Angels & Sinners: The Motor City Edition (27 page)

Leaning out the door, I call down to the newbie, “Hey, has this room been worked yet?”

“No, Sir,” she says, wide eyed. I must intimidate her. Oh well, shit happens. I walk over to the mattress and a scarlet red stain has pooled in the center under the clothes. The clothing is nothing special—a baby blue V-neck t-shirt and a purple lace bra. The t-shirt has been cut straight up the middle and soaked with blood in the back. It appears the attack started here but ended in the other room. Not finding any type of identification, I head back to the first room, where Nate is just zipping the body bag closed.

“Find anything useful in there?” Bobby asks, sifting through the trash on the floor.

“It looks like the attack began in that room but ended here. There is a nasty mattress and her top is nicely folded in the center of it. That room was spotless; the killer cleaned up,” I reply.

“Asshole. No ID, though, huh?” Bobby shudders and shakes his head.

Chuckling, I pat him on the back, “If only it were that easy, bro.”

“All right, I’m done here, gentlemen. I’ll start her autopsy first thing in the morning,” Nate says as he pushes gurney with the body out of the room.
When the hell did he bring that up here?

“Yeah, we’re pretty much done here, too, Angelo. CSI can get the rest. It’s late, let’s get some sleep since we won’t be able to identify her ‘til morning.” Bobby hands over the evidence bag he was holding to the newbie and starts to head out.

Looking at my watch again, it’s just after ten pm, “No way, man, it’s early enough you can start to work on her.”

“No can do, boss. She’s not dead until she is warm and dead. She needs to defrost just a bit. She will be ready by morning, scout’s honor,” Nate snickers.

Defeated, I tell Bobby, “I’ll be at the station by seven am and so will you.”

“You get the coffee then,” Bobby grumbles and walks out the door. Getting in my car, I blow into my hands to warm them up while this crap car warms up. I would give my right nut for a new squad car, but it’s Detroit, we’re broke. The city just filed bankruptcy for crying out loud; I see nothing new in my future. What seems like hours later, I’m finally headed home. Stripping down in the dark, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, I make a mental note to do laundry soon and head for the shower. I need to wash the funk off of me. When I finally make it to bed, I fall asleep and begin to dream and I’m haunted by a set of beautiful deep blue eyes.

CHAPTER 3

Waking up out of a dead sleep and in a cold sweat, I look around confused. The clock on the nightstand says it’s only four am. Well, sleep is over rated, right? Seeing as I didn’t fall asleep until after two this morning, I roll over and try to go back to sleep. Tossing and turning for what feels like a lifetime, I give up. There’s no point in trying to go back to sleep, so I think a good workout is in order. Throwing the covers back, I get up and head to the spare room. I try to remember what I could’ve possibly dreamt about in that short amount of time. Throughout my entire workout, the only thing that comes to mind are those blue eyes. By the time I am on my last set, I’ve given up on recalling the dream. I chalk it up to the fact that the victim’s eyes were blue and I push out for the last time, setting the bar back in its cradle. I quickly shower before heading to the station, only stopping to get Bobby’s coffee. He’s a jerk without his caffeine in the morning and I’m not in the mood to have to kick his ass today. We have a body to identify and a killer to find, and surprisingly, I make it to the station in record time. As I’m pulling into my parking spot, Bobby pulls into the lot.

Once he’s out of the car, I begin razzing him, “Wow! You’re on time for once.” He is rarely on time when it comes to work at the office, but at a crime scene he’s Johnny on the spot.

“Eh, couldn’t sleep and wanted coffee,” Bobby mumbles as he takes the cup from me.

“You, too¸ huh? Work will get us going,” I say, only half joking.

Walking into the station is one of the most disheartening things. A once gorgeous foundation with its unique structures and ornate detailing has become nothing but a rundown pile of lawsuits waiting to happen. Taking the stairs is by far the safest thing to do since the elevator is a death trap and I refuse to use it. When I reach my cluttered desk and try looking for my messages, I realize how badly I need to clean up this disaster. I have case files and crap all over the desk. There is really only one stack I need—my five cold cases that I look at religiously. These files are ones my father couldn’t solve before he was forced to retire after a bullet almost took his life. Not wanting to think about the mess, I find my messages and start to read them.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, these are all from Jeanie about that damn dog.”
What does she think I can do for her? I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about her and that stupid dog.

