AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER ONE
Frankie
It’s pouring buckets out here, an absolute downpour, and what am I doing? Not curled up cozy under my comforter like any sane person in L.A. would be at this ungodly hour. Oh, hell no, yours truly is standing in this rainstorm, already soaked to the bone, at yet another gruesome crime scene.
With a bitch of a hangover.
I should’ve just called it a night after clocking out last night, but how could I miss sending off Smitty in homicide as he transfers to take on organized crime? So instead of heading home, I spent the evening getting absolutely wasted, reliving the glory days of past investigations.
Fast forward to now, and I’m running on fumes, battling a wicked hangover with one measly cup of joe in my system. As I tug on some black nitrile gloves, I finally look at what dragged me out here in this miserable weather.
The poor sap looks maybe late 20s, early 30s tops. He probably considered himself quite the looker before someone worked him over really nasty. This was no clean job—guy got the drawn-out, agonizing end.
“This man was tortured,” I say to no one in particular, my eyes roaming over the vicious wounds that mar his body. Squatting down to get a better look, I examine the wounds closely, I spot a few slash marks on his organs, which further confirm my suspicion that this man was tortured.
This isn’t the first ritualistic killing and even though the methods aren’t exactly the same, I have a feeling it’s the same murderous asshole and if so, this victim makes him a serial killer. “Bastard.”
“Talking to yourself again, DeMarco?” My partner Jay’s gravelly voice cuts through the rain.
I straighten up, my knees popping. Jay’s blue eyes sparkle despite the ungodly hour. “I don’t talk to myself. It’s called taking notes. Maybe try it sometime,” I say.
Jay chuckles, his salt-and-pepper hair plastered to his forehead. He’s been my partner since my dad, his former partner, died when I was a kid. The department shrink would have a field day with that tidbit if I were dumb enough to wind up in a therapist’s office.
Jay taps his temple with his forefinger. “Who needs notes when I have a steel trap memory?”
“Oh yeah? What did you have for breakfast yesterday?”
His brows, still a deep brown, dip into a frown. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I rest my case,” I say in a self-satisfied tone. “Now, can we get back to the dead guy, please?”
I crouch next to the body and scan the DB’s stomach, intestines, liver and colon laying out on top of him. “Multiple lacerations on the abdomen and chest. Possible torture,” I mutter, more to myself than to Jay.
Jay leans in, his face inches from mine as he examines the wounds. “Yeah, and check out this puncture wound on his neck. Peri-mortem, I’d say.”
I nod, standing up and wincing as my knees protest. “Could be the cause of death.” I survey the area, noting the lack of blood. “No spatter or pooling. Body was definitely moved.”
“Yeah, this isn’t the primary crime scene.” Jay’s brow furrows as he scans the surroundings. “Damn rain might’ve washed away any trace evidence.”
I sigh, frustration bubbling up inside me. “We’ll have to rely on the autopsy. Hope the killer slipped up somewhere.”
As Jay steps away to talk to the uniforms, I take another look at the body. The cuts are too precise, too calculated. This guy knew what he was doing. A shiver runs down my spine, and it’s not from the rain. We’ve got a real sicko on our hands, and he’s got a head start. I just hope the rain hasn’t washed away our only chance to catch him.
“It’s him, Jay.” I know he doesn’t want to hear it, not yet. It’s too soon, that’s what he’s thinking, but I know that this is the same guy.
His lips pinch in that way they do when he’s preparing for a lecture. “You can’t possibly know that, Frankie.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know it yet, as in I wouldn’t swear to it in a court of law, but it’s him.” I can tell Jay’s not convinced. He’s old school and always reluctant to use the ‘s’ word because of what it means, which is usually federal investigators, tasks forces and a lot of fucking press. But I don’t care about any of that shit. I just want to catch this asshole.
“Jay,” I begin, digging in like the stubborn ass I’m known in the department to be. “The kill methods aren’t exactly the same, but his modus operandi is already showing itself.”
Jay stands and removes his gloves, swiping his overgrown wavy hair from his face. “Explain.”
“This time he exposed the organs, sure, but the cuts are similar in type. Very sharp and precise cuts, which I’m sure Dr. Montgomery will confirm.” Chris Montgomery is the medical examiner, and he knows this killer almost as well as I do.
“Lots of crazy assholes with a fetish for knives, Frankie. You find a connection between the victims yet?”
I sigh, my frustration mounting. Is Jay going to pull rank on me and take the case in a different direction? Victimology isn’t my strong suit. “Not yet, but I’m still digging.”
