by James Hunt
I stole a quick glance in my rearview mirror and saw that what I thought was a little scrape was a stream of blood pouring from my nose.
My breathing became wild and uncontrolled. I glanced down at my clothes. My blood was everywhere. It was a mess. A fucking mess!
But I needed to leave. I’d drawn too much attention to myself. I climbed back into the driver seat and headed south, keeping to the city’s outskirts, racing against the morning sun which would expose me to the world, to the authorities.
I managed to return to the lab, parking the van around the back and carried the redhead inside. I placed her on the cot in the holding room and then watched her sleep. She was so peaceful, so innocent. And she would be again.
I locked the door and then stepped back into my work area. I saw the dress I had made still hanging on the back of the chair, and I looked from it to the blood on my hands.
I quickly removed all of my clothes, everything, including my shoes. I could buy new ones. I shoved all of them into a garbage bag and then showered. I scrubbed using hot water, spending as much time beneath my nails and my hair as I could, making sure that every square inch of my body was clean. I watched the blood disappear down the drain, and I took the time to think about what I needed to do next.
The bag of bloody clothes would need to be incinerated, along with anything I used to clean the van and the inside of the shower.
The girl also had my blood on her. I’d need to take her clothes off, burn those as well. I might even need to clean the girl. But I could do that after she had made her choice. I was beginning to feel better. I could still do this.
I dried and dressed, and then checked on the girl. She was still passed out on the cot. If I were going to change her clothes, then I would need to do it quickly. I still had some of Katy’s garments, and I knew those were clean because I washed them after I kept them.
Even though she was still asleep, I entered quietly. Blood covered her clothes, and her face and hands were dirtied with grime. The world had stained her, and the only way for her to be cleaned was through me.
I reached down and grabbed a lock of that red hair, pulling on the curls until they unwound and were straight. Even her hair had lost some of its shine.
I knelt and brushed her hair back out of her dirty face and tucked it behind her ears, letting it spill around her head like a basket of red springs. “I can help you. I can save you.” I whispered the sweet nothings into her ear, and the sudden urge to kiss her overwhelmed me. I brought my lips so close that I could feel the warmth radiating off her body. It was intoxicating.
But I quickly turned away, knowing that I was pushing myself to close to the edge. I had to remember why she was here.
I removed her clothes, taking care to ensure that the process was clinical, but she was so young, so pretty, that it was difficult. By the time she was naked my pulse had skyrocketed, my body had flushed with heat, the rush of blood to my head was so intense that my vision tunneled until I could only see through nothing more than a narrow pinwheel.
I shut the door behind me, not realizing I was holding my breath until the door was locked and I gasped for air.
I dropped the clothes and then fell to my knees, my vision slowly returning. Drenched in sweat, I caught the sour stench of fear radiating off my body. That had been too close. I placed her bloodied clothes in the bag with my own. I would need to get rid of it quickly and also clean the van. I couldn’t be caught now. So many still needed my help.
8
It was the first time in almost two months that Susan slept through the night, but when she woke up, her head was pounding, and her tongue felt like sandpaper on the inside of her mouth; side effects from the heroin she took from Allie.
Naked, Susan flung the covers off of her and glanced to the left side of the bed. Charlie was still asleep, and Susan knew that she was only digging herself deeper into a hole that she wouldn’t be able to escape.
Every police instinct told her to stop. But she didn’t. Now things would become dangerous for both of them.
Chris had worked for the South Siders as a low-level dealer and had been one of her first contacts within the gang. He had figured out she was a cop, but he had decided to help her anyway. But if his bosses found out he was sleeping with her, if they discovered that he had a hand in the raid at the Laundromat, he wouldn’t be long for this world. And he wouldn’t be the only one in trouble if their relationship was made public.
Susan would be crucified in the department by Williams, her reputation ruined with a single phrase - “sleeping with an informant.” And if she continued down this road, it would be inevitable that they would find out. She was sleeping with a ticking time bomb.
Head pounding, Susan headed for the bathroom, turned on the shower, and prayed that Charlie slept through the noise. She needed some time alone to get her head on straight.
The shower helped, and when she was finished, she drip-dried in the steamy haze the hot water had left behind, basking in the warmth. She wrapped a towel around her body and stepped into the bedroom, finding Charlie already out of bed, one leg poking through his jeans while the other was still outside his pants.
“Hey,” Charlie said.
“Hey,” Susan said.
The pair stared at one another for a moment and then Susan moved toward her closet, tossing the towel on the bed behind her as she kept her back to Charlie and the pair dressed.
“I didn’t see any food in the fridge,” he said, his belt buckle jingling. “You hungry?”
Susan slipped her arms through her bra straps and then clipped it behind her back. “I have work, and I overslept as it is.” She had her hands on a white blouse when Charlie’s hands touched her hips, and she felt his stomach pressed against her back. She froze.
“I understand your job,” Charlie said, making no effort to turn her around. “And I know you understand mine. But we don’t have to be cold to one another.” He gently raised his fingertips to the marks in the crook of her arm where she’d shoot up. “Looks fresh. Did you use last night?” When she didn’t answer, he removed his fingertips from her skin and then stepped back, the heat from his body leaving a cold spot on her exposed upper back.
