by S I Taylor
He placed his mail on the kitchen table next to the pile of outdated Car, Healthy Man, and Garden magazines, and next to the endless pile of unopened mail. He always made a mental note to cancel those subscriptions and to sign up for paperless billing every time he received the zero balance statements. Maybe it was time to actually schedule it in his calendar as an active reminder.
His cable wasn’t set up and quite frankly he didn’t have time to watch TV. Besides, it was one less piece of mail to worry about placing on paperless billing.
It was no wonder he was preoccupied with Monroe’s whereabouts; he didn’t have a hobby besides the gym he would go to four times a week. But then when he would come home, he would shower and start with his addiction. “I need to know what happened to her,” he told himself over and over.
He walked past his living room, maneuvering around boxes to his home office. He stood in front of the opened door contemplating. “If I start with my search for Monroe I will lose track of time.” Instead, he decided that he should eat and try to relax before his trip to Huntersville.
He walked to his kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out turkey sausages, five eggs, milk, red and green bell peppers, onions, chives, parsley, and the last slice of avocado. From the pantry he retrieved a box of pancake mix, olive oil, salt, pepper, and a nonstick olive oil spray. He then took two whisks, a cutting knife, a cutting board, two large bowls, and a frying pan. He sliced, minced, and cut the vegetables and placed them in a bowl. He cracked three eggs, discarding the yolk and using the egg whites only, then added it to the vegetable bowl along with a dash of salt and pepper. In the other bowl he mixed the olive oil, two cups of pancake mix, two cracked eggs, and a cup of milk to make the pancakes fluffy. He whisked the contents of each bowl individually, turned the stove on medium, sprayed a light coating of cooking spray onto the pan, and cooked his meal.
He loved the idea of breakfast for dinner and that’s what he was in the mood for. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” That motto was so ingrained in his mind since he was young that it became his staple meal. He hadn’t bothered to buy a dining table so he sat on one of the stools he had at the kitchen counter and ate his meal.
Carter hadn’t felt lonely in a long time but today somehow looking around his apartment made him feel like he was missing a companion. Bush had a wife that he went home to, Coolidge had her husky, but what did he have? Carter had a room filled with boxes, an office filled with memories, and a bedroom filled with coldness. “My personal life is pathetic,” he sighed.
He suddenly thought that this was one of those times when having cable would’ve been a good idea. To drown in the endless nonsense of reality TV. He picked up his phone and began browsing through the internet looking at nothing in particular. “Awesome, Golden State made it to the finals again.” He kept scrolling through, just drifting away in the realm of the World Wide Web as he ate.
His cell phone pinged with a message from Bush with information on the itinerary. He finished his meal, placed the empty dish in the dishwasher, and went to pack the few clothing he had which hung from his closet.
It hit him hard that he lived a lonely life and maybe it was time for a change.
Coolidge and McKinley, having arrived at the Huntersville International Airport, each with one medium-sized suitcase, walked toward the airport rental car agency and rented two black full-size sports utility vehicles, fully loaded.
McKinley looked at Coolidge with a frown. “Why are you grinning?” he asked.
“Because we’re renting two vehicles, which means that at some point in this investigation I get to branch off.”
“No, that’s not why we have two vehicles,” he said as a matter of fact, “we have two vehicles because I told Bush that I had something that I needed to do while I was out here.” McKinley knew she was right but didn’t want her to know it. Not yet anyway.
“Oh, so you’re using federal funds for personal gain, interesting,” she said as she shook her head in disbelief.
“It’s not unauthorized, I made sure the chief knew, and he approved, besides, I told him that I would assume any extra charges since my insurance is the one assigned to this vehicle.”
She huffed and her eyebrows arched as she tried to make sense of it but she gave the conversation a rest.
They got into their vehicles and drove to the hotel first to check in and drop their luggage off in their rooms. They then drove to the sheriff’s department to meet with Deputy Chief Lyndon Polk and to get a radio.
The station was located near the shittiest part of town and McKinley was not sure how the area was crippled with crime having the sheriff’s office nearby. The building was cream-colored with the sheriff’s logo and motto written in black three-dimensional letters across the front wall: Huntersville Sheriff’s Department. Where Justice Prevails for All.
Coolidge sucked her teeth. “What a load of crap,” she said.
McKinley looked at her and nodded. He wasn’t surprised that she would say that considering she was very blunt at times and tended to think out loud. “Yeah, the message is contradicting to the area.”
They entered the small department and were greeted by the receptionist behind a small glass window. She looked bored with her job or bored with life. The phone rang, she picked it up, and without saying a word she would agree with a dragged out “uh-huh” and then a “but?” to finally end with a sighed “okay.” She hung up, took a deep breath, and leaned back against her chair with a worried expression stamped across her forehead.
Now that McKinley really thought about it the woman looked overwhelmed. She was sitting in a high swivel chair with a computer to her left and several large file cabinets behind her. It seemed that she was also the records keeper there as well. She looked to be in her early forties, with red hair in large curls and a bright orange lipstick which washed out her pale complexion, and her freckles peeked from behind her badly applied makeup.
