by S I Taylor
“All right, but what about what was going on inside once they all went in? Can you find footage?” McKinley asked.
“I’ve been searching since you told me about the warehouse camera found outside and the inside is difficult. I need the owners to provide that information. I couldn’t get into their firewall or crack their code. I’ve never seen these codes before and it’s highly cryptic. Even Six, our hacker, couldn’t crack these codes and he’s one of the best out there.”
McKinley paced around the room, trying to think of what else they could try to get a better lead.
“Can you see who left, or was there, or anyone else who entered before or after they did?” he asked.
“I haven’t checked to see who entered before they did, I only focused on the time frame given,” Bush said, “but so far, no one entered except those four. And if they weren’t in the camera’s threshold then there is nothing we can work with.”
“I need to know who entered that day, not only around that time,” McKinley demanded, slamming his hand on the table, shaking it along with the few papers and phone on it.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, McKinley. Calm down. We’ll get somewhere soon. It’s my job to get restless and antsy. You play your confident role and leave the frustration to me. Someone has to be the level-headed person right now,” Coolidge said as she defused the situation.
He looked at her with a crooked grin. “Thanks.”
“No problem, any time.” She straightened the few things that were on the table and picked up the papers that flew to the floor.
“Are you done with the pity party there, McKinley?” Bush asked.
“I’m good. And for the record it wasn’t a pity party. It was just an outburst,” McKinley corrected.
Coolidge cleared her throat and decided to leave her comment to herself.
“Sure, whatever. Anyway, is there anything else?” Bush asked.
“Yes, it just occurred to me. Did you check the other cameras to see if there were other people who entered the warehouse from another entrance?” McKinley asked.
“I’ll look into that, but I’m warning you, if they didn’t enter from the corners or walk past the front main gate then we don’t have a visual on anything except the four that went inside and then hours later Shopping Zo.”
“Damn it!” Coolidge blurted. “This is getting complicated.”
“Just a little. But we’ll get this case wrapped up,” McKinley assured them.
“What about the forensics results on each of the victims and the blood sample analysis found at the scene?” Bush asked.
McKinley sat back in his chair as he rocked it back and forth.
“We haven’t gotten the results yet. I think this afternoon they should be ready. This town works slow. It’s not like San Diego where things are produced faster than changing a light bulb,” Coolidge said.
“Yeah, I have to agree. We don’t have anything else to report. You already got the information we provided to you about the witness ‘statement’—which we can’t use—and hopefully by tomorrow we’ll give you the updates on the blood analysis and forensics,” McKinley told him.
“Awesome. You guys did good with the limited resources that you have. I’ll report to Chief Agent Buchanan and I’ll be waiting for the updates. Watch your six, you guys,” Bush said.
Bush had adopted that term growing up in a home where his father was a police officer back in Guam. To “watch your six” was to watch your back. They’d grown accustomed to using it ever since McKinley, Bush, and Coolidge were teamed together.
“Thanks, we will,” McKinley said.
“Yeah, we got it,” Coolidge added.
They ended the call.
“So, do you want to harass the ME’s office or the forensics team first for the results?” Coolidge said as she leaned against the chair.
“I’ll go to the forensics office and you go to the ME’s office. Let’s pressure them into rushing with the results. They’re used to the slowness of working with the local sheriff’s office and they aren’t used to the FCCA at their facility. We can give them an enthusiastic nudge,” he told her with a mischievous grin.
She flashed her perfect teeth as she smiled, and he knew she liked the idea of going alone and giving more than just a nudge and a little pressure. Coolidge was rough around the edges, but they played the good-cop-bad-cop duo perfectly well. Too well at times.
“You’re looking too happy right now.”
“I just knew we were going to split up when you rented the second rental car. And here we are proving that I was right.”
“Maybe I should rethink the plan,” he told her.
“Not a chance, McKinley. This will shorten our task and shorten our stay here,” she said as she walked toward the door, not giving him the possibility of changing his mind. “Besides, this is one of your better plans yet,” she added.
He looked at her. She made a good point. But she had a quick temper and her sarcasm bordered on rude.
“All right, just behave. We don’t want to leave a sour impression here,” he told her.
“When have I ever left a sour taste anywhere that you know of?” She grinned, giving away a hint of playfulness in her tone. Coolidge winked, and a mischievous smile spread across her lips.
“What?” she said innocently and a small chuckle escaped her.
“You know what, forget I said that and just go do what you do and get results,” he said, regretting he mentioned that as he visualized an inappropriate mental picture of her.
“You don’t have to tell me more than twice. Consider it done. Later,” she said as she walked out the door.
He shook his head. “Later.”
He gathered his things and headed out the door as well.
The forensics lab was located on the other side of town about forty minutes away. McKinley had to double-check the GPS system since the building seemed to be abandoned and isolated. The facility was the only one in the area and the chipped white paint throughout the building was turning a faint yellowish tint.
