This chapter is only a teaser chapter, and though the book is finished and under final editing, this story will not be released until the finished publishing of my previous book around December 8th. I apologize for the roughly 1 week or more delay before this book will be releasing any new content. I simply cannot juggle 4 stories at once. I just want to start a little anticipation. Enjoy the..."Trailer" if you will, and expect this chapter to update to the full version sometime around December 8th to 10th. There will also be a sequel on the way. If you are enjoying Medusa's List, the 4 book scifi horror series being released as we speak, then you will likely enjoy this. If you enjoy this book, consider adding Medusa's list to the future free books to read. I am now focusing on much darker content for all future projects. Enjoy
The bright flash of cameras lit the scene red and silver, as men in matching hazmat suits did an oddly similar job collecting evidence, to the advantage of broad daylight. A brunette woman in a suit held her nose and covered her mouth as a short bald man chewing gum and holding a notebook approached her.
“Well... It’s a weird one. Killer left no footprints, but the intentions suggest he was about 150 pounds or more, wearing some kind of boot covers, size 13. Murder weapon left in the body like some kind of message, no idea what, but they got prints off the knife handle and found cigarette ash around the place. So we have a tall, slim guy who smokes menthols and wanted us to find the body. Door was wide open, tracks are being followed by guys right now, hopefully the guy left something useful out there. We didn’t find hair or skin cells anywhere.”
“What bout under the fingernails?” she asked.
“Yea, good luck with that. Sick bastard took the fingertips with him.”
“Trophy or evidence?” she asked, gagging slightly.
“Maybe both, but it was planned out, the cuts were made with something really sharp, maybe scissors, and nothing left they behind. Right in the center of the nail, cuts post-mortem. The guy was alive when he was tortured, but the fingertips were cut after death. No pressurized blood spray, very little bleeding. This guy was a pro, with one hell of a grudge.”
“Why do you think that?” she asked.
“Take a look at these. This guy’s wife died 4 weeks ago, accidental fall down the stairs, forensics was pretty half-assed, but they ruled it an accident, and these photos of the wife match almost every bruise and broken bone on the victim here. Witnesses say our dead guy was at a nightclub hours before the killing began, hitting on strippers and living it up. Pretty fucked for a guy whose pregnant wife just died. This guy somehow lured in our dead dentist in the middle of the night to his own office, wearing covered boots and gloves, no forced entry, used the key, and then got him in the chair, replicated the wife’s injuries pretty accurately, went major league on his ass with a bat, tortured him with the dental tools and then just went full Mike Myers on him with a knife till he bled out. Then he took the fingertips. Cleaned up a little, had a smoke, walked home. That’s cold and personal. Why would this guy, a married man hitting on women at the strip club, end up bringing another man back here, unlock the place, and go in like he suspected nothing? Killer was someone he knew, his drug dealer, a friend, maybe some kinda sex thing, I dunno. But who the hell takes someone to their office in the middle of the night after a night of clubbing and from the Ecstasy in his blood, partying hard? I dunno about you, but if I was doing some weird shit in my own office after dark, high on E and alcohol, it’s probably a sex thing. You know any strippers that wear a men’s size 13 boot and can reach that shelf up there with the cleaning wipes without a stepstool? I’m not judging, but it wasn’t that kinda strip club, so unless this is way more complex than we thought, our boy here was glad the wife was dead and having a boy’s night after the clubs.”
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“It does get more complicated.” She said as someone handed her a clipboard. They found a fingerprint match on the knife in the body.”
“Fuck me, that was fast, we’ve been here 30 minutes.” the bald forensics guy puzzled.
“Well, apparently we just got an anonymous tip and a name.” she added.
“Anonymous tip and ID on a suspect…before we even finished the damn police report? Oh, that’s bold. You think the guy’s taunting us?”
“Get your ass in the hall right now.” She said, practically dragging him as she went. Waving the man who brought the clipboard with her into the hallway.
“Both of you listen closely, and listen good. Shut this shit down, close the scene. Nobody touches the place. Don’t say a thing to anyone. Don’t even say anything to the other people here, or you’re both gonna get fired, understand?” she said harshly in a whisper tone.
“No, not really, what the fuck, this isn’t protocol.” Baldy said, looking worried.
“To hell with protocol. Just do it.” She ordered.
“With all due respect, if I’m gonna get fired for some shady shit, I wanna know why. Now I got orders to process a crime scene and I came here to do that. So what the hell is going on?” the forensics guy shrugged as the other guy held the clipboard silently.
“Anonymous tip was from the strip club parking lot, burner phone, female voice. All it said was Detective Damien Baker has been a bad boy, and it hung up. Two sets of fingerprints matched the knife left in the guy. Damien baker, and a guy who’s currently in prison for murder, who used that same damn knife.”
“You’re telling me a cop took a weapon out of evidence and murdered a guy with it?” baldy whispered.
“I know Damien. Worked with him. Look at the damn file. 160 pounds, 5 foot 11, shoes size 13. Don’t you dare say this to anyone…he was just quitting a smoking habit... menthols. Either we got someone trying to set up a cop who has access to evidence and his case files, or Damien killed a guy who murdered his own wife and got away with it.”
“Oh shit…yea I’m out. I’m not saying anything. I like my job, most days. What do you want me to put on the report?”
“No fingerprints on the weapon, cigarette ashes disappear, no mention of anonymous tips, we’re looking for some guy over 150 pounds, no hair or DNA found. I’m taking this file from here. You clean the ashes up and wipe down that knife handle. That’s an order.” She growled.
“Yes Ma’am.” He said looking at his intern still clutching the empty clipboard. “I didn’t see a damn thing, did you see a damn thing?”
“No.” The intern shook.
“Wow. Guy must be a real pro. No real evidence found. Wild how meticulous these killers can be. Probably some guy the wife was banging on the side. Happens all the time.” He said, carefully grabbing a wipe and discreetly cleaning the knife handle down before placing it in the evidence bag and marking it with a different case number, folding it under and handing it to the intern. “I think this belongs in the evidence room. Don’t file it, it’s already filed, apparently. No sense is doing it twice, right?” he winked.
“Whatever you say, I just got here.” He huffed, nervously taking the bag and the papers and leaving briskly. Baldy took a silent moment alone to process things, dazed by the scene.
“The shit I see just gets weirder every case in this town. HEY, someone get me a coffee, that’s a wrap. We got everything we need here. Don’t give me that look, brass says we’re done, we’re done. Someone else’s crime scene now. That’s how the shit rolls broski. Pack up, blood samples in the cooler.”
“We just started.” Sighed one of the other forensic guys.
“Yea, and we just finished. I don’t make the rules, I just repeat the orders. Let’s go, bags, tags and labels move it out.” He waved, grabbing the coffee as it was handed, making his way to the back door to get back to the lab, where he got paid just shy of what it took to deal with that kinda shit. He sat down in the van at a laptop and removed his gloves to type something while nobody was looking.
“Murder weapon fingerprints matched the victim, cigarette ashes too damaged to identify due to victim’s blood exposure. Cause of death, knife to the heart, no leads or suspects at the time. No witnesses.” He muttered as he typed. “Okay, let’s go get some lunch. Anyone have any place in mind? No sushi this time, 3 days in a row, I’m sick of Asian stuff.” He sighed.