Tag: Murder

Photo by Justin Chrn on Unsplash

Damn, this one was pretty in the I worked all night and found a dead body kind-of way. Cleary, the coffee grabbed this morning before driving to the site wasn’t enough. Josh shook his head to clear it. Add getting laid to the list of things which needed doing soon.

“It’s a gas station on the West side. You’re lucky to have a body,” she snarked back. Her voice carried an accent from a little further upstate, more suburbia.

Most people wouldn’t hear it, but the detective made a study to pick it out. Either the gas station attendant was sliding down the social strata, or she was running from her rightful white privilege class for some reason. The way she dared his eyes had his gut saying number two. People didn’t meet cops eyes unless they wanted to fight something, and had the power to back it. This woman didn’t think her white privilege was anything less than pristine card to be played whenever needed.

She waved to the cracked door where McCarthy stood watch. “Do you have everything you need? Shift switch happens in about an hour, and I need to get things ready.”

“We could use better lighting. Maybe the new bulbs for the light above the door.” Josh watched her brown eyes. The irises had blasted wide when first seeing him but were contracting now. Fear, lust, anger? Which emotion played against the dark circles under her eyes? Not fear. He licked his lips.

The witness nodded. “Can’t do the light bulbs; those are special orders, but I got something. Give me a minute.” She walked around the building to the berm near the roadway. Curious, he followed.

In the false dawn light, a deflated wavy guy lay in a collapsed pile. She started unplugging the unlit spotlight aimed at him. That should work.

“Boss doesn’t like running the thing after one, not cost effective. Dayshift turns Dancer on at six.” The witness tugged to spotlight hard to get it moving over the grass.

Josh reached down to the top handle, lifting it. “Let me.”

After blowing her hair out of her eyes, she muttered under her breath while following him. “I really hate how strong guys are. Just isn’t fair.”

At the back of the building, he aimed the light at the door, then held out the plug which the witness plugged in behind a vending machine. The light brightened the area beyond daylight.

“Thanks, Miss…” the detective said while standing.

“Miller.” She gestured at where her name was attached to her shirt. “Call me Brooke.”

“Miss Miller, please don’t leave before I have a chance to talk to you.”

“Look, I can’t stay long. I got another job after this one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Sure you will.” The witness shook her head while walking to the glass doors to go inside the store.

Joshua pushed her from his mind for the moment. Time to look at the body.

The bathroom door handle didn’t turn in his hand. Taking a closer look, he saw it had been busted at some point. A screwdriver or something jammed in. It didn’t look new, but he would need crime scene to take pictures just in case. Opening up the door, he got the full impact.

No one had dignity on the crapper, and someone made very sure this woman would be immortalized in this position. A growl slipped out from between his gritted teeth.

Young. Early twenties. Autopsy always runs a rape kit, but with her genitals exposed like that, triply so. Cute kid. No scars. Healthy looking with a bit of pudge. A butterfly tattoo on her ankle peeking above the blue lace underwear. Another ink, this one a Pokémon he thought, on her shoulder under the tank top strap. Someone trying to collect them all?

The wrist slits wouldn’t have done much damage, but the two big gashes down either arm would have hit arteries and veins. Did she bleed out here or elsewhere? The toilet’s red water said at least some of the blood fell here.

“Crime unit is here,” reported McCarthy behind him.

Time to turn it over to the evidence experts.

Walking over to where the team were snapping on their blue gloves, Joshua closed on the lead. Poveda knelt beside her kit, her dreads tucked into a wrap. Looking up at his six-foot-four frame which had gotten him through college on a basketball scholarship, she asked, “Another one?”

“Fourth one, second in the city. Fucker is playing with us.”

“Every two months like clockwork. Think the chief is going to call in a profiler or the FBI serial unit?”

“Considering he is up for reelection in November, depends on which he thinks will get him the most votes.” The detective looked east toward the pinkening horizon, considering. “For now, he dropped it into my lap.”

“Damn bastard was never a good cop.”

“All cops are bastards.” Josh’s lip curled up in a half smile.

“But not all bastards are good cops.” Poveda stood. “We got to break the cycle.”

They bumped fits without bumping, keeping her gloves pristine. “Do your magic, mama, I got a witness to question.”

(words 868, first published 11/13/2023)

Gas Station Killer Series

1. Bathroom Break (appears in blog at 2/7/2021)
2. Station Attendant (appear in blog at 2/14/2021)
3. It’s a Gas (appear in blog 4/11/2021)

Photo by Jean-Christophe Gougeon on Unsplash

The shadows were all skewed for a good look-see, but the body was clearly posed. Brooke pushed the body, a bit of give, but not much. Rigor mortis makes the body hard to pose after a time. The body seemed to be working toward the full rigor, not away. Stiff fingers, with the lividity at the tips and on her calves and thighs indicated somewhere in the seven-to-nine-hour range in the July heat, at her best experienced guess.

