Detective Devlin Brígh tapped a fresh cigarette on the back of his hand before lighting it. The lighter flared against his red-tinged stubble and small mound of scar tissue on his left temple. A small reminder of a German Stielhandgranate that sent him home. His boyish looks had faded during his time home, little crows feet were starting to appear at the corners of his eyes and grey was creeping into his light brown hair.
He had turned 30 six months back and tried to think about that as little as possible. His mother, back east in Boston, berated him in her most recent letter telling him he needed to marry a nice young Irish Catholic girl and give her some grandchildren. The trouble wasn't finding a nice girl his mother would approve of, it was in allowing himself to have a life outside of the life of a police detective. He shook his head, clearly distracted, and tried to focus on the scene.
And what a scene it was: blood from corner to corner in the room with the stiff crucified to the ceiling. Nothing else. Not a damn shred of evidence. Dev took a long drag from the cigarette and let the smoke out in a deep sigh. He looked back at the big Armco Worldwide Gringing System sign, remembering that it used to be Kansas City Nut and Bolt just a few years ago. A lot of people worked here. He could already feel the headache brewing that would come along with the possible hundreds of interviews.
"Did we find any personal effects? Locket? Wallet? Anything? Do we know if it's one of the workers yet?" He asked a familiar beat cop, Officer Jennings.
"Nope. And we didn't touch anything when we saw all this." Jennings said from outside the room, motioning to the blood. He continued reading from a small notepad. "The mill foreman called it in around 5 a.m. Says he doesn't recognize the deceased, so no luck there. No footprints leading to or from the scene and as yet, no witnesses. Whaddya make of it, Sherlock?" Henry Jennings had a good head on his shoulders. He would make detective someday, if so inclined.
Dev pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and scratched at the blood, it was tacky and drying. He finished his cigarette and backed away from the bloody entryway. Another car pulled up, a Buick Roadmaster with Medical Examiner printed on the side of it.
"Nothing. We'll have to wait for his report to see if all this blood came from our guy. Other than that, Jennings, all's I can say is that this is a weird one." He walked back to his car, a '41 Willys Coupe that he had bought when he moved out to Missouri. After he became a detective, he had been allowed to use his personal vehicle. He took his hat off and tossed it on the front seat then started walking to the mill's office hoping to find the plant manager and foreman.
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After waiting in the lobby with secretary for what felt longer than the few minutes that passed, a pudgy balding man and a solid working joe approached. Dev reached out to shake their hands. The pudgy man introduced himself and Frank Buchanan, the plant manager, and the working joe introduced himself as Ronald Hanson, the foreman.
"Thank you for meeting with me gentlemen, I just have a few preliminary questions. Mister Hanson, you found the body this morning. Did you happen to see anyone around or any sign of a vehicle?" Dev produced a small notepad and pencil.
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"No, sir. I arrived to open the plant and saw the light coming from the room with the door open. Lights aren't sposed to be on so my first thought was some kids messing around. I snuck in close to try to scare the bejesus out of 'em and teach 'em lesson. Then I saw all the blood. I didn't even notice the... body, at first." Hanson said, pausing at the word body. Dev scrutinized the man. He was definitely old enough to have served. Solid as a rock and still sporting a crew cut. Unless he was mistaken, Hanson would have seen combat. So why would he be squeamish about a body?
"Army?" Dev probed.
Hanson looked a little shocked. "Yeah, you?"
Dev motioned to the small mound of scar tissue on the side of his head. "A couple years. Got sent home because of this."
Hanson nodded and seemed to loosen up a bit. "Ain't never seen nothin' like it, Detective. And I seen a lot." Hanson trailed off. "In the War." Dev nodded and turned to Buchanan.
"Who all would have access to the plant at night?"
"Well we have night guards who keep the grounds secure. They'll have left but I can get you their address if you need to question them. Um, myself and Ronald. Oh, and Miss Childs, the secretary has keys to the office and gates." Buchanan said it all like he had rehearsed it. But why? Maybe he was just nervous.
"Thank you, I'll need the guards information. No one else can open the gate then?"
"No, Detective." Dev scratched his head with the eraser on his pencil, thinking. "Why? Is important who can open the gate?" Buchanan asked.
"Well, it could mean one of your guards opened the gate for a murderer." Dev said measured, trying to gauge Buchanan's reaction. He held a stiff upper lip so Dev continued. "But more likely the case is that the murderer and the victim snuck onto the property while the guards were occupied elsewhere or in a blind spot. Mister Buchanan, did the Officers have you come out to try to identify the body when they arrived? To see if its one of your employees?" Buchanan shook his head 'no' animatedly. He did not seem to keen on looking at a dead body.
Before Dev could ask him to come outside to the crime scene, Officer Jennings approached.
"Hey, Brig, Examiner's here. He found something you're gonna wanna see." Dev cringed at Jennings pronunciation of his surname. He excused himself and walked out of the lobby with Jennings.
"If you ever want your own Detective shield, you'd better learn the importance of details." Dev grumbled and Jennings laughed.
They continued to banter until they met with a thin pale man. The coroner, Ansel Kaine. Why was it that coroners, undertakers, and apparently medical examiners always looked like their work and had such broody names? Doctor Kaine stood next to a gurney with a clipboard in hand, his glasses pushed down his nose, and a scowl on his face. His assistant was also patiently waiting by the gurney, looking far less perturbed and more bored than anything.
"Detective Brígh. Officer Jennings." Doctor Kaine said with a slight sneer. Jennings must have made him mad again.
"Doctor. Officer Jennings said there was something you needed to show me?" Kaine motioned for his assistant to move the sheet covering the body. He pointed to a long cut on the back and a small book in a plastic bag.
"That book was protruding from the laceration. Once processed, I'm hoping it will provide some clue as to what the devil happened here last night. I will send you the results of my examination of this John Doe as soon as I can. I know how you tend to thrive on these strange cases." Kaine motioned to his assistant again and they moved the gurney to the back of their car. Blood, a body, and now a book. It was shaping up to be an interesting day.