by S I Taylor
As he walked toward his vehicle a faint tall figure and a female figure stood at a distance holding something that he couldn’t decipher.
He took his Glock out and held it next to his side and stashed the envelopes at his back. He wasn’t sure if his nerves were playing tricks on him, or if he was actually visualizing these two figures appearing and disappearing with every step he took, getting closer to him.
“Why the fuck did I have to park so far away? Damn it,” he muttered.
He was almost at his car and the big burly figure was standing next to his vehicle and now he was able to make out that the man was holding a crowbar in one hand and the slim woman was holding a gun.
McKinley shuddered at the loud noise at every window the man broke with the crowbar. The woman turned in McKinley’s direction and shot three times. The last shot scraped his arm, taking his skin with it, leaving his arm exposed as blood started to ooze down his arm. But he had no time to think about the pain, so he took cover behind a column and crouched.
“Police, put your weapons down,” McKinley yelled.
“We know who you are, Agent,” the female said.
“What do you want?” he yelled as he peeked from behind the column.
“Nothing. There’s a welcome package for you. Enjoy,” the man said.
More shots were fired at McKinley. The man dragged the crowbar across the cement ground, causing metal clinking noises as he walked.
McKinley kept low, trying to peer around the column, but they were no longer standing where he last saw them. He returned behind the column, unable to move further as more bullets were being shot his way.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Bullets were ricocheting toward him, causing the hot casings to collide with his arms and legs, tattooing burn marks on his shirt and trousers. He wiggled to keep them from burning his flesh. The flickering lights turned off completely, leaving him in the dark. The metal sounds of the bullets hitting the few parked cars caused their alarms to blare around him, making him unable to decipher where the two had gone.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
The bullets continued and moving to another column was impossible. He remained crouched with his back squarely against the column.
Pop.
The last bullet was heard and the bombardment of noises stopped. A small dark vehicle exited the ramp, screeching its tires along the way. He got up, pointing his Glock in front of him with his sights zeroed in on nothing but darkness. He flicked on the mounted flashlight on his Glock to guide his vision. He started shooting in their direction, but he was too late. The pair fled. He swiveled from right to left and in circles but nothing else was around him except for the parked cars and the columns. And the only sounds that he heard were his footsteps that echoed in the dark along with the alarms of the parked vehicles.
He raced to his car, stepping on crackling shards of glass. Realizing that the dangerous duo had shattered all his windows, he moved the gun around the car, guided by the mounted flashlight, noticing that his tires had been slashed and the exterior vandalized. These people worked fast, he thought. He grabbed the keys, opened the door, and the stench of rotting flesh bombarded his nostrils. Where the fuck is that odor coming from? The slight ambient light against the pitch darkness of the garage was messing with his vision and he desperately wanted to see clearer. He searched for his flashlight in the car door and flicked it on. The flashlight glared light inside the car and in the rear passenger side on the third row there was a decomposed naked male body.
Fuck, this just got complicated.
He stepped back. The sight of the body combined with the smell churned his stomach as bile was rising. Immediately, he turned away from the car and dry-heaved for a few seconds until he composed himself. He wasn’t intimidated by dead bodies but having a body in his car got to him.
McKinley took the discarded napkin from his lunch earlier that day and placed it over his nostrils and his lips. He holstered his Glock and pointed the flashlight at the dead man’s face. The body lost all its melanin and was now a weird mixture of green and red. The man’s features were barely noticeable from the maggots roaming about the face and throughout the body. He wasn’t an expert at determining the time of death but judging from the smell and the insect activity it had to be about a week—at least.
If it wasn’t because McKinley drove his car earlier he would’ve sworn the man died in his car. The man looked like he died sitting down considering the way the body was positioned and his arms lay perfectly on the seat cushion. McKinley wasn’t sure of the cause of death and he needed Dr. Kincade to come to assess the body further.
He reached for his cell phone and called Coolidge to meet him at the forensics lab garage. McKinley then called Deputy Harry so he could add this scenario to the investigation, as he was not sure if it was related to the murders. Deputy Harry was familiar with the locals and how they operated. Maybe this crime was gang-related. But one thing was certain, McKinley had had them both in front of him and he hadn’t been able to do shit.
He opened the large manila envelope and searched frantically for Dr. Kincade’s contact information. He called her so that she could get to the garage with her assistant to collect evidence and remove the body from his car.
Moments later McKinley watched as Turner and Dr. Kincade along with a few other forensic personnel wearing white protective gear swarmed the garage. The Huntersville sheriff’s department brought several large lamps to assess the scene. Even though the brightness blinded everyone it was necessary since it was dark inside the garage. Two other forensic personnel were placing forensics tape and markers for each casing found in the garage. Another one was taking pictures of the body, the car, and the garage.
“Hey, Dr. Kincade,” McKinley said as she walked toward him. She had a first-aid kit with her. “I didn’t think our next encounter would be so soon,” she added with a grin.
“Neither did I,” McKinley responded.
