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I punched my code into the box and the gate slowly slid open. We drove to the end of the row where I had been leasing a garage ever since I owned the Chevelle.
“So, you going to put it away after it’s repaired.”
“Might as well since I’m going to be driving the truck.”
I had the Chevelle since high school. It was my Father’s project. But he worked so often he never had time to do anything with it. I approached him one day and simply asked if I could have it. He made me an offer. If I could locate all the parts to bring it back to life it was mine. However, there would be no racing.
Donnie helped with his technological gifts. Just three weeks’ time with his search engine he located all the parts most of which were in the city. Shariff’s Dad knew someone who owned a body shop. He charged us for the paint and a small fee. Smitty’s assembled it and I was driving it my senior year.
“I have a feeling the Chevelle is going to need a new engine and major work sooner than later.”
“You raced it a lot?”
“The Blvd.”
“Street Racing Roman? “Your parents know you were doing it?”
“I think they suspected it at times. Dad would drop hints now and again. I only raced for small amounts of cash and never took anybody’s car. I quit when Kirkwood PD started setting up stings and impounding vehicles.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the static of the radio.
“Unit 83-Unit 83”
I took the handset off the receiver.
“83 go ahead.”
“Patrol units with County Sheriff’s Marine Division requesting your assistance. Sunset and University. Code 419.”
“Must be near the bridge.”
“Copy, 83 in route to location.”
“I can get the truck later.”
Yellow plastic tape flickered in the afternoon breeze from its strategic positioning. Neighbors and bystanders gathered on both sides of the street attempting to catch a glimpse of what was underneath the bridge. Leaning over the rail I could see the edge of a boat struggling to maintain its current position. A deputy in his thirties approached. He had slightly pockmarked skin from apparent chronic teenage acne. His face was sweaty and red making the scarring more prominent. His brown uniform darker now from perspiration.
“What’s going on with the boat?”
“They are trying to get it down.”
“Get what down?”
“The body. There is a headless torso with all its limbs strung up underneath the bridge. I think I’m going to be....” He leaned over the railing dropping his stomach contents into the brown current below.
Lonnie was standing near a dirt trail leading down under the bridge where a patrolman was keeping a watchful eye.
“I don’t think we want any press anywhere near this, do you?”
We walked down the trail slipping on an array of reddish orange leaves that littered the ground. The victims of a cool autumn season. Today, however, was unseasonably warm. The dew on the grass was still lingering into the afternoon. Footing was an issue on the way down. Slipping often on the moistened incline our pant legs were now soaked.
We made our way to the concrete structures that supported the bridge underneath.
“What in the...?”
“How would you even?”
A female torso with the limbs severed from it hung underneath the bridge on chains. The skin was completely pale. Insects that had survived the previous drop in temperatures now swarmed around. Yellow hornets and flies competed for landscape.
“Detectives can we bring her down now? The heavy rains have made the river a little more unpredictable.”
“We need pictures of the scene. Forensics hasn’t processed this yet?”
“No not yet.”
The deputies in the boat were doing their best to stay near the body. The river had other plans to preserve the awful display. They were clearly stressed cursing under their collective breaths.
“MSP Lab is on the way. Just hold for a little more please.”
“Roman”
Lonnie nudged me casually motioning toward the other side of the river bank. An extended camera lens was peering out from behind a tree.
“You see it?”
“I see it.”
“Stay here until the photographer and MSP show. I’m going over the bridge.”
I climbed back up the steep bank to the street level. The crowds on both sides had grown significantly. Walking over the bridge I waded into the crowd keeping my eye on the tree line along the bank. I went down the street then making my way into the woods toward the river. Stealth was nearly impossible as leaves rustled with each step or twigs snapped. A small concealed stump nearly took my feet out from me. Muscle memory and balance were still functioning thankfully. About a hundred yards away a figure flashed through the woods toward the street.
“Stop! Kirkwood PD!”
A male with brown hair wearing a blue button down shirt and jeans sprinted toward a white vehicle that was parked at the curb. The tires squealed as it tore off out of view. Not even a partial plate was visible.
The person whoever they were that hung under the bridge deserved decency and respect. They did not belong on public exhibition. I walked back to the bridge where I could see Blake working the crowd. He seemed particularly interested in one individual. They walked together away from everyone and stopped. I asked one of our patrolman if there was a witness that discovered the body.
“He’s talking with that Brickstreet Bureau guy what’s his name.”
He pointed to a man in his 30’s who had long stringy brown hair. His dirty tank top appeared to have missed the wash cycle. He also looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks. I walked over to where they were having their discussion. Blake was vigorously writing in vain to catch every detail.
“Detective Lee Kirkwood Pd. I need to speak with you for a moment.”
“I don’t trust no cops.”
Blake appeared to relish in that comment smiling to himself as he continued to write.
“Your choice, an uninformed choice but it belongs to you.”
“What do you mean by choice?”
“Nothing really.”
Blake stopped writing for a moment.
“I want to know, what kind of a choice.”
“Fact or Fiction fairly simple really.”
“What are you insinuating Detective Lee.”
“The obvious.”
“That being exactly what?”
“For starters, I didn’t catch your first name.”
“David”
“What’s your last name?”
