units, half a dozen cops, an ambulance, a coroner, and a maze of 'do not cross' police line tape.
The dead woman still lay at the edge of the swamp, black water ebbing and flowing beneath her, gently rocking her back and forth. The water seemed to shimmer by the light of the full moon and the slight breeze made the surrounding trees rustle in an eerie dance.
The air was a buzz with softly spoken words. Words like:
'It's not fair. Probably never catch the creep. I have a daughter her age. What good are we doing here? I just want to go home and hug my kids. I remember when I was a rookie.'
The voices became distant, as my hands began to sweat. I swiped them across the thighs of my faded blue jeans as I watched the constant motion of the men around me:
There was T.J. A rookie unable to think of anything else to do but vomit behind a bush -- I couldn't blame him. I wanted to do the same, but years of practice taught me to keep the nausea tucked away and control my emotional state. What did that say about me? A K-9 unit, Officer Fairfax and his dog Justice, a ninety-five pound German shepherd nosed around, obviously not having any luck, while an unknown coroner's aid paced back in forth in front of the coroner's wagon sucking on a Slow Poke, his gurney ready and waiting for the moment the body would be taken away from this awful place.
Everyone had a job to do -- and they did their job the best they could.
My eyes fell upon the body. She was covered in mud, her long dark hair soaked in rancid water -- a tangled mess that covered half her face, while one dark wide-open eye seemed to still glitter with life. Even through all the mud, you could tell her fingernails were well manicured, polished pink, and she wore a fancy gold watch on her right wrist. From what I could see of her clothing she was smartly dressed -- this was a classy lady. A classy lady who now lay stiff, cold, and dead in a depressing dismal place -- and we had no idea why.
"What else have you got, Martin?" I heard Hutch ask.
Martin was a seasoned coroner, but looked more like a Bassett Hound, withhuge sad eyes peering at the world from behind thick horn rimmed glasses.
"Short story, she's been missing for four days, daughter of a wealthy bank executive turns up here." I watched Martin wave a hand over the area a disgusted look on his face. "Couple of kids out past curfew found her. She was raped and strangled to death," Martin sighed. "You're looking at every parent's nightmare, Hutch," he added sadly.
"What else?" Hutch said in a flat tone
"Same ol' story, Hutch, hope to have more evidence after the autopsy."
Hutch bent down to get a closer look at the woman, and I could see the slight shake in his shoulders as he crouched next to her. After a moment, he ran a slow hand over his face and twisted on his heels to glance over at me.
Just once -- why can't we get there before this happens? Before they end up evidence on a cold steel table.
"What about the kids?" Hutch looked back to Martin.
"They don't know anything, Hutch. Scared out of their minds. They're waiting in the squad car to be taken home to their parents."
Hutch hung his head, massaged the back of his neck, then stood and slowly walked over to talk to the kids; who sat in the backseat of a cruiser with tears rolling down their faces.
I folded my arms tightly across my chest as I started to scout and dig around, try to see what I could find. Wandering through the milky haze of the swampy area, it didn't take long to find nothing -- not so much as a muddy footprint. Feeling my hotdog slosh around inside my gut, I strolled up to the water's edge, stuffed my sweating hands into my jacket pockets, and gazed out over the shallow bog.
Just to my right sat a large bullfrog. Toes splayed upon the large leaf he perched on and big round yellow eyes staring intently at me. A million scenarios of what happened here raced through my mind as I watched that frog. Somehow, I got the feeling he knew a whole lot about what went on here. What if that frog could talk? What if I could just hear what he had to say? Bring him into the station for questioning. Get a composite sketch. Gain a little leverage, ease this family's pain.
"Tell me everything you know," I said, as the frog still stared lazily at me.
"Ribbit."
He was probably the only witness to a brutal murder -- too bad Prince Charming wasn't talking.
"It'll go a lot easier on yourself if you cooperate," I said, my hands clenched in fists inside my pockets. "You know what that sick pervert looks like -- don't you?" I swallowed, past the scratchiness in my throat and gave that damn frog my best interrogation room glare. "You better spill it if you know what's good for you."
"Hey," The word was just a breathy whisper and the hand on my back soft.
"Huh?" I felt my heart leap into my throat and I jerked spasmodically.
"Easy, just me, Starsk," Hutch said soothingly. "Who were you talking to?"
"Nobody," I said firmly as I kept my eyes on that damn 'know it all' frog.
Prince Charming seemed to smile at me. Then 'poof' he was gone as he slipped off his leaf and disappeared into the black mucky water. My clenched fists went limp, and I suddenly could feel Hutch's tension. I turned toward my partner -- storm-cloud eyes stared off into space.
"You okay?" I asked.
"What a horrible place to end your life," Hutch said, sadly shaking his head.
"It's a fine place…if you're a frog," I muttered with disgust.
"What's that, Starsk?" Hutch cocked a curious eyebrow.
"Nothin'. Come on, buddy," I slung an arm around his shoulder and we both walked numbly back to the car.