Washington, D.C.
FBI agent Maggie O’Dell turned the corner and immediately felt the cold slap her in the face. More snow was on the way. But there was something else in the air. A disgusting smell rode the wind. People on the street had their scarves pulled up or their hands over their noses. As usual, steam escaped from the grates in the sidewalk, but that wasn’t where the odor was coming from.
She showed her badge to the officer standing guard at the first barrier to the crime scene.
“Is that a sewage leak?” she asked him as she lifted the yellow tape and slipped underneath.
“Dumpster.” He gestured back behind him. “City maintenance dozer plowed into it. Knocked it so hard it tipped over on its side.” He rolled his eyes and added, “Last week, one of them picked up a homeless tent with someone still in it.”
“I heard about that.”
“O’Dell.” Julia Racine waved at her.
The detective already looked perturbed and impatient. And it was only ten in the morning. But that was Racine. Maggie knew much of her abrasive behavior was for show. Even her stance—legs set at shoulders-width, arms crossed—telegraphed her tough-as-nails reputation. She was finishing up with a young man who looked like he was enduring a reprimand. He would have been taller than Racine if his narrow shoulders weren’t slouched up almost to his ears trying to defend himself from the cold and snow.
“Special Agent O’Dell, this is Detective Sheldon,” Racine introduced them.
He nodded at Maggie, then to Racine, he said, “I’ll get that taken care of right away.” And he left in the direction Maggie had just come from.
“Does the Dumpster have anything to do with the crime?” Maggie asked. The smell only seemed to get worse.
“The asshat who dumped it found the body.”
“Asshat?” Maggie raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I know. It’s disgusting how much my language has been sanitized. That’s what happens, O’Dell, when you give in and live with someone’s munchkin. You were smart to dump your doctor.”
Racine was referring to Dr. Benjamin Platt, although he and Maggie had never been in an actual relationship. Ben had a daughter once upon a time and wanted someone who wanted to have kids. That wasn’t Maggie. Racine’s significant other had a daughter. Maggie couldn’t remember the girl’s name, but knew she was still in elementary school.
“So, she’s a good influence,” Maggie said.
“She’s a horrible influence.” Racine glanced around before she continued. “You know how hard it already is as a woman to be taken seriously in this job. Now, she has me saying things like ‘rats’ and ‘OMG.’ It’s just not right.”
“I think you’ll survive.”
“I heard there’s a new guy in your life.”
Maggie and Racine weren’t friends. But they’d worked enough cases together over the years, and they had a history. In Racine’s mind, that made her think they were. Maggie, however, preferred to keep her private life private.
When she didn’t answer, Racine continued like a response wasn’t necessary. “Sounds like you’re trading in your doctor for a dog handler.” She gave Maggie a sidelong glance, then added, “Not a bad idea.” Racine being Racine weighing in with her unsolicited opinion didn’t stop there. “I heard he’s hot.”
Maggie wanted to ask where the information was coming from, but to do that would only make Racine believe the topic was open for discussion. It was not. Certainly not with Racine.
“Are you lead on this case?” Maggie asked, attempting to steer Racine back to business.
“Yes. And it’s getting stupid-crazy fast. That’s why my boss is anxious to offload it.”
Maggie guessed “stupid-crazy” was one of the new alternate phrases. “Victim was homeless?”
“Not homeless, O’Dell. Unhoused or unsheltered are the politically correct terms. How is that any better? As far as we can tell, he was living on the street. My officers are still talking to people. And these people are the worst at sharing information.
“Even when they do talk, we have to be careful. They’re very good liars. Seriously, the CIA should be recruiting from the streets. Guy can be knifed in the tent right next to them, and they claim they haven’t seen or heard a thing.
“To be fair, some of them are so zoned out, stoned or drunk they might not have seen a thing. They aren’t even plugged in to reality. And those who do still know what’s what, they frickin’ don’t want to get involved.”
Maggie restrained a smile. It was weird listening to Racine without her using the f-word.
“Chances are, they wouldn’t have even reported it,” the detective continued. “Took the Dumpster crasher to notice. Probably why he plowed into it in the first place. He’s young. A little shocked. Not used to seeing dead guys.”
“You said on the phone this is number two?”
“Ten days ago. Three blocks away. Similar MO.”
“Victim was also homeless?”
Racine nodded. “I know the holidays bring out the homicidal maniacs, but I sure as hell didn’t expect a serial killer.”
