Urban Renewal (Urban Elite Book 1) (6 page)

Jack

I beam with pride as I stand at the window watching all of the activity going on. As furniture is moved in along with all the computer equipment, I’m watching my dream unfold right before my eyes. This has been years in the making. Late nights I stayed up creating a business plan, setting goals that were sensible yet ambitious. Countless property searches to find just the right place. Notes I’ve jotted down in a notebook I keep with me. All of it has been part of the plan. I’ve had to be patient, though, and hold on to hope when doubts and insecurities arose. Now it’s all paying off.

I enter the kitchen area attached to my office. No more crappy police station coffee for me. I’ve set up a top of the line cappuccino machine, the next best thing to having my own personal barista for Valerie, me, and the team. I also had a commercial coffee machine delivered. You know, the kind you pour the water in and there’s enough for everyone in three minutes.

As my own private joke, I stopped by the donut shop on my way in and bought a couple dozen donuts of various kinds. Whatever palate an employee or any of the guys working here today may have, there’s something here that’s sure to please.

“I’m so proud of you.” I smile when I recognize my lover’s husky voice, before I turn around and hand her the cappuccino I just finished making for myself.

“You get the honor of having the first one, Valerie.”

“I say we share it so we both get the honor, you know, to break the place in.”

“I’ve got better ideas of how to break this place in,” I murmur, pinning her with my heated gaze.

She takes a sip of coffee and it’s all I can do not to lick the froth off her upper lip. She reads me so easily and arches a brow as she smirks at me over the steaming mug.

“No time for that, big boy. I’m afraid I come bearing bad news. Or good news, I guess, depending on how you want to look at it.”

I take the coffee cup she offers me and take a sip, bracing for whatever it is she needs to tell me.

“We got a body part down by the river. Some sicko left a riddle written on a severed leg.”

“What the hell? The perp deliberately left us a clue? Now that’s the kind of stupid you don’t see every day.” I continue talking before she can answer, “The ones who operate like that are usually trying to engage. The only question is, does he have a specific target he’s looking to interact with?”

“You got it. You know as well as I do time is the only thing that will tell us exactly what he’s up to. It takes time to profile these sickos.”

“What sicko?” Max’s voice chimes in from the doorway where she’s been listening. Valerie immediately includes her. I can see these two working well together and, unlike most of my law enforcement brethren, I’m all for the whole
girl power
thing. Let’s face it, women can pick up on subtleties that men often miss.

“Let me go with you guys to the crime scene. I swear I’ll keep my mouth shut. It’ll give me a chance to take notes. We could have our first blog up by tomorrow morning, Jack.” She’s talking fast, deliberately trying to persuade me before I can open my mouth to refuse her.

I study her for a minute to let her know I’m serious about what I’m about to say. “Max. Technically… this isn’t our case.”

“It’s mine, though,” Valerie interrupts.

I cut my eyes at her in warning. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Back to you,” I say sternly, returning my attention to Max. “You have to respect these guys. These are street hardened cops who aren’t going to like the idea of press being involved, especially if it involves social media.”

I resist the urge to laugh as Max nods her head quickly, agreeing with everything I’m saying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the kid so agreeable.

“Come on, ladies. The first thing we need to do is put somebody in charge while we’re gone.” They follow me out of the office and wait as I lock the door. We make our way into one of the rooms where Cash is working. He’s the head of
Undercover Elite
and a man I’d trust with my life.

“Cash,” I say quietly. He looks up from where he’s bent over a desk, working. “Hey, man, what’s this?” I ask as I cross the room. “Jeans today and not one of your usual tailored suits?”

Cash always looks like he just finished a magazine cover shoot. Even in jeans, he’s an imposing figure.

“What’s up, man?” He stands, smiling and brushing his hands off on his designer jeans before reaching out for a handshake/one-arm-bro-hug combo. I introduce him to Max and he exchanges brief pleasantries with Valerie.

“Well,” I say grimly, “it looks like
Urban Elite
has gotten our first case—unofficially, of course.”

“Of course. Great name, by the way,” he says with a slight grin before getting down to business. Cash is here with a couple of his
Undercover Elite
team members to install our security system and put the finishing touches on our cyber security measures. I was lucky that he was in town to help me get things up and running. There isn’t much his team of mercenaries won’t take on as a job and it often means going overseas to do the work.

“Great minds think alike, right?”

“Damn straight,” Cash says with a nod as he leans his hip against the desk. He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits to hear me out.

I jump right in. “Looks like somebody’s leg took a walk and ended up on the riverbank just outside town. We’re heading over now to check it out. Can you keep an eye on things here and lock up if we’re not back by the time your guys leave?”

“Absolutely. What you want me to do with the keys when I’m finished?”

“Keep them, that’s your set.”

“Thanks, man. Will do. Let me know what you find out, Jack, and if there’s anything you need from us.”

“I appreciate it, Cash. Please thank the guys for me.”

As we turn to leave, Cash’s voice stops me before we reach the door. “Be careful out there. Those streets are meaner than ever.” The unexpected warning has me wondering what Cash and the
Undercover Elite
team have been involved in lately. My mind drifts back to the conversation I had with Lady Luck the other night. I make a mental note to find out if she ever heard from her friend, Chineka.

“Alright, ladies, it’s showtime.” I unlock the SUV and we all climb in. It feels good to be investigating my first case on my own terms. This is my woman’s case, officially, so I do have an
in
but I need to be careful not to overstep -- especially as my longtime professional peers adjust to me in my new role. I know the boys at the precinct won’t have a problem seeing me as a colleague. The chief and the public, well, that’s a different story. But I learned how to fly under the radar a long time ago so I’ll use those skills as I figure out how this new gig is gonna work.

