Transience by Stevan Mena

idea that someone could witness something as horrific as murder and not be able to recall details from the experience.   But that didn't mean he wasn't intrigued, especially after meeting her.   He'd heard of instances where a person's mind chose to bury traumatic thoughts and memories it couldn't process; he'd done that himself.   Part of his job dealt with people who suffered from momentary lapses in reason.   Husbands who'd strangled their wives in a fit of jealous rage, then later couldn't recall doing it, denying it even happened.   Shit, there were mornings he awoke still holding onto a bottle of beer, unable to remember how he got into bed.
    He passed the faded green sign for Ann Arbor and took the exit.

    Jack stood in Sheriff Miller's brown wood paneled office, flipping through the contents of a murder report.   It was extensively detailed and annotated.   Every crime scene photograph had a cross reference of where it was taken, by whom, during what time of day.   Jack read the name on the cover, Lisa Delgado .   He stood up and spread the documents across the top of the desk.  
    Sheriff Miller stood in the corner of the room sipping coffee from a giant #1 Dad mug.   His kids had painted it for him - 14 years ago.   He was completely bald with a wrinkle in his forehead that ran vertically up into his crown, making his head look like a cracked egg.  
    "Illegal, no family, 'least none that have come forward yet," Sheriff Miller said.   "No missing person report was ever filed.   Probably scared."
    Jack sifted through picture after picture of grizzly crime scene stills.   They'd found her body just days after it was disposed of.   The carnage in the photographs was fresh, Jack could almost smell the stench of blood and decaying flesh, something he never got used to.
    "A runner found her along the side of the road; not even an attempt to conceal the remains. Just left for the elements, stripped naked, no prints, fibers, nothing.   The skull was smashed, teeth removed.   She was a Jane Doe for a few weeks."
    "How long ago?"
    "Four years?   Cause of death was asphyxiation.   Stabbed first, but purposely cut where it wouldn't be lethal.   So she'd suffer."
    Jack started to write it all down when the sheriff interrupted him.   "It's all in the report.   I'm not offering any insight the coroner hasn't already made in his notes."   Jack put his pen away and started stacking pages of the report.
    "Anything unusual or… different in his report?" Jack asked.
    "Did find indentations along the bones of her hands and feet.   Some kind of sharp wire that cut deeper the harder she pulled.   Torturous scumbag.   The damage occurred over a period of time, erosive, like when you leave an animal in a cage too long."
    "Held over a period of time," Jack said.
    "What?   Oh yes, that was his assertion too."
    Jack searched the report, finding pictures that corroborated the sheriff's account.  
    "Anything else you can tell me?"  
    The sheriff took another sip of his coffee and smacked his lips.   "A witness saw her climb into a tan car, not sure the model.   Claimed she didn't get a good look at the driver."
    "Her statement in here?"
    "Just the reporting officer's transcript, she refused to file an official one.   Afraid we might put her on the next bus to El Salvador."
    Jack found several photos of Lisa, posed pictures with good lighting.
    "These look like modeling photographs."
    Sheriff Miller nodded.   "Pretty girl. You say you got four similar cases on your ledger?"  
    "Three," Jack said, "Angelina Rosa's body hasn't been found.   No denying there's a pattern here." Jack closed the folder and looked around the room.   "You got a copy machine I can use?"

    The morning traffic heading back to Lansing was stop and go.   Jack cursed himself for not using the men's room before hitting the road.  
    He tried to distract himself from his full bladder by processing the information he'd just received.   He