Sacrifice (4 page)

“Uh … the rats are back, sir,” Officer Patrick announced.

“Jesus Christ! You guys get those rats away from the damned evidence, would you?”

“We’ve been trying! They won’t go!” one of the two horrified patrolmen standing around the corpse said.

“Then shoot the damned things! Where the fuck is Animal Control? I thought they got the call first?”

“They’re short staffed, sir. They’ve only got like ten officers. They’re breaking up a dogfighting ring on the Westside, but they’ve got someone en route.”

“Jesus Christ!”

The two officers immediately drew their weapons.

Detective Malloy looked around at the growing crowd of spectators, who were now staring at the two officers in horror as they prepared to shoot vermin off the corpse of their friend and neighbor.

“No! No! Damn it, don’t shoot! Use your batons and your pepper spray, but wait until we get all these civilians back. And
do not
hit the corpse!”

Malloy ordered the remaining patrolmen to move everyone back behind the police line, but no one had thought to put up any tape yet. The officers hastily strung a line of caution.

More squad cars began to arrive. Malloy made sure none of the new officers on the scene looked at the body. He needed at least a few officers who weren’t struck dumb with shock.

He grabbed the first two officers who stepped out of their vehicles. “You two! Get these people back and get me some crime scene tape up across this whole street. No cars. No people. Nothing crosses this tape until we’ve processed the crime scene and this body is on its way to the morgue.”

Cruz had come back out of the house and was standing next to John with the dog on a leash.

“What’s that dog doing over here?” Malloy said. “I told you to tie it to a tree.”

“There’s no tree big enough.”

Malloy looked around at all the scrawny fifteen-gallon box trees that lined the block and shook his head. “Tie it to your damned bumper then. Where’s the ME? CSU? They’d better get here soon ‘cause I’m not processing this scene myself.”

He glanced back at the pile of mangled meat in the street and felt the bile rise in his throat again.
No way I’m picking through that shit,
he thought, turning back to watch Cruz tie their prime suspect to the bumper of his car.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the two officers smashing rats with their batons and spraying pepper spray all over the corpse. The ME was going to kill him. Not to mention what CSU would do when they showed up to find the scene littered with rat carcasses. Malloy shook his head. What else could he do? He couldn’t just let the rats cart off the corpse. He had no clue what had happened here.

He hoped the hysterical neighbor who they’d taken to St. Ann’s was the killer, though he knew that was highly unlikely. Besides, that wouldn’t explain the bizarre behavior of the animals. He’d never seen a corpse that was only hours old so severely set upon by scavengers. Looking at the condition of the corpse, he would’ve guessed it had been lying in the woods for at least three days, yet it had been less than an hour in the middle of a city street.

“Fuck. Why me?” he grumbled as the crime scene van pulled up along with a news van whose crew immediately got out and began filming the officers beating rats off the mounds of human hamburger.

Chapter 6

April was sick of hearing about Delilah. She didn’t want to talk any more about her problems. She was sick of everyone trying to fix her. She was broken beyond repair. She had come to grips with that now.
Why can’t everyone else?
she thought.

“I’m not going to some voodoo ritual and dancing naked in the woods. I don’t even go to church. I don’t believe in God or Satan or angels or demons or any of that stuff. Why would I go to some demon ritual to try to get myself possessed?”

“It’s not a demon ritual. They’re Loa, fallen angels. They help people. They can help us.”

She crossed her slender arms over her chest and sighed in exasperation. She knew she looked like a child when she pouted. Not like the sexy nymphs with collagen-filled lips; she just looked like a spoiled brat. Her face was too cute and delicate for the type of sexuality women like that exuded. Her body was too thin and waiflike, almost boyish. She was glad for that. Part of the reason she kept her weight so low was to avoid sprouting the type of curves that, in her opinion, turned women into sex objects. That was just one more symptom of her dysfunction.

