The Preditorial Page

by Lee, Amanda M.

  “Why didn’t he put his little light on top and just zoom through?”

  Eliot glanced over at me and shook his head. “Probably because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Wherever he is going, he’s trying to do it without tipping anyone off.”

  “Which means that it probably didn’t go across the scanner,” I mused.

  “Which is good for you, right?”

  “Which means I’ll probably be the only one there,” I acknowledged. “He’s turning.”

  “I noticed,” Eliot said, tightening his jaw. I could tell I was starting to irritate him and he was fighting the urge to snap at me.

  We followed Derrick into one of the ritzier subdivisions, Eliot slowing when we got away from the traffic.

  “We’re going to lose him,” I complained.

  “We’re the only two cars on the road,” Eliot replied.

  “So?”

  “So, if we’re right on his ass he’s going to notice us.”

  “So?”

  “So? So I thought you didn’t want to be seen.”

  He had a point. “Fine,” I blew out a sigh. “You’re so bossy sometimes.”

  “You’re bossy.”

  “I’m not bossy. I’m driven,” I corrected.

  “Blah, blah, blah. I’m bossy. Blah, blah. Star Wars rules. Blah, blah.” Eliot’s voice was shrill.

  “Was that your impersonation of me?”

  Eliot ignored me, pulling onto a side street when a platoon of police lights appeared on the horizon. He parked in front of the corner house and killed the engine. “Now what?” He turned to me expectantly.

  “Seriously? Was that your impression of me?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eliot lied, opening his door and climbing out of his truck.

  I followed suit, deciding to let the imitation go for now. Later was another story, though. I walked to the corner and stared down the road. Derrick had parked and was joining his uniformed brethren as they congregated on the street.

  “What do you think?” Eliot asked, keeping his gaze on Derrick and the other sheriff’s deputies.

  “I think they’re going into the woods and not into a house,” I said after a pause. “There’s nothing over there besides the river.”

  “I wonder what they found.”

  “It’s a body,” I replied, grim reality washing over me.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because there’s no ambulance but the medical examiner’s body wagon is down there on the left.”

  Eliot craned his neck to look in the direction I pointed. “You’re good,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t even notice that.”

  “You always seem so surprised when I do something right,” I pouted.

  “Not surprised,” Eliot countered. “Proud.”

  I glanced at him for a second, trying to hide the smile playing at the corner of my lips. I wasn’t entirely successful.

  Eliot returned the smile. “So now what? Are we going to wait here?”

  “No,” I scoffed. “We’re going to go down there and make our presence known.”

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Eliot didn’t look convinced.

  “I’m not going to find out anything here,” I pointed out. “Besides, whatever it is, it has to be big.”

  “And you think that because?”

  “Because there are at least nine sheriff’s cars down there, including Jake’s personal vehicle.”

  Eliot scowled. “You recognize Jake’s personal vehicle?”

  I ignored the hints of jealousy wafting from Eliot. “I might have followed him a time or two.” Or three. Or ten.

  “And why would you be following the sheriff?” Eliot looked suspicious, but he was trying to play it cool.

  “Because he only goes out personally to the really big cases,” I replied. “He’s not going to come to the scene of a crime if it’s just some junkie in the woods.”

  “That doesn’t seem very noble of him,” Eliot said.

  “He’s a media whore,” I agreed. “He wants the big cases.”

  “So, if this is a big case, why wouldn’t he have let it go over the scanner?”

  “Because he wants to control the hub of information,” I answered smartly, like a teacher imparting knowledge to her class. “Whatever it is, it’s probably horrible and he’s trying to decide how much information is too much information.”

  “And you showing up is going to ... ?”

  “Totally piss him off.”

  “Oh, good.”

  It took us only a few minutes to make our way to the hub. Two deputies were already stringing up police tape, and I couldn’t help but notice that a number of neighbors were grouped together on front lawns to watch the excitement. I broke away from Eliot and headed toward the nearest group. “What’s going on?”

  One of the women -- dressed in a chic business suit and some of the highest heels I have ever seen -- fixed me with a hard glare as she took in my blue jeans and T-shirt distastefully. “Who are you?”

  “Avery Shaw,” I replied, careful to keep my tone even. “I’m a reporter for The Monitor.”

  “In that outfit?” The woman was understandably dubious.

  “It’s my day off. I was helping someone move,” I replied smoothly. I didn’t add that my attire wasn’t much better than this on a work day. I didn’t think it would help the situation.

  “So, why are you here?”

  “When I see cops, I come running.” I was going for levity, although I didn’t think this woman had much of a sense of humor. I was debating whom to approach next when Eliot appeared at my side.

  “You find out anything?”

  The woman suddenly perked up when she caught sight of Eliot. Apparently she wasn’t appalled at his jeans, tank top and flannel shirt -- which instantaneously irked me. “The police found a body,” she announced, smiling at Eliot winningly.

  “What kind?” I asked, but the woman ignored me. I sighed as Eliot chuckled beside me. “Go find out what she knows,” I instructed, my voice low. “I’m going to go start bugging the cops.”

