Ashe
Since the police had taped off half the street, I parked a block away from the crime scene. Several officers were huddled together on the sidewalk as I approached, everyone facing the alley, nestled between two commercial strips.
“What time was he found?” I said from behind the group, ducking under the yellow tape.
“Got a call about thirty minutes ago,” one of the officers said as he turned toward me.
I recognized him from being a frequent at many of these scenes.
I checked my watch; it was a little past eight in the morning.
“The chef of the neighboring restaurant came in to prep for lunch and found him,” Charlie, the officer, continued.
I stood with him by the mouth of the alley, analyzing the placement of the body. A few feet from the restaurant’s dumpster, it would have been impossible for the chef to miss him.
“Victim’s name?”
“No wallet,” Charlie replied. “But he has plenty of tattoos that can be run through the system to see if anything comes up.”
“And his dental records?”
“No-go on those.” I glanced at him as he added, “His teeth were yanked, gums so goddamn bloody that it must have happened close to the time of death.”
I shook my head. “Fuck me.”
“Whoever did this certainly didn’t want to make it easy to identify the body.” His hand went to my shoulder, shaking it. “Nothing like starting your week out with a John Doe.”
“It’s all right,” I told him. “Challenges keep us from getting lazy.”
Or from sleeping, but I didn’t have to tell Charlie that.
I gave him a nod and stepped into the alley, staying to the side, always cognizant of altering any DNA in the area.
“How are things going?” I asked the forensic analyst.
Kneeling beside the body, he dropped several swabs into an evidence bag and looked up at me. “Should be wrapped up in another twenty or so, just a few more samples to collect.”
“Anything preliminary?”
He lifted the sheet that covered the victim, showing me the wounds that punctured John Doe’s chest. He happened to be shirtless—a detail I noted—making it much easier to determine the location of the entry points.
“Any of these bullets would have killed him.” With his finger, he circled the air above the four holes that were spread around John’s heart. “The need for four shots?” He looked at me. “Whoever it was really wanted to make sure the son of a bitch was dead.”
I scanned the alley, looking at the numbered markers where the evidence was documented. “Any casings turn up?”
“Not a single one so far.”
“Teeth extracted, shells taken from the crime scene—fuck.”
He sprayed some type of solution onto the ground and then rubbed it with several swabs. “Definitely no novice here.”
Wanting him to finish so we could get the body into the lab for testing, I handed him my card, and just as I was turning around, Rivera was walking toward me.
“I heard the call come through, and I was only a few blocks away, getting coffee,” he said to me.
“Another early one for you. Wife kick you out again for snoring?”
He released a long and loud exhale. “She says I need to get some of those nose strips. Can you believe that bullshit? I’ll tell you, man, I need a solid eight hours soon, or I’m going to crash.” He held up his paper cup. “I can only pound so many of these.” He pointed to the alley and asked, “Any leads?”
“No, and not much evidence either.”
“Jesus, it’s going to be one of those, huh?”
I followed him under the tape, waving at Charlie as we passed. “Afraid so.” We walked across the sidewalk and toward the street where both of our cars were parked. “Do you have plans Saturday night?”
“Why do I feel like I do now?”
I laughed. “Dylan is going to be out of town, and he gave me his Celtics tickets.”
“Box seats? Hell yes, you know my ass is in.”
We reached my car, and I leaned my back against the driver’s window. “I keep meaning to ask you, what happened with the case of the missing girl? Anything turn up?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “The mother gave us a list of all her daughter’s friends, and not one of them had seen her that night or knew her whereabouts. Her younger sister, who shared a room with her, said she vaguely remembered hearing her leave in the middle of the night but didn’t know what time and they’d said nothing to each other. We searched her phone and couldn’t find a goddamn thing.”
“She just vanished into thin air?”
He was quiet for a few seconds. “A fucking tragedy is what it is.” With his eyes on me, he nodded toward his car. “Get in. I’ll take you to breakfast.” When I didn’t immediately respond, he added, “Forensics has more testing to do, and you can’t conduct any interviews. Most of the places around here aren’t even open yet.”
“You have a point.”
“Not my first rodeo, cowboy.” He shadowboxed my shoulder. “Get your ass in my car.”
Thirty
Kerry
There was a doll sitting on one of the stairs.
He had placed her there after.
After he played.
After he violated my body.
I hadn’t thought my life in this basement could get worse.
I had been wrong.
So fucking wrong.
Worse was what happened when I put on the wide-strapped white dress. When he touched me. When he dropped his jeans and forced himself inside me.
I wasn’t allowed to cry.
Scream.
Fight him.
Because there was a punishment far worse than the one he was giving me.
He had promised me that.
Now, sometime later, I could still sense his deathly black eyes looking at me and feel his disgusting hands.
I just wanted to scrub him away, but there was no water down here.
No soap.
Just a bucket full of my pee.
The doll, sitting on her perch like a fucking bird, wouldn’t stop staring at me.
She had red hair made of yarn, a white dress identical to the one I’d worn earlier. Rosy cheeks with a stream of freckles across them.
Her shoestrings were big loops of black thread.
When the tears had finally stopped, when I had no emotion left, that was when I’d seen her.
I hadn’t been able to stop staring at her since.
Sitting on the bare mattress—the asshole not even kind enough to give me a sheet or blanket—I held my knees to my chest and rocked over the thin bed.
She was taunting me.
His love, his pet, his toy—she was here to make me even more miserable.
I went over to the stairs and grabbed her fabric arm, dragging her to my bed. I tossed her down, and once I sat, I began hitting her with my fists.
I wanted to hurt her.
I wanted her to feel my pain.
I wanted her to take some of it away.
And inside my head, I was screaming all the things I couldn’t say out loud.
How fucking dare you do this to me!
Why did I deserve this?