“Let me take a look at your wounds. If they’re too serious we’ll call paramedics to get you to the hospital.”
“I don’t have time to go to the hospital. I’ll be waiting for hours. Besides, I’m fine.”
“You know protocol is to get checked out at the hospital,” Coolidge interrupted.
“Dr. Kincade, this is my partner, Agent Coolidge,” McKinley said.
“I’m the lead forensics specialist in this case. Pleased to meet you, Agent Coolidge.” Dr. Kincade started to extend her hand for a handshake but she had gloves and instead gave Coolidge a curt nod.
“No worries. I understand. He needs your undivided attention right now,” Coolidge added.
Dr. Kincade wiped a sterile alcohol pad on each of McKinley’s wounds and rubbed antiseptic ointment on each one, wrapping the one on his arm with a bandage and placing small gauze pads on the rest with Steri-Strip tape.
“Can you estimate the time of death, Dr. Kincade?” McKinley asked as she worked.
“Yeah, well I would have to say five days, six days max. We’ll have to take tissue samples and blood samples to confirm. Then we’ll have to study the body to determine the cause of death. So far we saw wounds throughout the body while we were transporting him,” Dr. Kincade said.
“When do you think we will have the results?” Coolidge asked.
“About two to three days,” Dr. Kincade said.
“This town definitely works slow,” Coolidge whispered.
“McKinley’s wounds are superficial and the bandages on them should suffice to keep them from getting infected. But if you feel like you need to go to the hospital then don’t hesitate to go. If you don’t have allergies to aspirin then you should take it for pain,” Dr. Kincade said.
McKinley nodded.
“The forensics team will have to sort out the casings from Agent McKinley’s Glock from the casings that the pair shot at him. We will need your Glock to compare the casings to, Agent McKinl
ey,” Dr. Kincade said.
“Dammit, I forgot that I need to give up my Glock for the investigation,” McKinley said. “Fine, give me a minute with Coolidge and I’ll come find you to give it to you.”
Dr. Kincade nodded and walked toward Turner to supervise him and the others.
“Great, another body added to the list,” Coolidge said.
“Maybe it’s the fifth person whose blood was left on scene,” McKinley said.
“What fifth person?” she asked.
“Right, I haven’t told you yet. There’s a fifth victim who was in the warehouse with our suspects. It will be convenient if it was this character because if it’s not, then we’ll be here longer than we thought.”
“Why do you think it’s the fifth person? I mean it could be anyone at this point,” Coolidge said, trying to make sense of McKinley’s comment.
“Because it’s too much of a coincidence that this body is placed in my vehicle. We’re not known among the locals, aside from our faces being plastered all over the news,” McKinley said as he looked at Coolidge, reading her expression.
Coolidge nodded as she pressed her lips, not in agreement but rather in deep thought.
“Damn. What can we do?” She shrugged. “We came for the thrill so now we got a double dose of it,” she said. “I love it though. Keeps me busy, keeps my mind active, this is what I signed up for.”
McKinley was almost certain that Coolidge was keeping herself busy to keep from thinking about her parents and Rocco just as he was claiming to use the term busy as a diversion from finding his sister. However, he was skeptical about the case as he nodded in agreement, thinking about the correlation between the murders and this scene.
“This is all a distraction,” she said, looking around.
“Yeah, he used the crowbar as a distraction while she shot at me, the lights, and the cars as they were retreating from the garage. They made sure I wouldn’t follow them.”
“No, I mean this scene—the dead naked body and the vandalized car. This is a distraction to halt the investigation. I don’t think they wanted to hurt you. I just think they gave us more work,” Coolidge said.
“You might be on to something. They knew who I was and where I would be.”
“Yeah, you were being followed,” she said. “After our faces were plastered on the news, I’m sure it wasn’t too hard for them to figure out where we would be.”
He nodded. “They threw us a curve ball, but we have a list that we need to narrow down by tonight.”
“And we need to visit the warehouse to investigate it further. The revelation that there was another person’s blood inside means that someone entered through another entrance. So tonight, we visit the scene of the crime.” She scratched her head looking pensive and then twirled her loose pony tail between her fingers.
“Good thinking. Besides, the forensics won’t be completed until a few days from now anyway, so no need to wait around on that to move forward.” He looked around surveying the scene again.
“See, I knew you’d come around. Let’s get to work, McKinley. I’ll clue you in on what I found on the bodies on the ride.” She patted McKinley on the back with a little too much force.
“I’ll let Dr. Kincade know to keep me posted as soon as she gets the results,” McKinley said as they both walked toward Dr. Kincade.
Dr. Kincade was deep in concentration when they approached her. She was kneeling on one knee examining the shell casings and taking pictures. The camera’s shutter was drowned by the many voices in the parking garage.
“Dr. Kincade,” McKinley said.
Dr. Kincade jumped, almost falling forward, but held herself steady. Considering the noise level, McKinley was surprised at her reaction.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine. I was deep in concentration mode. You ready to give me your service gun?” she said.
“Not really but obviously I don’t have any other choice in the matter.”
