“There’s always a murder, and it’s always bad. Murder always is.” August didn’t look impressed. “I spent years profiling and tracking serial killers; I am now retiring into the peaceful part of my life.”
“You’re not even forty yet,” the dean retorted.
“I’m an old soul.” The professor stood to let himself out, leaning heavily on the cane.
A desperate look overcame the dean’s face as he saw his solution leaving. “August! Let’s talk about this. Please. The college needs this.”
“Oh, now we’re on first name basis? Okay, Jacob, well tell me how much the college needs this.” His tone was stern now, the long-gone agent beginning to poke back through. “Or…” It was at this point August decided to pull his ace out of the deck. “Or is it that you need this?”
Lawson went blank. “I’m not sure what…”
“You know exactly what I mean. The publicity of a college professor from your school coming to the aid of the police. Well, that’s a hero’s tale. And you helped make it so. At least that’s what you can tell your wife when you ask her to let you back into the house.”
There it was. The dean went white. He began to open his mouth to deny the claim, but must have seen the uselessness in the effort. He slumped back into the chair, his posture gone. “How did you know?” His eyes staring down at the desk, unable to meet Booker's.
August almost took pity on him. It really was a terrible thing to use. “I’ve met your wife. She is meticulous in everything she does. For the last two years I have worked here, she’s made you look impeccable each day.” August looked down at his own beautifully-tailored three-piece suit. “Today, your clothes look like you rolled around in them doing gymnastics. I’ve seen fewer wrinkles in a senior citizen home.”
He sat back down and continued, “You haven’t shaved in two, maybe three days. Sharon would never let you leave the house like that.” August then pointed to the corner with his cane. “I assume the gym bag is where you pulled the ever-so- wrinkled clothes from this morning. It also looks as though there is a pillow in it.” He adjusted his lapel. “You know this is what I do.”
Somewhere inside, where August Booker would never allow anyone else, he felt empathy for what was left of the dean. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes slowly. “Listen I would only consider it under a few conditions.”
Lawson perked up at the slight view of light on the horizon. “I’m sure we can work whatever out.”
“Wait. Hear me out first. You know my Advanced Profiling Class?”
“I can’t ignore it. You have it whittled down to three students.” The dean was obviously irritated by the waste of time and resources on such a small class. Typically, no class was allowed to run with fewer than ten students. It should have been canceled after the first five had withdrawn… not to mention the next ten.
“It’s advanced. They were the only ones that show any promise. Anyway, I will only consider helping our good Berksville Police Department if I can use this as a teaching opportunity. It would be beneficial for the class to see some real-world application of what they have been studying.” Now August was sitting up straight as well.
“Professor, that’s a big ask. The police do not like civilians involved in their cases. Especially college students.”
“I guess that depends on how badly they need the help of an ex-FBI profiler. Plus, you can be very persuasive Dean Lawson. This political nonsense is your specialty.”
He stood up decisively. “You have my terms.” He took two steps toward the door then paused and turned back toward the desk. “And to show you that I am serious about helping you and the college...” Booker pulled an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and laid it on the desk.
“What is this?” Lawson asked.
“To put Captain Harrison’s mind at ease. All three of my students have signed non-disclosure agreements covering anything they might see or hear during the course of the investigation.”
“What the hell? How in the world did you already…”
August didn’t wait to hear the rest, he left the office and headed down the hallway, smiling.
Chapter 2- New Home
The squad room to the police station smelled like burnt coffee and body odor. As Sarah stepped out of the elevator, the hypermasculine combination assaulted her nostrils. Luckily, she had stopped to grab her own coffee at the café across the street, and the hazelnut aroma wafting from her cup was the only thing saving her from plugging her nose.
She walked through a few rows of officers at their desks, entranced in paperwork on their computers. About two desks in she saw a familiar face peek over a monitor. “Blue! Good morning.” Sarah sidestepped out of the way of an officer escorting a young man in his early twenties toward the elevators leading down to the holding cells.
