Lauren (3 page)

"Hopefully, we'll get lucky then,” Tom said and they continued the autopsy.

When the autopsy concluded, they headed into the hallway.

Lauren was relieved to discard the protective coverings she had to wear.

"So, gorgeous, I know you said no to dinner, but since it's past lunch time, what do you say we grab a bite together?” Tom asked as they walked through the doors, into the heated street again.

Lauren gave him a semi-disgusted look.

He raised his hands up. “What?"

"Come on, Tom, I'm not exactly very hungry at the moment.” Lauren still tried to get the smell out of her senses as the humid air just seemed to imprison it.

"You got to eat, kid, and how many times have I told you this is the life of a homicide detective,” Tom teased, knowing the comment would get under Lauren's skin.

She shot him a dirty look, as they approached her car.

Every homicide investigator knew that in order to stay neutral and conduct a thorough investigation, one needed to look at the body as forensic evidence. The life and spirit were already gone, and on their way to hopefully meet a higher power.

The worst thing a detective could do was to look at a victim and the murder as if it were a family member, sister, brother, parent, or friend.

"You know, Tom, I'll have lunch with you. But you're paying,” Lauren told him, and he smiled as he got into her car.

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The old rock and roll song
Sixteen Candles,
by Johnny Mistro and the Crests, played on the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner of the restaurant. Each chrome barstool covered in shiny, sparkling red vinyl matched the surrounding booths. The tables were white and bordered in chrome. The waitresses wore old-fashioned fifties outfits with matching white caps.

It was a popular theme for restaurants these days, and they were popping up left and right throughout the surrounding suburbs.

It was a likable era, marked in history by great singers like Elvis, the Platters, Four Seasons, Buddy Holly, Chubby Checker, and Johnny Mistro and the Crests. The list went on. Most people loved the music, and places like these were always busy.

He sat in the corner on a barstool, watching the young women who attended the local university a few blocks up the street.

They were beauties, but he preferred the more mature women, who still had that innocent look about them.

If this place didn't deliver this week's special, there were a plethora of similar places to find his next victim.

He didn't feel so safe in the city anymore.

After tonight, he would head north and out of the city.

He finished the last sip of his homemade maraschino cherry coke, tipped the waitress, and left the restaurant. He got in his box truck, and made his way through the traffic to the next location, past 261st Street. Plenty of young women would be hanging out in the bars within walking distance to St. Mary's College.

He knew all of them, had been doing this route for the past year and a half.

Smiling, he thought about his first victim, over four years ago, and the incredible feeling of anticipation before his first kill.

He succeeded in evading capture. He'd been triumphant, even with such great odds against him, including a few well known ‘top notch detectives.'

He felt invincible after that special kill.

He wasn't happy only having his fantasies, or just a handful of willing partners. He wasn't going to pay some disgusting, contaminated hooker to fulfill his desires. He loathed those disease-infested animals.

They weren't good enough, not even close.

What he desired was an almost purity. An innocence best described as ‘good girls.’ Not promiscuous women. He wanted classy, gorgeous, sexy, young women, who hid their curves and sexuality out of shyness, and who had very little experience.

They stayed well hidden, but he had a special knack for finding them.

He was getting better and better at it, but still, he had yet to find that perfect woman who fit his fantasies completely. There always seemed to be something missing. He strived to find that special woman, with an enormous desire to feel complete.

He parked the dirty-boxed truck behind the building. It was getting late, and he had a job to do tomorrow. He got that feeling that tonight wasn't the night, as he walked toward the entrance of another location.

Then he stopped right in his tracks, nearly lost his breath. His heart pounded against his t-shirt.

There she sat.

Destiny.

The knockout redhead smiled shyly as a group of young men tried to gain her attention.

The redhead's friends were flirtatious, as she stayed silent, practically burying her head.

"
Your mine ... and we belong ... together."

The words to the song, his song, echoed in his head and a smile formed on his lips.

