True Blue

My partner and I had responded to a call at a diner off of Park and Main. The owner had found a homeless man - I guess ‘unhomed’ is what we are supposed to call them now - hiding in his kitchen. When he confronted this man, he found that he had witnessed an assault in the alley outside the diner. My partner and I had just questioned both men and decided it was finally time to face what was out in the alley.

Little numbered cards were scattered around like confetti after a parade. One of the guys from the Medical Examiner’s office was standing to one side talking quietly to one of the CSU guys as the rest of the Crime Scene Unit team moved around, snapping pictures and placing additional numbers every once in a while. The other M.E., a woman, was examining the largest pile of remains.

However, none of that registered immediately – instead, what we saw at first was a scene of utter carnage – bits of blood, bone and flesh everywhere, the largest piece an intact skull, the smallest appearing to be a finger segment. Taking a deep breath, I allowed my eyes to lose focus and let my other senses envelop the scene.

I heard Dina ask: “Damn, rough one, eh Rookie?”

I nodded, as my attention was drawn to something. “Hey, has anyone looked at that metal can over there?” I asked. One of the CSU guys turned, glared at me, and then looked at the can I indicated, frowned, and walked over to it.

“Hmm there’s a splash… wait, that’s … it looks like a thumb print… a huge, bloody thumbprint… Seville, bring the camera and a big bag…”

Another CSU investigator hurried to his side, snapped a few pictures of the can, and then slid the lid into a bag. As the lid came off, the one who called to him suddenly looked pale. “Dear God, tell me that’s not what I think it is…”

The two people from the M.E’s office hurried over there, and the woman looked at him first, shook her head, and then looked over at me: “How on Earth did you know?”

I was spared having to answer by Officer Hill: “He just does that. It’s why we called him ‘Holmes’ at the Academy – also probably why he made detective so fast. Oh, congrats on that Nathan,” he added.

“Thanks, Mike,” I acknowledged. “Yeah, that’s it – but what did you find?”

After directing the guy with the camera to take three pictures of the contents of the barrel, she asked for a pair of tongs. Someone passed them to her, and she used them to pick up a large piece of … well, it looked like meat from where I was standing. She turned it around slowly, before sliding it into an evidence bag. “It’s a heart – I think a human heart. And it looks – now I can’t verify this until I’ve gotten it back to the lab, mind you – but it looks like someone, or something, took a goddamned bite out of it.”

A moment of silence passed through the alley as we all realized what she’d just said, and then my partner chimed in: “Any other signs of … dentition?”

“Impossible to tell – everything is such a mess. Might have more once we get it all back to examine properly. Only thing I can say – if these are bite marks, the biter has a human jaw structure but is unusually large.”

“Great, so we’ve got a possible giant cannibal on our hands…”. One of the officers said.

“I wouldn’t make that – or any other – assumptions just yet,” the M.E. warned. “Though one thing that puzzles me - Davis, can you verify this? There doesn’t seem to be enough blood here, not for this kind of … butchery.”

A thin, nervous-looking young man with sandy brown hair and thick glasses rushed forward, pausing to introduce himself as “Alan Davis, Blood Splatter Expert” before reaching her side. He looked around the scene, took a few measurements, waited for the CSU guys to finish with a round of photos at one number, then crouched down to near ground level and scanned the alley. Then he stood up and nodded: “Yep – about one third of what you would expect from this kind of attack.”

“So,” Dina replied, “You think the body was killed elsewhere and dumped here?”

He walked around, pointing at various marks in the alley as he replied: “Impossible to say for certain, but I don’t think so. The injuries to what we can see of the hands suggest defensive wounds. The splatter patterns seem consistent – see, the victim was, most likely, attacked here; tried to resist her attacker, who removed her hand first, and then cut into her torso, with the wound that probably killed her. Then he began hacking the body apart. It all happened very quickly – so quickly that I have to believe a machine of some sort was employed. Even at the height of an adrenaline-fueled rage, a human with a very good knife could not possibly do this much damage this quickly – and most knives would be too blunt to cut up bone like this without a lot of time hacking. But the splatter is consistent with the injuries we can see – only it doesn’t cover … well, enough real estate to match up exactly. It’s like something drained her of blood either before or during the attack.”

I jumped in at this point: “Our witness claimed that the perp had eyes that glowed like a cat’s and a huge knife that also seemed to glow. Is there some kind of machine that would match that description?”

Davis shrugged and turned to the woman who seemed to be his boss. She looked thoughtful for a second before answering: “Not that I know of, but I suppose it gives us a starting point to look into. You sure the guy was not high on something? I have heard drug users describe human eyes that way, though the glowing knife is a new one – might have to take some photos at night and see if any lights shine in here that could cause it?”

I nodded, taking in the information. I heard some kind of scuffle back at the entrance to the alley and turned to look. A woman was arguing with the officer trying to keep onlookers out of the alley. Something about her held my attention – perhaps the red hair, tied back in a neat ponytail, or her bearing or her perfectly symmetrical face – she seemed to trigger a memory or awareness of some sort, but I could not quite place it.

“Oh dear. We’ve got trouble,” I heard my partner mutter beside me. “That’s Tara O’Malley, crime reporter. And if you keep staring at her, she might catch fire…”

Without thinking, I replied: “That’s never happened before…”

My partner turned to give me an odd look: “Every time I start thinking you’re OK, Rookie, you say something truly weird like that. Turn away from her – she’s just bad news all around. I think she has got some bulldog DNA and some incriminating photos of key politicians.”