“Huh?” Bobby says, confused.

“I spoke to Jeanie last night before I called you. She was freaking out, saying her groomer stole her annoying ass dog Jojo or some fucked up name like that. I told her I wasn’t animal control and hung up on her. She obviously hasn’t taken the hint.” Shrugging, I throw the messages in the trash can. I have more important things to do than help a cheater, so instead I engross myself in these mundane reports which are pointless and take forever. I’m not that fast at typing so it takes time to get these done. Since Bobby and I are planning on heading down to the morgue around noon, it gives me time to make a game plan to catch a killer.

“Angelo! Baby, where are you?” a shrill voice calls me out of my paperwork haze. I duck down and pray she doesn’t see me, but of course, one of my wonderful coworkers rats me out and she clicks toward me.

Son of a bitch,
“What do you want Jeanie?” I say through gritted teeth.

Popping her gum, she answers in that annoyingly high pitched squeak, “I want to press charges against that groomer.”

“Press charges for what?” I’m not even trying to hide my annoyance.

“For kidnapping. Gigi still hasn’t come home. Here, this is a booklet with her information on it.” She hands me the pamphlet and I roll my eyes at her and respond as calmly as possible.

“Will you quit calling me baby? We broke up. There’s nothing I can do about your groomer. I’m sure the dog will show up, sooner or later.” As I hand the paper back to her, the picture of the groomer catches my attention. I have seen those beautiful, cobalt blue eyes before and that long, jet black hair.

Get the fuck outta here
, “Bobby let’s go.” Grabbing my keys, I start to walk out of the squad room.

Jeanie catches up to me, “Are you going to arrest her, baby?”

I roll my eyes at her endearment, “No, I’m not. Will you please just go home? I’ll call you, okay? I have to go, something important has come up.” I don’t give her time to answer as I take the steps two at a time.

“Hold up there, Tonto.” Hearing Bobby behind me, I slow down to let him catch up. “What’s up? Where are we going?”

I hand him the brochure and ask, “Look familiar?”

“Fucking shit! This is our Jane Doe from Otis last night.” With this new information, he realizes why I’m in such a hurry.

“We’re going to see Nate and see if he found anything out yet, like who she is.” We jump in the car and head over to the morgue, praying the ten minute drive is just that, but on Detroit streets, you never know.

***

I always hate coming to the morgue. It’s so final and smells funny—like a mixture of stale disinfectant, bleach, and iron. It’s almost as cold inside as it is outside, with it being a giant freezer and all. Icy, metal tables, toe tags, and white sheets line the walls. The influx of unclaimed bodies has the employees scrambling to catch up. Finding Nate in this mess might become an undertaking that I don’t care to partake in, so instead, I break the silence, “NATE! Where you at?”

“Back here,” a muffled voice answers. Walking toward the sound of his voice, we find him elbow deep in a body.

“Damn, Nate, that’s gross. Stop while we’re here, please?” Bobby whispers, looking a little green around the gills.

“Oh! Sure, sorry, you know how I get when I’m working.” Pulling his arms out of the body and removing his gloves, Nate walks over to his desk that’s piled high with folders and empty coffee cups. “What’s up? I thought you were coming at noon, it’s only ten.”

I show him the advertisement, “I think we found our Jane Doe.”

Looking at the picture on the back, he walks over to a drawer on the wall and pulls it open. He lifts the drape to show her face as he compares the two. “From what I can tell, it
could
be her; I’ll have to check her prints. At least we now have a place to start.”

“Have you started her yet?” I ask to get a better timeline in my head. If he can confirm her identity sooner rather than later, Bobby and I can notify next of kin and search her home so we catch this asshole.

“Not yet. I had to get Mr. Mater ready for the funeral home to pick him up this afternoon. But she’s next. I already drew her blood and sent her prints down to the lab. Go down there and see if she’s in the system. It will speed up the process, since I know you’re itching to get to her place.” Nate pushes her back in and closes the door.

