Chapter 3

Detective Thomas McNelly brought his battered Ford to a stop in front of the apartment building and waited for the engine to rattle itself out before laboriously prying his well over six foot frame from the cramped interior. He was not a handsome man by any common definition of the word. Although still shy of forty, years of caffeine and nicotine addiction combined with many sleepless nights had put gray streaks in his thinning brown hair and had left spiderwebs of lines around his mouth and eyes. It didn't help that these features were on a face that even his mother had been known to describe as "unremarkable."

Still, there was something about him, perhaps the twinkle of kindness in his eyes, the deep smile wrinkles at the edges of his mouth or the air of carefree good humor that surrounded him, that inspired people to trust him. As he quickly walked toward the building, he showed no evidence of that good humor. Frowning in irritation he counted four - no - five, black and whites blocking off the street, lights flashing blue and red.

He slowed enough to allow a short, stout uniformed sergeant to catch up and greet him, "Nice of you to finally join us, Detective."

"Fuck you, Mark," Tom answered lightly, "What can I say? Your mom was just too horny to let me leave."

"Ha. Funny." Despite the sarcastic tone, Sergeant Mark Kimmel did have a grin stretched across his broad weathered face. The grin abruptly vanished, "You're going to love this one, Tom."

"Before we get started, how about sending some of these squad cars away? We're drawing a lot of attention here. The last thing we want is more media attention." The last was an understatement. There had been at least three murders and more than a dozen missing persons in less than two months and there had been no leads whatsoever. The media had been getting brutal, the articles growing increasingly scathing. The chief and the mayor were unhappy, to say the least.

"Sure, no problem." Mark put his words to action and began to circulate among the patrolmen, gruffly giving orders. Soon only the two of them were left.

Tom glanced around the suddenly empty street, "No ambulance. No coroner's van. Please tell me the body hasn't been moved yet."

Mark gave a quick shake of his head, "Sorry, boss. The body's been gone since yesterday. No one suspected foul play until the autopsy this morning. If it's any consolation, the CME's livid. He's threatening to fire the poor schmucks who collected the body and didn't notice that he was a gallon or so short and had a broken neck. Although in their defense, there's no sign of forced entry and no sign of a struggle. The whole place is meticulously neat. The guy had a bit of an OCD thing going, I think. Murder wouldn't have been my first guess, either."

"Any good news?"

"The guy's family all live out of state. They've been waiting for the body to be released before coming in to close up his affairs. So, the apartment hasn't been disturbed since the guys from the coroner's office were there."

They started walking into the building. "How was the body found?"

"The victim didn't show up for work yesterday. First day he's missed in ten years. His boss tried to call him and, when there was no answer, sent an intern over to check on him. Building manager unlocked the door for him, but the chain was in place, so they called us. The patrolman who responded to the call broke the chain, found the body and called the coroner."

Tom followed Mark to the elevator and waited while Mark found and pressed the button for the tenth floor. "Has anyone talked to the manager?"

"Yeah. Nothing there. Said the victim was always quiet, paid his rent in advance. Yadda. Yadda."

"What do we know about the victim?"

"Name is Lawrence Eugene Scripps. Accountant. Worked for that big firm downtown. Uh, Morris &..."

"Appelton?"

"Yeah, that's the place. Never missed work. Worked almost as much overtime as you. Everyone apparently liked him well enough, but no close friends."

"Injuries? Cause of death?"

"Same as the others. Death was caused by massive blood loss. No apparent wounds. Neck broken post mortem. It looks like our killer is moving on up to the nice part of town."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"Do we know the time of death?"

"Not with any accuracy. Bodies don't hold heat well when there's no blood. He was room temperature when the coroners got here. Best we can figure is sometime Monday night."

They pulled latex gloves onto their hands as they walked down the hall and ducked under the crime scene tape stretched across one of the doors. "Fingerprints? Physical evidence?"

"The CSI boys left right before you got here. They found a number of areas that had been wiped down recently. They found some prints in other places, but I wouldn't hold my breath. I'd bet my dear, sweet dick to your dollar that they all belong to our dearly departed Mr. Scripps. They used their vacuum in the bedroom, but you know how hit and miss fiber evidence is. Other than that, the place is clean."