James got on the radio
and called for the Crime Scene Unit. There was no doubt in his mind that
Malcolm Davis had been there.
But where were the bodies? Why had he
taken the bodies away? Was this some change in the pattern or was there some
special reason why he didn’t want these particular bodies found? Was he trying
to conceal this crime for some reason? Had there even been a crime here?
It made no sense.
Detectives Tony Vargas and Mike
Willis, who were also assigned to the taskforce, showed up at the same time as
the Crime Scene Unit. Vargas, who seemed to change styles and fashions like a
chameleon, was wearing a black suit with gray pinstripes that was tapered at
the waist with big wide collars like a zoot suit. On his feet he wore black and
white Stacy Adams with tassels. His hair was slicked back and his moustache had
been shaved to a thin line tracing his upper lip. He looked like a gangster
from the roaring twenties. Willis, with his
big feet, big ears, pointy-head, glasses, long neck, and oversized Adam’s
apple, looked like Gomer Pyle. James was so overwhelmed by the case that he
couldn’t even think of anything sarcastic to say. Still, he couldn’t resist
shaking his head like an amused parent watching two slightly dimwitted though
well-meaning children.
“Okay, so what the fuck’ve we got
here?” Vargas drawled, with a Newport 100 dangling from his lip, dropping ashes
onto the carpet.
“I’m not sure. See all that blood on
the sheet? That’s not from no nose bleed.” James casually removed the cigarette
from Tony’s mouth and tossed it out the door. He didn’t feel he needed to explain
to him that a good defense attorney could convince a jury that those few
cigarette ashes had contaminated the entire crime scene, calling into question
the validity of anything they found there. If it was the detectives themselves
who brought in the cigarette ashes, who’s to say how much more of the evidence
was in fact left by them? It was an old argument that had fucked every
detective at one time or another.
“No shit!” Willis said, looking at
the gory sheet tacked to the upper corners of the window. “And look at this. It
looks like somebody’s been doin’ some cleaning and it sure as shit wasn’t the
slobs who live in this dump.”
Willis had the remarkable knack for
looking like a complete moron while in fact possessing one of the finest
investigative minds in the department.
“Let’s wait and see what the CSU boys
come up with,” James said
The two Crime Scene guys, one
Filipino and one black, were busy taking pictures, dusting for fingerprints,
and bagging and tagging anything that looked like it could possibly be
evidence. The last thing they did was spray everything with Luminal. The whole
room seemed to turn green. There was blood everywhere—on the walls, the floor,
the ceiling. A massacre had taken place here.
But where were the bodies?
“That much blood, I’d say we were
definitely looking at a murder scene,” the effeminate looking Filipino offered,
though his observation was hardly needed. The way the blood was splattered
floor to ceiling suggested an arterial spray that could only have come from
mortal wounds.
“Could one body have produced this
much blood?” Vargas asked.
“Not even if you drained every last drop of blood out
of it,” the technician replied. “See the way the blood sprayed all the way
across the room here and almost hit the ceiling?”
He pointed to the glowing trail of Luminal begun at
the larger puddle in the middle of the room, trailed across the floor, and
climbed the far wall.
“That had to have been a powerful blow and most likely
one of the first. But after awhile, there
wouldn’t have been enough blood left in the body to spray like that. It would
have just kind of dripped, but there is blood sprayed in every direction. That
indicates to me that we are looking at multiple victims. Multiple casualties.”
“The Family Man.” Vargas said,
and called for the Crime Scene Unit. There was no doubt in his mind that
Malcolm Davis had been there.
But where were the bodies? Why had he
taken the bodies away? Was this some change in the pattern or was there some
special reason why he didn’t want these particular bodies found? Was he trying
to conceal this crime for some reason? Had there even been a crime here?
It made no sense.
Detectives Tony Vargas and Mike
Willis, who were also assigned to the taskforce, showed up at the same time as
the Crime Scene Unit. Vargas, who seemed to change styles and fashions like a
chameleon, was wearing a black suit with gray pinstripes that was tapered at
the waist with big wide collars like a zoot suit. On his feet he wore black and
white Stacy Adams with tassels. His hair was slicked back and his moustache had
been shaved to a thin line tracing his upper lip. He looked like a gangster
from the roaring twenties. Willis, with his
big feet, big ears, pointy-head, glasses, long neck, and oversized Adam’s
apple, looked like Gomer Pyle. James was so overwhelmed by the case that he
couldn’t even think of anything sarcastic to say. Still, he couldn’t resist
shaking his head like an amused parent watching two slightly dimwitted though
well-meaning children.
“Okay, so what the fuck’ve we got
here?” Vargas drawled, with a Newport 100 dangling from his lip, dropping ashes
onto the carpet.
“I’m not sure. See all that blood on
the sheet? That’s not from no nose bleed.” James casually removed the cigarette
from Tony’s mouth and tossed it out the door. He didn’t feel he needed to explain
to him that a good defense attorney could convince a jury that those few
cigarette ashes had contaminated the entire crime scene, calling into question
the validity of anything they found there. If it was the detectives themselves
who brought in the cigarette ashes, who’s to say how much more of the evidence
was in fact left by them? It was an old argument that had fucked every
detective at one time or another.
“No shit!” Willis said, looking at
the gory sheet tacked to the upper corners of the window. “And look at this. It
looks like somebody’s been doin’ some cleaning and it sure as shit wasn’t the
slobs who live in this dump.”
Willis had the remarkable knack for
looking like a complete moron while in fact possessing one of the finest
investigative minds in the department.
“Let’s wait and see what the CSU boys
come up with,” James said
The two Crime Scene guys, one
Filipino and one black, were busy taking pictures, dusting for fingerprints,
and bagging and tagging anything that looked like it could possibly be
evidence. The last thing they did was spray everything with Luminal. The whole
room seemed to turn green. There was blood everywhere—on the walls, the floor,
the ceiling. A massacre had taken place here.
But where were the bodies?
“That much blood, I’d say we were
definitely looking at a murder scene,” the effeminate looking Filipino offered,
though his observation was hardly needed. The way the blood was splattered
floor to ceiling suggested an arterial spray that could only have come from
mortal wounds.
“Could one body have produced this
much blood?” Vargas asked.
“Not even if you drained every last drop of blood out
of it,” the technician replied. “See the way the blood sprayed all the way
across the room here and almost hit the ceiling?”
He pointed to the glowing trail of Luminal begun at
the larger puddle in the middle of the room, trailed across the floor, and
climbed the far wall.
“That had to have been a powerful blow and most likely
one of the first. But after awhile, there
wouldn’t have been enough blood left in the body to spray like that. It would
have just kind of dripped, but there is blood sprayed in every direction. That
indicates to me that we are looking at multiple victims. Multiple casualties.”
“The Family Man.” Vargas said,
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