Inspector Milton looked around the busy street, held at bay by the yellow tape of a crime scene. 500 people must be moving by, and not one of them had seen what had happened to the young lady who was laid out on the ground. Officers couldn't even do effective interviews. This was a busy street. Anyone who'd seen anything was long gone.
The young lady in question was on the sidewalk, propped up against a mailbox. The mailman was the first who reported seeing her, when he'd come to collect the letters. The coroner was examining her as Milton kept watch, looking for the person in the crowd that was gathering, the person who might be watching with more than disinteresting curiosity.
"Milt," said the cornoner, "Something strange here."
"Whatcha got, Smith?" said the inspector.
"Well, my best guess at time of death is noon. I say best guess because most of the major organs have been removed. Liver, heart, lungs, stomach. I had to get my temp from the intestines." she said.
"Noon? That's only half an hour before the mailman saw her! She'd have to have been killed nearby, or right here."
"Body probably wasn't killed here, not enough blood on the ground. I think we can move her now, let the forensic guys move in."
"Ok. You think it was a chop and dump?"
"Possible. Have to be a fairly big vehicle, though. It'd help to have some witnesses."
"Ya think?" Milton asked, sarcastically. He looked around. Not a residential street, so no old ladies looking out the window. Most of the street was offices and the like, but there was a coffee shop across the street. "Velasquez! Go interview the employees over at the coffee shop. Maybe they saw something."
"Someone had to have seen something," he muttered.
The young lady in question was on the sidewalk, propped up against a mailbox. The mailman was the first who reported seeing her, when he'd come to collect the letters. The coroner was examining her as Milton kept watch, looking for the person in the crowd that was gathering, the person who might be watching with more than disinteresting curiosity.
"Milt," said the cornoner, "Something strange here."
"Whatcha got, Smith?" said the inspector.
"Well, my best guess at time of death is noon. I say best guess because most of the major organs have been removed. Liver, heart, lungs, stomach. I had to get my temp from the intestines." she said.
"Noon? That's only half an hour before the mailman saw her! She'd have to have been killed nearby, or right here."
"Body probably wasn't killed here, not enough blood on the ground. I think we can move her now, let the forensic guys move in."
"Ok. You think it was a chop and dump?"
"Possible. Have to be a fairly big vehicle, though. It'd help to have some witnesses."
"Ya think?" Milton asked, sarcastically. He looked around. Not a residential street, so no old ladies looking out the window. Most of the street was offices and the like, but there was a coffee shop across the street. "Velasquez! Go interview the employees over at the coffee shop. Maybe they saw something."
"Someone had to have seen something," he muttered.
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Re: Silent Killer
Thu, February 5, 2004 - 12:01 PMVelasquez began walking over to the coffee shop to ask questions. Half way to the shop he heard a quick whisper in his ear. Velasquez rubbed his ear with hand. He heard the whisper again, he couldn't make out what the voice was saying. He thought he was hearing an imaginary voice, it must be from the disturbance in his mind of the body he just witnessed laying on the ground.
Velanzquez entered the coffee shop. People were shattered out in groups of two throughout. Velanzquez did a quick scan of the customers. He noticed a young man in the right back corner of the shop sitting by himself. The young man looked quickly at Velanzquez and turned his head away when he saw that was Velanzquez was looking right at him.
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Re: Silent Killer
Tue, February 17, 2004 - 11:00 PMHe quickly regained his composer and turned to look at the man who had been starting at him. He knew why they were here because he had seen the young girl laid out on the street just before he walked into the coffee shop. That was the reason that he came in here. To escape the pain of another dead body lying in the street with no one to care.
It had made him so sick and disgusted that he thought he would be sick. The bile was flowing into his throat with a bitterness that brought back too many memories. Once in his life had he seen humans who looked as if they had suffered the blows of a grist mill but not on the street of a city in this country.
He didn't think that he would be able to talk if the officer were to question him. His throat was closed up aching for relief. It was hard to keep the tears from streaming down his face.
