Excerpt
I could have smelled it from a mile away, the scent of death mingling with that of the wildlife and mucky water winding its way through the river. It haunts the area, and I know I’ll go home smelling like it, same as I always do. There’s no amount of body wash, detergent, or scent beads in the world that can rid me of it, because I carry it in my heart even more than I do on my clothes. The surrounding area is clustered with police, crime scene personnel, and a handful of rubberneckers. That’s not unusual. Murders especially seemed to draw out a bunch of true crime obsessed lurkers. I can’t blame them. Curiosity about death is what leads a lot of people like me into working in homicide in the first place. I wonder if any other local jurisdictions have come across anything as horrifying as this. As soon as I get back, I ought to put out some feelers. Other cops tend to keep things pretty close to the chest about this sort of thing, but you would think a decomposed body of yet another young woman would be enough to get them to share some info. Especially with such similar circumstances to the body we found several months ago. This poor angel washed up a couple of days prior, I’m guessing, and based on the amount of insect and wildlife damage, that wasn’t when she died. Decomp looks like probably about a month or two’s worth, but I need to wait to see what the medical examiner says. My heart cries for these young women, and I try to not let my eyes do the same. I wear a flat expression so that other cops feel better. It’s hard to do your job when you’re busy dealing with a lead detective who’s in tears. According to one of our crime scene techs I talked to by the yellow tape, there’s nothing apart from the strangulation marks and petechial hemorrhaging in both eyes. So far, no hint of DNA, but the tech had only been there an hour or so at the time. No identification, or wallet. Her clothes show normal wear and tear given her current condition. The lack of personal items is odd. It’s the same as the last case. Who leaves the house without at least their phone these days? People in their twenties and thirties use their phones like another appendage. I can also remember many, many teenage lectures from my dad about remembering my license when I went out. “You never know what kind of creeps are out there. And you can’t always trust the other drivers.” Always the optimist. I smile, but then I start to wonder what kind of families were missing these women, and I instantly deflate like a balloon. I approach the body and squat down, careful to not let my booties knock around any potential evidence. I think for a couple of minutes, my eyes scanning for any obvious clues. “Anything stand out?” I ask, already predicting the answer. This tech just joined the squad and is eager to prove himself. Police precincts can be a bit like dick measuring contests, and new hires get a little insecure. He clears his throat, “Okay, well, nothing yet, ma’am. Just the signs of strangulation. It sucks, doesn’t it? When these bastards cover their tracks so well. I hope the ME comes back with better news. Just about done with my pictures and then I’m gonna head back to the lab to take a look at a couple of skin samples.” I nod, knowing he’s doing the best he can. “Good work, Aaron. Keep it up.” He grins. “Thanks, boss.” I return the grin. “I’m not your boss. Just trying to solve a mystery, same as you.” I head back to the group of officers clustered next to their squad cars, Phil holding court with his newfound confidence. It’s good to see him finding his footing. They stop talking as soon as I get there, and Phil holds his hand up to me as if to say, Chill. I know for damn certain what the uniforms all thought. It’s not too hard to guess. I’m a black female cop who passed them all up for a promotion. What they seem to forget is that the promotion involved scoring well on exams and being able to run more than a tenth of a mile without getting winded. They’re supposed to stay in shape, too, but it’s easier for them to slack the lower they are on the food chain. “Make sure the scene stays blocked off, and keep the press away. Until we know what we’re dealing with, the last thing we need is the media fucking this all up for us. You know how they are.” I spot a couple of vans approaching in the distance. “Vultures. Let’s head back, you two.” I indicate a couple of the cops. “Phil, I want to talk this over with you.”
About the Author
and can be found listening to “their murders,” as their skeptical partner always says. They’ve also been a bookworm since they could walk. They enjoy a wide range of books—from classic literature, to fluffy rom-coms, to true crime, to creepy mysteries. Just about anything with pages will do. authorjuliankennedy.com