“Detective, it’s good to see you didn’t quit on us after your first night.” Blue’s face didn’t move much from its resting seriousness, but Sarah thought she spotted the faintest curl of his lips as if his face was fighting itself for the right to make a joke.
Brushing the crumbs from breakfast off his shirt, the sergeant stood up and pointed toward the back of the open room. “The detective desks are back there, near the Captain’s office.” He stood up and motioned for her to follow.
Blue took her past a large conference table and whiteboard, which sat in the center of the room. “That’s where we do roll call and briefings,” he explained.
Near the back wall, there were three desks. “I’m guessing you’re Rime?” A disheveled Hispanic man stood up from one of the desks and stuck out his hand. It was first thing in the morning and he already had a coffee stain and crumbs adorning the short sleeve button up shirt.
He had a badge clipped to his belt that identified him as a detective, but Sarah thought he looked more like a used car salesman than a cop. “I’m David Salazar.” He shook Sarah’s hand with one massive paw and ran the other over his quickly fading hairline. Then, he gestured toward one of the two empty desks. “Take your pick and make yourself at home.”
Flopping down at the next desk over, and returning a little wave from Blue, who was already retreating to his own corner of the office, Sarah looked around. “Where is the rest of the detective squad?”
Salazar looked at her as if he didn’t understand for a moment, then erupted into laughter. “That’s a good one, Rime! You’re looking at it. The squad just doubled when you joined up.”
Spinning in his chair, the middle-aged detective pointed to a map on the wall. “Berksville isn’t that big of a town. Two detectives is an upgrade, especially a fancy one from New York City like you.” He laughed again, and lifted his coffee to his lips, adding another stain to his shirt. “We’ve got less than 10,000 people. But most of us kind of like it that way.”
Sarah leaned back and saw movement through a window over her shoulder. She spun around to see the blinds to the office close back up. Salazar seemed to follow her gaze.
“The captain will be out for you shortly, I suppose. He knows you’re here.” He leaned in toward Sarah’s newly acquired desk. “I heard you got a real shit-show for your first case.” Salazar’s eyes widened and a look of whimsical curiosity crossed his face. “I heard some of the patrolmen tossed their cookies!”
Sitting up, Sarah set her face to a stone-cold gaze. “It’s true. I think the coroner is still trying to identify what piece is what.” Then she let a grin crack her façade. “So, basically, it was a typical Tuesday night for a New York City girl like me.”
Salazar just stared for a moment not knowing how to respond, then a smile brightened his face. “HA HA! Rime, you’re a piece of work. I think you’ll do okay here.” He slapped her on the shoulder and got up to get a refill for his mug. As he retreated toward the coffee maker, Salazar crossed paths with a young uniformed officer who said something to the seasoned vet. Then Salazar pointed toward Sarah, and the officer quickly headed in her direction.
“Detective Rime?” T
he young man seemed unsure. Sarah nodded and sat up straight in her chair. “This is from the lab. They said you would be waiting on it.”
“Thank you, Officer….Brandt? Is it?” Sarah squinted a bit as she looked at the small name tag on his uniform.
“Yes, ma’am.” Brandt spun on his heels and fled as quickly as he had arrived, weaving expertly through the maze of desks toward the elevator.
As he faded from view, a petite blonde with a pixie cut stepped forward. She moved toward Sarah with the quickest, most controlled steps her knee-length pencil skirt would allow.
“Detective Sarah Rime?” She nervously hovered near Sarah’s desk, clicking a pen in one hand. That’s when it hit Sarah: Tinkerbell! That’s exactly who this woman reminded her of. From that moment on, every time Sarah saw her, it was Tinkerbell. The sprite continued, “the Captain would like to see you.”
“It’s about damn time,” Sarah popped out of her seat, “I’ve been watching him peering out the blinds for the last ten minutes.”
