Free Splintered by SJD Peterson Page A

him. Dipshit here,” Hutch said, stabbing a finger at Byte, “ he mentioned something about hotness and horny. The sick bastard.”
    “Whatever,” Byte retorted and grabbed one of the photos.
    Hutch scanned through the countless faces in each photograph. Most were just partials of the crowds, and the few that were full shots were too dark to make out distinguishable features. Discouraged, he went and poured another cup of coffee while he racked his brain, trying to figure out where the hell he knew the kid from, but he kept on coming up blank.
    “Did you say the guy had shaggy blond hair and carried a backpack?” Byte asked as he studied one of the photos.
    “Yeah. You find something?” Hutch stood behind Byte and looked over his shoulder.
    Byte pointed to a blurred image of a man standing off to the side of the crowd leaning against a tree. Hutch squinted to see if he could recognize the guy. It sort of looked like him, same large body style and similar clothing, but he couldn’t say with certainty, the features in the image too distorted.
    “Any way you can get this image cleaned up?”
    “Does a bear shit in the woods?” Byte replied flippantly.
    Hutch slapped him on the back of the head in response and went to have his morning smoke, leaving Byte to do his shitting.
    Hutch stepped out on the balcony and took in the view of Lake Michigan spread out before him. Hundreds of twinkling lights from the multitude of anchored boats lit up the water like it was decorated for Christmas. After the scenes of death and mutilation he’d been dealing with lately, he took a moment to enjoy this one. He wanted to soak in the calming effects of the shimmering lights and cool winds and find a little peace and hopefully the strength to continue.
    He had just lit up when Granite joined him. “You didn’t sleep last night.”
    It wasn’t a question, rather Granite making a statement as he stared at Hutch. Hutch leaned against the railing and shrugged, brought the cigarette to his lips, and took a long draw. He blew the smoke up and watched it swirl around before it was lost to the wind.
    “You have got to sleep, Hutch,” Granite said with concern. “You’ll end up sick, and then where the hell will we be?”
    “Same place we are now,” Hutch noted wearily. “Nowhere. And what about you? You look like shit. I bet you didn’t sleep a wink either.”
    “This isn’t about me,” he grumbled and turned to look out over the lake.
    “The hell it isn’t,” Hutch argued. “We’re a team, and if one goes down, we all go down.”
    “I don’t know if I can, man,” Granite responded with a shake of his head. “This one’s got me all messed up. So much death and….” Granite ran a hand over his face and shook his head again. “Just too fucking much,” he admitted bitterly. “All the facts keep getting jumbled together.”
    Granite was right. The sheer number of victims, eighteen deaths, eighteen crime scenes, numerous officers, jurisdictions, and an untold number of photos and reports was staggering. Somehow they needed to simplify, break it down into manageable bits of information. Organize. But how? He couldn’t concentrate. Trying to grasp bits of information, compare and understand them was difficult through the sludge in his head.
    Hutch snubbed out his cigarette and slung an arm over Granite’s shoulder. “C’mon. I think some breakfast, a hard workout, a little time in the sauna to detoxify, and then a nap will do us a world of good. I’ll even rock you to sleep.”
    “Yeah, okay. And I promise not to sing.” Granite smiled.
     
     
    H UTCH HAD been right. Stepping back from the case for a few hours was enough to recharge him. At least he felt as if he could think straight. Grabbing a legal notepad and a pen, Hutch settled into a chair, propped his feet up on the ottoman, and began scratching out his profile.
    Male, Caucasian, thirty to forty-five.
    Sexual orientation: Closeted homosexual.