Lauren made her way through the 53rd Precinct in the Bronx. The stone-faced building was one of many ancient dwellings in the surrounding area. Sometimes, she wondered about all the law enforcement officers who entered this building over the decades—some, decades ago—including in her own family, on both her mother and her father's sides. She was meant to be here, to serve here, and she was so proud to be a part of history. There was Uncle Roger, a homicide detective who retired as a homicide commander. Then there was Uncle Marty who was a Sergeant. There were four cousins as well, but they worked in different precincts in different boroughs. She knew it fed her ego a bit. It also provided fuel for the goals she set. She wasn't going to stop at homicide detective even though she loved it.

She gave her non-committal ‘hi’ and ‘hello's’ as she passed the desk sergeant, some other brass, and then proceeded to the shared, cramped offices upstairs.

The room was crowded, every desk taken. Every inch of space for that matter was over crowded, cramped, and being used beyond its dimensions.

She waved and said hello to a few more people, then made her way across the office. Once she was at the desk she shared with two other detectives, she saw the pile of messages for her.

"You're Miss Popularity today, let me tell ya. Some of us have to work, you know? We can't just hang out at the M.E.'s office,” Detective Jack Murphy teased.

They teamed up on another homicide of a murdered female last week. She'd attended St. Mary's College on 272nd Street in the Bronx.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Is there anything new on the Wilson case?” She thought about the young, twenty-two year old blonde, Renee Wilson, who'd attended the college. So far, in the investigation, the woman had no enemies, no boyfriend, and seemed to be the victim in an isolated incident.

Her family was devastated, and half the pink pieces of paper on Lauren's desk contained messages left by them for her.

"There was that strand of fuzz under her nails. The lab determined it was some kind of carpeting."

"Well, that's something. I wish we had more to tell her family. I hate calling them back and telling them we have no leads, no clues whatsoever.” In frustration, Lauren tossed the notes back down on her desk.

Jack leaned on the corner of the desk.

He was a few years older than Lauren, and they had teamed up on homicides the last few years. He was newly married with light brown hair, green eyes, and a mature looking face. Unlike Lauren, who was thirty-four and could pass for being in her early twenties, especially with her long brown hair she kept in the latest styles, as well as her clothing. She mostly wore black dress slacks, with various colored blouses. It was a classy look that didn't reveal much, and that's how she preferred it.

When she went out on a date, which hadn't been for over a year now, she dressed a little sexier but still conservative.

She knew she had a great body, was physically fit due to her intense kickboxing workouts, and didn't feel it necessary to advertise. At the moment, her enthusiasm about her workouts and her life disintegrated. She felt for the family and empathized with their loss.

"Don't beat yourself up, Lauren. You were really good with the family. They feel comfortable with you, so just be honest. It's only been a week and we still have the bartender to interview. He's finally back from his little trip."

"Great! Why didn't you tell me? When are we going?"

"Right now. Remember I was waiting for you?"

"All right. Let's go!” Lauren replied and she and Jack made their way out of the office but not before bumping into Captain Morris.

"Hey, Captain!” Jack said, and Lauren smiled.

The captain acknowledged them both but spoke directly to Lauren. “Anything on that John Doe yet?"

"Not too much. I'm waiting on results from the lab. We did find a set of tire tracks. They could be from the killer's vehicle. We'll just have to wait and see,” Lauren stated.

"You're working that one with McNulty, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Keep me updated."

"Sure will,” Lauren said and the captain continued walking to his office.

"He always speaks to you nicely,” Jack added, sounding kind of annoyed, as he and Lauren made their way down the stairs.

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't even want to talk to me. He could care less. It's funny that you're one of the select few detectives he's respectful to."

"Well, I'm respectful to him. Maybe if you guys didn't bad mouth him all the time..."

"Oh, give me a break. The guy asks for it. He's so fucking anal, it's not funny. Did you see that suit he's wearing? It's fucking ninety degrees out there and even hotter in here. Who the fuck wears a three piece suit in the summer time, never mind an outdated one?"

