ALPHABET
MURDERS
By
M.W. HUFFMAN
To my wife Susan with love for always
being there and believing in me.
ALPHABET MURDERS
© 2012 – Copyright by M.W. Huffman
All rights reserved.
OTHER BOOKS BY MW HUFFMAN
THE END–BOOK I of The Event Series
THE BEGINNING–BOOK II of The Event Series
THE REVELATION–BOOK III of The Event Series
The Second Civil War–BOOK I-A Nation Divided
The Second Civil War–Book II-A Nation at War
The Second Civil War–Book III–A Nation Healing
Project BlueBolt – BOOK I – American Gulags
Project BlueBolt – BOOK II - The Gulag Journal
Project BlueBolt – BOOK III – American Uprising
REVOLUTION!
THE BRINK
CLOSE PROXIMITY
BLACKSTAR
CHIMERA
WORLDS END
SUN BURST
Sins of the Fathers
The Unfinished
Angie Bartoni Case File # 1 - The Alphabet Murders
Angie Bartoni Case File # 2 - Frost Bite
Angie Bartoni Case File # 3 - Dead Aim
Angie Bartoni Case File # 4 - What Goes Around
Angie Bartoni Case File # 5 - Nothing to Lose
Angie Bartoni Case File # 6 - Shadow Man
Angie Bartoni Case File # 7 – The Club
Angie Bartoni Case File # 8 – Shakespeare Murders
Angie Bartoni Case File # 9 – One Too Many
Angie Bartoni Case File #10 – Weak Link
Angie Bartoni Case File #11 – Vanishing Act
Angie Bartoni Case File #12 – Victim’s Advocate
Angie Bartoni Case File #13 – Payback
Angie Bartoni Case File #14 – Dead on Arrival
Angie Bartoni Case File #15 - RAGE
The Logan Files - Blond Deception
The Logan Files - Innocence and Avarice
The Logan Files - The Deal Breaker
The Logan Files – Pain Center
The Logan Files – The Rose Tattoo
Norris Files – Insurrection
Norris Files - Silver2
This book is a work of fiction and comes from the mind of the author. It depicts no person, living or dead. All names were chosen at random. No part of this book may be copied or reproduced in any way without the written permission of MW HUMFFMAN and/or WaJe Productions.
“Child abuse continues to be a significant problem in the United States. It was estimated that in 2001, 903,000 children were the victims of child abuse or neglect. Child abuse is a crime perpetrated on the innocent and the defenseless.”
- Pete Domenici -
“Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime.”
- Herbert Ward -
THE ALPHEBET
MURDERS
Angie Bartoni
Case File # 1
CHAPTER ONE
Okay, so here is what I do know. What you see on television isn’t in any way related to what happens in real life. Women detectives do not run around in sexy high heeled shoes, short, tight skirts, and low cut blouses.
Oh, and another thing, we hardly ever try to beat up the bad guy. That is just so over the top. What we do is work our butts off and that means long hours and damn poor social lives. Relationships take a back seat to our work. It’s a curse that goes with the job.
While I’m at it, we don’t jump into bed with someone we are working with. That’s a sin unto itself. The boss finds out and you are directing traffic on some dead end side street for the rest of your career.
Did I mention that I hate to watch cop shows on television? We do not get epiphanies while bouncing a ball, looking at a water fall or watching a butterfly go by. We solve cases by beating the bushes and tracking down leads.
Long before I became a detective I spent several years trying to become a chef. I absolutely love cooking and that was my life's passion. Through a string of weird and unfortunate events, I never made it that far and one thing led to another and, well, long story short, now I’m a cop.
It’s a real tear jerker but no one really wants to hear about it. We all have stories. I’m not going to mention my age but let’s just say that no one is going to ask for my ID at a bar and leave it at that. I’m not forty yet but I know it’s not that far down the road. I also won’t win any beauty contest. I am what you would call...comfortable. Not a knockout but no dog either.
I stay in good shape, eat right, and wear just enough makeup to look like I didn’t try too hard. I don’t wear mascara or eyeliner because if someone hits me in the nose I’m probably going to cry and I do not want to look like a racoon or Liza Minnelli, with black streaks running down my face.
Right now I am sitting at my desk, wondering about humanity in general. We have been working a case that is starting to get under my skin and that’s unusual. Normally I keep my personal feelings out of the mix. This one is different. In the past two months we have found four young girls who were sexually assaulted and buried alive.
The revolting bastard even went to the trouble of putting a big cross on the grave a few days later so we could find it. His idea of a sick joke I guess.
Yesterday we found a fifth victim that we are pretty sure was killed by the same perp. I don’t like anyone who kills another person but this is beyond my ability to comprehend.
I can’t even fathom how someone could be so evil. What triggers someone to do such a thing and why can’t we find the bastard? Of course the media is on our case every day and I can’t say I blame them this time. I would be too if the situation were reversed. The truth is we don’t have a single clue that has helped. A gum wrapper, a partial shoe print, and a small piece of torn fabric, all of it or none of it could belong to the perp.
