Busted (5 page)

They pulled up and parked next to a marked cruiser in front of the apartment building. There were a few police officers and a pair of EMTs by the back of the ambulance and clumps of onlookers on the lawns of the adjacent buildings. The ambulance was backed up to the entrance of the building, but there wasn’t much activity around it. Joe didn’t think that was a good sign.

“Wait in here,” Steve said as he unbuckled and opened the door.

“Now just hold on a minute,” Joe protested.

“No.” The detective’s voice was hard and had an edge that Joe hadn’t heard before. “This is a crime scene. Stay. Here.”

Joe swallowed, suddenly nervous. He could feel exactly how much Steve meant it. It didn’t help that he’d felt a little queasy and his shoulder blades had prickled as soon as the car door had opened.

“Okay,” he said. Joe was surprised at his own meekness.

As soon as the car door shut, Joe felt better, the nausea passing. It took the meekness with it. Joe moved to open the car door, but thought better of it. In his suit he’d stand out, and he couldn’t think of any good reason he should be there. He also got the feeling that if he got out, Steve would be more than happy to arrest him for real.

Instead, Joe rolled down the window. He was a little reluctant – when Steve had opened the door he’d almost instantly felt sick. Whatever smell it must’ve been would come through the window too, but he’d be damned if he just sat there and didn’t at least make an attempt to find out what was going on. There was nothing when the window opened, just a damp and chilly breeze.

The scene was remarkably quiet. One of the cruisers had its lights still on, and the low growl of the ambulance’s engine underlay everything, but there was almost no activity. Joe had heard the dispatcher. There were people who were dead. It seemed like there ought to be more. Sirens, screaming people, cops rushing around, something. Not this… stillness.

There were two EMTs leaning against the side of the ambulance. One was a tall black man wearing an oversized jacket that left him looking a little skinny. The other was a shorter bulky blonde woman. They were talking with one of the few cops that was outside, close enough that Joe could hear them.

“So you need us for anything?” The woman asked.

“’Fraid not,” the cop replied. “It’s a mess in there. We’re just waiting for the coroner.”

The taller EMT winced. “I hate these,” he said.

The cop just nodded. Expressions flashed across his face, disgust and nausea and sadness.

“Just fucking kids,” he said. Joe’s stomach twisted when he did. “I hope they catch the bastard that did this.”

The blonde sighed. “Paperwork time, I guess.”

“Better than being busy,” the cop remarked as the pair climbed into the back of the ambulance.

With the ambulance crew gone, the sheer dullness of the situation hit Joe. He looked around, trying to find something to catch his interest, but there wasn’t much. Even the surrounding groups of people were quiet, murmuring between themselves but not actually doing anything. There were a few officers there, in their cars, presumably doing paperwork.

In a desperate attempt to stave off boredom, Joe started searching around. ‘Where,’ he thought, ‘would I hide if I were a psycho killer?’

It seemed unlikely that he’d hang around, but you never knew. Most of the clumps of people looked like residents. There were two groups of senior citizens and another of younger women with a few preschool kids in tow. There were a few individuals scattered around. An old man with a cane and green sweater, some punk kid in a baggy black t-shirt with a skateboard, and a young guy in a blue jacket with a big brown necklace and a pizza delivery bag getting into a blue sub-compact car.
 
None of them seemed likely.

Up a tree? Maybe. Joe squinted at the maple trees that lined the street. It was early summer, but even in full leaf there wasn’t enough cover to hide someone. Still, he looked at each of the close ones in turn. Nothing more dangerous than a squirrel.

In a nearby apartment? Joe looked from building to building. Curtains or shades were drawn in all the ones he could see. He watched each of them, looking for movement. Looking for someone watching the results of their handiwork. Nothing.

Hiding in the bushes maybe? Some of the buildings had rhododendrons at their corners. They were big enough — five or six feet tall and densely green — to hide someone small. A short insane man with a knife. Or… a child.