He parked the vehicle in the garage attached to the building on the third floor, where only a few vehicles were parked. This place was secluded, isolated, dark, and empty. The only lights that illuminated the area were faint hollow lights that were scattered on the walls and the elevator light flickering on and off. A perfect horror movie scene. He didn’t feel at ease there and as he walked to the elevator, he checked his surroundings and looked around like a paranoid drug addict.
The cliché that he was an agent and that they shouldn’t be wary played in his mind. If anybody asked him why cops got scared if they all carried guns, he would say that kind of mentality led you to becoming complacent and eventually dead. Besides, he was human with feelings and instincts that helped keep him alert.
His hands were at his sides, ready to take his Glock out at any time. Even though it was bright outside it felt eerie in there. The solitude of the garage amplified any sound he heard.
He increased his speed and tried not to think of the horrific scenarios he had seen in his line of work which resembled this same scene.
Before he entered the elevator, he noticed the directory on the wall. The forensics lab was located on the fifth floor. Fuck. I should’ve parked on the fifth floor. He grabbed a tissue from his pocket and pressed the elevator button. He couldn’t be too careful and today he was taking Bush’s motto to heart. Watch your six.
He stood there and a screeching noise accompanying a rumble began as the elevator started moving up from the first floor. He looked around, peering and being vigilant. Finally, after three long minutes the elevator arrived, and the doors slowly opened, and the odor of urine slapped his face. He peered inside, and the elevator was old and hot.
He rethought his options and took the stairs instead, which were not in any better condition than the elevator. The walls were covered in graffiti, the railings were missing on some floors, and the ones that were present were rusted. How can anyone
feel at ease coming to work in these conditions? he thought.
McKinley took two steps at a time upstairs and he almost swore that there were other steps following him. His blood pressure spiked as his heart pounded harder than when he was a kid and feared his own shadow.
He exited the stair entrance to the fifth floor. He needed an entire hand sanitizer bottle to cleanse his hands from that place.
He walked out into a freezing building where everything was painted in white. The only thing that had some sort of color was the large black wall clock above the receptionist’s desk and the hours of operation on the side wall. Right next to it were the names of the two forensics specialists and one scientist who worked at the facility. At least the horrific scene in the garage was not spread within the building.
He walked over to the receptionist’s desk.
“Hey, I’m Agent McKinley from the FCCA. I’m working the case that occurred on June eighth at the downtown district warehouse five. Can you tell me where I can find the forensics personnel who could give the results for this case?” he asked her as he flashed his credentials.
She looked as scary as the scene at the garage. She had jet-black hair cut in a bob with short bangs and dark red lipstick that made her already pale complexion look white and uninviting. She looked up at him, uninterested, and looked down again.
“Forensics specialist Dr. Hillary Kincade is in the first door on the right. She should provide you with further information regarding the case,” she said.
“Thank you. You said down this hallway to my right?” he asked to make sure.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, the only hallway with doors,” she said.
He gave her a half smile and headed down the hallway and knocked on the first door to his right.
“Come in,” a female voice said from within.
He opened the door slowly and peeked inside before he walked in. She was standing at her workstation looking at several items in front of her. Her lab setup had microscopes of varying styles and sizes, beakers, flasks, Bunsen burners, test tubes, DNA identifying agents, chemicals, and anything else you’d see at a small state-of-the-art lab facility. Thanks to his biology background he was able to identify some of the items she used, plus he was at the forensics specialist’s office quite often, learning something new every time.
“How can I help you?” she asked, looking at McKinley through her black-rimmed glasses.
“I’m Agent McKinley with the FCCA and I came in regard to the—”
She interrupted him before he could finish. “Yeah, I know who you are and why you’re here. I heard about you and your team after last month’s case. The forensics community is small, so news good and bad goes around fast. Congratulations. It’s been a while since a case has been opened and closed so fast,” she said.
Short and voluptuous, she stood to greet him wearing a white lab coat over a black T-shirt with the company’s logo, khaki pants, and black tactical boots. Dr. Kincade was not McKinley’s kind of woman, but she was pretty, her auburn hair complementing her golden-brown complexion. At least she looked more inviting than the receptionist and the building itself, he thought.
“Impressive. You know about me, meanwhile I don’t know about you except for your name,” he told her.
“I’m not one to talk too much about myself, but you can always search for me and you can get a curriculum vitae of my accomplishments. However, Turner and I have been here for six years now. I like my job, it pays the bills,” she said.
“Nice, I’ll be sure to look it up for future reference,” he said, making a mental note.
“I know you’re not here to listen about yourself or to get a page summary of what I do here and who I am. The results have just been completed,” she said. She walked a few paces to her desk and returned holding two sealed envelopes.
“That’s great,” he said.
She handed him the reports, which he presumed were inside the sealed envelopes.