Susan spun around, putting on her shirt and catching the time on the clock. “I’ll call you when I can.”
Charlie scoffed and finished putting on his shoes. “Yeah. I’m sure you will.” He stood, but just before he stepped out of the bedroom, he turned back to her. “I know you’re out there at night chasing ghosts, Susan. But you’re never going to catch them.” He turned and left, his footsteps fading until the front door opened and then shut.
She knew she shouldn’t have been so cold to him, but it was better to end all of this now instead of dragging it out. She was a cop. He was a dealer. It wouldn’t last.
Before Susan departed, she walked to her dresser and grabbed a few essentials. She always kept a pair of gloves, zip ties, and evidence bags handy on her whenever she went out on the job. It was amazing how often she needed them. She also grabbed her lock pick set. It was illegal for her to carry, but it had come in handy on the street, and she thought that it might come in handy again. She tucked everything inside her blazer pocket when her cell buzzed on the nightstand, and she saw that it was the dispatch number. “Officer Quinton.”
“It’s Palmer,” he said, shouting into her ear. He had her on speaker phone. “I just got a call from the coroner. The ME finished with our victim. She’s over at Seattle General. Can you meet me there in ten?”
“Make it fifteen,” Susan said. “You want anything to eat?”
“Depends on where you’re going,” Palmer answered. “I don’t do bagels.” He spoke it with a disdain that made her smile.
“Fair enough. Don’t start without me.”
“Copy that.”
The call ended, and Susan finished dressing. She had her pistol and her keys in hand and made it back to the door before she stopped herself. She returned
to the bedroom and opened the top drawer, removing her badge. She hadn’t worn it since her undercover stint and ran her thumb over the shield, thinking about all that she had done over the past six weeks.
All of the lying, all of the drugs, all of the violence that plagued the streets was starting to boil over. Susan knew that even right now, somewhere in the south side, somebody just OD’d. It could be anyone: a father, mother, son, daughter, sister, brother. The drugs didn’t care who they took, and the people that provided them to addicts were practically pulling the trigger themselves.
Susan touched the crook of her arm beneath the blazer she wore. She knew that Charlie didn’t like it when she used. He was one of the rare dealers who didn’t dabble in his product.
But it was like Charlie said. He knew what she did. And she knew what he did. Now, it was time for her to go to work.
9
When Susan got behind the wheel of her car, she had the brief fear that she wouldn’t remember how to drive. But she maneuvered out of the parking lot just fine. She stopped at a Dutch Brothers on the way into the city. In a metropolis filled with Starbucks, she enjoyed the Oregon-brewed caffeine. It was the only good thing she’d found so far about moving out here.
After coffee she searched for food, avoiding anything sandwiched between bagels, opting for two breakfast burritos.
The drive exposed Susan to morning traffic, something she hadn’t had to deal with since the start of her undercover assignment. The weather wasn’t cooperating either, the skies already spitting freezing rain as she sipped the warm deliciousness from her cup, struggling to get back into life’s little idiosyncrasies.
Two days ago she had woken up on the floor of one of the clubhouses of the South Side gang after an all-night party. It confirmed the deal with the Third Streeters that sealed the fate of both gang’s top lieutenants. Looking back on it now seemed like a hazy dream.
When Susan pulled into the hospital parking lot, she spotted the unmarked cruiser parked near the edge of the drop-off area, and she wondered if Winterguard would be joining them. Since she only bought one burrito, she was thinking not.
Because the car belonged to her and not the department, Susan parked in the regular parking lot, finding the closest spot toward the front. She finished her burrito in her car, then hung her badge around her neck. She then carried the bag and two coffees to the hospital, and she found Palmer waiting for her in the lobby. He was alone — no Winterguard.
“Thanks.” Palmer reached for the bag of food and then quickly unwrapped the foil, taking a bite and shutting his eyes. “Damn that’s good.” He opened his eyes and wiped his mouth, taking the coffee next, then gestured to the hallway. “C’mon. I’ve already signed us in, and Gary is busy.”
Having never worked homicide before, Susan figured Gary was the medical examiner. She kept pace with Palmer down the hallway, Palmer filling her in on a few details between bites.
“I know this is probably your first time down in the basement,” Palmer said. “You don’t get used to the smell, and it’ll be cold. You have a thing about blood?”
“So long as it’s not mine, I should be fine,” Susan answered.
Palmer laughed, nodding as he took another big bite while a few bits of an egg dropped to the tile. “Most MEs like to go through their whole spiel, and then you can add your questions later. Gary’s a bit of a stickler on that front, so don’t get too flustered about that. Best to let him finish. He talks fast too, so I like to record him. He doesn’t mind that. I think it makes him feel superior.”
Susan nodded, taking mental notes while continuing to drink the coffee.
“But the most important thing to remember about our good friend Gary is that he insists on a sterile work environment.” Palmer stopped and then popped the rest of the burrito into his mouth, the bite so big that Susan was sure he had to unhinge his jaw to make it fit. He swallowed, then drained his cup of coffee. “No food or drinks allowed in the morgue. And that’s just a Gary stipulation. No one else cares.”