Joe started when he realized there was a child behind one of the bushes, right around the corner from the building the police were in. He could just barely see signs through the leaves, but he knew she was there. Hiding from something.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Joe got out of the car and jogged up to the bush and around the side. The leaves were a little thinner here on the side of the bush that was perpetually in the building’s shade. He heard a tiny little whimper from somewhere within.

Joe crouched down and moved a branch aside, revealing a girl. She was maybe seven, still dressed for bed. Her hair was a tangle, her eyes wide as she looked at Joe. The front of her dress was red with blood.

* * *

Inside the apartment building things were busy, and Steve didn’t need anyone to tell him where things had happened. The blood smears on the open door of unit 1-B and the forensic team inside was more than enough.

There was a uniformed officer just inside the door to the apartment. Jensen. Rookie. He was looking green, but doing his best to hold it together.

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“Three fatalities, sir,” Officer Jensen said. His voice was a little unsteady. Reciting the details seemed to help him compose himself. “Two children, one boy, one girl, and an adult female. Neighbor called this in at 11:45 when she saw the blood on the door. Officer got here at 11:57. There was no answer; the manager opened the apartment for us at 12:05. The bodies were discovered in the living room.”

Steve nodded. “Any other occupants?”

“We’re not sure yet, sir. The manager fainted when he discovered the bodies. That was twenty five minutes ago. Medical examiner thinks that there might be three children living in the apartment. We’re checking with social services. The complex management company is sending someone over to check the records. Manager was the only one in today.”

Steve sighed. Civilians. “What about the bodies?”

The speed at which all the blood drained out of the rookie’s face told Steve everything he needed to know. He was tempted to give the guy an out and ask the medical examiner, but he knew there wasn’t any point. He was a cop, and this stuff happened.

“Not good?”

“The ME said something about… ritual killings. They have pictures. I think they have most of the pieces picked up.”

Russell felt his own stomach lurch. ‘Pieces’ was a very bad word.

Unfortunately it was his job to find out who, which meant he needed to know how. He’d probably find out why, too, and he had a feeling it would haunt his dreams for a long time.

The apartment door opened into a small foyer then opened up into a kitchen, and on the other side of that was the living room. There were, if the floorplan of this place was the same as the other apartments in the complex, three bedrooms past that. The living room was where most of the people were.

The smell hit him as he walked in. It smelled like blood and shit and vomit, with a tinge of something that must’ve been fear. He recognized the MEs and the other officers in the room. They were all veterans. With nine years of experience, he was likely the newest guy in the room. The looks of shock on their faces didn’t make him feel at all good.

He looked around the room as he got in. It was a standard room, cream colored walls, a light beige carpet, white trim, white curtains over a sliding glass door that would’ve looked out into the trees bordering the complex. There was a TV in one end of the room, a tan sectional couch.

Everything in the room was splattered with blood.

The bright red in the carpets showed where the bodies had been, so much blood the carpet was still soaked despite the time. Three blobs, a large one in the center and two smaller ones slightly offset. There was a ragged red circle around the puddles, maybe six feet in diameter. And everywhere there were splatters of blood.

“Jesus,” Steve whispered. “What happened?”

“You missed the good bits, Detective,” said one of the people in the room. He was wearing a Medical Examiner’s jacket and the only person not looking ill.

“What were the good bits?” He didn’t want the answer to that question, but it didn’t stop him from asking.

“The three were killed in what looks like a ritual of some sort. The bodies were laid out, their throats about in the centers of the… puddles. The mother was in the center, the boy on the right, the girl on the left. They were both prepubescent, probably nine or ten. We’ll know more when we get some of the family details. Their throats had been cut. Enthusiastically but not expertly, the cuts weren’t clean.”

“The killer drew the circle around them with their own blood?”

“Oh, no, Detective,” the man said with a cheery grin. “The circle’s from their intestines. Three times around, once from each of them from what we can see.”

Steve was feeling a little faint.