“But the results are not conclusive,” she said.
“Why, what’s wrong? You need more samples? Or were the samples tampered with?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not at all. I make sure Turner and the others collect all the information before they leave the scene. The problem is that there were five blood samples taken from the scene but only three bodies were found,” she said.
McKinley gasped, as Mr. John Doe had said that there were only four people outside the warehouse. Which meant a fifth person had entered before or after they arrived from another entry point.
“Do you know the identity of the other two people who weren’t found on scene?” he asked her.
“Unfortunately no. The two blood samples from the unidentified bodies were foreign men of Italian descent. They didn’t seem to have any dental records from every dental clinic I checked. Also, I couldn’t identify them by their blood samples since they didn’t have a health record either. However, they all had high levels of cocaine, alcohol, and some other substance similar to ecstasy in their system.”
“Damn,” he said. Investigating foreign nationals who entered Huntersville could take years to finish since the men could’ve entered from any of the fifty states. And since they didn’t have a time frame as to when they arrived it would be difficult to narrow their search. No, he would have to abandon that idea for now. He would have to get a sketch artist along with the photographs of the unidentified men and provide it to Interpol. He hoped they had a criminal background where they come from.
“I do have somewhat good news,” she said.
“Okay, what is it?” he asked, intrigued.
“We had a partial fingerprint,” she said, as she handed McKinley a large manila envelope. “You’ll find the potential suspects or victims in the list provided. I wrote a detailed report which I placed in the envelope. I’m warning you, it’s an extensive list,” she added.
She took another envelope and handed it to him. But this envelope was thinner.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was an extensive list.”
“I wasn’t, but these are photographs of the victims. If you would open the second slimmer envelope, I can give you my opinion on the photographs. If you want to know that is?”
“It’s fine with me.” He removed the flimsy metal clasp securing the envelope, reached inside, and slid out a few photographs. Dr. Kincade took the photographs and walked over to her workstation and laid them out for McKinley to see.
The images of the three men taken at different angles lay in front of them.
“The cuts to these two unidentified victims seemed like it was in rage. The stab wounds”—she pointed her pen at the several stab wounds on both unidentified victims—“looked like they were in a struggle. As if it were a spur of the moment type of scuffle. It seemed rushed like they wanted to get it over with. It didn’t seem as if it were a deliberate kill. However, the third victim—Nicholas Trivaldi Junior—it looked like the killer knew him. The slash wounds were meant to torment him and shame him.”
He looked at each photograph and studied them carefully. He stared at each of them to the point where the images were engraved in his memory.
“So you think it’s more than one person?”
“Absolutely, because of the time the bodies took to stiffen in rigor mortis, the victim with the slit in his throat died instantly from blood lost at three in the morning. The second victim with the stab wound to the back of the throat at three ten or three fifteen. And Trivaldi Junior his time of death was at three thirty maybe five minutes earlier given the warm room temperature of the warehouse. Plus, I spoke to Dr. Gregor at the ME’s office and he confirmed my suspicions. The first two were right after the other and the last one saw everything before he was next. So, unless the killer was superman with superhuman strength to kill three men instantly, it was two or more people doing the killing. Hence the fifth blood sample found.”
McKinley wrapped that idea around his head and now he wasn’t sure on wha
t to think. Everyone thought that it was one suspect and based on the surveillance cameras only four people were seen but three were dead and now a fifth blood was at the crime scene. But whose blood was it and why would they leave their accomplice behind, and why did John Doe only see four people instead of five?
“Are you sure about this idea?”
She raised her eyebrows. She seemed baffled that McKinley would question her. “I’m ninety percent sure.”
“So, what about the other ten percent?”
“It could’ve been that the killer diverted their bodies and two of them ‘accidentally’ stabbed the other. And considering the fact that the murder weapon or weapons were not left on scene and we don’t have fingerprints to match it to either victim.”
“You bring a good point here. I will discuss this idea with my partners and we’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Dr. Kincade,” he said. He gathered the photographs and placed them back inside the manila envelope.
“It’s my pleasure. I believe you have everything you came for. I don’t want to kick you out, but I do have plenty of things to do,” she said.
“Say no more. I have an extensive list to examine,” he told her, tapping on the manila envelope.
She smiled. “If you need anything my number is on the report.”
“Thank you again,” he said as he walked toward the door. “One last question.”
She turned to face him. “Yeah, what’s up?” she said.
“How could you not be alarmed every time you park your car in the garage? That place is so unkempt and scary.”
“Oh, yeah, I know. The employees here park in the rear of the building. We have a personal entry back there.”
“Glad to know. Now I know for future reference. Thanks,” he said and walked away, shaking his head as he smirked.
McKinley hurried out of the forensics office and walked toward the stairs. He exhaled the minute he reached the third floor. The smell got worse the closer he got to the parking garage.