The crime scene was a narrow street buzzing with police cars. Civilians littered the scene, forcing them to park up the street and make the rest of their way on foot. Morgan didn’t mind—his dread of what was to come brought sweat to his forehead, and the cool air was a blessing in contrast.
Gary’s police badge came in handy when they finally squeezed between the watchers and made it to the scene. A uniformed officer took one glance and released the tape to let them through, then quickly returned it before anyone else squeezed through. Morgan was shocked to see that not a single reporter had made it here yet, but just as the thought crossed his mind, he saw the kitted-out van of a news channel turn the corner, halting in its tracks before the side door slid open and workers hopped out. It was like someone had left the gate open at the idiot farm. He didn’t have the patience to round them back in.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Gary yelled over the noise.
Morgan agreed but no longer had the strength to speak aloud. As his eyes rolled over the scene before him, horror infested his mind and filled him with terror. The police tape circled a small area where a single car had been charred black from the aggressive assault of fire. Inside, the corpse of a single human being was stretched across the front seat. Morgan cupped his nose in one hand, a foul stench seeping through in spite of his best efforts to avoid it.
But he had to see.
A closer inspection revealed that handcuffs were still attached to the steering wheel. One black, burned arm hung from one of the rings, while the other contained a single detached hand. Morgan guessed what’d happened here, and although he didn’t like it, there was no denying what was right in front of him. The sight made bile rise from his stomach and into his mouth, leaving a disgusting stale taste lingering on his tongue.
“I think he tried to escape,” he mumbled.
“Actually, it was a she.”
Morgan and Gary both turned to the sound of the unfamiliar voice. A small Filipino man stood watching them, dangling a bright yellow bag at his side. He wore glasses that were far too big for his small features, and the sunlight caught on his shiny, shaved head. An official ID badge hung from his breast pocket. It read:
PAUL OCAMPO
DEPARTMENT OF FORENSIC SCIENCES
“Excuse me?” Gary said.
“I haven’t been able to get a proper look yet,” Paul explained, waving them toward the car. He slid a pen from his pocket and used it to point at the body’s lower half. “But it doesn’t take a genius to know that women have female genitals. It’s… kind of a big clue.”
“The genitals are—”
“Fused with her clothes, but distinguishable.”
“And the arm?”
“Simple. She tried to break free, managed to tear one hand off before she died trying. You know, I studied forensics for a long, long time, but surely you’re bright enough to see what’s right in front of you?” Paul cocked his head at the body. “Use your brain.”
Morgan didn’t need sarcasm to help him along, but he appreciated the observation. So much, in fact, that he refused to look any longer. He turned his back to the body, catching a brief glimpse of the woman’s vacant eyeholes. Her teeth showed like she was beaming.
It was an image he’d never forget.
“How long has she been here?” Gary asked.
Paul made a “meh” noise. “It was reported immediately. Took a few minutes for the fire department to arrive. Officers were here shortly after that, and then your superiors were informed. You’re with Homicide, I take it?”
“I am.”
As much as Morgan wanted to stay and chat, he desperately wanted to get far away from that god-awful smell. Without excusing himself, he hurried away to the far side of the tape where there were fewer people, resting his hands on his knees and fighting the need to throw up. Nothing, he knew, would ever compare to this grotesque scene.
Footsteps padded up behind him.
A hand rested on his back.
“Too much for you?” Gary said.
Morgan shook his head and raised a hand—a signal to indicate he needed a moment. “It’s him, isn’t it? The same asshole who killed Dusty?”
“I think so. Serial numbers on the cuffs are hard to read, but it looks like it.”
“But why…” Another surge of spew rolled up his throat, but he suppressed it. “I mean, how could anyone do that to another human being? It takes tons of preparation and a lot of balls to go to that extent. Not to mention they’re both car-related murders.”
“Do you think it holds any significance?”
“Who can tell with this sicko?”
“I was just asking.”
Morgan stood up straight, keeping a closed fist against his lips in case of another outburst. The body appeared for a second in his mind, closely followed by another of Dusty sitting in their secret treehouse when they were only kids. It was bittersweet, but it served as an antidote for this particular bout of vomit. “Sorry. It’s just messing with my mind a little.”
“Hey, I get it.” Gary patted him on the back again, but he must have realized he was getting too touchy. He withdrew his hand and stepped away. “The only reason I called you here was so you could get in and see it firsthand. I do have to get to work though. Do you need a ride home?”
“Nah. You do what you need to do. I’ll call a cab.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Keep me posted.”
Gary heaved a deep sigh. “No problem.”
It wasn’t like he would’ve admitted it, but Morgan badly needed the air and a break after seeing what he’d seen. His brain was foggier than ever, the weight of this horrific event poisoning his mind with the morbid realism of what he was facing. Not only was Dusty’s killer still out there, but he was killing more people and they were still no wiser as to why.
Feeling hopeless, he said his goodbyes to Gary and headed up the street with his hand still pressed against his mouth while he searched for a cab. There was bound to be one or two here; so many people had arrived using public transport just to catch a glimpse of that unsightly nightmare, so he may as well use one, and the sooner he got back to Rachel, the better.