Susan nodded. “Good to know.” She finished her coffee and chucked it into the wastebasket before they stepped into the elevator and descended into the basement.
The smell hit Susan immediately, but it wasn’t so much the stench of death as it was the overpowering scent of disinfectant that was so potent. It was like breathing bleach.
Palmer entered a side room, going in first, but holding the door for Susan. Inside she found an ample space with three steel tables along the center, two of which had bodies covered with sheets, both pairs of feet protruding from beneath the blanket, a red tag on each of their big toes that ID’d the body. Steel cabinets, counters with sinks, and a storage wall for the other bodies that were in the queue to be examined lined the rest of the room.
The door opened behind them and Susan turned just in time to watch a man pass in a blur, moving swiftly and efficiently, who Susan presumed was Gary “The Uptight” Medical Examiner.
“Hi, Gary—”
“You’re late.” Gary flipped the sheet off the dead girl’s face and picked up the clipboard that was in the clear slot at the head of the table.
“That’s my fault,” Susan said, raising her hand.
“Don’t care.” Gary cleared his throat and then started walking through the details of the body, and Palmer quickly reached for his phone while Susan kept her distance.
“The clothes on the body of the victim were handmade, the stitching recently fresh. The dress she was found in was not the same dress she wore during her time of death. No fibers or other hair were found on the body. The cause of death is a lethal dosage of several prescription drugs. The deceased had multiple marks along both forearms consistent with drug use through needles.” Still looking at his clipboard, Gary moved toward the foot of the table. “There was some bruising around the pelvis, but the bruises were old, indicating that any sexual encounter happened several days ago. I found no semen in the body, and there were no signs of sexual conduct post mortem.” He walked to the feet. “Overall, there were no signs of a struggle or fight before the victim died from her drug overdose.” He cleared his throat. “However, there is bruising post mortem signaling that the body was handled after the time of death, which is consistent with foul play.” He nodded and then tore off a page from his clipboard and handed it to Palmer. “That’s a list of drugs that were in her system.”
Susan walked toward the body, getting a closer look at the girl. The light above the steel table accentuated the decay of her skin into that sickly grey color.
“Christ, she had all of this in her?” Palmer asked, flipping through the pages.
Susan walked over and glanced at the sheet. She knew the names of the drugs on the list. They were popular on the streets.
“You have any working theories, Gary?” Palmer asked, finished scanning the notes.
“The body was moved to the location after the victim was deceased and she was given a dosage of pills that was enough to kill five people,” Gary answered. “The victim was murdered.” Gary pulled the sheet back over the body and then wheeled a cart over to collect the remains. “You can leave now.”
Palmer touched Susan on the elbow, guiding her back to the door, leaving the oddly clinical medical examiner to his work.
Out in the hallway, Susan finished scanning the notes and then handed them back to Palmer. “You weren’t kidding about him being particular.”
“He’s probably the best medical examiner in the state,” Palmer said. “A lot of cops don’t like him because he comes off as kind of a dick.”
“Kind of?” Susan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“All right, he’s a dick, but he does good work, and it’s because he takes his emotions out of his examinations. Just the facts, ma’am.” Palmer lightly touched his stomach, grimacing. “I think I ate that burrito too fast. Why don’t you go first? Give me what you think.”
“Well, it was obvious she was with someone, and with the number of drugs that were i
n her system, she must have been with someone who had access to either large amounts of cash or large amounts of drugs.” Susan pressed the elevator button, and the pair waited for the doors to open. “Most of the gangs in the south side were slinging heroine, but I knew a few who specialized in prescription drugs.” Including Charlie. “But none of them have large quantities.”
“Ever see her before?” Palmer asked. “Out on the street.”
“No.”
The elevator doors opened, and the pair stepped inside. Palmer hit the first-floor button and the doors closed.
“The dress,” Susan said. “It could be a calling card for our killer.”
“Especially since it was handmade,” Palmer said. “Winterguard is checking stores for the purchase of that kind of fabric, seeing if we can get any hits. You sure she wasn’t in a gang?”
“I’m sure,” Susan answered.
The doors opened, and Palmer stepped out.
“I think we’re dealing with someone that’s not gang affiliated,” Susan said. “And the fact that she was brought to her home, to her real home, suggests a friend. Someone who knew her well, someone who got past the walls that people put up on the streets.”
When Palmer didn’t say anything else, Susan thought that she had lost him. But he reached into his pocket and removed his phone. “I have to go and meet Winterguard for another case we’re working, but you should go and check out the family’s house. You could give us a different persepective on the parents. I’ll give you their address.”
Once Susan had both the location and the parents’ numbers, Palmer started to walk toward his car. But Susan had never interacted with the victims of perps before. She had been so involved in dealing with folks on the street that she wasn’t sure she even knew how.
“You have any tips on how to talk to the parents?” Susan asked.
Palmer didn’t turn around as he shouted his response. “It’s typically helpful to ask questions in homicide cases.” He shut the door to his cruiser and started the engine, exhaust circling Susan as he drove away.