Eight in the Box: A Novel of Suspense - By Raffi Yessayan Page 0,1

civilians never imagined. Members of the Homicide Response Team were supposed to oversee the integrity of each investigation. In reality, they stayed out of the way and let the homicide detectives from the BPD run the show. Connie flipped the smooth, black leather billfold with its gold badge back into his jacket pocket.

After his first few homicides, he noticed that the police gave him more access to crime scenes, maybe because he looked the part of a seasoned detective. With his cleanly shaven head and BPD notepad, he blended right in. And he was a city kid, like most of the cops, not some rich carpetbagger from the suburbs who’d been afraid to come into the city until his politically connected parents got him a job in the DA’s office.

Connie skirted the taped perimeter. He never walked through a crime scene unless he checked in with the detectives first. He saw a cop he recognized and walked over to get an update.

After a quick handshake, the officer leaned in close. “Connie, one vic, a female, Ocean Frank before we got here. That’s all I know. They haven’t told us shit, other than to keep the crowd back.”

“How’d she die?” Connie asked.

“No idea.”

“Who’s here from Homicide?”

“Mooney and Alves. They’re inside.”

“I should’ve known,” Connie said. “Only Sergeant Mooney would close off this much of a street as a crime scene. He’s got half of Rozzie taped off.”

“That’s why he’s the best.” The cop pointed toward the side porch. “That looks like Alves now.”

Connie had met Detective Angel Alves on his first day as a virgin prosecutor in the South Bay District Court. Not even four months ago Alves had been promoted to Homicide, but the two of them had stayed in touch. Connie watched as Alves directed two patrolmen to the back of the house before turning toward the street. Connie raised a hand to catch Alves’s attention. Even at a murder scene at two in the morning the detective looked sharp in his tailored suit. They made eye contact and Alves waved him over.

“Good morning, Conrad,” Alves said, extending his hand.

“Please don’t call me that,” Connie said, shaking his hand. “You sound like my mother.”

“Okay, Connie, nice of you to show up.” Alves looked pointedly at his watch. “We’ve been here an hour. The reporters made better time than you.” Alves tilted his head toward the cameras that were focused on them.

“I only got paged twenty minutes ago.” Connie shook his head. “Those guys in Operations are useless. Once they called so late I showed up after the scene had been cleared. Then I got chewed out by the DA. I don’t like to rat people out, but I’m calling their captain about this.”

“Do what you have to. Nobody’s going to think you’re a rat. We’ve got another ugly scene here.”

“Another?”

“Remember Michelle Hayes, just before Christmas? She disappears and all we find is a bathtub full of her blood.”

“I thought we had her as a domestic.”

“We did, originally. She’d been through a nasty divorce. But the guy had an airtight alibi. Out of town on a corporate team-building junket, where the whole office goes into the New Mexico wilderness for the weekend to play Boy Scouts. Probably spent most of their time shopping in Santa Fe. No other suspects, so the case goes cold. Until tonight.”

“Who’s our victim?”

“Susan McCarthy. Also recently divorced, but still friendly with the ex. She got the house and kid in the settlement. According to her parents, the ex took the daughter to Disney World for February school vacation. We’re assuming it’s Susan’s blood in the tub, but we won’t know till the DNA comes back. The crime lab is looking for known samples to compare.”

“Any motive?”

“Nothing. Tonight’s the first sign that the Hayes murder wasn’t isolated. We’ve got a sick bastard on our hands, Connie. Whoever did this has the same MO.”

“Copycat?”

Alves shook his head. “We never released the details. The media never picked up on the story. We’re not as lucky tonight.” Alves motioned again toward the reporters circling them. “I heard a few of the uniforms calling him the Blood Bath Killer. Wait till the Herald gets ahold of that.”

“What do we have so far?”

“Not much.” Alves took out his notepad. “We’ve got the district detectives canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses and the crime lab processing the house. Sarge is upstairs with a few of the civilians from the crime lab. Last time, the guy left us nothing to work with. He may have