CHAPTER III: OMG, NOT ANOTHER...

Jake stood looking down at the floor, and for a minute it seemed almost as if he wasn't actually looking at 'it',  and yet he was I'm sure.

Jake, aka Lt. Jacob Ciccoletti (head of the detective division of the local police department...and its only full-time member as of now along with a Sgt. who assists when needed...and yes my father had a hand in his getting that job but Jake doesn't know that...(ok, he does now. LOL). Anyway, Jake is not as used to dead bodies laying around as he naturally would be if he was in the same position in a big city police department...and the sight of the occasional lifeless body-form rendered that way by whatever reason or reasons and method or methods possible was obviously still unnerving to him. He is also only 23 (almost, like me) and new at his job, having been thrust into it by the untimely death (of natural causes) of his predecessor. The sight of one body too many perhaps? One too many parking tickets, too many pussies up a tree, cats too? LOL.

At first it had been a temporary position but after a little under three months the department made his upgrade in position permanent.

"We just don't get that many dead bodies around here," I heard Sgt. Douglas Barton (the other officer present at the crime scene) say to no one in particular...as if anyone would think they did in a town of this size. I don't know that the local mortician would agree but then again...

"One is plenty for me," Jake replied...
and I have no doubt he meant it.

It got deadly again (so to speak) in the hallway where we stood, as if no one quite knew what to say...or maybe in deference to the dearly departed although I seriously doubt that he any longer gave a shit nor was he any longer capable of being disturbed. Let's just say he was way beyond being bothered by much of anything. 

I stood slightly behind the two officers, trying to appear casual and not succeeding I am sure....wondering what was going through Jake's mind as he stood looking at and not looking at and trying not to look at...the body at his feet. Sorta the proverbial 800# gorilla in the room although at the moment it looked considerably smaller but no less significant and without any hint of peanut breath.

Given what has just happened, I suspect he just might be thinking right about now that becoming a lawyer even if he had to borrow the money to do it was clearly the better option...but as they say, too late now. To be sure, there would be considerably less gore to deal with, and just as I thought to myself that this was no way to start a  promising career in law enforcement I looked over and he was definitely looking a bit peaked. (Should I retrieve a barf bag?). 

Under different circumstances I might have laughed or at least giggled at that but I immediately and prudently to be sure decided that now was definitely not the time for even a few giggles...maybe later. MUCH later.

Anyway, I had just happened to be at the station spending some time with my old friend when the call came in and not only was I there as a friend...but also as a reporter hoping for a 'BIG SCOOP,' although at the outset that had hardly seemed likely on a Friday night in hicks-ville. Little did I know...yeh, I guess it was just being with him that was foremost and if something earth-shattering cropped up so much the better, UNTIL IT DID.

I looked at Jake and Sgt. Barton conferring and doing a bit of poking and prodding of the recently deceased and I suspected that at least some of that just might be for my benefit...as we waited for the Forensics people or person or whatever to arrive and take over the scene...and I was just thinking that when they did arrive, armed with bags of death-investigatey stuffies and tools of the trade and so forth, PLUS a benign look of total indifference on their faces as if to them this was the equivalent of a Friday night watching tv and napping during...anyway, as I was thinking that they walked up to us and as the body came into their view, I had no idea what either of them was thinking. Both were seasoned cops in probably their early forties or late thirties, so they were used to this I assume. BUT...

Is it truly possible to become so used to the sight of dead bodies that it causes this kind of reaction or rather no reaction AT ALL?  GOOD GOD. But I suspected that this just maybe indeed was the reason for their facial expressions and I vowed to myself to NEVER get to that point...about anything.

Jake whispered something to Sgt. Barton, and then stepped back as the two other cops moved in and as he did so he leaned into my ear. "C'mon," and I did.

LET ME TELL YOU!

I am no slouch in the walking department, but Jake headed to the front of the building like a man on a mission (with VERY long legs), or perhaps someone whose socks had just suddenly caught on fire...but I kept up. Didn't take long at that pace for us to get to the front doors of the building, the ones with CITY HALL emblazoned on them, and then we emerged into the night air.

