by Geri Fitzsimmons & Andy Stephenson1

“Sarge! Sarge!” The familiar call was a welcome sound.2

“Over here guys,” Farley yelled back. Somehow it was always easier to face these things with backup. He watched as the H-Team made their way towards him.3

Al Hayes and Zachary Hamlin had been paired up for nearly a year now. In the grand scope of things, what appeared to be a ridiculous move, turned out to be a perfect match up. The gray-haired senior, twice divorced, single parent of two college sons turned out to be the stabilizing figure in the boisterous and newly married young Zachary Hamlin’s life.4

“That smell is what I think?” Zach wrinkled his nose then rubbed the wet sleeve of his rain slicker across it. “Damn aren’t two dead kids enough for one bastard.”5

“Don’t jump to conclusion,” Al warned. 6

“I haven’t taken a look-see yet.” Joe agreed. “Welcome to the party. Odor seems to be coming from those barrels.” He pointed at them. “I’ll be glad to have company when I approach them.”7

“Ratsville!” Zach said. “Hate walking through this shit,” he complained but followed the older men as they continued into the miniature jungle. “Son of bitch!” he yelped and his gun came out and up in a single sweep while the smoke joined the sound and the bullet hit a screaming target.8

The other two came to an abrupt halt and spun back to confront Zach. “What the Hell!” was a mutual demand.9

The gray fury lump was already taking its final gulps of air in competition with the red gore that poured from the exit hole in its chest. In defiance the rat’s teeth remained clamped into its last meal.10

“God damn! Look what that fucker’s eating!” Zach’s cheeks paled under what was left of his summer tan and he might have vomited if the older men weren’t watching. He’d learned to confront death in many ways but this was the gut wrenching kind and he forced back a gag.11

There would be no condemnation for the young man’s reckless action. His superiors were staring at the remnants of an obviously human hand in the rodent’s mouth. Much of the flesh had already gone to nourish other life forms, but half a thumb, two complete fingers, and the rest of the skeleton, visible in the torn and chewed skin. advertised that it came from a small human cadaver.12

Sergeant Farley dialed his cell phone to commence with the necessary calls that would soon have the lab personnel on the scene and the proper investigation underway. 13

Al Hayes, with Zach Hamlin on his heels, quickly, but carefully, made his way to the barrels. As they got closer the smell of rotten flesh grew thicker in the air. A long time on the job, Hayes knew when more help arrived, some valuable evidence could be compromised. Also that Joe would expect for him to later give his opinion on their initial findings. 14

As Farley continued to give instructions to those on the other end of the phone line, he joined his subordinates. He was soon shining a flashlight into the upright barrel; while Hayes bent to examine the contents of another and Hamlin took the notes of what his companions observed and spieled off.15

“Clothing looks to be female. Jeans, blue sweater--no jacket or coat. Nike brand sneakers and white socks still on her feet. Caucasian, short brown hair.”16

“No visible cause of death. Corpse too deteriorated to make out definite weapon marks or abuse signs. ” Hayes had commenced snapping photos of everything.17

“In the upright barrel are several bodies already completely skeletal…I would estimate at least three different and very small skulls, mixed with other bones and remnants of shoes and clothes,“ Farley began the description. “Jean material and small size navy baseball cap…green tee shirt material…a filly pink print blouse, what could be a team label, on a gray tee shirt. Hair still attached to one scalp is long and black…appears to be a female of Latin nationality or Latino race....18

“Second body over here,” Hayes called out. “It’s a boy--no more than five or small for his size.”19


****20


Like the two inch heels on his shoes, the raised seat in the pale-gray Cadillac, gave the man an illusion of a stature he didn’t possess. Deputy Chief Rafael Anthony Carbonetti was a hair over five feet six inches. When he filled out a form, he made it five foot seven. Rafael couldn’t recall a time in his life when he hadn’t been the shortest and smallest guy in the room. Even in kindergarten, he could joke with his wife, “The damn girls carried me around.” Thanks to his wife’s blonde and bold Germanic genes, both his sons were taller than their Dad before they reached puberty.21

While Nature apparently cheated him in many ways, it was also generous in others. He was blessed with uncommonly good looks. At forty-six there wasn’t any telltale graying or aging of his face or body. His black hair was thick with a hint of a wave and a natural bluish cast. Umber eyes held flecks of gold that caught the slightest bit of light and glittered. His light olive skin had never known a teenage pimple and seemed determined to ward off middle-aged wrinkles.22

Born into a reasonably affluent family, being a delicate child who courted pampering, suited his personality, so Raff developed the Little dog, Large bite syndrome early in life. Bigger men moved cautiously around him, not from physical fear but the concern of having a vulnerable back when walking in an unknown alley.23

This morning as he pulled his caddy into its designated parking space, his active mind was busy as usual. Raff needed this case to first and foremost go away quickly. Still, he didn’t want to hand it off to the State boys if he could help it. If worse came to worse, he’d rather use assistance from the Feds. When a crime was designated as having state to state connection the FBI took reign, spent the dollars, and was responsible for the outcome. A much better situation than when the State Boys outclassed the local law.24

