Two
It took Detective Robert Hunter of the Los Angeles Robbery Homicide Division (RHD) over an hour to drive from the Hollywood Courthouse to the disused butcher’s shop in East LA. He was paged over four hours ago, but the trial in which he was testifying had run a lot later than he’d expected.
Hunter was part of an exclusive elite; an elite that most LAPD detectives would give their right arm
The butcher’s shop was the last in a parade of closed-down businesses. The whole neighborhood seemed to have been neglected. Hunter parked his old Buick next to a white forensic crime lab van. As he stepped out of the car, he allowed his eyes to study the outside of the buildings for a while. All the windows had been covered by solid metal shutters. There was so much graffiti on the outside walls Hunter couldn’t tell what color the buildings had originally been.
He approached the officer guarding the entrance, flashed his badge and stooped under the yellow crime- scene tape. The officer nodded but remained silent, his stare distant.
Hunter pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The foul smell that hit him knocked him back and made him gag — a combination of putrid meat, stale sweat, vomit and urine that burned his nostrils and stung at his eyes. He paused for a moment before pulling the collar of his shirt up and over his nose and mouth as an improvised mask.
‘These work better,’ Carlos Garcia said, coming out of the back room and handing Hunter a surgical nose mask. He was wearing one himself.
Garcia was tall and slim with longish dark hair and light blue eyes. His boyish good looks were spoiled only by a slight lump on his nose, where it had been broken. Unlike all the other RHD detectives, Garcia had worked very hard to be assigned to the HSS. He’d been Hunter’s partner for almost three years now.
‘The smell gets worse once you enter the back room.’ Garcia nodded towards the door he’d just come out of. ‘How was the trial?’
‘Late,’ Hunter replied as he fitted the mask over his face. ‘What have we got?’
Garcia tilted his head to one side. ‘Some messed up stuff. White female victim, somewhere in her late twenties, early thirties. She was found on the stainless steel butcher’s worktop in there.’ He pointed to the room behind him.
‘Cause of death?’
Garcia shook his head. ‘We’ll have to wait for the autopsy. Nothing apparent. But here comes the kick. Her lips and her vagina were
‘What?’
Garcia nodded. ‘That’s right. A very sick job. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Hunter’s eyes darted towards the door behind his partner.
‘The body’s gone,’ Garcia offered before Hunter’s next question. ‘Doctor Winston was the Forensics lead here tonight. He wanted you to see the body and the scene in the exact way in which it was found, but he couldn’t wait any longer. The heat in there was accelerating things.’
‘When was the body taken away?’ Hunter mechanically checked his watch.
‘About two hours ago. Knowing the doc, he’s probably halfway through the autopsy already. He knows you hate sitting in on those, so there’d be no point in waiting. By the time we finish looking around this place, I’m sure he’ll have some answers for us.’
Hunter’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He grabbed it and pulled his surgical mask down, letting it hang loosely around his neck. ‘Detective Hunter.’
He listened for a few seconds. ‘What?’ His eyes shot towards Garcia, who saw Hunter’s entire demeanor change in an instant.
Three
Garcia made the trip from East LA to the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner in North Mission Road in record time.
Their confusion doubled as they approached the entrance to the coroners’ parking lot. It was blocked off by four police vehicles and two fire engines. More police cars were inside the lot. Several uniformed officers were moving around chaotically, shouting orders at each other and over the radio.
The media had descended upon the scene like ravenous wolves. Local TV and newspaper vans were everywhere. Reporters, cameramen and photographers were doing their best to get as close as they could. But a tight perimeter had already been established around the main building, and it was being strictly enforced by the LAPD.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Hunter whispered under his breath as Garcia pulled up by the entrance.
‘You’ll have to move along, sir,’ a young policeman said, coming up to Garcia’s window and frantically gesturing for him to drive on. ‘You can’t—’
He stopped as soon as he saw Garcia’s badge. ‘I’m sorry, Detective; I’ll clear a path right away.’ He turned to face the other two officers who were standing next to their vehicles. ‘C’mon guys, make way.’
Less than thirty seconds later, Garcia was parking his Honda Civic just in front of the stairway that led up to the main building.
Hunter stepped out of the car and looked around. A small group of people, most of them in white coats, were huddled together at the far end of the parking lot. Hunter recognized them as lab technicians and coroner staff.
‘What happened here?’ he asked a fireman who had just come off the radio.
‘You’ll have to ask the chief in charge for more details. All I can tell you is that there was a fire somewhere inside.’ He pointed to the old hospital-turned-morgue.
Hunter frowned. ‘Fire?’
Certain arson cases were also investigated by the HSS, but they were rarely considered UV. Hunter had never been assigned as the lead detective in any of them.
‘Robert, over here.’
Hunter turned and saw Doctor Carolyn Hove coming down the steps to greet them. She’d always looked a great deal younger than her forty-six years. But not today. Her usually perfectly styled chestnut hair was disheveled, her expression solemn and defeated. If the Los Angeles County Coroner had ranks, Doctor Hove would be second in command, just under Doctor Winston.
‘What in the world is going on, Doc?’ Hunter asked.
‘Absolute hell. .’
Four
