21 December 2009

Saturday: Part Three

My fingers drummed out the questions as my mind asked them. I checked my email. There was a message from my biker friend:

Hey, Babe,
Nothing here. Family's accounted for.
Try getting ahold of me one of these days for some fun.

I shivered at the last sentence, maybe.

So the bad guys weren't involved; I knew, of course, by then they wouldn't be. Well. Then. Ten or more decades of mutilations, multiple puncture wounds, rips and tears that mimicked animal attacks, lack of social, no. Lack of family ties for the victims. Except one. One girl didn't fit. Hart's.

I dug her case out. She'd gone missing for almost a week before they found her broken body in a park. Like everyone else, she was left in plain sight. I stared at the photos from her crime scene. I looked at the girl, left in a pile, her eyes staring. Geez! Effin gruesome! I looked at how her body was left. In a pile. There were three trees in the photos. Giant pines, like sentinels guarding her until she was taken home. Her face started taking on a familiarity from looking at her for so long.

The sound of someone trying to break down my door startled me. Shit. Mike. Had to be. Only cops knocked like that. Well, no point in ignoring him, he'd just keep beating the hell out of my door.

"Who is it?" I tried to sound chipper and inquisitive, rather than annoyed and resolved.

"Who the hell do you think it is? You have something that belongs to me!"

Somebody was really grouchy! I tried not to smile as I opened the door to find a very cold, very snow covered, very p.o'ed Detective Michael Timothy. He glowered at me and I just grinned as I opened the door and stepped aside.

"Wow, Mike, you came in a blizzard just to see me? How flattering!"

Mike's eyes glared into my soul. For a cop he could be scary as hell. Poor bad guys. I tried not to giggle. Giggling at the wrong time was a particular tic I hated.

"Why did you hijack the fax intended for me? I could arrest you."

"No you can't. I accidentally gave the wrong fax number! I was in such a state yesterday," I batted my eyelashes. Mike continued to look like Death in a Badge, "you know from standing in brains, I just grabbed the fax and came home."

My stomach did a couple of somersaults. Easy, tummy, no brains today. Another giggle escaped.

"Where's the fax, Amber? I want it right now!" He looked around and when he spotted the pictures and cases strewn all over he turned back to me with acid in his eyes. "This is not vandals or simple robberies, Amber, this is murder! This isn't a game, this isn't a fucking hobby!"

Mike had ahold of my arms, his cold fingers digging into my skin. The look in his eyes was something more than anger then, he looked scared or worried. Anger is always caused by another emotion and Mike was in pain. Damnit.

"You see the files," I shrugged out of his grip, "get a grip. Sit down. Have some coffee. I might even tell you what I've figured out."