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Stacy looked over at her partner, who had dialed a number on his cell phone. “I asked Charlie Harris and Chad Means to track down Maria Fernandez. I don’t want them to approach her—just find out if she has any friends staying with her.” Austin cradled the cell phone under his right shoulder. “Maybe her friends run in the same group as Will Akers’ friends.”
“Maybe.”
Stacy turned her Camry down East 71st Street. The Fairfax neighborhood was on the east side of Cleveland, and it roughly bounded between Euclid Avenue to the north and Woodland Avenue to the south.
There is a total of thirty-six neighborhoods in Cleveland, Ohio. Each one is as diverse and unique as the residents that call each neighborhood home. Unfortunately, Miguel Olivo was found in one of the city’s most undesirable places—the Fairfax neighborhood.
The Fairfax neighborhood has a rich history. Cleveland’s most iconic institutions, including the Cleveland Clinic and the Karamu House, the nation’s oldest African American theater, are located there. Unfortunately, the area had seen crime take hold as many factory jobs that supported a once-thriving shipping and steel industry were gone, leaving a vacuum for crime to take over as poverty increased.
Stacy and Austin didn’t say much as they drove through Fairfax. Austin had called dispatch to find out any additional information on the call made last night.
He dabbed the end of his pen on the tip of his tongue as he dropped his cradled phone from his neck and let it land in his lap. He furiously scribbled some notes in his notepad.
“The call came in from a woman who was walking her dog. Her name was Laquita Moore. She told the 911 dispatcher the same cab had been sitting on the side of the street for two days. When she approached, she smelled a terrible odor.”
Stacy leaned over the steering wheel as she saw Woodland Cemetery appear from the right side of the windshield. Turning the car onto Quincy Avenue, she saw the clarion of circling lights pulsing red and blue beams onto the chipped asphalt and the sides of homes that bracketed the road. The perimeter had already been established. There were several cruisers on the scene along with an ambulance and the Cuyahoga County Coroner’s van.
Stacy parked her car in the middle of the street. As she got out, a thin, baby-faced officer with protruding ears approached, but before he could even raise his hand, Stacy had flashed him her shield. Austin followed when the young officer cut a look at him.
“What have we got?”
“It’s a mess,” a baritone voice boomed, cutting through the franticly busy but eerily still scene. Kendall Jackson approached, his uniform perfectly coifed. Stacy noticed his polished shield, with Corporal arched above it, shone against the rotating blue beams of the cruisers’ lights. His face was creased with worry, and his eyes held the energy of someone that had seen something horrific.
Stacy arched an eyebrow. “Kendall.”
“Hey, Lieutenant.” He grinned, but the expression defaulted back into his thick lips pressed tightly against his face.
Stacy stepped back, putting a wider berth between herself and Kendall. “Kendall, you remember my partner, Sergeant Cerrera.”
“Good to see you, Sergeant,” Kendall said, extending a hand.
“Same here, Kendall,” Austin said, closing the grip with a right hand. “I never got a chance to formally say thanks for all the help with the Devon Baker case last fall.”
Kendall lowered his head. Stacy saw his face turn slightly red. “It was nothing. Glad to help.”
“We didn’t know there would be a familiar face here already,” Stacy said, refocusing the conversation. Behind Kendall, various first responders aggressively paced back and forth behind him.
“Yeah. Well, I got a few hours of sleep at home, and I was heading into the precinct on the east side when I heard the call go out that a body had been found in Fairfax. Two patrolmen from the Fifth got here first.”
Stacy felt a burst of adrenaline surge through her, and her mind began to snap with questions and anticipations. “Take us back there,” she said in a declarative tone.
Kendall made a face. “It’s bad, Lieutenant.”
“How bad?” Austin asked.
Kendall shook his head in disapproval. “One of the worst scenes I’ve ever seen.”
Stacy looked to the left at the young patrolman. His face went white at hearing Kendall’s words, meaning he must have also seen the crime scene. Austin swallowed hard and a lump formed in her own throat.
“Let’s go,” she said, pushing past them both. The group lifted the yellow ribbon draped across the road, indicating Quincy Avenue was an active crime scene and that trespassers and onlookers were not allowed.
Overhead, the wispy clouds from earlier in the morning were now denser and darker. The gray hue hung over the scene like a thick carpet, reflecting the mood of everyone involved.
