Page 7 of A New Days Don

I can’t make out the words being said on the other line, but I can hear the rumblings of a man clearly upset.

When the person on the other end stops speaking, Vicek continues to spew his sugar-coated bullshit, “Yes, we are going to head for the lead tonight.”

Another pause as the man on the other end speaks, and then I hear the telltale sign of him being hung up on. Before I can snort, Vicek says, “Yes, good chatting with you too.”

Oh, come on. Faking as if you are the one saying goodbye? That has to be a whole other level of desperation to be taken seriously.

Vicek tosses the phone to his table and turns in his obnoxiously large office chair. His worn hazel eyes meet mine. His chin held high so he could look down his nose at me.

“How nice of you to finally join me,” Vicek growls through gritted teeth. His shoulders are tense. His hands are stiff in his lap, giving away his irritation and annoyance.

I can’t say anything before he continues on, “Have a seat,” Vicek gestures to the table littered with a handful of documents, “We have a case to get you caught up on.”

If I didn’t have better control of my facial features, my jaw would be on the floor at how little Vicek and his team have put together in the last three months, with fifteen crime scenes to pull evidence from.

We don’t know most of the women’s identities. Only three have been identified.

Cleo, or Crystal as her stage name would have it, Peters. Our unknown subject’s first kill. He was sloppy and left her on the side of the road after mutilating her body.

Cleo was identified by another stripper from La Rose strip club.

Cleo was found by a man, Gale Robbins, on his way to work. The man’s vomit was collected near the crime scene, though he was deemed innocent when his alibi had him on a plane during the time Cleo was raped and murdered. However, the rest of her scene was contaminated due to him attempting to save her while also puking over her and next to her.

I would be more upset, but Mr. Robbins honestly thought he could resuscitate her with his limited knowledge of CPR. Gale Robbins has been institutionalized with post-traumatic psychosis.

Maeve, or Ruby, Long.

The killer’s fifth victim. Identified by her sister. She was addicted to methamphetamines and worked the corner in exchange for cash or drugs.

Laid in a culvert for over ten days before a cop, Jacob Wynner, found her body. But by the time we had found her, her body was contaminated with sewer water, debris, and dirt. The killer left no bodily fluids or DNA on or in her body.

Samiera, or Goldie, Rahman.

The killer’s thirteenth victim.

Identified by her father. She was a first-generation American. He had found her on the streets several times and each time begged her to come home with him. To allow him to help her overcome her addiction to alcohol. Her father killed himself the same day his daughter was discovered.

Samiera was discovered by an elderly couple who were walking the streets only a month ago. The sight of her gave the elderly woman a heart attack, and the couple didn’t stay on the scene.

Any evidence was ruined by a rookie.

The files continue, but aside from the three, nobody has been identified yet. Not that, that is a surprise. It’s typical for people who work the streets to be forgotten over time. Women and men who end up stuck begging and stripping for money are forgotten by their families and friends. They are lost to society.

Each one of these mystery women died with no dignity, by a man who stripped whatever they had left and left them bare and discarded like trash. My hands clench as a wave of panic thrums too close to the surface of my veins.

We have failed them.

It doesn’t matter if you are someone with family and friends, or if you are one of these women who lack any structure to help them through their tough spot. The second you are raped and discarded, society brands you as dirty, and you are left for dead.

Deep breath in, one, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

This shouldn’t be the way that it goes. These women deserve so much better. Women, in general, deserve better than the hand that they are dealt.

I can feel Vicek’s gaze as if it’s a tangible entity carving a prickly line down my face, chin, and neck. Judging. Waiting for me to crack.

I almost do.

“This is all you have?” My voice wavers, but I hold back the crack that threatens to reveal the inner panic brewing. The way I’m mentally standing on a precipice, trying to hold myself back.