Six years of college and a master’s in psychology and she had not been able to repair the damage done to her by the boys who had assaulted her years ago. She’d lost her virginity screaming and fighting as she was held down on a gymnasium floor by three boys she’d thought were her friends. She hadn’t fully trusted another man since. She couldn’t even stand being around her own father.

April went away to college in Las Vegas to get away from all of them. None of the group therapy sessions or rape counselors or Jungian psychiatrists had done a thing for her. She was sick of trying.

“It’s the same thing, and I’m not going. I’d feel like an idiot dancing around in some kind of Dionysian orgy.”

“It’s not an orgy. Matt and Linda go see her every week, and look at what’s it’s done for them. They can’t keep their hands off each other. Maybe she could help us too?” Steve pleaded.

His insistence was beginning to make April uncomfortable, as it always did. She didn’t think Steve would ever hurt her, but she knew how men could get when they were sexually frustrated, and Steve was well past the point of frustration. In the six months they’d been dating, she’d only had sex with him once, and she’d cried for almost an hour afterward. Every time he touched her, something inside her cringed, and she wanted to scream.

What the fuck is wrong with me?
She knew she loved him, but there had to be some other way to show it. “I’m not joining a cult just because I don’t want to fuck three times a day.”

“You never want to fuck!”

“You know why. Can’t you be a little sensitive?”

“I’ve been sensitive for months, and I’ve got the calloused palms and tennis elbow to prove it. Now I’m just fucking horny and I’d like to sleep with the woman who claims to be in love with me. Why does that make me a bad person?”

April dropped her face into her palms and shook her head. “It doesn’t. You’re not a bad person. I’m just not ready right now.”

“Why can’t you just let it go? Are you going to spend the rest of your life hating men because of what a couple of assholes did to you back in high school? Sex
can
be fun, you know? It isn’t always like … like
that.
There wouldn’t be six billion human beings on the planet if people didn’t enjoy doing it at least a little.”

He sighed and chewed his bottom lip. “You know, I could make it good for you. But you’re too hung up on what happened back then. Look, I love you, but I’m done. If you won’t even check this thing out … if you don’t want to even make an attempt to salvage what we have together, there’s no reason for me to stay. I really do love you, but I’ve got my needs, and there are plenty of women willing to fulfill them if you’re not.”

April felt the rage build inside her, and for a second she could clearly see herself clawing Steve’s eyes out. She could almost feel her fingernails gouging into his eye sockets and shucking his eyeballs from his skull like oysters. She ground her teeth together, eyebrows furrowed, fingers curled into fists, her entire body trembling.

“You mean like that fat bitch with the big tittles I caught you fucking on my goddamned couch!”

“I’ve apologized for that for the last time. I’m done apologizing. I’m just done. Period. I’m leaving you, April. Do you even care?”

Just as quickly as it had come, her anger dissipated, leaving April feeling cold and empty. “Just go, Steve. Spare me the fucking lecture. You don’t give a fuck about me. All you ever wanted was to get in my pants, and now that you see that’s not going to happen you’re bailing out just like …”

Steve raised an eyebrow and stepped closer to April, grabbing her by her upper arm. “Just like who, April? Just like every other man you’ve ever gotten close to? Do you even know how you sound? Do you really believe that every guy you meet is some sexual predator? You really do hate all men, don’t you?”

April jerked away from him with a sneer. “Well, I can’t say I’m liking you very much right now.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. His shoulders sagged in defeat. He reached down, picked his coat up from the couch, and scratched his head and sighed again as he walked toward the door. “Go see her, April. I love you, and even if we can’t be together I want you to get some help.”

“Just get the fuck out. Go fuck your fat, big-breasted whore.”

Steve shook his head and let out a sigh. “Goodbye, April.”

***

It took several weeks, but she finally called Linda and Matt. “Linda?”

“What’s up, girlfriend?”

She paused for a moment, trying to gather the nerve to speak. All the saliva in her mouth had dried up, and for some reason she felt like she wanted to cry. She bit her bottom lip and let out a long stuttering breath as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“April? Is something wrong?”

“I want you to take me to see Delilah.”