Murdered children was a horrible crime. Dead bodies dumped in his city were a personal affront to the mayor. Of course, politicians found every crime committed in their city a personal affront, Raff thought, most certainly when they had their eye on the state capital. The coming months were important to Rafael Carbonetti. Naturally the mayor was going to be damn grateful to the man who got him a quick arrest in this despicable case.25

Chief of Police Conley promised to remain scarce, eight months away from retirement; the old guy had been grooming Raff for the position. It wasn’t going to be a slam-dunk; the mayor had a couple cronies on the force, and few if any of the other police Brass were inclined to think kindly of ‘The Little Spic’ as they called Carbonetti. He found a slight chuckle and enjoyed it while he was alone. a few seconds only.26

Then he quickly molded his features into a mask of appropriate seriousness and pulled his cloak of authority over himself before he entered the ring. Raff thrived on the knowledge that every encounter at One Police Plaza was a fight where he was usually the victor. Though the battles these men waged were limited to verbal and mental weapons, they could nonetheless be as violent in content as the street encounters of their underlings. 27

He had decided to make Taylor come to him. Not only did the big bastard tend to flaunt his own connections, but Raff personally disliked the guy. The deputy chief wore a Brooks Brother suit this morning, the cut added broadness to his shoulders and chest; the wool provided the warmth his leanness required for comfort.28


****29


Marie Sanders woke with a start. She sat up quickly, and realized her limbs were no longer immobilized. Her hand flew to her mouth and discovered it was still tapped shut. Without a second thought she yanked it off, and drew long gulps of cold air into her lungs until they started to hurt. 30

She was shivering and goose bumps continued to grow on her flesh, fed by her fear as much as the chilly atmosphere. Still she looked around, trying to recognize something. This was a cold place.  Cold as a tomb. Her fingers brushed something soft and she jerked her hand back. Then nervously she looked down. The woolen robe that was with her in the auto trunk was pooled beside her on a sheet-less mattress that sported many questionable stains. Pulling the robe around her, the girl huddled in the darkness. 31

A small battery powered light illuminated the room, but the chill was so deep she couldn’t warm up enough to stop trembling. She looked around for an exit. The mattress lay on the floor of a bathroom--at any rate it appeared to be a bathroom with the tub area torn out. This held her makeshift bed. The toilet fixtures were missing and only the hole in the floor advertised where it once stood. A ridiculously small window was high on the wall and taped over.32

Her glance kept roaming towards the single exit--the door. There was only a crude hole where the knob should be.  Could it be unlocked? Did the person who kidnapped me realize they’d made a mistake and just left me? Left me here to die! Maybe they called the police. Maybe they gave the wrong directions!  Sequence after sequence of clear or disjointed occurrences rampaged though the girl’s mind. The idea of testing the door was terrifying. What if it’s locked? What if I open it and water rushes in?33

She heard a sound in the distance.  A car engine? Tires on gravel? Should I start screaming? Let them know I’m here? It could be her kidnapper returning? It could mean rescue.  Hot tears rose in her eyes and so did her screams. “Help! Help! Help me...!” Her voice came weakly at first, but then it began to raise and she screeched until her throat hurt…but now she was afraid to stop. Afraid that her final yell might be the only one heard.34

Steps echoed outside the door. 35

“Please help me.”36

Laughter greeted her efforts as she heard a key turn and metal slap into the wood. "Just me here, Nat. You want I should help you?”37

Marie recognized the voice--the artificial cop. She sniffled, choked back her sobs and shuffled backward as the door opened and her captor said, "Here. I brought you some food, you always liked fried chicken."38

The dark uniform type clothing worn before had been replaced by light khaki green slacks and a gaily colored, print blouse, partially hidden by a white sweater jacket. Her hair was no longer worn pinned up, but fell loosely around her face, lightly brushing her shoulders. Apricot lip glow and pearl-gray eye shadow gave a softening effect to her features. She looked like an older, less intimidating teen and when she sat in a Indian curl on the mattress and held out the brown takeout bag, Marie stretched her hand out and took it.39

Quickly realizing how hungry and thirsty she was, the youngster ran her hand across her eyes and stared into the bag. Removing a bottle of chocolate milk, not her favorite drink, but better than nothing, Marie twisted off the cap and sucked half of it down. She found some paper napkins and used one to clear her stuffy nose. Trying to keep some distance between them in the tiny space, Marie sat on the floor.40

The woman seemed to find this funny and laughed.41

Ignoring that, Marie gobbled a few french-fries before she started on the chicken. Then with her belly filling up, the fear lapsing, she asked, "When will you let me go?"42

"Who said anything about letting you go?"43

"Are you going to kill me?"44

"Would you like to be killed?" Her predator giggled. In the gesture of a companion her adversary reached over and claimed several fries from the bag on Marie’s lap and popped them in her mouth.45

Marie said as she continued to eat her chicken, "It might be better than being kept in this cold, filthy place."46

"Oh come now. Surely you wouldn't want to die?” 47

Marie ceased eating and contemplated the attractive face of her captor. 48

The woman smiled. “Go on and eat. You’ll only be here a little while.”49

"What will you do with me then?"50

The woman snickered. Her features seemed to harden; her lips spread in a sneer while her eyes appeared to lose their color.
Marie gagged. The feeling of camaraderie fled and fear reclaimed the child as the woman hissed, “ I'm not done with you, yet!”51