“I know. But this is protocol. I’m going to need an evidence box from the work van. Turner can give it to you.”
“I can get it from him,” Coolidge interjected.
“Okay, thank you,” Dr. Kincade said.
Coolidge walked off and moments later she was back with a flat box with several small slits and six white zip ties. Dr. Kincade took the box and assembled it.
McKinley removed the magazine while his gun was still holstered. He locked the slide to the rear, realizing that he had fired eight rounds from the ten rounds his magazine holds. In the heat of the moment he didn’t calculate he had fired that many.
McKinley continued to disassemble his service gun, removing the mounted light and the slide from the frame and handing them to Dr. Kincade. She placed each item inside the box on a pre-outlined picture of each part between the slits. She took the zip ties and secured each part firmly inside the box. She took a black marker and labeled the box with the parts and serial number of the Glock. She wrote the same information on a receipt and handed it to McKinley.
“Make sure you bring this receipt with you when you pick up your Glock next week,” Dr. Kincade said.
McKinley sighed heavily as he nodded. He didn’t like giving up his gun, but he knew it was necessary.
“Thank you, Dr. Kincade,” he said as he walked away with Coolidge.
“We’ll have to swing by the hotel so I can get my second backup Glock so I can at least have two in my possession. After what happened to Six three years ago, I’d rather keep two with me at all times.”
Six was their fourth member when they got assigned to their first case. He was on surveillance with Bush one evening and he had gone around the corner to use the restroom. He figured the suspect wasn’t out of the bar yet and had time. The moment he was returning to the car the suspect recognized him and a gun battle ensued. Six ducked behind cover as the shots continued until his Glock locked to the rear—with no more rounds.
He said he reached for his backup holstered around his ankle but he’d left it at home that night. If it wasn’t for Bush and his perfect shot, Six would’ve been dead. He’d been reassigned to the computer decoding department while the investigation was being conducted and he’d stayed there ever since. It had been four years since and he carried two pocketknives, his service Glock, his Ruger LCP Custom wrapped securely on his ankle as backup, kept another Glock-42 in his glove compartment, and a Taser in the center console. That was how he got his nickname. He carried around six different forms of security. They all thought it was a little much considering he had to qualify with each service weapon during their quarterly training.
McKinley drifted back to the present as he listened to Coolidge’s voice.
“I’ll advise Deputy Harry to inform me about any possible correlation to gang-related crimes and this one so we can either rule this as gang-related or not,” she said.
“All right. I guess tomorrow I’ll have to get another rental car as well,” he said.
She nodded in agreement. “Yep, because we’ll need it if we are splitting up the tasks.”
He shook his head slowly and shortly after, he and Coolidge were driving out of the garage.
Chapter 16
Nixon arrived at Barbara’s place and parked his car in front of the house. He left the car running and kept his gaze straight ahead, not yet diverting his attention to her.
Barbara’s gaze was distant as she sat in the passenger seat. She’d thought her mind had forgotten those memories she shoved in the back of her head.
She’d thought that the therapist she’d been seeing years ago had cured her, but the more she visited her old neighborhood around Iggy’s shop, the more vividly her memories attacked her reality.
“Hey, Barbara, we’re at your place.”
“Oh yeah, thanks for the lift. Sorry I was so distant during the ride. I have a lot on my mind. Returning to that neighborhood brings back painful memories,” she told Nixon.
“No
worries, Barbara. I figured you were in your head.”
“Yeah,” she said as she searched for his eyes, but he kept his response short and didn’t look at her. She felt uneasy, but brushed it off as it was best to leave things the way they were. She didn’t want to complicate their relationship any more than what it was already.
“I’ll call you when I’m done with the gadgets so you can pick them up, or I can bring them to you if you like.”
“Umm, I’d rather get them when we embark on this new venture in two days.”
“As you wish,” he said.
His eyes lingered on her as she quickly glanced his way and climbed out of the car.
“See you later, Nixon.”
He knew he needed to work harder to get to her. He wasn’t certain how to approach her, but he figured that she would come around.
She waved a quick good-bye, but all she got was the two-finger salute as he sped off, leaving tire marks and smoke behind.
She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she needed to get herself together. She knew she was sending him mixed signals—she needed to give him his freedom to pursue someone else. Just as she would see other people, he needed to get out there and forget about her because they would never be together.
The front window blinds rattled as she walked toward the door. Mr. Riley was spying on her as usual. But he never dared ask anything. This was her life—as messed up as it might be, he had no right to ask anything.
She made a detour and decided that she needed to get out of her basement. She walked to the next corner and called a cab. She had to finally face her past.
Even though he had given her the keys to the house she felt like a stranger.
She stood in front of the door to apartment 19, knocked once, and instantly regretted her decision. What would her mother think if she saw her? Would she approve of her decision?
Barbara turned to leave but an impulse made her stop. She wanted to at least get some answers to her questions. She deserved the right to know.
Without realizing it she knocked again.
From within the house Barbara could hear the floorboards creaking slowly toward the door.