“Fill me in on the details.” Though my eyes are on the road, my partner knows I’m addressing her.

“I got a call this morning that a guy who was fishing on the riverbank and found a severed human leg in the brush. It freaked the poor guy out. He called 911 and they called me.”

“That would make for one hell of a gory morning.”

“You aren’t kidding. God only knows what that river has seen over the years, and what secrets it still holds.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the general public would be horrified if they knew about the weapons and body parts that have been disposed of in that murky water.” I check my rearview mirror to make sure Max is taking notes and, sure enough, she is.

We pull in next to the muddy riverbank and I know I’ll need to wash my baby after we’re done here. I’m talking about my SUV, of course, but with any luck I’ll be washing my other baby too. Crime scenes can be a messy business and Valerie has never shied away from getting down in the mud and the muck to get the job done. One of the many things I love about that woman.

The crime scene unit is already here and I scan the crowd quickly to see if I know who’s in the standard white van this morning. The coroner is there and I’m relieved when I see it’s Herb Foster, a longtime friend and colleague. So far, so good.

We get out and I cringe as we trudge through the soft earth. Valerie catches me and rolls her eyes heavenward. Hey, I don’t want this crap in my SUV. I should hire someone to detail it regularly. I make a mental note to see if Max knows anyone we can hire from the local college to do maintenance work, kind of a Jack of all trades.

“Well, well, well, Jack is back.” Herb looks up at me from where he’s kneeling as he studies the severed leg that’s causing the uproar this morning. I bend down to get a closer look at something that’s been written on her leg in cursive with a permanent marker. Oddly enough, I’m impressed with the penmanship. It’ll be the strangest handwriting sample I’ve ever had, but it’ll do.

The first piece of the puzzle has now been found.

Who gets to bring the second around?

“Looks like our unknown subject wants to play,” I muse aloud. These are the cases I hate the most because these are the most deranged of killers—it’s a fucking game to them. They latch onto someone in law enforcement and insert themselves into the case, then they expect everyone working the case to cater to their whims and respond instantly to their demands. It’s all about them proving they’re the smartest in the room. Fortunately, that arrogance is usually what trips them up. “And I don’t see any deterioration from being submerged in water, so it looks like the leg was dumped here on the riverbank so it would be found with the message still legible. What a ballsy move.”

“I would say whoever placed the limb here is arrogant, to say the least,” Herb says as he snaps a picture of the severed limb. “And fastidious about details – not a footprint to be found in all this mud. And that message? Yeah, it appears the un-sub does want to play. And look here,” he said, waving me over, “this is really interesting and might give us some insight about the arrogant bastard’s background. It appears the limb was severed with a circular saw. The cut is clean.

“Even though these striae are different”—he points to the two markings in the bone that are clearly different in appearance—“each of these cuts was created with the same power saw. See that fixed radius, bending striae that curves into the bone? That’s typical of a cut made by a power circular saw. In this case, the distance between the striae was caused by each saw tooth being forced to cut a deep swath in the bone, whereas here”—he points to a different area—“where less force was applied, the teeth cut shallow swaths through the bone. Now, to the naked eye there’s a metric difference between striae and it gives the appearance that two different saws were used; however, the differences between the striae are simply a demonstration of heavy versus light force applied.”

He sits back on his heels and looks up at me over his glasses. “Your boy knew what he was doing, because he cut directly where the femoral head connects to the acetabulum.”

“Layman’s terms, Herb, please,” I ask quietly, out of deference to Max. I glance her way and see that she’s frowning at me as she throws her hands up in a gesture that says, “Seriously?!” Clearly, she’s up to speed on the medical jargon, so I tell Herb to please continue.

He uses his fist and open hand to demonstrate his point, “The femoral head fits into a socket called the acetabulum. It’s attached by bands of ligaments. The various connections stabilize the hip and form the joint capsule. In other words, your killer has enough medical training to know exactly where to cut to cleanly separate the joint.”

“Son of a bitch! The last thing this city needs is some fucking Dr. Frankenstein.” This isn’t a case of some crazy man killing for the thrill of it, this is an educated man who has intricately planned his crime down to even the smallest of details. He’s been planning this for quite some time. If the profile that’s coming together in my mind runs true to form, this is only the first step in his master plan. In other words, he’s just getting started.
Fuck.

“It may not be Dr. Frankenstein, but I think we’ve officially got a Riddler,” Max says.

Jesus, she’s already named this guy. Not bad. I guess we’re well on our way to posting our first blog entry. “That sounds good to me. Hey, do you have a name for the blog yet?”

“Sure, I do. I’m going to call it Urban Elite Enquirer.”

I scowl and reply, “No, that won’t work at all, Max. We’re not a tabloid. We’re going for credibility here. How about
Urban Elite Guardian?
” I like that better because it’s my intention to watch over the people of Louisville, Kentucky. I want people to know someone has their back.

“I like it, I like it.
Urban Elite Guardian
it is, boss.”

I refuse to be taken as some kind of water cooler joke. I want the public to know when they read what we write, they’re getting exceptional news that can be trusted and information that’s accurate. This is going to be like everything else I’ve done in my life, it will be done cautiously and with professionalism.

Max’s first blog post will lay the groundwork for how the community and our competition will view us. Our credibility is on the line -- and my reputation, for whatever it’s worth. It’s like Mama always said, you only get to make one first impression. So make it count.