“Foster”
“That Mr. David Foster’s fifteen minutes of fame could be so much better than the fiction that’s going to be written about him. I’m going to guess they took a quick picture of you while you were speaking.”
Naturally he nodded.
“You would want to ask yourself, why wouldn’t Mr. Blake give you an opportunity to clean up a little? Maybe get a suit or something before he snaps a picture. Maybe even go over the questions with you before you answered them. You see your fifteen minutes of fame is not going to be the best David Foster he can be. Chances are they may edit portions of your answer to make you appear slightly less intelligent than Mr. Blake here.”
“So, your saying that I could have got a suit or something and that he is going to make me look stupid or worse?”
“Oh, that’s cute Detective Lee really, some of your best so far.”
“David, we only want information preferably facts that are going to help us find whoever is responsible for what you saw down there. How long you been out David?”
“Month or so I guess.”
“You on probation.”
“Yeah”
“What were you doing down under the bridge anyway?”
“My brother lent me his bow so I thought I might try a little target practice with those big ass carp that surface down there now and again.”
“Not even going to ask you if you had a license David. I’m not here to bust your balls. A young woman has been butchered. Her family is going to demand justice. This our City David we can’t have this in our City. What did you see?”
“I was following a carp so I could get a clean shot. I heard all this buzzing then this smell. I look up and that’s when I saw it.”
“Did you see anyone near the river while you were down there David?”
“No, just me.”
“Sounds like you may have made some poor choices in your past David. There are no rules that say you have to continue.”
“So, what about my interview? Do I get to do that over then?”
He was staring right at Blake.
“I think we have everything we need for now. We’ll be in contact if the Brick Street Bureau needs any additional information.”
“I want to try and answer those questions again and I want a different picture like the Detective said I could.”
David Foster was now locked in on Joel Blake. He followed him all the way out to his SUV.
Someone else had taken interest in the conversation between the three men. Like a chameleon, they resembled the everyday person. Unlike the reporter their notes were being stored away consciously. They remained long enough to watch the MSP team finish their collective tasks.
The MSP field personnel had finished and loading their equipment into the trailer. Monica was climbing back up the bank. I met her on the bridge. She looked visibly shaken.
“Whoever did this to that poor woman is a complete animal.”
“Do we have anything we can use right away?”
“There was another note. Our document specialist has it.”
“What did it say?”
“They scream in silence for all to hear. For tomorrow I lure another near.”
“Poetic Psychopath.”
“There’s more. He carved some sort of a symbol on her abdomen.”
“Gang symbol you think?”
“Not an expert in that field. But it doesn’t look familiar or like anything I had ever seen.”
“Have them send me the pics and the note.”
“I’ll text right now.”
“Whoever this is they are brazen no mistake. I just wonder if there is more than one person involved.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The remains and how they were secured under the bridge.
It took a few deputies just to get her down.”
“I have to get back to the Lab Roman.”
“We still on for tomorrow night?”
“I still think so. It depends on what we get through tonight. Our Supervisor has a mandate to make sure evidence is processed and available quickly. To her that means twenty-four to forty-eight hours’ tops. She reminds us that we are given the best technology to assist our group. She says we were chosen because of our skill sets.”
“Must be nice to be in demand.”
She smiled. Her beautiful eyes staring at me batting long lashes.
“Something else must be going on.”
Her directness snapped me back to the reason we were on the bridge.
“Like what?”
“We are getting pressed a little more than usual. Given the circumstances I can understand it. Call it intuition.”
I told her about the Mayor and what we thought were Feds from DC now hanging out with him. The calls to the FBI from his office.
“He should at least give your department an opportunity to develop some solid leads and solve this. It is a bit premature to start calling the FBI when all the evidence hasn’t been processed. Almost like he doesn’t trust you.
“He’s politically motivated. There is a rumor he wants to take a run at the governor next term. The FBI this early is just insulting to me. Do they have email addresses yet? Last I knew there were agents that didn’t even have a computer.”
“My brother works for the Federal Government. You should ask him.”
“I was kidding.”
“I know. He does work for an agency.”
“Which one?”
“We’ll talk over dinner tomorrow night. Your phone is lighting up.”
Lonnie was waiting in the car.
“You two getting married anytime soon?”
“Suppose you are expecting an invitation.”
“Not going to happen the way you operate. You may want to try somewhere a little more date friendly like a restaurant or a movie something traditional. Crime scenes just don’t seem appropriate and it’s kind of creepy if you ask me.”
“If you haven’t noticed we are in the middle of an investigation. Supposed to go out to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Had faith in you all along. I figured you were somewhat normal.”
“Thanks, sound advice for someone who has been out of the game how long again?”
“When you found the right one Roman none of that matters. What does matter is that Cyrus called when you were conversing with Monica.”
“What did Chief say?”
“Said we should go back to the ME’s office. They are giving this top priority. Dr. Nyguen will work until finished.”
“One can only guess who is pulling the strings on this.”
“At least everyone is rowing in the same direction Roman.”
“If Braddock weren’t seeking higher office none of the parts would move this quickly. We both know it.”
“I saw your exchange with the witness and Blake. Let me handle him from now on. We lack the Mayor’s trust as it is for whatever reason. Let’s not add fuel to that fire.”