He scraped his fingers through his hair, brushing it off his forehead, a reminder a haircut was very much needed. It’s not that he needed a reminder he was too busy working. Workaholic was a word he tried to avoid.
Before releasing it into their system, he printed out a copy for his records. Dean shook his head. Another senseless killing. Due to the precarious twist in his investigation, he’d named the deceased John Doe. They still hadn’t found the head.
A little after midnight dispatch had notified him of a suspicious death and he was to see Officer Griffin at the park across from town hall. Witness was walking his dog and noticed a black garbage bag sitting next to the recycle can. It was right under a street lamp and was covered with flies. The smell made him feel sick to his stomach and his dog wouldn’t have anything to do with it.
That had been the start of his long, hellish night. A second bag of body parts had been found by the marina and the third in the commuter lot. He was to meet the coroner at eleven to hopefully get some answers.
His stomach was still reeling so he hadn’t stopped at the Book and Brew to get coffee and a Manny Special, his favorite breakfast sandwich. He stood up and stretched his arms wide. A yawn escaped just before his cell signaled an incoming text from his lieutenant. “Stop by to see me as soon as you can.”
“On my way.” he replied.
For an early Friday morning, it was relatively quiet. The hustle and bustle of a big modern department was missing, but there were very few dull moments, like the previous evening. He bypassed the dispatch area, not wanting to get into a lengthy conversation initiated by the case that had taken up his entire shift. Technically he was already on OT.
Lieutenant Wayne’s office was sandwiched between the one dedicated to the shift sergeant and the squad room where daily briefings were conducted. The lieutenant was another officer Dean held in the highest regard. With twenty plus years on the job, he never forgot his roots as a rookie patrolman.
He also owned the police mascot. Watson was a German shepherd who’d earned the title of police officer since he was trained in drug and corpse detection. The standard joke was he liked to smell the flowers and would work only for steak, hamburger and homemade dog cookies. Said dog was currently sound asleep on the old brown leather couch in the lieutenant’s office.
His superior was currently on the phone so Dean waited in the hall. He had a well-toned build and military-short russet-brown hair, and his eyes took in everything around him. Sticking out of the pocket of his white police uniform shirt was one of the many pipes he made as a hobby. The gooey eyed smile on his face said he was probably talking to his wife.
Dean knocked on the door frame. “Lieutenant, you wanted to see me?”
“Come in, Dean. Have a seat. I can read your report on-line, but everyone around here knows I like to hear it first hand from my officers.”
Dean nodded toward the snoring German shepherd. “He’ll let anyone in here.
“Don’t let him fool you. He knows you’re here and he’s just playing possum.”
“We didn’t need Watson’s expertise last evening. Deceased was found in three bags, all public places. The murderer wanted those pieces to be found. People walk their dogs in the park. The commercial fishing boats go out at the crack of dawn. The third was by the garbage can in the commuter lot where people catch the bus into the city.
“Deceased is in the hands of Stan Armstrong. I’m meeting the coroner at 11:00 this morning. From my brief inspection of the body parts, it’s a male. Head not found. We need to identify the body ASAP.”
Lieutenant Wayne opened the bottom drawer of his aged wooden desk. “I was going to announce this at our next briefing, but we’ve just purchased two hand held biometric terminals to take fingerprints. They’re connected with IAFIS. Since the integrated automated fingerprint identification system is the FBI’s baby, we should get a hit. Take the prints before Stan starts his examination and return it to me when you’re done.”
Dean leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over his knee. “Lieutenant, this is a small town and shit happens, but we had a similar situation six months ago. I’m not saying we have a serial killer but this is too much of a coincidence to be ignored.”
The lieutenant picked up a file from the side of his desk and held it out to Dean. “That’s one of the reason’s I wanted to talk to you. Detective Lockett handled that one. There are body parts still missing and we haven’t caught the murderer.”
Dean opened the folder and the color photos were gruesome, but overtime he’d learned to deal with vicious, unexplained death in his own way. This was a victim whose choice of life had been taken from him and it was his job to find the killer.
“According to the tats on his fingers, it appears the deceased spent time in prison.”
Lieutenant Wayne nodded in confirmation. “Mateo was one bad ass, starting as a juvenile. Grew up in Camden. Liked robbing convenience stores. Got out of prison six years ago and kept himself under the police radar. Detective Lockett’s plate is full so I’m turning over both cases to you with the stipulation you keep her in the loop. I want to keep this as low key as possible.”
“I agree, but we may have a problem. Shortly after I arrived at the second scene, Officer Griffin informed me a reporter from the Beacon Pointe Gazette showed up. We’d already marked the scene with yellow crime tape. Officer Griffin told the woman it was a closed investigation and information was not available at this time. She wasn’t put off and turned up at the third scene. Officer Griffin told her the same thing.
“Lieutenant, I don’t think we should advertise body parts are showing up all over Beacon Pointe, especially if the head is missing. People will be paranoid about using public receptacles.”
“I agree. We’d be starting a small riot. I’ll have the public information officer pass along a statement to the press that extreme caution was taken until we determined the contents of the mysterious bags. It will work in our favor. Since 911 people have gotten accustomed to hearing about mysterious bags.”
“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”
“No, there’s something else.”
Ryder got up from his desk and moved to shut his office door that was rarely closed. Dean didn’t think he’d done something wrong.
“Am I about to be reprimanded?”
“No, relax,” he added with an understanding smile. He picked up a pen and rolled it between his fingers. “You’ve put in twelve years on the job, worked undercover for the county narcotics squad for three years, came back to us and made detective last year. You’ve gotten awards, some we can’t announce, but are a part of your permanent record. You got one reprimand when you were on the job for a year because you ran your patrol car into a muddy ditch.
“You don’t call out sick, volunteer to work holidays, gave up vacation time to a fellow patrolman who needed extra leave to take care of his sick parent. You volunteer at the community center to work with children. You’re the ideal, go-by-the rules cop.”
“Thank you, I think, but I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“You’re right. I see myself in you when I started my career. If it wasn’t for the love of a wonderful woman I probably would’ve gone off the deep end. She’s given me a life outside the job.”