Lauren Read online

  Tom sighed, sounding annoyed, but asked questions anyway.

  "So, you saw someone talking to the victim? What did he look like?"

  The bum remained silent. Lauren figured he was either trying to focus due to his drunken stupor or he stalled for something.

  "Give me a drink and I'll tell ya,” the guy demanded.

  Lauren noted his bloodshot eyes, as well as just how filthy his salt and pepper beard really was. He stepped closer.

  The blue of his eyes looked glossy, which confirmed his drunken condition.

  "I ain't got time for this. What do ya know, guy? Don't waste our time,” Tom added, looking rather irritated, as he eyed the bum and was sure to keep his distance. The guy reeked.

  "How about you, pretty lady? You got a drink? I'll talk to you.” The bum moved closer to Lauren. He was about to touch her when Tom blocked the move.

  "Get this piece of shit out of here,” Tom stated, as the bum eyed Lauren like a piece of meat. She got the chills at the way he seemed to stare right through her, as well as getting another full inhale of his odor.

  Guy Johnston, a patrol officer, grabbed the bum and pulled him away from Lauren and Tom. Tom rubbed the top of his hand across the front of his nose and cleared his throat as if that would help alleviate the odor.

  Between the stench of the dead body and that of the bum, Lauren figured she would more than likely have to destroy the clothing she wore.

  It was one of the many reasons, besides salary, why homicide detectives didn't wear designer clothing.

  "You know, Phelps, sometimes I get fed up with this shit."

  Lauren just smiled at Tom's statement. She knew the ‘job’ could be frustrating sometimes.

  "Let's wrap things up, Detective, then we'll meet at the medical examiner's office.” Tom winked at Lauren, and she pulled out her notebook again, adding some final notes and trying to ignore her innate sense of smell.

  "You always want to meet me at all the classy places, Lieu."

  He laughed and Lauren jotted down some notes.

  Upon arriving at the scene 1:18 p.m., a 911 call 1:00 p.m. caller anonymous and unidentified. Patrol officers Guy Johnston and Lizzy Lopez, first officers on the scene. Crime scene taped off. Officers followed proper procedures to help contain evidence. Temperature, 89 degrees, no breeze, the air thick, stuffy, bright, sunny summer day.

  Body looks to be a male, mid to upper forties, brown hair, medium build, dead at least ten hours. Rigor mortis has set in.

  Location: Metro North station, 1/2 mile from terminal. One possible witness, detained by Officer Johnston.

  "You got everything down, Phelps?” Tom asked, smiling. Lauren was a by-the-book detective. She followed the Practical Homicide Checklist and Field Guide to the ‘T’ and this homicide wouldn't be any different.

  "Yes, sir,” she said, just as the forensics technicians finished taking pictures of the crime scene. There was one tire mark they took an imprint of, which may turn out to be their only lead. Lauren would check on everything later in the day.

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  Chapter 2

  "River Point Police Department. Commander Don Phelps speaking."

  "Good afternoon, Commander Phelps,” Lauren teased her dad, as he answered his office phone rather seriously.

  "Hey, honey. I thought for sure I wouldn't hear back from you until later today. When you didn't answer my call this morning, I assumed you were too busy."

  "Yeah, I had a call to go on, and now I'm on my way to the ME's. I had a few minutes to call you back. What's going on?” Lauren maneuvered the unmarked police car down the busy city streets.

  "Are you coming up to visit this weekend? The town is having their big Memorial Day festivities."

  "That's the plan, unless something else pops up. Should I still meet you, Mom, and Dave at the Mardullo's house?"

  "Yeah. I just saw Steven yesterday, in town, and he said Victoria's brother is done with his tour in Iraq. It's going to be a huge celebration."

  "Oh, my God, that's fantastic. I haven't seen James in years. Victoria, Sherry, and Peter must be so excited. The whole Mardullo and Malley family must be."