Tinkerbell responded quietly as if imparting some secret onto the new detective. “The Captain likes to be direct and purposeful. He doesn’t often do anything without thinking it through.
Chapter 3- First Impressions
The phones had been ringing all morning. For such a small town, there sure was a lot of media. Of course, the two main papers, the Sentinel and the Gazette, had called to check on the validity of the story from last night, but they weren’t the end. It seemed like every idiot with a computer and a blog fancied themselves reporters now.
Captain Mark Harrison opened and slammed three drawers before finding the bottle of generic pain relievers that was the only relief he could muster for a headache that was already starting behind his eyes. Now, on top of everything, he had to break in a new detective. Of course, her first case had to be a murder, and not just any murder, the grizzliest one that he ever remembered seeing.
Mark had taken the job as captain in Berksville over twenty years ago, for two reasons: much less crime in a small town, and he could make it home for dinner with the family every night. Small towns don’t have to deal with all of the complications of a city police force. Small towns are quiet, reliable, and predictable. Occasionally you may have a break in, or car theft, or at worst possibly a shooting. Christ, what I’d give for a shooting this morning, he thought as the phone lines continued to flash, each one vying for attention over the others.
Picking up the file, he flipped through pictures of mutilated body parts. Grimacing, he hit the intercom and called for his assistant. “Miss Hastings! Can you bring Detective Rime in here?” He released and habitually scratched his mustache.
“Right away, sir!” The high pitched, distinctively feminine voice replied instantly.
The captain had just enough time to get seated before the door swung opened and Miss Hastings escorted a long-haired brunette wearing a leather jacket and jeans into the office. “Captain, this is Detective Rime,” she squeaked.
As the older cop stood back up and reached over the desk, Sarah met his reach with a firm shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Detective Rime.”
“Please, Sarah is fine. This doesn’t strike me as an overly formal department.” She immediately regretted the comment, which she had meant as a compliment, but could tell by the captain’s flinch that it had landed improperly. “Homey and comfortable, I mean.” She hoped her attempt at a save worked, but couldn’t tell by his face.
“Sarah, then.” Harrison sat down and motioned for her to do the same. “You’ve caught quite the case your first day.” He slid the file across the desk toward Sarah, who scooped it up quickly. “Did you see much experience with this kind of thing in the city?”
Shaking her head slowly, Sarah began to review the pictures of what she had seen the night before. The flash from the camera made the scene brighter, clearer, and even more disgusting. “Mostly dealt with assaults and occasional gang violence.” She looked up. “I can’t imagine anyone has much experience with this sort of thing.”
They both stared for a second, then the silence was broken by a sharp buzz. The captain grabbed his cellphone, looked at the number, then silenced it and threw it on a chair near him. “Damn media! They must have given up on my office phone, and now they’ve started in on my cell.” He sighed and adjusted his glasses. “As you can imagine, I’m getting a lot of attention here. We haven’t had a murder in over a year, and that was a jealous husband who some guy his wife was sleeping with.”
“Seems logical.” Sarah chimed in with a grin, just to add to the conversation.
“This kind of thing is out of our league, to be honest with you.” He looked at Sarah again, this time seemingly sizing her up. “I hope you’re up for the task.”
Sarah flipped through the file again. “No coroner report?”
“She’s finishing up as we speak. I told her I would send you down after we spoke.”
“Works for me.” Sarah stood up. “Anything else I need to know?”
The captain looked for a moment as if he was deciding how honest he wanted to be. “Yeah, if you need anything, ask Sergeant Blue. He’s old school and reliable.” He looked out at the desks in his department. “If you really get stuck in the mud, you can try Salazar. He’s honest and true, but he’s also a lazy piece of shit.”
Sarah tried not to laugh, unsuccessfully. “Dually noted.”
“Otherwise, just keep me in the loop.” With that, the phone rang again. “I better start answering these idiots.” He picked it up and waved the detective out of the office. He hoped in the back of his mind that she could handle this and he wouldn’t have to babysit her.