We have DNA out the wazoo but no one to match it to. You can have all the DNA in the world but it doesn’t do a lick of good if they are not in the database. If you can’t get a match there you have to have the perp. We had zilch or maybe slightly less.
The media was calling the killings the alphabet murders. Each of the first five young victims had a first name that was progressively following the alphabet.
Amy Long, Brenda Bolton, Carrie Jones, Danielle Worthington, and now Erin Curtis. It could be a coincidence but I sure wouldn’t want to make book on it. I was keeping an open mind to the fact that it might just be what it seems. The bastard is working his way through the alphabet.
If it is true, we need to get this jerk. It’s a long, long way to the letter Z. The Mayor, Commissioner, and Chief are all under heavy fire and that means we are too. It always flows downhill.
I looked at my watch. 2:30 a.m. and I had been up for almost twenty hours now but I was still wound tight. My body needed sleep but my mind kept saying no, you need to find this bastard and get him off the streets. Those five little girls are never going to get to wake up so you need to keep going.
That was all very noble but not very realistic. At some point my body would quit listening to my brain and just shut down. That’s happened before but I go brain dead from time to time anyway. And it is not from old age.
I don’t know when it happened but it must have at some point because the next thing I knew Captain McGregor was pushing me on the shoulder.
“Angie. Angie. Wake up. For Christ sakes, did you spend the night here?”
“What? Uh. What time is it?” I stammered, wiping the drool from the corner of my mouth. Gross. I had slobbers on my desk as well. How lady like.
“A little after 6:30.”
I shook my head. How could that be? I just looked at my watch a few minutes ago.
“I guess I must have drifted off,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“Wow, you think? Gosh, you really are a detective,” he said turning and heading to his office.
Ah, the start of another terrific day. I slowly stood up, stretched and looked around quickly before adjusting my bra and then headed to the break room. I put a dollar in the pop machine and pushed the Diet Coke button. The elixir of life slid down the chute and I popped the top. After a few big gulps I felt almost human and headed back to my desk.
LeRoy Gates, Marcus Lane, and Bud Farmington all came in, laughing and carrying cups of coffee. They were three of the detectives working the case with me. Obviously they were not letting it get to them and it made me a little mad to tell the truth.
“Hey Angie, you looked like hell. Did you spend the night here?”
“Hey Bud, did you put a mop on your head instead of your cheap toupee this morning?” I said back, shoving my way past them.
“Ooooh, someone is in a pissy mood this morning,” LeRoy said, giving Bud a quick jab on the arm.
“Jerks,” I muttered as I sat back down.
At least Marcus had enough sense to keep his mouth shut. He looked over at me and rolled his eyes like he was putting up with a couple of college boys that hadn’t quite grown up yet. The problem with that is they were both older than I am. Just goes to show you, age does not equate to maturity.
They were still laughing about some stupid thing when the Captain came out. He stood there watching them for a few moments before they finally realized he was standing there.
“Could you two little boys maybe get your asses to work? I really don’t feel like babysitting with you two morons today. I have enough on my plate without you acting like teenagers. Angie, I want you and Marcus to go over to the ME. They are doing the autopsy on Erin Curtis in thirty minutes. Peterson is doing the autopsy and you know how I feel about him. I doubt he could dissect a frog and get it right. Make sure he notes everything and doesn’t overlook something small like a knife sticking out of her chest.”
“Got it boss,” Marcus said and grabbed his coat and his gun from his desk drawer. I did the same. I was glad to be getting out of the place for a while. I wondered what he had in store for the Moron Twins but decided not to waste brain cells thinking about it.
Marcus was his usual stoic self as we headed to the medical examiner’s office. He never said much but when he did he always cut to the chase.
You never wanted to ask him about something if you weren’t prepared to hear it like it was. He never beat around the bush. If you asked him how you did on something you had better be ready to take the bad with the good. I liked that about him. He could hurt my feelings but I always knew exactly what I needed to do better next time. There were no hidden agendas with Marcus.
“Frickin’ traffic,” he muttered.
“Rush hour,” I said.
“Frickin’ rush hour,” he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Caustic too.
“Do you think Peterson is as bad as the Chief makes out?” I asked.
“I think he was being kind. The guy is a total screw up. We had a body in there last week with three shots to the chest and he logged it as two. Hell, they were six inches apart. You had to be blind not to have seen all three. Can you imagine going to trial with that kind of report? They would have eaten us alive. I don’t know how the hell he keeps his job.”
“Probably knows somebody who knows somebody,” I replied.
“Well, somebody needs to kick him in the ass.”
Obviously I had not picked such a good topic. I decided to change it quickly.
“Looks like we are in for some warmer weather. I saw that the high was going to be in the upper seventies most of the week.”