  "They are. James hasn't even met his two nephews Danielle and Joseph. He's only seen pictures."

  "That's awesome. I will definitely try my hardest."

  "Hey, honey, you do know there are other detectives working in New York City?"

  Lauren let out a sigh. Everyone seemed to be on her case lately about her work hours.

  "I know that, Daddy. Listen, I've got to go. I'll see you this weekend.” Lauren then hung up the phone.

  The voice of the dispatcher on the police radio crackled in the background. And as Lauren drove down the city side streets, she noted everyone was out of their apartments hoping for some small, cooling breeze and a cool night tonight.

  The past week had delivered a heat wave 24/7 and she wasn't the only one fed up with it.

  Lauren thought back to her conversation with her dad. He was only voicing his concern. She really shouldn't have gotten angry with him. He, of all people, should understand her determination and desire to be the best homicide detective she could be.

  After all, she had a lot of barriers against her. She was a female and female detectives, good ones, were few and far between.

  Some fellow female officers were willing to sleep their way to the top. Therefore, it made it more difficult for her to prove herself and convince the brass she wouldn't take that route.

  She made third grade detective by solving homicides, following the rules, and getting the job done. She owed a lot of it to her dad and Tom McNulty.

  Along the way, she met other detectives who didn't always follow protocol, but they got the job done.

  Her father was a great success and after helping to solve the Mardullo murder case, he was retained by the River Point P.D. to be C.O.

  Police work was in her blood, and she was good at it. No one would get away with minimizing her abilities or claiming she didn't have the instincts or the stomach for it.

  Once again, the police scanner interrupted Lauren's thoughts just as she entered the parking lot at the coroner's office.

  Someone couldn't take the heat and was found dead. They were dropping like flies this week.

  She found a tight parking spot and went inside.

  * * * *

  Lauren met McNulty in the hallway, outside the autopsy room. She hated this place, and, no matter what any detective said, she would never get used to viewing a body, especially during or after an autopsy.

  They both placed the material masks over their noses and mouths and prepared to enter the room.

  Dr. Edward Monty was the pathologist assigned to their John Doe.

  The mask didn't do much to hide the smell and both Lauren and Tom held the facemask tighter against their mouths as Dr. Monty went over the findings.

  "So, you're not sure what type of weapon was used?” Tom asked.

  "Not certain right now, but it was something sharp and thin."

  "A razor?” Lauren asked.

  "Possibly. There were also some bloodstains found on the victim's pants, which aren't consistent with the direction his own blood would have taken after the initial cut. I sealed that up and sent it to the lab. There was a piece of thread or carpet fiber that was found across the victim's chest."

  "You mean as if he grabbed the victim from behind and slit his throat?"

  "Exactly. So while he did it, his clothing touched the clothing of the victim."

  "Interesting,” Tom added. They hoped these small clues would lead them to their suspect.

  Lauren went a step further, recalling her training and textbooks she read. “You're talking about transfer or exchange. Right, Doc?"

  "Exactly. As you know, Detective Phelps, the perpetrator will take away traces of the victim and the scene,” Dr. Monty stated.

  "And the victim will retain traces of the perpetrator and may leave traces of himsel
f on the perpetrator. Also, the perpetrator will leave traces of himself at the scene,” Lauren added.

  "Hopefully, we'll get lucky then,” Tom said and they continued the autopsy.

  When the autopsy concluded, they headed into the hallway.

  Lauren was relieved to discard the protective coverings she had to wear.

  "So, gorgeous, I know you said no to dinner, but since it's past lunch time, what do you say we grab a bite together?” Tom asked as they walked through the doors, into the heated street again.

  Lauren gave him a semi-disgusted look.

  He raised his hands up. “What?"

  "Come on, Tom, I'm not exactly very hungry at the moment.” Lauren still tried to get the smell out of her senses as the humid air just seemed to imprison it.

  "You got to eat, kid, and how many times have I told you this is the life of a homicide detective,” Tom teased, knowing the comment would get under Lauren's skin.