I cast one more glance at the reporter, logging her features into my memory. I would have to ponder my reaction to her later – we had a very brutal murder to worry about right now.

I realized one of the CSU guys was addressing us: “We’re going to be here for a while – lots of photographs to take and measurements to make. I think it’s safe for the morgue to take the body parts, but then you guys will, frankly, only be in our way until we’re done.”

My partner nodded. “The only real lead is the partial on the trash can lid, right? That and the … bite marks. We'll take those back for analysis and leave the rest to you.”

She then turned to me: “Rookie, you’re with the M.E. guys. Help them gather the … bits. I’ll see if we can get a hit on this print.”

Without waiting further, she walked back to our car – she had left her tablet there, refusing to carry it into a crime scene for some odd reason. I assisted as well as I could – even locating two body pieces they almost missed – and, honestly, was beginning to feel a little ill, when I heard: “So, who is the new guy?”

Though the voice was definitely feminine, it had an edge, a toughness that many men cannot pull off convincingly. I turned and my eyes met the bright green eyes of the crime reporter, who had evidently gotten past the officer at the entrance to the alley.

“You are not supposed to be here, ma’am,” I replied. “But I’m Detective Nathan Daniels.”

“Daniels,” she said, clearly deep in thought and ignoring the first part of my statement. “The beat cop who helped with that kidnapping three weeks ago?”

I was surprised at the recognition. “Actually, yes,” I answered.

“That was good work – and thanks. The girl you helped save is my niece.”

“That does not change that you aren’t…”

“Actually, I am – the Chief of Detectives okayed it. Sampson over there can confirm. Was hoping I’d get a chance to thank you personally, you know – but didn't expect you to be cute…”

It took me several seconds to regain my composure, as that was one comment I hadn't anticipated. For some reason it made me feel a little warm and disoriented. “We’re in the middle of an investigation here…” I finally stammered.

“I see that. Any details you can give me?” she asked, a sweet smile on her face.

“Someone is dead. We’re looking for probably one, possibly multiple killers. Right now, that is literally all we know for certain, so that is all you get.”

She changed tactics: “I hear you replaced Henry Jones and are working with Dina Genovelli. Is she really as tough on rookies as I hear?”

I was spared having to reply by: “Not as tough as I get with nosy reporters messing up my investigations…”

The reporter turned to face my partner, a challenging smile on her face: “I have full authorization from…”

“Stow it, Red. I know you’ve got connections and flaunt them – Rookie here told you everything we know for sure. We’ll issue a statement later, once we have something more concrete. Please don't go making up details – or even covering the ones you can see here, without clearance from those who have actually seen it. Could cause a panic and we don’t need that. Also, I have three brothers - big brothers - who don't care about connections, don’t wear badges and hate people interfering with my work.”

The two women locked gazes. For a moment I actually expected one or both to burst into flames. Tara’s smile never wavered as she replied, finally: “Was that a threat?”

“Not at all – just a … public service announcement. I am a public servant. They’re very protective of their baby sister, is all, and you had best keep that in mind,” her words dripped honey and venom. It always impressed me when she pulled that off.

Tara pulled out a card from her purse. “Well, you have my number Detective Genovelli, but you,” she added, turning to me. “I doubt you do. Please call me when there's anything you can release to the press – or if you have got any details you would like to share on the Dannon kidnapping. And yes, I can keep discussion limited to that case alone if you wish. Perhaps over a drink?”

I accepted her card. She brushed her hand against mine and I felt that odd awareness of familiarity return, and then she turned and walked away. As soon as she reached the end of the alley, Dina grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side. “You aren’t thinking of names for your first born already, are you?”

I gave her a blank look, completely clueless as to what she meant. “Either that girl saw the way you looked at her before and is a better manipulator than I ever gave her credit for, she is sweet on you, or both. My money’s on both.”

I was still puzzled – this seemed to make some sense, but I just couldn’t piece it together.

“Wow, she really got you flustered boy. First time he met her, she almost did that to Jones too, but he was still married then and sent me to meet with her instead.”

It suddenly hit me: “You think she’s … interested in me?”

“I can tell you are interested in her. Either she is good enough to pick up on that and fake her own interest, or the feeling’s mutual. I would place odds at fifty-fifty. But it’s never good for cops to get involved with the press. Just never ends well. Oh, and I came back here to tell you we already sort of got a hit on that print.”

She gave me a lot to think about there – but the last bit stuck out: “Sort of got a hit?”

“Yeah, there’s some odd … distortion to it. Like it was inflated or something. Matches two thumbs and three other fingers on file as a result.”

“So, five possible suspects?”

“Four – one died about a month ago. I'll take the guy on the north end. You can take the professor at City College and the guy I think may be our best lead, a janitor who lives near here. Then, unless we get a confession from someone, we meet up and visit number four together – he’s a biker and suspected member of an outlaw gang. Don’t think either of us should approach that one alone. I have sent the info to your phone. Let me know when you’re done with your guys.”

I took out my phone and checked – the two addresses she sent me were in walking distance. “Sounds like a plan. Good luck.”

“Good hunting, Rookie,” she said, heading for the car. “And stay away from that reporter – she is dangerous.”

I realized she was right – even now I had trouble keeping my thoughts away from her pair of bright green eyes. But now that I knew that “odd awareness” to be physical attraction, I felt I could handle it. Still, better safe than sorry: “I will,” I promised. Of course, that was one promise that I had an immediate, almost instinctual awareness that I could never keep.