“All right, boss, but get your ass in gear, we don’t have all day,” I call out as we walk out the door and up the stairs to the floor the lab is on. When you hear crime lab you picture a state of the art, high tech
CSI: New York
type lab, but that is not what you get here. In the Detroit lab, you get busted up microscopes and old as dirt forensic equipment. Why it’s still even here when almost everything goes to the state lab in Lansing is beyond me, but who am I to argue? Stopping at the front desk, I ring the bell and wait for someone to come out and speak to me.

“Can I help you?” The newbie from last night comes out and I’m able to see how attractive she is.

“Yes, please. Dr. Brennan sent us here to give you some information about the Jane Doe from last night; we think we have an I.D.,” I tell her, handing her the brochure.

Staring at the picture, she raises an eyebrow, “I see the resemblance.”

“Can you please look in the system to see if she is in there?” Putting on the charm like the ladies’ man he is, Bobby looks at her with eyes to kill. She doesn’t even glance his way; she is staring right at me.

“Of course, let me run this. It should be ready in about an hour. Go have lunch.” She smiles at me before turning to walk in the back.

“Damn, she’s hot,” Bobby says.

I smack him in the back of the head, “I’ll let Tabby know you said that. Come on, let’s go eat.” Deciding on coneys and chili cheese fries, we head out, returning a little over an hour later.

Again, I ring the bell. “Hello!”

“You’re back, let me get the printout,” she says as she takes off her gloves. When she returns she starts to read, “Hope Cooper, twenty-eight years old, Black hair, Blue eyes, five feet five inches tall. She was arrested at seventeen for minor in possession of tobacco.”

“Who was the asshole that arrested her for that?” Bobby snorts. We never arrest teens for having cigarettes under age; we destroy them and give them a warning. That usually scares them enough to stop smoking.

She hands me the paper to look for the arresting officer, “Well shit, it was dickhead himself, Officer Ball.” Officer Ball is the youth officer; he’s the only cop that will arrest a minor for possession. I should’ve known that. “It looks like she was heading down a bad path; he must have arrested her to knock some sense into her. She was kicked out of the mall, too.” I turn back to the tech, “So the Jane Doe from last night is, in fact, this Hope Cooper?” I need her to verbally confirm it so I stare at her, waiting for her to continue.

She looks down at the ground, flustered, “Yes, sir, the fingerprints match what was in the system. Her most recent address is on page two.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry . . . what is your name?” I’m embarrassed that I haven’t even asked what her name is yet.

“Mia, Mia Bailey,” she stammers.

“Nice to meet you, Mia. Thank you for the information. You’ve been most helpful.” I smile at her as I leave.

“What’s the plan?” Bobby asks once we get in the car.

“We need to go to her house, but we will inform her next of kin, first.” I’m dreading this part, but I know it has to be done.

***

We walk out of Hope Cooper’s parents’ house a few hours later with her apartment keys and a heavy heart. I have a sense of dread that I can’t shake. Maybe it’s knowing I’m about to invade someone’s privacy that never sits well with me, no matter if they’re alive or dead.

CHAPTER 4

HOPE

I wake up feeling like death warmed over and roll over only to be blinded by the sun.
What the hell happened to me last night?
The
last thing I remember is being tied up in an abandoned house, afraid for my life. It may have been a nightmare, but I just can't shake the feeling it was real. Glancing at the alarm clock, it’s almost four pm. I scramble out of bed, “Shit, how did I sleep that long?” I head into the bathroom but a noise by the front door makes me stop to listen. Two men in suits open my door with a set of keys.

“Who the hell are you and why are you in my apartment?” I call out, fear creeping up my spine.

“Bobby, start in the kitchen and I’ll start in the bedroom,” the taller of the two says, setting the keys down, totally ignoring me.

I’m frozen in place, a hand on my throat, waiting for one of them to acknowledge me. When this doesn’t happen, the anxiety shows up and I feel like I can’t breathe.
Who are these men? Why are they here?
Forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths and calm down, I slowly walk toward the living room.

I try to yell but it comes out more like a whisper, “If you don’t leave in the next five seconds, I’ll call the police.” Thinking one of them heard me when he turned to look at me, relief floods through my body. He never makes eye contact with me and shakes his head before turning back around. When he starts putting my things in bags marked “evidence”, panic replaces anxiety.
Why the hell won’t either of them answer me? I know they see me standing here.