Chapter 7

John Malloy didn’t make it back to the precinct until five o’clock that evening. He’d been at the crime scene for the greater part of three hours and then spent another hour at the hospital waiting to interview Mona Miller. Her story hadn’t changed, even with medication. She insisted that half a dozen different species of animals had all suddenly decided to kill Bruce Martin for no apparent reason. All the detective could do was wait for the ME’s report and hope somebody confessed.

The dog was scheduled to be euthanized by animal control immediately, his remains to be shipped down to the morgue so they could autopsy him and examine his brain for rabies and his stomach for the remains of Bruce Martin. Apparently, Mr. Martin had been a fairly large guy, well over two hundred pounds, but the remains that had been scraped off the sidewalk and shoveled into a body bag weighed less than seventy.

The crime scene photos were spread out all over John’s desk. Just looking at them made his head hurt. He knew the chances of solving this crime would be slim. They’d have to dig through the bellies of about two or three dozen rats just to find enough of the victim to even resemble a corpse, and there was little or no hope of finding enough evidence to convict anyone but the dog. Maybe he’d just blame it all on the dog and call the case closed. It would be much simpler that way.

He wished his partner hadn’t called in sick today. He needed Mohammed’s brains right now. He was stumped. He decided to wait until tomorrow for the coroner’s report, and if they found even a pound of human flesh in the dog’s belly he’d just blame it on the damned dog. He needed to move on to the other cases, whose files were piling up on his desk like he was starting his own recycling business.

John studied the crime scene photos. The gruesome images made no sense to him. They looked more like the car wrecks he used to work as a patrolman.

He decided he needed to see the ME tonight or he’d never be able to sleep, let alone work any other case. His mind was like fly paper - once something stuck, it was stuck for good. He stood up and started for the door. The look on his face must have been even worse than he thought because none of the other detectives approached to ask about the case. No doubt they’d heard about the guy found in piles all over the street, and the haunted look on John’s face was enough to warn them off of further inquiry. They each had their own cases haunting them. They didn’t need any more ghosts.

The walk from the office to the parking lot was littered with curious and concerned stares. Even more annoying were the expressions of relief plastered on the faces of those detectives happy they had not drawn his case. Malloy didn’t understand what all the attention was about. Sure the case was gruesome and weird as hell and sure they would probably never know exactly what had happened, but it was just as certain almost no one would care.

The media hadn’t even called yet. In all likelihood they’d already dismissed it as un-newsworthy. Unless someone started talking about all the rats and insects that had set upon the corpse it was just a story about a guy murdered by his dog. Even if they did write something it would probably just wind up as back-page filler. It would be on some side column reserved for quirky news stories where all the headlines ended in exclamation points like: Man Marries Horse! or Midget Love Triangle Ends In Murder! The TV news would be even less interested. At most they’d give it a ten-second spot, “A Las Vegas man was killed today by his own dog. Neighboring pets apparently joined in the feast.” There would be some light banter then on to the latest sports stats. If it didn’t involve drug gangs, serial killers, missing white kids, or millionaires or celebrities murdering each other, it wasn’t going to make the front page these days.

There’s nothing glamorous about this crime. It’s not the type of case careers are made or lost over. I should just close the book and move on to the next one,
Malloy thought.

As Malloy was winding his way through the parking lot he spotted Harry getting out of his truck. Harry had been his mentor when Malloy first got his gold shield. He was almost twenty years older than Malloy and looked like an old hippy with his long gray ponytail, but he was still the best detective Malloy knew. He had almost been like a father to him and had helped him on many cases those first few years before John got his legs under him.

But Harry rarely said more than a few words to him since the Dale McCarthy case last year. He didn’t even make eye contact. He rushed past with his head down and grumbled a few words. It was obvious he had been hitting the bottle hard lately. Malloy could smell the alcohol on his breath and see his yellowing eyes and livid red capillaries radiating across his nose. He couldn’t say he blamed him. That case had ruined him. It had ruined all of them.