He tries to pull his family to him. Two uniforms leap forward and grab his arms, dragging him away. “Hey, don’t touch the bodies!” One of the officers shouts.
“Get the fuck off me!” He screams, shoving them away. He falls to his knees again, sobbing.
Jason is so crippled by grief; he forgot the most basic rule of being a detective. Don’t contaminate the crime scene. I hope we didn’t lose any potential evidence because of his desire to comfort the corpses.
I turn to the two officers first on the scene. “I’m Detective Lobos. I want to know what you saw when you arrived at the scene.” The male officer nods to his female partner to speak up.
The male officer must be a rookie judging by his deflection to speak up.
She rests her hands on her gun belt. “We responded to a 911 call that came from this address, and upon our arrival, we found the door cracked. So we drew our service weapons and made entry, and upon entering, we found the bodies like that.” She exhales sharply, trying to keep her composure. “Shot… and cut up.”
“There was no one else in the house when you arrived?”
“No, Detective. We did a quick sweep, and the interior and exterior of the house were secure. Whoever killed that woman and her kids is long gone.”
“I hope the piece of shit resists arrest, so you blow his ass away. Killing a cop is one thing, but his family is a whole new low.” The male officer finally speaks up.
I nod. “Thank you, officers. That’ll be all.”
“Devi, this is my fault!” Jason cries.
I level my finger at him. “Stop that shit. It’s not your fault.”
“No… it is. I should’ve told you.”
I crouch down next to him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter now. My family is fucking dead.” His voice breaks.
“Don’t give me that!”
“My wife…. she was rich. She was a therapist part-time, but her real money flow came from a chain of seafood restaurants in Florida. God, I fucked up so bad. My stupidity got them killed. I thought the killer wouldn’t find out.” He drops his head and sucks in air. “But I was wrong, and now they’re dead because of me!”
He is right. It was stupid. He should have fucking said something earlier, and we could’ve put them in protective custody. I stifle my impulse to chew him out. I’m an asshole, not a cold-hearted bitch. Plus, I think he is suffering enough without me bitching him out.
My hand gently grips his shoulder. “Jason, you need to go wait in the car. You’re too close to this. You’re not seeing things right. I need you to go wait in the car.”
He sits there, lost in space, tears cascade down his cheeks as he gapes at the bodies of his family a sob slips out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He mutters.
“Jason! Wait in the car. Let us process the crime scene. This is how you help your family now.”
He stares at me through the eyes of a man who has lost everything. Jason turns back to his family, which is now referred to as the bodies. “Father… is sorry, he couldn’t protect you, girls. I failed you.” He gazes at me in a trancelike state. “Devi, you were smart to never have kids. This world wasn’t meant for children.”
I lightly place my hand on the back of his neck, trying to hold back tears. “No, it’s not. But listen, you need to let us work for your family.” My voice stammers.
It takes a special kind of sick fuck to kill children, but it tends to happen so often nowadays. It’s become the norm. People are actually shocked when they don’t hear about parents killing their kids or some psycho guns them down in a schoolyard, or some sick fuck decides to kill a mother and her children while they’re sleeping.
After Jason leaves the house, I examine the wife; there are no signs of rape because her sweatpants are still on, and sexual assault is not Moonlight Killer’s MO. No sign of robbery, her diamond necklace is still around her neck, and her wedding band is still on her finger. I slip on a pair of blue latex gloves when I notice something catching the light in one of the daughter’s mouth. I open her mouth a bit wider, and it’s rammed with silver coins. Sadly, this reeks of the Moonlight Killer. The mouths of the victims filled with coins are one of his earlier gimmicks. He’s backtracking.
“Lobos, check this out,” the young detective says.
“What is it?”
He shines his flashlight on the mother. “There’s something in the wife’s mouth too. Oh, by the way, Detective Martinez. Clearwater Homicide.”
“Yeah, nice to meet you.” I retort. I open Mrs. Sadir’s mouth; it’s packed tightly with silver coins. “The Moonlight Killer did this with the first victim. Damn, it’s him.” He’s going back to his original pattern. He’s toying with us.
“How do you know this is the Moonlight Killer and not some other psycho copying him?”
“Silver bears a strong religious significance, and since our killer is extremely religious, it fits the profile. If it were a copycat, the coins would not be here. We hid that from the media to screen for copycats.”
I turn to the body of the other child. “I’m willing to bet the other little girl has coins rammed down her throat as well.”
Bits of coins spill from her mouth as the ME opens the little girl’s mouth. “Yep, she does,”