The sight had been bad but the smell was what was lingering in his throat and nose. The stench of death was something that he would never forget. All the men that he saw blown to bits in the war still haunted him at night. Legs missing and arms dangling from their bodies as if they had been torn from the body of a rag doll. How many men had he held in his arms as they lay dying? How many had he known were breathing their last raspy breath while he told them that everything was going to be fine?
Haunted as he was by the memories of these brave young boys who were serving their country, giving their lives, leaving their precious blood on foreign soil, yet he had been so shook up by the sight of the young girl that the memories would be wiped from his mind only to be replaced with the ugliness of what once was a human being.
He tried to compose himself since the man was headed in his direction. He knew the drill.
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Re: Silent Killer
Sun, February 22, 2004 - 7:37 PMVelasquez walked up to the stranger, huddled over a table. He noted that there was no coffee on the table, and the man's hands were shaking.
"Are you alright, sir?" Velasquez asked.
The man looked up. His face was pale, and sweat stood out on his brow. "I'm fine."
"Did you see what happened?"
"No. I came in here when I saw the scene. I came back from the gulf..."
"Iraq?"
"No. Kuwait. The body... it... well, you know. Memories." He shrugged.
Velasquez nodded with no idea of what to say or do. "You just walked in?" The man nodded. "Do you know the girl, or know what's going on?"
A short, sharp laugh. "I hardly ever know what's going on anymore." said the man.
"Should I call a doctor?" asked Velasquez.
"No, no I'll be fine. Thanks." He ran his hand through his hair, as if caressing rosary beads. "I'll be fine."
Velasquez shrugged. He handed over his card. "If you think of anything, any details, give us a call."
"Yes, officer."
Velasquez watched as the man moved away. He didn't know too much about the first Gulf war. He'd been young, maybe 12 when it happened, and more concerned about little league than world politics. He'd heard about Gulf War Syndrome, but never paid too much attention.
Back to the task at hand. He started asking questions, taking down notes. He did it on autopilot, his hands performing the Ritual for the Violently Dead, to appease the Gods of Man's Law. But his mind was elsewhere, on a man who'd shaken at the sight of the dead girl. What could happen to man to make him shake like that? Velasquez didn't even twitch anymore. They were just things, these corpses that he saw in the line of duty. Not people.
Objects.
A thought began to gnaw at him as he took down his seventh name. The thought wouldn't go away. He'd thought at first that the other man had lost something, had become weak.
Maybe it was he that had lost something. -
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Re: Silent Killer
Mon, March 8, 2004 - 8:10 PMYes, he supposed that he had lost something and he was pretty sure he knew what. It was the ability to feel any emotion when it came to the dead. He had become hard over the years as he had attended to the dead and watching them being cut into pieces in a morgue had not helped.
The first few times that he had watched the medical examiner perform her magic on a dead body had sent him out the door to unload everything that he had eaten or drunk that day. How in the world a woman could be a M. E., he just didn't know.
She would be standing there with a high speed saw in her hand just sawing away at the top of a dead person's head and chatting about her day at the park and the delicious lunch she and a friend had.
Yes, he had lost something and he had never even been in a war. He suppose he should be glad of that but his job was a war. He fought a fight everyday to find the answers to the cruel acts that man made on man. People in this country always thought of wars being fought on foreign soil but the real wars were fought right here in every city in this great nation that we call America.
Children killed by their parents or children killing their parents, women beat to nothing by the men who claimed to love them, drug dealers killing the competition or their underlings not giving any thought to the people that they were killing everyday with the drugs that they sold.
If only the government had all the money that was used to buy and sell hard drugs in this country on a day to day basis, they could send foot the bill for medical care for each man, woman and child.
Yes he had lost a lot but if he had tried to keep some of the feelings that he had lost over the years he wouldn't be able to do his job. And that reminded him to call the station to see if anyone had called in with any information.
Usually there were many calls on a case like this. People liked to call and tell things that they knew and didn't know but he couldn't fail to follow any lead no matter how small.
After talking to every person in the coffee shop, he wondered around the street summing up just how the murder could have gone down. It was an old habit, one that he didn't see changing anytime soon.
He heard his name being called and he turned to see the man from the coffee shop starting up the street in his direction. Now he wondered just what he was going to tell him.
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