People moved about, only speaking to one another in small conversations and hushed tones.
“Is Myers here?” Austin asked.
Kendall pointed up ahead. “He’s back there.”
Stacy slowed her walk as she approached the front of the old yellow taxi. The hood and door frames were dented and scratched. Streaks of rust curled up around the door handles and ran along the bottom of the door frame itself. The body frame looked like an old set of rusty, crudely fused metal sheets. The rubber tires sagged under the weight of the frame, ready to peel apart at any moment. The sight of the stationed cab was odious.
She peered her head inside the cab and looked around. Stacy began to cough. The cab’s inside smelled like a mixture of burnt food, urine, and stale cigarette smoke. Stacy held her nose and her eyes began to water. Whatever had led to Miguel Olivo’s death, he probably wasn’t physically well before.
Stacy jerked her head back and began to cough again. Austin ran back to her.
“Hey,” he said as Stacy pressed her palm against her chest and wheezed. “Is it—”
“No, it’s not that,” she said, blinking back the tears. Stacy wondered if the smell would burn itself into her clothes.
"I didn't see any blood," she said, in between inhaling a gulp of air. "The glove compartment didn't seem damaged."
“So, probably not a robbery gone bad,” Austin surmised.
Stacy nodded. “Get the crime scene guys to spray some luminal inside the cab and see if there are any traces of blood.”
Austin nodded.
As Stacy whirled around, Adam Myers flashed a mischievous grin. “Lieutenant Tavitt. We’ve been waiting.”
Cuyahoga County Coroner, Dr. Adam Myers, was a thick, stout man with a grizzly beard and rounded glasses that always drooped near the end of his bulbous nose. Stacy and Austin relied on his wealth of information regarding trauma and death. Still, his nonstop prattling and sarcastic wit often aggravated Stacy, mostly when she just wanted the information she needed clearly and concisely.
“I’d say it is a pleasure to see you, too, Lieutenant, but the circumstances are tragic.”
Stacy locked eyes with Adam. Her heart was beating at an elevated rhythm.
The coroner stepped back, and the dark expanse of the taxi trunk revealed itself. Stacy gagged. The familiar smell coming from inside nearly knocked her over. Dead bodies give off a distinctive, sickly-sweet odor. More than four hundred volatile organic compounds that make up the body fluids begin to coalesce and break down after death, leading to the smell.
Stacy felt a few thick fingers touch her arm. “It’s really bad.” Kendall cleared his throat and coughed, affected by the odor coming from the car.
She looked over at Austin, who had removed a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth.
Stacy approached the tailgate and froze. “Oh, my God.”
Inside the trunk were the partial remains of Miguel Olivo, hacked to pieces. Inside, the palm of one hand was upright, fingers splayed in an extended position, almost as if it were ready to high-five another hand. The fingers and fingertips were devoid of skin and pitted with puncture wounds and burns. The cloth covering inside the trunk was stained with blood.
His torso, complete with a swollen, distended stomach, had been pushed to the right side of the trunk. Under it, blood had once flowed, thick and sluggish, and now it pooled in a dark stain near the point where the neck should attach. The torso’s front and sides had been gutted repeatedly with some type of sharp object, flecks of doughy tan skin mangled and torn, the flesh ripped from the organs inside. Nothing else remained of Miguel Olivo.
“Jesus Christ,” Austin said breathlessly, stepping away from the trunk and bending over near the side of the taxi, vomiting.
Stacy felt her gut lurch as a churning mixture of bile filled her mouth, and her nostrils flared with the smell of rotting flesh. She stepped back from the trunk, almost into Kendall’s arms. Stacy took two quick breaths and swallowed back the bile, trying not to let it catch in her throat.
Adam approached, and Stacy held up a hand. “I’m okay,” she said. Kendall had walked around the group to check on Austin, who dabbed the corners of his mouth with the handkerchief.
Stacy took a step toward the open trunk again, but not getting too close to the body. She had seen bodies badly destroyed by knife wounds, gunshots, and fire, but she had never seen a severed body with limbs and pieces missing. Whoever did this to Miguel Olivo was sick and violent.
Dr. Myers loped around Stacy until he stood next to her.
Stacy blinked, trying to stop her watery eyes. “Time of death?”
