The first thing that struck me as we entered the dark, nearly-deserted diner was the smell – above the normal old food odors was a strong smell that I couldn’t quite place, a kind of oily smoke with a hint of chocolate and something bitter to it.

My partner, Detective Dina Genovelli, noticed my puzzled expression and smirked: “That’s a combination of cheap marijuana, wrapped up in a mid-priced cigar wrapper, with some of the tobacco left in, and cheap air freshener trying to mask it,” she informed me.

She had a knack for “reading” people, gauging what was on their minds, which was one of the reasons I was more than happy to be assigned as her partner. She, however, had made her displeasure at being “saddled” with “the rookie” more than abundantly clear.

I nodded acknowledgement of her comment – if I had ever encountered this particular mix of scents before, I had no memory of it.

The one light on in the room illuminated a table where a uniformed officer sat with a very dirty-looking young man and another man in an apron who I took to be the diner’s owner. The uniformed officer rose and approached us; his badge read “Parsons.”

“Detective Genovelli, and ah?” he said, as he approached us.

“Daniels. Detective Nathan Daniels, Officer Parsons.” I replied, extending a hand. He shook my hand.

“Right this way – youill definitely want to talk to Derrick – the homeless guy - as he saw some of what happened. Ray, the owner called it in; he only saw the aftermath and … he’s still a little shaky.”

“That bad, huh?” Dina replied.

“I only saw part of it,” Parsons responded with a shudder. “But, it’s even worse – let them prepare you before you look at it yourselves. One good thing is that it is outdoors so the smell is not as bad as it could be. The coroner is about three minutes out, and the CSU guys should be here any second now.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder and quietly asked: “Which of you was smoking?”

Parsons considered his reply for a second, sighed, and then said: “Ray, the owner, offered. Neither of us turned him down after seeing the alley.”

She met his gaze coolly for a few seconds, but then softened and replied: “I’ll decide whether to report you or not after I see the scene. I remember my first call – serial killer, eight years back. Never liked the taste or smell of weed but had to belt back two gins to deal with it.”

He didn’t say anything, but the relieved expression on his face spoke volumes. He introduced us to the two men – an apparent witness, and the guy who owned the shop and had found our witness cowering inside.

“Now, before we begin,” Dina told the two men, “Ray, when this case is over – but not a moment sooner – one or more officers from Narcotics will pay you a visit. You had best tell them who your supplier is when they ask.”

The store owner met her gaze levelly: “I understand,” he said, his voice subdued. “Thanks.”

She addressed her next comment initially to Derrick: “I have been told you have the more interesting story, so I’m going to get Ray’s first, and then yours, OK?”

Both men nodded, and Ray immediately began: “I arrived at twenty-five past five AM, give or take a few minutes, as usual, to prep for a six-thirty A.M. opening,” he narrated. He had clearly been through this process before, I thought.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I found Mister Nixon here,” he pointed to the man Officer Parsons had identified as “Derrick,” before continuing, “Cowering behind one of my ovens. I was initially very concerned but soon realized he was absolutely terrified of, well, everything, and I took… steps to calm him.”

He flushed slightly at this, and I realized he was referring to the “cigar” in question.

“By that time, officers Parsons and Hill were here – I called them when I noticed a broken window, before I found my guest or…” he shuddered before finishing the statement, “before I looked out into the alley.”

I had taken out my notebook and begun writing this down as close to word-for-word as I could as soon as he began to speak. I nodded at him after writing this down, and he continued.

“As he started to calm down, I realized he was afraid of something in the alley out back. One of the officers – I am sure they remember which one it was, but I do not – went with me to look into it. I wish to God I hadn’t. I have never seen anything so … so … well, I have worked at the slaughterhouse and it wasn’t…” he simply could not continue after this. I saw tears welling in his eyes.

“That’s good, Ray,” my partner said. “I think we’ve got enough, unless you can recall any details that might help us out later.”

He nodded, still unable to speak, and got up from the table, his legs a little shaky. Parsons offered his arm for support.

“Now, Mr. Nixon – Derrick,” Dina began, “I hear you saw some of what happened?”

The man took a deep breath and was about to speak when the door to the alley opened and another uniformed officer – Mike Hill, who had attended the Academy with me, poked his head in: “Sorry to interrupt – the CSU guys just got here and the coroner’s guy said they are trying to find a spot to park. The bad news is that the press got wind of this. I have got enough guys to keep them back for the moment, but sent for a few more…”

“Oh dear,” Roy replied at this: “A lot of reporters make my shop their first stop of the day, one of the papers being a block down. If I’m not open, I guess that’s news.”

Dina pursed her lips. “Do what you can to keep them away – if this is as bad as it sounds, we’ll have them assuming a serial killer right off the bat and we do not want that…”

“Got it, Detective,” Hill replied and ducked back outside.

“OK, now Mr. Nixon?”

This close, the man’s personal stench overrode the smell of the “cigar” used earlier. A very unpleasant mix of dirt, sweat and rot, the latter made worse when he spoke. I held off asking him if he’d been to a dentist recently – it was quickly clear he hadn’t, possibly ever.

“Yeah, well, see, I was making my, ah, rounds, see,” he began. Dina glanced at me and rolled her eyes, impatient for him to get to the point. “This alley is good, see, there’s three food places that dump stuff, see? The last one closes up around one AM, so that is when I try to hit it, see? Sometimes, see, they give me leftovers at that one if I catch ‘em while cleanin’ up, see?”

He paused for a second, took a sip from a glass of water nearby and resumed: “I come here, well to the alley, see? And see two people there. At first I think someone is hogging my turf, and I go to threaten them, then I see the knife. Biggest dam knife I ever seen. Looked like was on fire, see? Never seen nothin’ like it before. Then I see guy with knife – his eyes… they was glowin’ like a cat. I kid you not, glowin’ like a cat! And the girl, see, she was … she was cut open already, see? I had to get away and found a door that pushed open, so I hid here until Mr. Ray there, see, turned up. I thought it was cat-eye guy comin’ for me, but he looked in alley after hearin’ my story and he puked over everything. And that’s it, that’s all I know, see?”

My partner glanced over to see if I had gotten all of that down. I nodded, and she replied: “Yes, I … er… see. I guess we need to take a look at the scene now, Rookie,” she addressed me. “And, if what they are saying is true, I hope you did not have a big breakfast…”

“I did not,” I replied, then added: “but isn’t breakfast the most important meal of the day?”

“Not if you’re wearing it,” she replied and moved toward the alley door.

I considered her words for a moment, and then joined her as she pushed it open.

We had been told the scene was bad. Neither of us had any real idea just how bad until that moment…