OneThe hotel room reeked of sex. It smelled like peppermint and rosemary. The ambiance was cool and refreshing like you’d expect when visiting a woman who wanted nothing more than to have sex, wild and discreet. Mrs. Kneeland appeared to have been one of those women. It looked like she’d spent a lot of time setting things in place herself. All her scented candles and oils were spread on the room furnishings. She wanted to enjoy the night. She spared no expenses. She’d decorated everything just the way she liked it. Then she’d enjoyed every bit of it. This was what many men spent a lot of time dreaming about. Here I was salivating in it. It really sucked that I was married and this wasn’t that kind of visit.
My name is Mark Morrison. Detective Mark Morrison. I work the homicide division for violent crimes in Boston. My division was a tactical unit that worked in and around the city. We typically get called in as a second pair of eyes on most homicide cases that required special attention. Mainly, we worked with coroners. This was one of those cases. I inherited it because I had a knack for finding clues where others didn’t. This crime scene was old. Hours old. I was the second set of eyes. I was wishing it wasn’t something familiar.
My job was predictable. I almost always know what to expect when I clocked in to work each and every day. Either deskwork or a dead body. Today was the latter.
“Female”, I was told by the dispatcher. I was wishing it was a hooker who’d met the wrong client, believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t wish death on anybody. I just didn’t want a replay of the last three cases I’d caught. But sure enough, that’s exactly what it was looking like.
Mrs. Kneeland was a respected member of the North End. Her husband was a well to do financial broker who worked on Federal Street. He hadn’t been informed yet. Much too late. I’m sure he must be worried and probably calling her friends. I was told no one found her cellular yet. I would’ve liked to see her call logs. Get a good picture of who she’d called last. I’d have to wait until they subpoenaed her phone company. Long process knowing her and her husband’s pockets.
The room was immaculate – no sign of foul play, no bloody trail, nothing that screamed murder. I could always hope for a goodbye letter with an explanation of why she did it. Anything. I didn’t really have the stomach to deal with that nightmare again; neat crime scene, politics, and a boss that reported to an overzealous Mayor.
It was voting season. We weren’t to divulge information to anyone. That meant, no asking for the public’s help. We could only question those were thought were suspicious or those living within or in the immediate vicinity. We’d have to wait until the elections before we could start letting people know women were dying, officially. We were told that it wasn’t to hinder our jobs, of course. It was to help us keep track of information and who had it.
One look told me everything I needed to know. I’d be working overtime. It reeked of the two other cases I’d been dealing with. Ned, the old coroner was already working the body. I’d gotten to know him pretty well over the last few weeks. We spent a lot of time comparing older cases that mimicked this set. He showed up, I got called. I was beginning to wonder if he was the one making them call me. Regardless, only two other cases matched this one and they started three months before. Somehow I got the call on the first of its kind. I have been on each crime-scene since. Marian and I had been up to our necks in clues without evidence and even less leads. Marian is my partner. I’ve known her, believe it or not since I was nearly ten.
I was a foster kid. No name. I spent most of my years moving from home to home because of the complex situation. No one knew my parents or where I came from. No birth certificate. I just showed up with a blanket, I found out through research. My fosters, Edith and Ryan Morrison named me the day they adopted me. They were both well into their seventies and had never had a child. I was it. They gave me a home and as much love and attention as they could. Ryan’s heart gave out a year after I came into their lives. Edith dithered on until my first year in college. She made sure I went. During that first year one night she fell asleep and never wore up. I was alone again, except for Marian and her family.
I met Marian the first night I moved in with the Morrisons’. I ran from them because I was afraid. It just so happens that I ran into the Chambers’ backyard and into a stretching little girl. She promptly returned me to my fosters and brought me up on how nice they were. Somewhere in her explanation she convinced me to stay. I think it was actually because I thought she was pretty. But, through the years we stuck together. Her being an only child I became like a brother. After graduating college neither of us were able to find jobs and I convinced her to join BDP. Years later we would solve a few cases that catapulted us to where we were today. Partners for a specialized unit.
I didn’t mind that I hadn’t seen her tonight because she’d been in a fowl mood lately. I was stuck with Ned and the other officers and detectives working the case already.
Ned was an old stickler who spoke with a crisp uptown accent that bordered on snobby American or uptown English, which was well versed in sarcasm and dry wit. He had gray hairs that had gray hairs. They’d probably been brown once. His skin was a pale hue of its former days and had been overrun with wrinkles and age spots. He was nearing his seventies or a hundred, I didn’t know which. But I did know he walked slowly and meticulously through each crime scene we’d worked and paid close attention to detail. I didn’t mind working with him. He stood five foot six and seemed like he’d been taller in his youth. And had blue eyes that saw everything and ears to match. Fuzzy gray brows. He looked at me with a dry smile.
“Shit!” I said when I looked at her. Ned smiled at me without saying a word. I heard murmurs from the others in the room. I could see the woman had a few marks on her leg, nothing serious, just the run-of-the-mill marks from having sex. Very rough sex. There were no bruises that screamed foul play. I looked at Ned, and he gave me a look that confirmed my fear. “Dammit!” I barked and stepped fully inside. The scent hit my nostrils full.
She was pale. You could tell she was before her tell-tale death. Late thirties – early forties and the blondest hair I’d ever seen. She looked like she spent a considerable amount of gym time. Her arms were sinewy. I saw her abs carved even with rigor settling in. She was about five foot seven full height. Her feet were bare as was the rest of her body. And she was on her back with her blood red lips agape. If she’d screamed someone must have heard her.
Green and red veins were bulging in Ned’s forehead. He was pale, even for him, and he looked like he could use some fresh air or a good night’s sleep. “My sentiments exactly,” he said.
Ned nudged my arm and pointed to something at her hips. She’d had an orgasm before she died. That was the silent scream. She’d died right at the height of her climax. Not a bad way to go. There was some dry secretion on her leg in between her thighs. Definitely hers by the look in her eyes. The marks would be a different story. We’d get useless DNA from those just like the other two bodies. I had no doubts about that. Whoever was killing these women was thorough enough to have gotten some sort of chemical to erase any trace of their DNA.
“Think we got DNA?” A pointless question but I asked anyway.
“I’m sure we have plenty,” Ned answered sarcastically. “The question is; will it do us any good?” He finished with a ‘you know’ look. I’m sure he knew I wasn’t in the mood for his smart-ass comments at three in the morning