The doctor folded his arms, his black rubber coat billowing at the bottom. “Based on the way the blood congealed around those stab wounds and the rate of decomposition, I’d say eight to twelve hours.” He cocked his head to the side and peered up at Stacy over the rims of his glasses. “I need to show you something else.”
Adam put a hand on Stacy’s back, and they slowly walked closer to the trunk. With a gloved hand, Adam slid his fingers under the back of the hand.
“There,” he said, nodding at the hand. “His fingertips. They’ve been burned off.”
Stacy shuddered. “This was personal. Someone basically dehumanized the victim.”
“If so, they succeeded. There are some cuts to the inside of the fingers on this hand. He put up a fight. There are some black specks near the base of his fingers, which could be anything. I won’t know more until I look closer.” The doctor paused. “Based on the depth and width of the wounds on the torso, whatever struck him was heavy and sharp. The deepest laceration was near the stomach, probably clipping the celiac artery. Once it was punctured, the victim would’ve lost a lot of blood quickly. I’ll know more after I examine it.”
Stacy looked back to Kendall. “We’re sure this car belongs to Miguel Olivo?”
“The first car on the scene ran the plates. It registers with Ace Taxi and Miguel Olivo.”
Austin stared anxiously at the trunk, still wiping his lips with the handkerchief. “I’ve never seen a body look like this.” He turned to face the rest of the group. “Why do this to Olivo?”
“He saw Colton DeVito, one of the few people that remembered seeing him the night Brooke Crawford was killed, Stacy answered.”
“Someone found out and didn’t want him telling,” Austin said.
“Or someone knows he talked and silenced him for it.” Stacy crouched on the ground. The smell of rotting flesh still hung in her nose, and she wanted to get it away. She also felt a dull burn moving up from her chest into her throat. She took a couple of breaths to try and suppress it. While the burning dulled, it persisted.
Stacy popped upright. She clenched her fists, rivulets of sweat forming on her forehead.
“All right, listen up.” Four more uniformed officers from the Cleveland Police Department huddled around the group. Stacy cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Keep the perimeter tight,” she called out. “The media will be here soon, but they do not breach the perimeter under any circumstances. In the meantime, canvass the neighborhood. Six blocks back and deep. Make sure we get a statement from the woman who found the car. Ask if anyone saw anything over the last day or so. It can be a strange car in the neighborhood, a strange person, whatever. Document anything witnesses say, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”
Stacy took a moment and flashed a look at Kendall. “The people in this part of town don’t trust cops, so be polite and persuasive but don’t put up with any crap from anyone. Get everything processed and back to headquarters as soon as possible. Any questions?”
The silence pooled around them. Stacy could see the adrenaline pulsing through everyone, especially the young patrolman who had probably never been called to a crime scene like this one before.
“Okay, move out.”
Dr. Myers went back to the trunk and leaned inside. Stacy pointed at Austin. “Come with me.” Before Austin could say anything, Stacy pointed to the right door of the cab. “Open the door and get in.”
Austin scrunched his brow and pulled back the door. Stacy slid into the driver’s seat as Austin plopped into the passenger side.
Stacy wanted to roll down the windows to get rid of the vile smell inside the cab, but she held her breath. The burning in her lungs returned, stronger and sharper than before.
A small computer screen with a keyboard was affixed to a metal pole bolted into a crease between the dashboard and glove compartment. Stacy removed some latex gloves from her pocket and pointed at the screen.
“Push some buttons on that thing and see what comes up.”
Austin removed a glove from his pocket, slipped it on, and began pushing.
Stacy stared anxiously at the taximeter in front of her. She pressed a few buttons on the interface below the numbers as desperation grew inside her. No matter what buttons Stacy pushed, the numbers flashed with five zeros.
“Find anything useful?” she asked.
“Just a map of the routes that Olivo had been driving last night.”
“Make sense of any of it?”
“I’m trying.”
Stacy pushed more buttons, harder this time. Disgruntled, she slapped the side of the box. It rattled and nearly tilted to one side. “Dammit. I can’t see how much Olivo charged the last person he transported.”
“Well, we know where he went,” Austin said. “Look here.” Stacy leaned over. On the screen was a digital map of the city crisscrossed with streaks of red crossing through the squared-off sections of the city.
Stacy reached over and pressed a key on the keyboard. The screen turned sideways, flipped backward, and zoomed in.
She leaned in and squinted. Her heart sank.
“Shit.”