  “Find out what she knows? How?” Eliot wasn’t thrilled with his chore.

  “However you want,” I said wearily, starting to move away. “If you sleep with her, though, I’ll kill you.”

  Eliot rolled his eyes and took a few steps toward the woman, plastering an affable look on his handsome face. The woman practically puddled at his feet as he approached. Good grief.

  I positioned myself at the border of the crime scene tape and waited for someone I knew to recognize me. It didn’t take long.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Jake,” I greeted him with fake enthusiasm.

  Macomb County Sheriff Jake Farrell peeled himself away from the vehicle he was leaning on and stalked toward me. Where Eliot was tall and built, Jake was longer and leaner, with narrow hips and a ridiculously tight butt. Hey, I can still look. He was built; he just wasn’t as overtly muscular as Eliot. His black hair was pushed up into its usual messy bird’s nest and his dark eyes were pooling with something akin to rage. Uh-oh.

  Jake was at my side in seconds, his hand gripping my elbow angrily. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I was just house hunting and I stumbled across you guys,” I lied.

  Jake glanced at the houses behind me --not one that sold for anything less than $400,000 -- and then fixed his hard eyes on me again. “Really? You’re moving in here?”

  “I was considering it.”

  “The only thing you would spend this much money on is shoes,” Jake challenged. “And there aren’t enough Converse in the world to convince me you just lucked out and ended up here.”

  I considered my options and then decided to play it off as dumb luck. “I saw all the police lights from the highway.”

  “We’re a mile in.”

  I frowned. He always had to be so practical. “I followed on
e of your deputies in.”

  “We came in off the back road, which is closed to civilian traffic. Try again.”

  “What kind of road is closed to civilian traffic?” When in doubt, divert.

  “It’s a parks and recreation road for the Clinton River,” Jake explained before narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Don’t change the subject. How did you get here? Did Derrick tip you off?”

  “No,” I shook my head vehemently.

  “He just got here. Did he tell you?” Jake looked incensed.

  As partial to self-preservation as I am, I wouldn’t willingly put Derrick’s job in jeopardy. “I followed him,” I admitted.

  “How?”

  “We were at Lexie’s new place when he got the text,” I explained. “I knew he was lying about a report, so I followed him.”

  Because Jake and I had grown up together -- and spent the better part of our teenage years naked in the back seat of his car -- he was familiar with the players in my family.

  “How did you know that he was coming to a crime scene if he told you he was filing a report?” Jake wasn’t giving up.

  “He has a tell.”

  Jake rubbed his forehead angrily. “He still does that nose thing when he’s lying, doesn’t he?”

  “He does.”

  “I’m going to have to warn him about that.”

  “Don’t you dare! That tell has helped me more often than Google.”

  Jake’s face went blank as he thought about what I said. Finally, he relaxed -- marginally -- and just shook his head. “I should have known you would sniff this out. You have a certain ... knack.”

  He seemed calmer. I figured I might as well just go for it. “So … what do we have here? A body in the woods?”

  Jake cocked his head to the side and smiled at me evilly. “We have nothing to report at this time, Ms. Shaw. We’ll be setting up a news conference tomorrow. We’ll fax The Monitor when a time is set.”

  Like I was just going to give up. “So, you’re not going to tell me what kind of body you found?”

  “What makes you think we found a body?” Jake was playing the game now, too.

  “The medical examiner is here.”

  Jake pursed his lips. “Maybe we just thought we found a body. Maybe it just turned out to be large bag of garbage.”

  “So, on the record, you’re saying that the Macomb County Sheriff’s Department doesn’t know the difference between a body and a bag of garbage?”

  Jake scowled. “No, I’m not saying that on the record. Do you have to be such a pain?”

  “Just tell me,” I replied, trying to tamp down my inherent petulance. “You know I’m not going to leave without my story.”

  “And you know I’m not going to tell you anything before I’m ready to release the information,” Jake shot back.

  I watched as he made his way back to his deputies. I waved with faux brightness when Derrick glanced in my direction sheepishly, his shoulders slumping under the sudden onslaught of Jake’s rage. Given Jake’s animated hand gestures, I had a feeling he was reading Derrick the riot act. Whatever.

  I made my way along the police tape -- making sure not to let any of my body slip over the line (just in case Jake was feeling especially vindictive) -- and leaned against the medical examiner’s wagon as I waited. Thankfully, I wasn’t there very long. I recognized Dr. William Riley, the county’s medical examiner, the minute he separated from the hive of cops and headed toward his vehicle. He slowed when he saw me, but didn’t cease his forward movement.

  “Ms. Shaw,” he greeted me warmly. We’d met a few times over the past year -- since he’d taken the job after leaving a similar position in neighboring Oakland County -- and we had a relatively friendly relationship.

  “Dr. Riley,” I smiled brightly. “How are you doing?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on the covered body on the gurney as it was wheeled through the crowd, and then turned back to me. “I’ve had better days.”

  I had to decide how to play this. I decided subterfuge was the best way to go. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “Yeah, Jake -- I mean Sheriff Farrell -- was just telling me all about it,” I pushed on. “I can’t believe something so terrible could happen in such a beautiful place.”