“That’s just great. Every nut that has been stuck in the house will want to come out and play. We’ll end up with a morgue full of fresh bodies. Every time it warms up the squirrels come out but so do the nuts,” he replied.
Man, he was one tough guy to find something to talk about.
“Hey, there is a coffee place up ahead. You want to run in and get some real quick? I’ll buy,” I said.
“Anyone who would pay five bucks for a cup of coffee needs their head examined. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of, except for paying for a bottle of water. Do you realize when you add it up, bottled water costs more than a gallon of gas and people are always crying about that?”
I decided that was enough trying to have a pleasant conversation with him. I just rolled down the window and sat back in the seat. I liked Marcus but he sure could be a serious killjoy.
***
“Dr. Peterson, I’m Detective Bartoni and this is Detective Lane. We were sent here by Captain McGregor. He wanted us to be here for the autopsy.”
“I see. I understand the Captain isn’t too fond of my work,” he said.
“I don’t know anything about that. All I know is he told us to be here and...” I shrugged.
“Fine. You will need to wear glasses. You may want to put on a lab coat as well.”
Marcus and I both put on the glasses and the coats. I loved wearing my chef coat to cook in but these were different. I didn’t like anything about them. Maybe because I knew what was coming next and I didn’t care for it.
Something about seeing a body, especially a child’s, reduced to individual parts is unsettling. Peterson adjusted the microphone level and began to go to work on the frail body of little Erin Curtis. I tried not to let it show but every time he cut into her I grimaced on the inside. I knew she couldn’t feel it but it didn’t make me feel any better. Overall Peterson did a fairly good job of recording what he found. Finally it was almost over.
“Doctor. What about her eyes?” I asked
“What about them?”
“Did you check them?”
“Well, I was about to.”
“We need to see. It’s an important aspect,” I said.
What kind of an ME was he? The Captain was right. He was totally incompetent. He rolled back her eyelids and jumped back.
“What the hell?”
“Just what we suspected,” Marcus said, looking at me.
“You knew about this?”
“We thought it was the same MO. Didn’t you read any of the other reports done by Doctor Sorenson?” I asked.
“I don’t have time for that. He’s on vacation and I have to do his and my work. I don’t have time to read all that crap.”
“I’m sure you’ll be glad when he returns. I know we will,” Marcus said and walked toward the door.
I had to smile. Good ole Marcus. Pow, right between the eyes. He was still shaking his head when I caught up with him.
“The Captain is right. He is an incompetent moron,” he said as our footsteps echoed off the tile floors.
“We have to get this bastard. I’ve heard of nuts keeping souvenirs from their victims but their eyes? What the heck is that all about?” I said.
“And what is with the ball bearings? Why go to all that trouble? It ain’t like he is fooling us. Well, I mean a real ME would catch it, not that dumbass in there,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“Did you read the lab report on the bearings?” I asked.
“I skimmed it,” he said.
“So where does one get loose bearings that size?” I said, more to myself than Lane.
“That’s a good question. Something that size would be in a bearing race. Maybe we need to see if there is a company locally that makes bearings that size or check out any companies that assemble bearings,” Marcus suggested.
“We don’t have anything else to go on. At least it will be better than waiting fo
r another body to show up,” I replied as we climbed in the car.
The temperature had climbed another three degrees and I thought it felt great but Marcus was having no part of my good natured chatter about how nice it was to finally get some sunshine for a change.
Instead he complained about the traffic, idiots on bicycles, and people talking and texting on cell phones while driving. He was mostly right about all three but I was in a good mood so I just tuned him out.
I did call the station and had them find out if there were any ball bearing assembly or manufacturing plants in the city or nearby. After I had convinced them that I had not lost my mind and I was really serious they said they would check and call me back.
We were only six blocks from the station when the dispatcher called to tell us that we indeed had two places that made ball bearings. One at 34th and Market called the Armadillo Bearing Company and one in the Oak Ridge Industrial Park called Precision Specialty Bearings Incorporated.
“Great. Tell the Captain we are going to go check them out and see if we can get a match on the bearings from the victims.”
“Uh, 10 – 4,” came the reply. I think he thought we had lost a few of our own bearings from the sound of his voice. Still, what did we have to lose? We decided on the Armadillo Bearing Company first since they were closest.
“Want to get something to eat first?” Marcus asked.
I’ve worked with him enough to know that when he asked that, it meant he is ready to eat now and he is just asking as a formality.
“Sure. Sounds great to me,” I said. My mother didn’t raise any fools.
“Let’s just grab something close,” he said and abruptly pulled into Epstein’s Deli.
I didn’t even have to guess what he was going to order. It would be the same thing he always has when we eat at Epstein’s. Corned beef, sliced paper thin, on seeded rye with mustard and a big fat kosher dill pickle. I figured he would probably get a Jones Cream Soda to go with it.
ALPHABET MURDERS - ANGIE BARTONI CASE FILES #1 (Detective Angie Bartoni Case Files) Page 1