“Have you called the cops yet?” Brooke’s boss asked over the phone.

“Not yet,” she responded. “After the last robbery, you said always call you first, then nine one one, if I wanted to keep my job.” Not that she would obey that directive in an actual emergency, but whoever this woman was, an extra hour wouldn’t make a difference now.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot. Call the cops.” He yelled.

“Well, consider yourself called,” Brooke said, pulling the phone away from her ear and hitting the red button, then dialing 911. After an operator answered, she said, “Yes, I would like to report a dead body. No need to send an ambulance or fire truck. Just the police. The body is cold.” She figured they still might send all the emergency services but may as well try to save the tax payers some money. After giving them the address of the gas station, she moved away from the body, closing the door. The operator assured her police would be arriving shortly. “Of course.” Brooke hung up after assuring the person she was in a safe place.

The cops took nearly two hours to get here after the armed robbery on New Years. Before that, ejecting some druggies from the store was closer to four and only happened because the boss showed up for his shift on Monday and pulled a full Indian man fit, screaming about “My taxpayer dollars this” and “My business impact that.”

Once they got here, the police would be forever with a body.

Setting aside the cleaning equipment, Brooke got into her sedan and moved it to the shopping center next door to get it out of the crime scene range. She wanted to be able to leave work when her shift ended and hoped she moved the car far enough. Hopping the three steps of the concrete and soil between the two paved areas, Brook returned to the bathroom side of the building.

No cops yet.

She moved two piles of empty plastic boxes to the area between the men and women bathrooms, then reopened the men’s bath. Nothing could be done for the women’s side, but morning shift would need at least one working bathroom.

She was rising off her long gloves in the sink after spending time up to her elbows in the toilet unplugging the blockage caused by the vomit when flashing red and blue lights finally arrived.

Stepping outside the mostly cleaned bathroom, she peeled off her gloves, pushed her dark hair back where it had escaped her braid, and pulled out her phone. Just under forty-five minutes. Not bad for this end of town. She nodded to the uniform as he came over.

“Did you call 911?”

“Yes, the body is over here.” She stepped around the plastic barrier which had kept most of the hose water on the right side.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Look, I opened the door to find the body. I touched her for the no pulse, no breathing check. If you want, you can take my fingerprints, Lord knows half the world has them already.” She opened the woman’s bathroom door to show the body inside.

The officer quickly looked away. The woman had been posed taking a shit. Her pants and underwear hung around her ankles. She had been leaned back against the tank, with her hands resting against her legs, but angled so the cuts across the wrists and the two vertical hacks along the arms aimed all escaping blood into the toilet. Something Brooke appreciated from whomever the killer was.

She didn’t appreciate the body dump, but at least they didn’t leave a mess.

“You okay?” Brooke asked, as the man swallowed. “Please don’t throw up, I just finished cleaning the bathroom.” She touched his arm. “It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

The officer turned his back and walked a couple steps toward his unit, coughing, staring up into the lights, and Brooke followed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes.” The man shook his head. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“I work hospice for my second job,” Brooke shrugged, “I see a lot of dead bodies.”

“Must be nice,” he stuttered when he realized his words. “I mean, not nice, but the…” He ran out of words.

“Got you. It’s okay.” She patted his arm. “It’s never easy, even when it is expected.” How many times had she had to say those words? “Do you need to report this?” Already after three thirty, if she was going to escape at five, things needed to get moving.

“Yeah, yeah.” He blinked. “Um, yeah.” He opened the door to his car and climbed in for the radio.

“If it is not too much trouble, could you turn off the lights?” Brooke raised an arm to shield her eyes while he pulled the mic to his mouth. She really didn’t care one way or the other, but the boss would appreciate them off since they tended to chase off business, which should begin picking up soon for the people who made the donuts and all the early morning fast food up and down restaurant row made their way to work.

He nodded. “Sure.” And leaned forward to click something on his dash.

With the lights off, she returned to the men’s bathroom and pulled on the smaller gloves for the final scrub down.

“I hope you didn’t destroy any evidence.” A deeper, more confident voice spoke behind her while she wound the hose up. A second set of lights had arrived a few seconds ago, but they had been placed on the dash of a compact, instead of mounted on a government vehicle, so the new person likely came from homicide. Probably just tumbled out of bed, but he was here.

At last, things were moving. Brooke turned around and looked up, drawing a sharp breath. Damn, this one was pretty, especially in the rumpled, I didn’t get enough sleep after a Friday Night and the sun isn’t up yet on Saturday kind-of way.

(words 1,093; first published 11/13/2023)

Gas Station Killer Series

1. Bathroom Break (appears in blog at 2/7/2021)
2. Station Attendant (appear in blog at 2/14/2021)
3. It’s a Gas (appear in blog 4/11/2021)