to his feet and started running.”
CC then followed Dallas a short distance down the path, where he used a flashlight to point to a new blood trail that was easily visible.
“Here is where he took one to the inside of his thigh, but kept running,” explained Dallas. “By the large amount of blood, I’m sure the bullet hit his femoral artery. If whoever murdered him hadn’t finished the job, he would have bled out pretty quick.”
CC paused to envision the nightmare. Beaten with a bat or pipe … broken rib through your lung … bound in duct tape … kidnapped and laying on the floor of some van … dragged out and shot in the face … escape while more bullets are flying … trying to run with your hands tied behind your back … shot through the thigh … staggering … unable to gasp for air through your mouth … shot in the back … face down in the dirt … feel the gun on the back of your head —
“And here,” said Dallas, waving his flashlight beam over a spray of dark red blood in a contrasting splatter against the bright green leaves on a bush beside the trail, “is where he took one to the back. See where the blood from his leg changed direction? He spun around, staggered, and went down.”
CC looked at the man lying face down along a short embankment beside a small creek.
“The killer then put the last shot into the back of his skull,” continued Dallas.
CC paused and looked around. She knew that Dallas thought she was searching for clues. In reality she was trying once more to grasp the inhumanity of the human race. She sighed and looked at Dallas and said, “Guess it leaves us with who and why. Also, who is the victim? You said you checked for a wallet?”
“I only patted his front and back pockets. Nothing. Maybe he has it in his jacket. I didn’t want to move anything until the Forensic Identification Section does their thing.”
“I want to identify this guy. I’m not going to wait for FIS,” said CC. “I’ll be discreet. The sooner we can ID him the better.” She bent over the victim and gently started to roll the body over on the side, but her attention was diverted to a shadow cast by a fern growing out from the side embankment on the other side of the body. “Dallas, over there!” said CC. “Under the fern … see it? In the shadow. There’s something there.”
Dallas pushed the fern aside and shone his light. “Bingo! We’ve got a footprint.” Dallas squatted and examined it closer. “Too smudged to match, but gives us an idea of size.”
“Maybe the couple who found him,” suggested CC.
“They said they didn’t come down off the trail. Plus she was wearing short heels and he is big. I’m betting size ten-to-twelve range. This is much smaller. Not the vic’s. Maybe a woman?”
“Pretty wide for a woman,” commented CC, turning her attention back to the body. “Hang on, hand me your light.”
Dallas passed CC his flashlight and saw her direct the beam through the front of the clear plastic bag that was still covering the head and upper torso. She then squinted, peering closer through the bloodied plastic and reached her hand inside and took out a prescription pill bottle from the victim’s shirt pocket.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered.
“What is it? Got something?”
“Yeah, we got something all right. Do you know Corporal Jack Taggart from the Intelligence Unit?”
“No,” replied Dallas, bending over for a closer look at the pill bottle.
“His wife is Doctor Natasha Taggart,” replied CC, covering her eyes with one hand as she unconsciously massaged the sides of her temples.
Dallas paused for a moment, glancing at CC. “Do you want me to call her?” he asked.
Connie sighed and said, “No, I will.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know,” replied Connie, “but with Jack, there is guaranteed to be one.”
9
It was 3:30 in the morning when Jack awoke and answered his phone. He listened as Connie briefly gave him the details of the murder.
“And no identification?” said Jack.
“Nothing except a prescription pill bottle listing Natasha as the prescribing physician. It’s soaked in blood. The last name looks like Montgomery.”
“Hang on, I’ll wake her,” said Jack.
“I’m already awake,” said Natasha. “Overdose?” she asked, taking the phone from Jack who shook his head in response.
Natasha listened in shock and disbelief, her ears hearing the words, but her mind acting fuzzy and numb. She heard herself speak. She sounded professional, but it was as if someone else were saying the words … putting her brain on hold for the real flood of emotion that would follow moments later. She passed the phone back to Jack.
“Natasha thinks he lives in an alley close to her clinic,” said Connie. “She thinks she can recognize his sleeping bag and is willing to help us. Think you could drive her and meet us there? We want to find out where this guy was grabbed as soon as we can.”
“We’re on our way,” replied Jack. “Give me your cell number.” Jack hung up and looked at Natasha. She was sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest, holding the plastic rose.
“Someone murdered Melvin,” she sobbed. “Why? Why would anyone do that? He was harmless. A gentle person. Why shoot him?”
“I don’t know. Come on, we need to get dressed.”
Minutes later, as they rode the elevator down to the parking garage, Natasha turned to Jack as anger started to overcome grief. “Why?” she demanded. “Why would anyone do this?”
“CC is a good investigator. Very thorough. If anyone will find —”
“Don’t you patronize me! I know how these things work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Melvin isn’t some la-de-da member of society. People like him disappear all the time. Who out there really cares? I’m the only friend he had,” she added, with a sob.
“Melvin didn’t disappear. He was murdered. It will be investigated as closely as if he was the mayor.”
“Yeah, right,” muttered Natasha sarcastically.
Jack hugged her as he sighed and said, “Melvin doesn’t sound all that different from who I was visiting today — Ophelia. I told you about her.”
Natasha paused, swallowed and said, “You’re different. So am I. Who else has visited Ophelia?”
Jack grimaced and shook his head.
“Exactly. And I’m the only one who Melvin could ever turn to.”
“That may be, but CC is a good investigator. She’ll