"Two words, Jack ... Air conditioning."

Jack shook his head, as they continued through the front door and onto the streets. They had to suffer, but the freaking captain had an air conditioning unit in his office. It was nearly three in the afternoon. The temperature wasn't letting up.

Lauren and Jack made their way to the car, noting the angry faces and attitudes the humid temperatures seemed to be causing in people.

The people on the streets wore hardly any clothing and were doing anything to stay cool. This, basically, was impossible.

"So what do you think tonight's going to be like?” Jack asked.

Lauren knew if the heat wave continued, there would be a bunch of calls ranging anywhere from heatstroke to domestic violence.

"People get nasty when it's this hot and the latest weather report confirmed that there is no sign of relief in sight."

Jack agreed.

She kept her eyes peeled, as Jack drove the Crown Victoria slowly through traffic. They gradually made their way to the bar, where Renee Wilson was last seen.

"So you got plans this Memorial Day weekend?” he asked.

"Yeah, I do. Big family and town barbeque. I'm looking forward to seeing my family and a lot of old friends I haven't seen in a while. One of the guys just finished his tour of duty in Iraq."

"That's great and I'm sure it will be a hell of a party."

"What about you? Do you and Kelly have plans?"

"Barbeque, I think. I haven't really spoken too much about it. That's the plan tonight, though. I promised Kelly a romantic dinner and no ‘cop talk.’”

Lauren laughed, finding Jack's statement amusing. “I'll have to call Kelly and see if you were actually able to do that."

"What? You don't think I can talk about any other subjects than police work?"

"Oh, you can talk about other subjects, like sports, cars, your abs that you've been working on...."

"Oh, give me a break. I'm very romantic."

"You should be. You're a goddamn newlywed. Romance should be flowing out of you like molten lava,” Lauren teased.

"Hey, don't knock it. Good looks and a great body aren't worth it if there's no one to share it with.” Jack eyed her body from head to toe.

"Yeah, I haven't heard that one before. Not to change the subject, but you should really try the kickboxing class I'm taking. It's intense."

"I'll stick to my crunches, thank you. I don't know where all that momentum and consistency comes from, but by now your abs have to be rock solid. I just can't seem to get that cut look to mine.” Jack squeezed his shirt, and the small roll of fat hidden underneath it.

Smirking, Lauren glanced down at Jack's stomach. She knew he really wasn't too concerned with having great abs. “That's Kelly's cooking. You shouldn't complain. Most men would kill to marry a woman who can cook like that."

"Speaking of her cooking, she made this awesome garlic, roasted turkey breast the other night with French cut string beans, creamy garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh corn on the cob."

"Sounds delicious."

"It was awesome,” Jack added, and they continued to sit in traffic.

Lauren returned some of the phone calls, including the one to Renee's parents.

By the time she finished speaking to Mrs. Wilson, Lauren felt a bit down. All she wanted to do was solve this case and bring some closure to the family. They wanted the person responsible found and tried.

Lauren looked out the window hoping the conversation with the bartender would pay off.

Upstate New York

Eddie Tennellie finished working out. It was 6:00 a.m. and he was used to getting up this early. He itched to get to work after having the last two days off. He hadn't done much of anything in those two days, except clean his house and visit friends at Hennessey's pub.

He let the cool water cover his body. The heat was terrible this morning and he wasn't sure he'd make it up the hill of the block before his development.

He'd gained a couple of pounds, but nothing he was worried about, and more importantly, nothing a couple of weeks of crunches and running wouldn't take care of.

He turned off the shower, and dried off his body, and wondered how his friend Ken made out this weekend. Ken had a big date with a woman he'd been seeing for a couple of weeks. Ken said she was ‘the one.’ Eddie laughed just thinking about his friend, and the type of character he was. The guy was always joking around, checking out women, and trying to find that perfect one. He wanted to get married, have children, and do the whole family thing.