  She shot him a dirty look, as they approached her car.

  Every homicide investigator knew that in order to stay neutral and conduct a thorough investigation, one needed to look at the body as forensic evidence. The life and spirit were already gone, and on their way to hopefully meet a higher power.

  The worst thing a detective could do was to look at a victim and the murder as if it were a family member, sister, brother, parent, or friend.

  "You know, Tom, I'll have lunch with you. But you're paying,” Lauren told him, and he smiled as he got into her car.

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  Chapter 3

  The old rock and roll song Sixteen Candles, by Johnny Mistro and the Crests, played on the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the restaurant. Each chrome barstool covered in shiny, sparkling red vinyl matched the surrounding booths. The tables were white and bordered in chrome. The waitresses wore old-fashioned fifties outfits with matching white caps.

  It was a popular theme for restaurants these days, and they were popping up left and right throughout the surrounding suburbs.

  It was a likable era, marked in history by great singers like Elvis, the Platters, Four Seasons, Buddy Holly, Chubby Checker, and Johnny Mistro and the Crests. The list went on. Most people loved the music, and places like these were always busy.

  He sat in the corner on a barstool, watching the young women who attended the local university a few blocks up the street.

  They were beauties, but he preferred the more mature women, who still had that innocent look about them.

  If this place didn't deliver this week's special, there were a plethora of similar places to find his next victim.

  He didn't feel so safe in the city anymore.

  After tonight, he would head north and out of the city.

  He finished the last sip of his homemade maraschino cherry coke, tipped the waitress, and left the restaurant. He got in his box truck, and made his way through the traffic to the next location, past 261st Street. Plenty of young women would be hanging out in the bars within walking distance to St. Mary's College.

  He knew all of them, had been doing this route for the past year and a half.

  Smiling, he thought about his first victim, over four years ago, and the incredible feeling of anticipation before his first kill.

  He succeeded in evading capture. He'd been triumphant, even with such great odds against him, including a few well known ‘top notch detectives.'

  He felt invincible after that special kill.

  He wasn't happy only having his fantasies, or just a handful of willing partners. He wasn't going to pay some disgusting, contaminated hooker to fulfill his desires. He loathed those disease-infested animals.

  They weren't good enough, not even close.

  What he desired was an almost purity. An innocence best described as ‘good girls.’ Not promiscuous women. He wanted classy, gorgeous, sexy, young women, who hid their curves and sexuality out of shyness, and who had very little experience.

  They stayed well hidden, but he had a special knack for finding them.

  He was getting better and better at it, but still, he had yet to find that perfect woman who fit his fantasies completely. There always seemed to be something missing. He strived to find that special woman, with an enormous desire to feel complete.

  He parked the dirty-boxed truck behind the building. It was getting late, and he had a job to do tomorrow. He got that feeling that tonight wasn't the night, as he walked toward the entrance of another location.

  Then he stopped right in his tracks, nearly lost his breath. His heart pounded against his t-shirt.

  There she sat.

  Destiny.

  The knockout redhead smiled shyly as a group of young men tried to gain her attention.

  The redhead's friends were flirtatious, as she stayed silent, practically burying her head.

  "Your mine ... and we belong ... together."

  The words to the song, his song, echoed in his head and a smile formed on his lips.

  * * * *

  Lauren made her way through the 53rd Precinct in the Bronx. The stone-faced building was one of many ancient dwellings in the surrounding area. Sometimes, she wondered about all the law enforcement officers who entered this building over the decades—some, decades ago—including in her own family, on both her mother and her father's sides. She was meant to be here, to serve here, and she was so proud to be a part of history. There was Uncle Roger, a homicide detective who retired as a homicide commander. Then there was Uncle Marty who was a Sergeant. There were four cousins as well, but they worked in different precincts in different boroughs. She knew it fed her ego a bit. It also provided fuel for the goals she set. She wasn't going to stop at homicide detective even though she loved it.

