“What have we got?” Andy asked Balouche already on the scene.
“Jane Doe, we’ll do the usual.” Balouche lit up a Marlboro. “Take a few pictures, haul the body away and not waste anymore time.”
The junior partner stepped toward the body and crouched down. The smell was overwhelming. He should have been used to it by now, but every time the stench found a new way to turn his stomach.
“This looks pretty brutal, Balouche.”
“Probably just a hooker picking up a john hopped up on something. Got ugly, left an even uglier mess. No need to spend unnecessary tax dollars. We’ll write it up and unless something unusual pops up, we move on. Too much going on in this town to spin our wheels on a dead end.”
“I don’t see a purse or any sort of identification.”
“I doubt we’ll find anything. If we’re lucky her fingerprints will turn up a name. If not maybe someday someone will come looking for her.” He crouched down beside his partner and looked at the decaying corpse. “Not much of a face left, doubt anyone would recognize her.”
“Shame.” Andy stood. “Everyone deserves justice, especially for something this brutal.”
“Just fill out the paperwork and walk away. It’s a little more brutal than normal. Someone crushed her face in, otherwise it’s just more of the same.”
Andy sighed and stood “CSI finished up?”
Balouche nodded. “You might as well go back to the office and sharpen your pencil. I’ll take a few more notes and that’ll be it.”
A mousey man with thick glasses slipped back under the yellow tape. “You finally decide to make an appearance?” He directed toward Andy.
“Came as soon as I got the call.”
“Must have been doing something, Balouche made it here an hour ago.”
“Got here as soon as I could. Anything unusual, or is this as run of the mill as Balouche says.” Andy looked over at Balouche who had wondered away from the scene and was on his cell phone.
“This is anything but run of the mill, Andy.”
“Balouche says…”
“Screw Balouche. The victim died here, but there’s a trail of blood and chaos at least a mile long in this maze. My guess is the killer thought the woman was dead, she obviously dragged herself or crawled into this dead end. The killer came back, found her still alive and crushed her skull in with his boot.”
“What makes you say that?”
The man jerked his head, signaling Andy to follow him. They crouched down over the body again. “See here? The perp took the time to wipe his feet off with her sleeve. She was leaned up against the brick wall and then slumped over after he took his heel to her face.”
Andy looked up and around. “What’s this?” He pointed to the wall. “It looks like writing.”
“Probably just some graffiti. The blood and brain matter from her head has covered most of it.”
He bent closer and shook his head. “Newman take a closer look at this. There’s lettering written in blood.”
Newman cocked his head. “Barker, you get a good shot of this wall?” When the photographer nodded, he looked back at the body. “The index finger of her left hand looks like she dipped it in blood.”
“Was she trying to leave a message?” Andy looked at him.
Newman scrapped several places on the wall and dropped the shavings into marked plastic bags. “Don’t know if we’ll ever know for sure.”
“What are you jerk offs doing?” Balouche appeared.
“Looks like the victim tried to leave a message of some kind.” Newman continued taking samples from the wall.
“Don’t waste more time, Newman.” Balouche scolded. “The body’s been here a long while, we’re probably not the first to run across it. Some kids who watch ‘Ghost Hunters’ probably thought it was funny.”
“Peyton,” Andy tried to convince him. “Look at her finger, she definitely was trying to write something on this wall in her own blood.” Balouche rolled his eyes. “Take a look yourself.”
The senior partner bent over and glanced at the wall. “I don’t see anything that can’t be explained by normal blood patterns. As for her index finger, she probably touched herself. Stop wasting time, wrap it up.” Balouche stepped over the body and walked out of sight.
Newman looked at Andy. “The Big Kahuna has spoken, but get as many pictures as possible.”
Two men approached with a gurney and a body bag. “Can we get the body to the lab now?”
Reluctantly Andy nodded. He stared at the wall as the men busied themselves. Andy turned to look at them when he heard the plastic bag unzip. “Wait!”
The men stopped immediately. “Newman, look at the victim’s height compared to the writing on the wall.”
“What?” Newman was puzzled.
“Where was her head when the attacker crushed her skull?”
Newman pointed, “About here.”
“And where is the message she allegedly wrote?”
“Six to eight inches…” Newman turned and looked at the body. He looked back up at Andy and grinned. “Lasko, get back over here with that camera.”
When the photographer returned Andy looked at the men from the morgue. “Gentlemen, turn her over…very carefully.”
“What?” It was one of the attendants turn to question.
“We think before she died she tried to leave a message.”
“What kind of message?”
“Turn her over. Her back was to it when her skull was crushed. The final blow ran down over the message, but with any luck…”
The body was reverently and respectfully turned over. The camera flashed several times.
Newman whistled. “This chick may have gotten herself killed, but she was brilliant.”
Andy grabbed the photographer. “Do not under any circumstances put any copies of this on Balouche’s desk. Put them on disk and bring them straight to me.”
“Something up Andy?”
“Not sure, but for the third time, Balouche has just been a little too eager to gloss over a few things I feel are important. He wants me to do the paperwork. I do the paperwork, this time from my notes, not his.”
Newman took one last look as the body was placed properly in the bag and zipped up. “Three words, the last two garbled the first is pretty clear. Think there’s a connection?”
“If this were graffiti I’d say no, but positive it was written in her own blood just before she died I’d say definitely.”
“I can have a definitive answer for you on that one in a few minutes once I get back to the lab.”
“Then get back to the lab, Newman, and once again all information comes directly to me.”
“Gotcha, Andy.” Newman darted away as Andy opened his notebook and scribbled down the letters he could make out.
“Balouche maybe be trying to make everyone look the other way,” he said to himself on his way back to his car. “But as far as I’m concerned, there are too many people dropping the name Hutton before they drop dead around here.”
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