It was a brisk early June sultry warm wind that met us as we cleared the front doors and he adjusted his hat and I felt my hair beginning to toss to and fro and wondered just how Donald Trump keeps his in place. Glue perhaps or maybe nails? I mean...who would believe that pile of whatever was real. Dead yes, real no. I often wonder what I would do if suddenly I saw that pile of hairy get up and stalk off, as if it felt insulted for being made to sit on the head of such a total and complete ASS. Again, my penchant for giggles at the exact wrong time began to rear it's adorable head...and...

But I had no time to contemplate that little mind- bender number for as we sat in Jake's squad car with the light from an overhead street lamp shining through the windshield highlighting his face I could see he was REALLY rattled. I felt sorry for him.

"God Dylan."
"Yeh. Something, huh."
Inane comment I know but I had no words. Some writer dude Me, huh. Wordsmith extraordinaire, yeh right. Two best-sellers while still in high school and 3 more while in college and I can still seem like a befuddled buffoon sometimes.

"That was pretty gruesome," Jake commented after a couple minutes of complete silence except for our breathing.

Well, that I had to admit pretty much described the scene back inside. The remains of the dead and no longer oxygenating was laying partially on his back and partially on his left side...exposing a rather long knife of some sort protruding from his chest, with a fair amount of what was obviously blood showing around the wound sight, and a trail of other fluids running for a bit along the floor behind him and I will just leave that at that. LOL.

I am hardly an expert but it looked to me as if he (the victim) had been assaulted while walking (or maybe running...trying to escape?) and continued for a bit before succumbing to the effects from the knife. But that was pure guesswork on my part. Hell for all I knew he got punctured and dropped like a rock, but it just looked like the former. Don't ask me why. The trail of...maybe.

"Who is he, or rather was he," I asked him?
"Glenn Walters, head of the city council and mayor pro tem."

"Of course as a journalist I had heard the name, and had seen him a couple of times although not up close...but not ever in quite the state he was now in...laying there, and I had to admit death had changed his appearance somewhat. 

"DUH," I thought to myself and damn near giggled again, but again my sense of propriety and self-restraint prevailed. Hell, it was damn near admirable and I realized I was pushing the 'can't giggle' threshold and decided to stifle myself....and...smirk.

"I wonder..." I mumbled...as if either of us had a clue at this point.
"Damned if I know, Dylan," which was a gross understatement for both of us.

I had turned a bit so only heard rather than saw him then lighting a cigarette and instantly sensed the odor of emitted smoke in my nostrils. I don't smoke so I am always acutely aware of it...overly sensitive I presume. They say if you don't smoke, the odor of it is instantly apparent. I know it is for me anyway. He keeps trying to quit and I encourage but never lecture. That only makes things worse. I just want him to live forever, with me. I just can't imagine life without Robbie.

"Robbie, I'm gonna have to call this in pretty soon or they will have my hide." I told him.
"Sure, I know...just don't use any names and maybe you can just use that 'the police are investigating a possible homicide in the city. More as we know it,' kind of crap. Can you?

I nodded and made the call to the TV station where I work. We are a small town but near a couple of much larger cities so consequently we are more of a media maket than we would be otherwise. In fact we are a network affiliate. Right about now I would have said the PFUI Network or WDHA (Well, Death Has Arrived Network)...but refrained before my penchant for ill-timed humor overcame me and...I totally disgraced myself. (Wouldn't be the first time to be sure.)

I hung up and the silence in that car seemed suddenly almost painful. I knew Jake was considering his next move or at least I assumed so.

"Dylan, I gotta get back to the station. Barton and the forensics guys will take it from here. I gotta get on to notifying the relatives and..."

His voice kinda trailed off and again I felt for him.
"Gotcha. See you there."
"Yep."

I got out of the squad car and headed to mine across the street.

Well, this was turning out to be nothing like I had imagined it would be for a normally dismally quiet Friday night in podunk.
"Now what?" I wondered silently to myself.

One of these days I just absolutely must stop asking that question because every time I do, I wind up finding out, and...

RARELY a good thing as I have discovered.


CONTINUE TO CHAPTER II


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