“Good afternoon. I’m Agent McKinley and this is my partner, Agent Coolidge.” The two agents presented their shiny metal badges enclosed in a leather pouch which hung around their neck and held them against the window for her to inspect. “We’re here from the San Diego—”
“Yeah, I know. Deputy Chief Polk is waiting for you two in his office. Press that green button when you hear the buzz sound,” she interrupted.
“Thank you, Ms.…”
“It’s Miss Claire, and I manage everything in the front office for now. I hope human resources finds me an assistant soon because this is a lot of work for me,” she said.
“I hope they find the help you need too,” McKinley managed to say.
“Sorry, I get carried away sometimes with new faces,” Claire said as she multitasked between typing, filing, and retrieving files.
“It’s fine. Sometimes you need to vent,” he said as he stared with amazement at how fast she was working. Somehow, he really doubted that HR would find help for her.
“Yeah, sometimes it is a good thing to do. Keeps you sane, you know,” Claire added. She stood and walked closer to the glass window smiling.
McKinley nodded as he stood waiting.
“Well, we need to get moving, so can you buzz us in?” Coolidge asked.
“Forgive my partner, we had a long flight,” McKinley apologized on Coolidge’s behalf. He looked at Coolidge, who gave him a brazen shrug.
“No worries. I deal with rude comments and officers daily,” Claire said. “Her snark was rather amusing and mellow. Deputy Chief Polk’s office is the last one on the right.” She reached out to her left to press the open button on her end.
“Thank you, Claire,” McKinley said.
They stood in front of the second door in the lobby that led to the offices in the back.
Coolidge pressed the green button once the buzz sounded.
“I’m not sure how she manages to type anything with those long, colorful acrylic nails,” Coolidge whispered.
“Well, she w
as doing a superb job with them since she was typing as fast as a stenographer,” McKinley whispered back.
Coolidge huffed. “I had them once in high school. I wanted to fit in with the rest of the popular girls in school and I had a hard time pulling my hair into any style, buttoning my shirts, and wiping,” she said casually as they walked.
“Wiping?” McKinley asked, intrigued.
She gave him a mischievous smirk before she answered and instantly wished he wouldn’t have asked. “You know, wiping my ass,” she said nonchalantly.
“Oh, really, Coolidge. That was a terrible image,” he said more in embarrassment for asking. He was used to the disgusting jokes with Bush but with Coolidge he felt a little uneasy. Maybe because she was a woman and he respected women and didn’t think it was appropriate to speak to them in the same manner he did with the guys. Or possibly because she reminded him of his sister and he wouldn’t feel comfortable speaking to his sister in the same tone as he did with Bush when they did have time to hang out with the boys.
“Besides, she was batting her eyelashes way too many times. I can tell she was looking at you with those googly eyes girls tend to give you before they get to know you.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. But we need to give a good impression.” McKinley feigned ignorance.
She shrugged as they walked toward Deputy Chief Polk’s office. The hallways had white-painted walls decorated with picture frames of the many deputy chief sheriffs who once led the station from 1800 until to the present.
Even though the door was open, McKinley knocked. He always wanted to give the impression that he was polite, which in fact he thought that he was, and that awarded him many favors. However, Coolidge and Bush thought otherwise and considered his “politeness” as being flirtatious, but he didn’t mind their comments because it benefitted them as well.
Deputy Chief Polk was sitting behind his dark mahogany desk staring at his two computer screens simultaneously. His office was small—not nearly as small as McKinley’s old office space, but not as big as his new one either.
He was a short, stubby man who wore his gold glasses on the bridge of his nose. The glare that his glasses gave off prevented them from seeing his eyes and reading his features. His creamy skin was darker on his shiny scalp than on his sunburned, dry, patchy cheeks.
Chief lifted his head when he heard the rapid knocking. “Come in.” He gestured for them to sit in the empty seats in front of his desk. “Chief Agent Buchanan informed me that he was sending two of his best down here to assist my deputies with this matter.”
“Pleased to meet you, Deputy Chief Polk. I’m Agent McKinley and this is my partner, Coolidge.” McKinley introduced them.
Chief Polk extended his hand first to Coolidge then to McKinley and they both shook it firmly. You can tell a lot about a handshake and by the firm grip of it. Deputy Chief Polk was about business with minimal play time.
“Yeah, well, here we are ready to close this murder case,” Coolidge said.
McKinley glared at Coolidge, giving her a silent “what the fuck” stare, and looked toward Deputy Chief Polk.
“Deputy Chief Polk, we wanted to know if there are pictures or any evidence left at the scene that we can look at. Besides the names we have on this list, we don’t have any other information on this case except for the vague information that our Chief Buchanan provided us,” McKinley said.
“Glad you asked. Since we just got this case, our forensics team is currently on scene taking pictures and collecting evidence. I’m sure you already have the address of the warehouse, which was the information I provided to Chief Agent Buchanan this morning.”
“Yeah, since that information was vague, to put it plainly we need to get more information to get our investigation going,” Coolidge said.
