Free Dead Lies by Cybele Loening

jaw. He noted the protrusion of her collar bone at the V of her shirt, as well as a small gold cross on a chain.
    “I guess it is a dump site,” she said, sounding disappointed.
    He pulled his eyes away. “Drive around back,” he ordered, radioing the other car to take the opposite direction and meet them on the flip side. Spotting no vehicles or people as they slowly circled the store, Kreeger told Anna to park. The other officers followed suit, and the four of them got out and looked around. Except for their breathing, the parking lot was totally silent and still. The only sound was the steady roar of cars on a distant highway. He looked around, zeroed in on the pair of dumpsters on the left end of the store and pulled out his phone.
    “Did somebody call the owner?” he heard Anna say. “Maybe he can get us into the building.”
    “I’m not sure we’re going to need to,” Kreeger responded, dialing a number. As the familiar chords of Beethoven’s Ninth symphony chimed from the direction of the dumpsters, he caught Anna’s grin. It pleased him.
    “Ready for a little dumpster diving, Mike?” he said to the lean, six-foot-two detective who wore a military-style crew cut and spoke with a Southern drawl. Steele had joined the department after serving three tours in Iraq and moving north to marry a local girl, and Kreeger was glad to have him. He was a fine cop with nerves as strong as his last name implied.
    “Sure am,” Steele said. Closing the ten feet to the cars with four giant steps, he opened the trunk of the unmarked car and retrieved a box of plastic gloves. He handed the box to De Luca, slipped a pair on, then trotted to the dumpsters.
    “Dial it again, will ya?” Steele said to Kreeger. A few seconds later, the music began again, and the lanky officer hoisted himself up onto the edge of one of the bins. Swinging his legs into the container, he lowered himself inside. After quickly locating the source, he held up the phone for the others to see.
    Kreeger slipped on his own pair of gloves and took it from the younger officer. “Keep looking,” he ordered then turned his attention to the I.D. screen. Finding the recent calls list he noted that the last one had been made at 6:02, two minutes before the 9-1-1 call had come in. The name of the caller was Web. So far the brother’s story was checking out.
    “Found something else,” Steele announced, holding up a black leather jacket. “And it’s bloody.”
    Kreeger took the jacket from him and carefully checked the pockets. Nothing. Then he looked at the label, which said “Cottner,” a brand he didn’t recognize. It was size XL.
    Behind him, Steele said, “This is too easy.”
    Kreeger turned and saw Steele holding out a plastic bag. He reached for it and glanced inside. Then he tipped it forward so Anna and De Luca could get a look, too. For a moment they all stared at the sparkly collection of jewelry. There was little doubt now. The killer was after something besides the loot.
    “Well, sheeyat, ” said De Luca, summing the situation up nicely.
    “Why here?” Kreeger heard Anna say after a moment.
    The three men looked at her.
    “Why’d the perp dump the stuff here?” she repeated. “I mean, where does Route 17 south go? It’s not really a major highway, is it? It narrowed to a single lane about a half a mile back.”
    Kreeger began to see what she was getting at.
    She continued. “I mean, if the perp wasn’t from around here, he’d take one of the major highways out of here, like Route 4 to the city. But we passed that intersection several miles back.”
    “Or he’d access Route 80,” offered Steele from the dumpster. “That’s at least a mile-and-a-half behind us. He could even get the Parkway from there.”
    “He might’ve dumped the stuff then doubled back,” countered De Luca.
    Anna shook her head. “If I was the perp, I’d be thinking, ‘How can I get far away from the crime scene as fast as I can and still dump the