Detective Melanie Teachout glanced at her partner, Brent Lane, and slowly shook her head, causing her long, black hair to cover and uncover her face.
He shrugged his shoulders, raised his hands, then stepped to her side as they both returned their attention to the corpse that had been fished out of the garbage bin.
At least most of it.
Mel drew from her cigarette and puffed upward, releasing the swirling wisp into the early-morning Las Vegas breeze.
“You know that shit’s going to kill you, right?” asked Brent.
“Yeah, well, thank you, Mom. You know the old saying: we’re all going to die from something. Besides, I’m cutting down,” she answered with a wink.
“Good to hear. And just an FYI, kissing people who smoke is like licking an ashtray.”
She smiled at her short, good-looking partner with the dark-blue eyes, stopping at his wavy, white hair that made him look older, at least at first glance, than his thirty-seven years.
His total look fit Vegas. A bit exotic, tied to the erotic, was how “Sin City” wanted to be portrayed, and her partner fit that bill . . . especially the erotic.
She gave him another look over, her smile broadening.
“I didn’t hear any complaints last night, pal.”
It was his turn to release a quick smile. “None whatsoever. But don’t say that so loud.”
She rolled her eyes. “Relax. None of the CSIs or the blues heard me. But we’re going to have to tell someone, sometime, you know. Unless, you know, you’re . . . ”
“Embarrassed to tell the department we’ve been married for three months?” he finished.
Making sure they weren’t the center of anyone’s attention, he tilted close to her ear. “You’re the most wonderful thing to happen to me, and I love working with you every day. I don’t want that to end any sooner than it has to, okay?” he whispered.
Leaning away from him, she captured his eyes. “Wow. That just got you a few new ‘experiences’ when I get your ass home. Hey, maybe instead of lunch we could—”
The lead CSI began walking toward them and she had to stop in midsentence, but she could see the effect her suggestion had on her new husband. Lunch hour was going to be out of this world, providing they were going to have time for one.
The CSI gently placed her large, leather case on the ground and then swiped at the sweat already forming on her tanned brow.
“I’ve seen some sick junk since I came to work in Vegas ten years ago. You know, all the way from johns left tied up in their hotel rooms to hit killings, but nothing like this.”
Mel dropped the cigarette to the ground and gathered strength to peruse where the corpse had been laid out on the body-sized blue tarp. She was with the CSI on this one. She hadn’t seen anything like this either.
“I hear you. What can you tell us so far?” asked Mel.
The CSI shrugged. “Pretty straightforward. Each lower leg, including the foot, was hacked off, then apparently placed on his chest. I think it might have been more of a way to transport the body in the trunk of a car or something.”
“Why would you say that?” asked Brent.
“Well, there wasn’t a lot of blood in the body or on it, so that means he was probably killed somewhere else and dumped here. Also, the incisions and how the bones were severed were done with a sharp power tool, maybe a high-resolution saw, because there was minimal ripping at the points of contact.”
“You can determine what kind of instrument and maybe which company sold the saw that was used?” asked Mel.
The CSI nodded. “We’ll compare patterns in the cuts and get close.”
“Time of death?”
The CSI sighed. “Almost nine hours ago, if the liver reading wasn’t affected by the heat.”
“Any luck with the victim’s ID?” Mel reached for her cigarette case in her pocket, keeping her eyes on the CSI.
“We’re working on it. His first name appears to be Howard. There was no wallet, or cell phone, or credit card, or any other way to identify him further. We got his possible first name from a bracelet we found in his pocket. The inscription referred to the woman who gave it to him so we’ll see where that leads. We’re digging in with the usual procedures. We’ll find out who this poor soul is, er, was.”
Lighting another smoke, Mel exhaled and then slowly circled the body. She didn’t scare easily, and God knew that homicide detectives had stomachs of iron, mostly. She also didn’t get to where she was by letting her imagination run wildly unchecked.
Stopping on the right side of the body, she kneeled on one knee, reaching toward a small bloodstain on his dirty, white shirt just above his pelvic region.
Lifting the shirt slowly, she could only stare as the weakness in her knees kept her frozen in place.
After several moments, Mel Teachout rose and reached for her phone.
“Is it like the other two?” asked Brent softly. “Are there organs missing?”
“Yeah. Afraid so. Livers, intestines, now a kidney. This looks like it could have something to do with the human organ black-market business. That means someone far too organized is responsible for this shit. We could be over our heads. I’m thinking we call the FBI and—”
The target of her call answered. She felt herself swallow, hard. This was crazy-assed. She, and the LVPD, didn’t make it a habit to call in help, but today she believed was an exception.
“Captain? We’ve got another one. I think this one seals it. Someone is harvesting the organs of the fine citizens of Las Vegas, and I think we need some help.”