  She gave her non-committal ‘hi’ and ‘hello's’ as she passed the desk sergeant, some other brass, and then proceeded to the shared, cramped offices upstairs.

  The room was crowded, every desk taken. Every inch of space for that matter was over crowded, cramped, and being used beyond its dimensions.

  She waved and said hello to a few more people, then made her way across the office. Once she was at the desk she shared with two other detectives, she saw the pile of messages for her.

  * * * *

  "You're Miss Popularity today, let me tell ya. Some of us have to work, you know? We can't just hang out at the M.E.'s office,” Detective Jack Murphy teased.

  They teamed up on another homicide of a murdered female last week. She'd attended St. Mary's College on 272nd Street in the Bronx.

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is there anything new on the Wilson case?” She thought about the young, twenty-two year old blonde, Renee Wilson, who'd attended the college. So far, in the investigation, the woman had no enemies, no boyfriend, and seemed to be the victim in an isolated incident.

  Her family was devastated, and half the pink pieces of paper on Lauren's desk contained messages left by them for her.

  "There was that strand of fuzz under her nails. The lab determined it was some kind of carpeting."

  "Well, that's something. I wish we had more to tell her family. I hate calling them back and telling them we have no leads, no clues whatsoever.” In frustration, Lauren tossed the notes back down on her desk.

  Jack leaned on the corner of the desk.

  He was a few years older than Lauren, and they had teamed up on homicides the last few years. He was newly married with light brown hair, green eyes, and a mature looking face. Unlike Lauren, who was thirty-four and could pass for being in her early twenties, especially with her long brown hair she kept in the latest styles, as well as her clothing. She mostly wore black dress slacks, with various colored blouses. It was a classy look that didn't reveal much, and that's how she preferred it.

  When she went out on a date, which hadn't been for over a year now, she dressed a little sexier but still conservative.

  She knew she had a great body, was physically fit due to her intense kickboxing workouts, and didn't feel it ne
cessary to advertise. At the moment, her enthusiasm about her workouts and her life disintegrated. She felt for the family and empathized with their loss.

  "Don't beat yourself up, Lauren. You were really good with the family. They feel comfortable with you, so just be honest. It's only been a week and we still have the bartender to interview. He's finally back from his little trip."

  "Great! Why didn't you tell me? When are we going?"

  "Right now. Remember I was waiting for you?"

  "All right. Let's go!” Lauren replied and she and Jack made their way out of the office but not before bumping into Captain Morris.

  "Hey, Captain!” Jack said, and Lauren smiled.

  The captain acknowledged them both but spoke directly to Lauren. “Anything on that John Doe yet?"

  "Not too much. I'm waiting on results from the lab. We did find a set of tire tracks. They could be from the killer's vehicle. We'll just have to wait and see,” Lauren stated.

  "You're working that one with McNulty, right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Keep me updated."

  "Sure will,” Lauren said and the captain continued walking to his office.

  "He always speaks to you nicely,” Jack added, sounding kind of annoyed, as he and Lauren made their way down the stairs.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He didn't even want to talk to me. He could care less. It's funny that you're one of the select few detectives he's respectful to."

  "Well, I'm respectful to him. Maybe if you guys didn't bad mouth him all the time..."

  "Oh, give me a break. The guy asks for it. He's so fucking anal, it's not funny. Did you see that suit he's wearing? It's fucking ninety degrees out there and even hotter in here. Who the fuck wears a three piece suit in the summer time, never mind an outdated one?"

  "Two words, Jack ... Air conditioning."

  Jack shook his head, as they continued through the front door and onto the streets. They had to suffer, but the freaking captain had an air conditioning unit in his office. It was nearly three in the afternoon. The temperature wasn't letting up.

  Lauren and Jack made their way to the car, noting the angry faces and attitudes the humid temperatures seemed to be causing in people.