“Sure. A beer.”
“What kind?”
“Any kind.”
She stared at me for a moment as her brain struggled with my request. Finally, she shrugged and walked away.
The music from the speakers pounded into the crowd. The idiot mass hopped up and down while hollering along with the lyrics.
You said you a gangsta
But you nevah pop nuttin’
You said you a wanksta
And you need to stop frontin'
The waitress brought my glass of beer back to the table. “That’ll be four bucks.”
I pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to her. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled as the crowd continued to yell along with the rapper.
“What the hell is this shit?” I asked and nodded towards the DJ.
“Old school 5 °Cent,” she gushed. “He’s awesome. We’re having his after concert party here next week. Did you know he’s playing at the arena?”
“I have no clue who in the hell the guy is.”
She twisted her lips and widened her eyes at me.
The music rattled in my brain even though I did my best to drown it with my glass of beer.
My eyes searched the tables looking for anything that looked promising. I found her at a table with a couple of brothers.
Monday, April 12 th 0554 hrs Investigative Division
TOWER
I pressed the Stop button on the mini-recorder in my hand. I had dictated my initial report, outlining what little we’d discovered so far.
My eyes burned from a lack of sleep. I rubbed them with my thumbs, but it did no good. The bile that had been deep in my throat four hours ago had worked its way up to the back of my mouth and I swallowed repeatedly to drive it back.
I rewound the tape for several seconds and pushed play.
“Victim had bruising around the neck, suggesting strangulation. There were also nine stab wounds on her upper chest. Due to the weather conditions, it was not possible at the scene to determine if these were post-mortem or if they contributed to the cause of death.”
I was surprised at the gravelly sound of my own voice.
“No apparent trace evidence was discovered at the scene. CSFU Technician Whitaker will continue his examination in conjunction with the Medical Examiner.”
I pushed Stop, then Record.
“Victim had the following items in her possession, in addition to her clothing.” I flipped my note pad page and read the list. “Sixty-three dollars in US currency, in the form of three twenty dollar bills and three ones. One condom, Safe-T brand. A silver ring on her left middle finger in the shape of a crucifix. A tube of lip balm, kiwi-strawberry flavor. A partial pack of spearmint gum. One gold necklace, also with a crucifix.”
I pressed Pause and reviewed my notes briefly before pressing record again.
“No purse was found. There was no identification or identifying paperwork.”
I clicked off the recorder and scanned my remaining notes. There was no more pertinent information that needed to be in my initial report. Mostly, the notebook was filled with questions. Three were underlined.
Who is she?
What does she do?
Who does she know?
If I could get the answers to these three questions, I could figure out what happened. The plain fact was, most people were killed by someone close to them. Lover, brother, co-worker. It was always a good place to start.
I pressed Record. “Investigation will continue, pending preliminary forensic results. Requested CSFU obtain fingerprints and run AFIS check as a priority.”
If she’d ever been fingerprinted anywhere in North America, her prints would be in AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Whitaker would take post-mortem prints and run those prints through AFIS. With any luck, that’ll solve question number one.
I flipped through my notes, making sure I had put everything I needed in the report. The information was scant. I hoped that Whitaker would come up with something more for me. He was a smart kid.
I set the recorder down and rubbed my eyes again. I exhaled heavily, cursing my luck. A second murdered girl case in two weeks. That meant more media coverage and administration interference. Dead girls are high profile.
I caught the first one because I was up next on the assignment rotation. I didn’t have a problem with that. Everyone takes a turn. It’s a bitch of a case, though, and slow going. That’s why I asked Lieutenant Crawford to give me a pass on the on-call rotation for the weekend-because I didn’t need another case right now. I needed to solve the Taylor girl case first. The request to drop out of the rotation was denied.
The Taylor file was already an inch and a half thick. Some cases got to be too thick for file folders and I had to transfer them to the large, plastic three-ring binders. I had a feeling the Taylor case would be the same way.
I closed my notebook and slid it next to the recorder. There was nothing more I could do until some of the basic forensics came back. There wasn’t even a populated area to canvass.
I grabbed the recorder and pressed Record. “Investigation continuing. Detective John Tower, Badge #212.”
I popped out the tape and labeled it with the report number. Then I put it in the scribe’s in-box. Glenda was the best transcriptionist in the city and would probably have it typed up before lunch. For all the good it would do me.
The clock on the wall read ten after six. Too late to go home and sleep. I stifled a yawn and wandered back to my desk. In half an hour, people would filter in and the division would get busy. Well, some people would get busy. Others would get busy at looking busy.
I sat back down at my desk and picked up the phone.
Teri answered on the third ring. “H’lo?” Her voice was thick with sleep.
“It’s me.”
“Howzitt?”
“What?”
She paused and yawned. “I said, how is it?”
“Rough case. It’ll take some work. How’s Ben?”
“Still asleep.”
“Good.”
“So was I, if you’re checking.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s only the second time you’ve woken me up today.” Her voice was tinged with humor. “Look, I don’t have any classes today until noon. I can get him off to school. Do you need me to come by when he gets out? I’m done at two, so it’s no problem.”
“Yeah,” I told her. “Come by. Also, I’m going to need to work some odd hours over the next couple of weeks. Can you do any nights?”
“No problem. You guys are my only clients right now.”
Probably the only ones she needed, at the price I was paying. “All right.”
“Why do you have to work nights?”
“Just some interviews I can’t get in the day time.”
“Oh.”
“Thanks for coming by so quick tonight.”
“It was easy.” She yawned again. “I have no life.”
“Me, neither.”
She said goodbye and I hung up.
Ben was taken care of, so I turned back to the desk in front of me. The Taylor file was my only other open case, so I grabbed it and opened it up for review.
Fawn Taylor, born Fawn Madison, was fourteen years of age. She’d been reported as a runaway by her mother, Andie Taylor, one month ago. Two weeks later, her body was discovered next to a dumpster behind the Bingo Parlor at Sprague and Stone. A sixty-seven year old grandmother, Vivian Marsh, spotted her as she walked out to her car after losing her thirty dollar bingo allotment.
I read through the background on Fawn. Her step-father was Steve Taylor. He married her mother when Fawn was three and adopted the little girl two years later. Apparently, her biological father has never had any contact. Andie Taylor said the pregnancy was the result of a one-night stand.
Fawn had good grades at Sacajewea Junior High School until recently. According to her mother, most teachers said she under performed. Last year, her parents caught her with marijuana and her mother feared she was sexually active.