“What do you know about the killer? Anything caught on video from ten days ago?” Maggie’s eyes darted under the awnings of the small businesses dotted along the street. At the end of the block was a three-story brick building. She made a mental note to check for surveillance cameras.
“Preliminary search didn’t tag anyone suspicious or out of the ordinary. In fact, I was starting to think he might be homeless, too. Possibly mentally ill. Maybe it was revenge for something trivial. Happens, you know. They have belongings and can be very possessive of their stuff.”
“Weapon?”
“Weapons. Neither one has been recovered. Last week’s victim had blunt trauma to the back of his head. M.E. said it looked like a ball-peen hammer. But it wasn’t the cause of death. May have been used to incapacitate him. There were no defensive wounds. He was stabbed. Double-edged blade. Three to five inches.”
“That one happened at night, too?”
“Early morning. M.E. doesn’t think he died immediately, so if we back up from approximate time of death, we’re looking at midnight to three or four in the morning.”
“No one noticed him bleeding on the street?”
“Actually, he was inside his tent. Makeshift tent. Basically, a blue tarp draped over a cardboard box. It wasn’t until he crawled partially out that someone saw him. Called 911.”
“And today’s victim?”
“We think he was sleeping against the lamppost, close to the sidewalk grate to keep warm. About five feet away from the Dumpster. Looks like the same MO. Hit on the back of the head. Then stabbed.”
Maggie scanned the area. Cars parked on this side of the street would have given a limited view of anyone asleep on the sidewalk. Two- and three-story brick buildings were broken up by a few businesses. A nail shop, deli and grocer, a coffee shop interspersed, all with several concrete steps up to the front doors. Some with canvas awnings. None had entrance doors at ground level. Not that any of them would have been open at the time of the murders.
“Tell me about the victims,” Maggie said.
“Both male. This one looks to be in his thirties. Last one was older. Maybe forties. No ID on him. Prints didn’t register. No hits from NamUS.”
NamUs was a national database for missing, unidentified and unclaimed cases from across the United States.
Racine pointed to an area where a CSU team was still working and said, “This morning’s guy was found tucked in over there. Like I said. Not far from the Dumpster.”
But the body was gone. Maggie wished Racine had called her sooner. Examining the crime scene with the body would have been helpful.
“Is there a shelter nearby?”
“Where’ve you been O’Dell? Shelters can’t keep up. Besides, a lot of these people don’t like rules to begin with, so getting clean, sober or finding Jesus is not on their to-do lists. The city keeps moving them off the streets. They just show up somewhere else. Don’t even get me started.”
Maggie decided she needed to get it off her chest. “Why didn’t you call me before they moved the body?”
“Hey, I’ve got orders to clean things up and clean them up quick. I’m not sure if the powers-that-be were more upset about another homeless body or the overturned Dumpster. When I mentioned calling in the Feds on account of the similarities, I could literally hear my boss’ sigh of relief.”
“My team’s going to want all the evidence you collected along with today’s.”
“Not a problem. Glad to hand over whatever you need. So, can I tell him you’re on board?”
“One other condition.”
“Name it.”
“You learn something new. You call me immediately.”
“No problem.”
“I’m serious, Racine. I should have been here before the body left the crime scene.”
“You’re right. My bad.” She put up her hands in surrender, and Maggie couldn’t help wondering if this was a newly learned behavior that came with the language clean up.
“Detective Racine.” One of her officers called out. He was in hazmat coveralls and standing in the middle of the garbage pile. “We might have found something.”
Neither Racine nor Maggie hesitated.
As they got closer, Maggie could see the plastic bag he held in his gloved hands. It opened enough to show a piece of fabric. The blood looked fresh. The bulge at the bottom suggested there were other items in the bag.
“Now, this is interesting. Did he really think we wouldn’t go through the Dumpster?” Racine asked.
“Maybe not today,” the officer told her. “It was pretty full. Coffee shop owner said pickup is normally before noon. If it got dumped before we got here, it’d be a nightmare to track down and go through.”
“Do you think the killer knew that?” Racine asked Maggie with an intense look that expected the profiler to be worth the early morning visit to her crime scene.
Maggie glanced at her, but her eyes stayed on the bag dangling from the officer’s hand. “He may have known and took advantage of the disposal. Or...”
“Or what?”
“Or he simply didn’t care.” Maggie’s gut instinct told her it was the latter.
“Either way,” Racine said, “it looks like that young asshat who crashed into the Dumpster may have given us a lucky break.”