  “Well, water is the best place to dump a body to wash away forensic evidence,” he said knowingly. “And the back road gives someone the ability to drive in here without drawing a lot of attention.”

  “So, there’s no evidence? What about on the clothes?” I was working hard not to let it slip that I had no idea if we were dealing with a male or female victim.

  “No, unfortunately the poor dear was naked.”

  “Do you have an age for her yet?” This was easier than I initially envisioned.

  “No,” Dr. Riley said, considering the question. “I would say between twenty and thirty at this point -- closer to twenty than thirty. We won’t know until we identify her.”

  “No purse or anything?” I pretended I was genuinely concerned.

  “Nope. Just the body.”

  “Any signs of just how she died? I hope it was quick.”

  “Well, as Sheriff Farrell probably told you, we know that she was stabbed multiple times,” Dr. Riley plowed on in an oblivious haze. “We won’t know what wound was the fatal one, though, until I can get her into the lab.”

  Well that sounded gruesome.

  “If I had to guess, though -- and this is just a guess, at this point -- I would say the neck wound was definitely fatal,” Dr. Riley continued.

  “Her throat was slit?”

  “It could be one of the seven wounds on her torso, though, too,” Dr. Riley continued, clearly oblivious to just how much information he was feeding me. “I just don’t know.”

  “She was stabbed eight times? Was she a transient?”

  Dr. Riley shook his head suddenly. “What? Oh, I don’t think so. She looked too well … maintained to be a transient.”

  “Do you have a time of death?” My stomach was suddenly turning, but I didn’t want to let on that this was all fresh news to me. “Jake said I would have to ask you,” I added hurriedly.

  “Oh, of course,” Dr. Riley said. “Given the state of the body and the level of lividity I would say no more than eighteen hours at this point. I’ll have a better and more precise number tomorrow.”

  “Well, thanks for your time,” I said, starting to move away.

  “Any time,” Dr. Riley said, moving to the back of the van and opening the doors hatchback so his aides could lift the body inside.

  I really had nothing left to ask Riley at this point, but I didn’t move immediately away. I found my eyes drawn to the covered body as it was loaded into the vehicle. I was so entranced by the ministrations of Riley and his staff that I didn’t notice Jake was at my side until it was too late.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  “Just asking a few questions,” I hedged.

  “To who?”

  “Dr. Riley,” I replied, fighting to hide my smugness.

  “Did he answer them?”

  I met Jake’s eyes evenly, trying to muster a playful smile. Given the body -- only four feet from me -- I couldn’t quite generate the complete expression, though. “I really have to get going.”

  “You’re not going to answer me?”

  “Actually,” I paused, turning back to him. “I’m thinking that your part of the story is going to go something like, ‘Sheriff Jake Farrell refused to comment on the stabbing death of a young woman found in the Clinton River Wednesday evening.’”

  Jake looked furious. “Don’t you even think about … .”

  I saw Eliot watching us from about fifty feet away and picked up my pace. I couldn’t get away from the body fast enough. “My ride is getting impatient,” I said. “I guess I’ll be seeing you at the news conference tomorrow.”

  “Avery!”

&nbs
p; Three

  Eliot dropped me at the newspaper office, promising to pick me up in an hour. I had told him what I had found out and he said he wanted to see whether any of his sources knew anything more. As a private investigator -- and pawnshop owner -- he had some interesting sources. I didn’t discourage him from tapping them, though. Anything he could feed me would be a bonus.

  I was surprised to see so many of my co-workers still toiling away. The Monitor is Macomb County’s only daily paper dedicated strictly to county news. We aren’t the biggest newspaper in the state -- that distinction went to the two Detroit dailies -- but we are far from the smallest. Since it was almost 7 p.m., I expected most of the news staff to have gone home for the day.

  I went straight to the editor’s desk to tell him I had breaking news.

  “Biggie!”

  Fred Fish is a throwback to the 1970s. He dresses like Burt Reynolds in his Smokey and the Bandit days -- an overabundance of gold jewelry included -- and he still believes that a woman’s place is in the kitchen (while she’s wearing a really short skirt). He tolerates me, though, because I give him too much copy to ignore. Unfortunately for him, that copy is often accompanied by a whole lot of lip.

  “I thought you were off this afternoon?” Fish seemed surprised by my sudden appearance.

  “I’ve got a biggie,” I repeated for emphasis.

  “You stumbled on a story while you were helping your cousin move?” Fish looked impressed.

  “Derrick got a call while we were there and I followed him,” I explained.

  “Where?” Fish looked excited for whatever little tidbit I was about to offer him. It must have been a slow news day. Anything to feed the daily beast.

  “They found a body in the Clinton River,” I said. “It was in one of those ritzy suburbs off of M-59.”

  “What kind of body?”

  “A young woman. She was naked and stabbed multiple times.”

  Fish raised his eyebrows. “How come it didn’t go across the scanner?”

  “Jake was trying to hide it.”

  “So he probably wasn’t very happy to see you on the scene?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I replied evasively.