McKinley elbowed her, and she glanced at him and quickly diverted her attention to the deputy chief.
“Good, the scene is still intact. We need to get there before the medical examiner’s office personnel remove the bodies and clean up the place,” McKinley said.
Deputy Chief Polk handed them both their call radio that was already calibrated with their radio names.
They took them as they quickly got up and headed for the door.
“Sorry, Deputy Chief Polk. We’ll be back, but we like to look at the scene while it is still untouched,” McKinley said before exiting his office.
“No worries. I was once an eager young deputy trying to be the first on scene to crack the case. I understand. Be safe out there. I’ll advise Deputy Harry of your arrival.” Deputy Chief Polk grabbed his radio from where it was charging on his desk. He pressed the radio talk transmission button to speak to dispatch. “10,” Chief Deputy Polk said. That must be his radio call name.
“Go ahead, 10,” dispatch responded.
“Advise 1211 that there will be two agents on their way to the scene.”
“10-4,” dispatch replied in confirmation.
The radio transmission between Chief Polk and dispatch disappeared in the background as Coolidge and McKinley hurried out of the station to the crime scene at the downtown district five warehouse.
They arrived on scene just as the ME’s truck was leaving the premises.
“Damn it, we’re too late,” Coolidge said.
“We can still look around, see where the bodies were lying, find out where they were taken, and ask the lead deputy investigator about anything he found,” McKinley said.
“Yeah, I guess we can do that too,” she replied. “I’m not sure how they were able to finish so fast since in San Diego the ME and forensics are there for hours assessing the scene. I don’t like this already.”
“I agree. Maybe they are just as thorough as Aaron but faster.” McKinley almost believed that himself and as he spoke those words Coolidge’s expression indicated that he needed to cut the bullshit.
She raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes slowly. “I hope you don’t want me to believe that.”
But before McKinley could respond, they turned around at the sound of footsteps.
“Hey, hey!” An enthusiastic uniformed deputy came trotting their way, waving his arms, trying to get their attention. He was wearing a white face mask, light-blue booties where his shoes should be, and a matching gown which was tied with a string around his waist. He removed the mask and untied his gown which now draped opened around his body revealing his uniform. “Hey, I’m Deputy Harry and Deputy Chief Polk asked me to escort you around. You’re Agent McKinley, and you must be Agent Coolidge.”
“Yeah, that’s us,” McKinley and Coolidge both flashed their badges to confirm. “What gave that away?”
“Dispatch relayed a message from Chief, besides, you’re the only two unfamiliar faces here, so I pieced that information together. I’m a good investigator,” he said. Proud of his answer, he squared his shoulders, making himself look taller.
“Yeah, very clever,” Coolidge said. “Well, I hope your investigative skills are good for your sake since we just saw the ME’s truck leave a few minutes ago.”
“Thank you,” he said. McKinley figured by his response that Deputy Harry did not realize that Coolidge was being sarcastic.
Deputy Harry was too trustworthy for his own good. He meant well but needed a little more experience in the field. He looked like he’d just graduated from high school. His boyish good looks gave the impression of his inexperience, but his enthusiasm for the task was relentless. No wonder the information Coolidge and I received was preliminary at best. Well, at least his uniform is pressed nicely and he looks the part, McKinley thought.
“Anyway, I always wanted to be an agent like you guys. But I need two more years to get my bachelor’s and a few more years in the sheriff’s office and I’ll be submitting my application to work with real agents who do real investigative work,” he said.
“You do real investigative work here as well,” McKinley said.
“It’s not the same, you know
. This is more like novice work. Boots-on-the-ground type of work. I barely scratch the surface. I want to do the cool stuff. The stuff you get medals for, the stuff you get recognized for, the stuff that matters the most. I want to make a difference,” Deputy Harry said.
“You are making a difference. Your help with this case will get you recognized for your efforts, even if you don’t get the medal. You have to do it because you love what you do, not what you will get out of it,” McKinley advised.
McKinley should be taking his own advice, since merely a few hours ago he was boasting about getting a promotion on account of solving this case faster than the last.
The deputy looked as if he was considering McKinley’s words. “Um, I didn’t look at it that way. I guess you’re right,” Deputy Harry said.
“Either way, I’ll be looking forward to you joining the force,” McKinley said.
Deputy Harry flashed a quick smile. “Sure thing, Agent McKinley.”
“Glad you got that information out of the way. Now for more pressing matters. Where’s the scene?” Coolidge asked, her eyes scanning the area.
“Wait, before we see the scene, “Who discovered the bodies?” McKinley asked, looking around the warehouse for anyone who seemed to have the worried or scared expression of discovering a gruesome scene.
Coolidge was also following McKinley’s line of sight. Considering that they were new to the area and didn’t particularly knew anyone, at this point anybody could be a suspect.
They both looked at Deputy Harry. “The locals call him Shopping Zo.”
“Why do they call him that?” Coolidge asked. Her face scrunched into curiosity.
“He likes to shop around the neighborhood and picks up anything and everything he deems he could sell or use. He gives the “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” saying a whole new meaning,” Deputy Harry said.