***
The elevator crept down the three floors to the basement. Sarah was still trying to adjust to how small this precinct was. Her last station had six floors and hundreds of officers. The detective squad alone had sixteen in it. Here in Berksville, she had entered OZ and now she needed to figure out how things worked around here.
She was thinking of how she needed to close this case quick and impress her new peers when the doors parted and the strong odor of chemicals mugged her nostrils. Stepping out into the morgue, she immediately saw the three silver tables in the center of the large room. On one of them lay the body parts from last night’s crime scene. The coroner had laid them out in order so they almost resembled a body again.
“You’re Sarah.” The voice popped up from behind the detective, and she had to muster every bit of control not to jump. A slender African American woman stepped from behind Sarah, lab coat to her knees, braids in her hair tucked up into a tight, professional bun. The grin on the woman’s face told Sarah that she hadn’t hidden her surprise as well as she intended.
“Hopefully, or else you have a serious security problem down here.” Sarah giggled at her own attempt at humor and flashed the badge hanging around her neck.
“I’m Grace. Welcome to the neighborhood.” The coroner pulled off a latex glove with a snap and offered her hand. After a quick shake, she walked toward the table. “This is quite the mess we have here.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Well remember, we don’t see murders around here, especially murders like this one. But, I’m sure you saw stuff like this all the time back in the city?” Grace tilted her head as if waiting on affirmation.
“You know that’s not the first time this morning someone has said that either. What do you think New York is like? It’s not a war zone; we see gang violence and occasionally murders, but most cases are either drug related or domestic violence incidents. Nothing like this!” As Sarah stepped forward to examine the physical evidence, the stench overweighed the chemicals in the air and she had to fight an oncoming gag reflex.
Grace seemed to think on this for a second. “Sorry, I guess we are all a little out of the loop here in Upstate. I always assume the city is like the movies.” She shrugged. “It seems kind of dumb when I say it out loud.”
“Don’t wor
ry about it. In all honesty, they do have some messed up stuff that happens, but that mostly goes to Major Crimes Division, and I didn’t get the chance to deal with any of that.” Sarah could tell Grace felt as if she had offended her. Interacting with this crew was going to be almost as difficult as catching her killer.
Sarah changed tack and tried to ease back a bit. “So what’s the deal with this guy?”
Grace picked up a clipboard and began going over the findings. “Seems to be a white male, between 30-50 years of age. I found a few usable fingerprints which are running as we speak.”
“Not like the movies, right?” Sarah tried to commiserate with Grace. “I once had a set of prints running for three weeks before we came up with a match.”
Grace nodded, seeming to soften a little. She lifted an arm and pointed toward the tips of the fingers. “In total, he was separated into eleven pieces counting the head.”
Sarah whistled. “Any ID off that?” Sarah’s question, however, was answered as she asked it. Grace rolled the head over to show a terrible amount of damage to the face, making it unrecognizable. No nose, eyes, cheekbones... just a blank canvas. Grace set the head back down and picked up a foot long piece of wire.
“All of the pieces were tied together with this.” The coroner slipped it into an evidence bag. “Basic electrical wire. My guess is you can probably find it at any hardware store, but hey,” Grace shrugged optimistically, “it might lead you someplace. Give it a shot.”
The detective scooped up the sample of wire. “Thanks for the help, Grace, even if it’s not a whole lot to go on.” Sarah took a few steps toward the elevator doors. “Can you send me an email as soon as we get a hit on the prints?”
Grace gave a quick nod but was already elbow deep into the cadaver, picking up where she was when Sarah interrupted her.
One floor up, and halfway out the front doors of the station, Sarah’s cellphone rang. Digging it out of her pocket, she slid her thumb awkwardly across the screen while trying to push the door and hold the evidence bag containing the wire.
Killer Curriculum Page 2