Free Scraps & Chum by Ryan C. Thomas Page A

drag line here, this is what concerns me. See how it skids about? Separate from the other drag mark. ”
    “ Like something was moving, ” George replied, suddenly more stressed, “ maybe trying to get free. You think it ’ s another body? ”
    “ I hope not. If we ’ re looking for a second victim… ”
    George stood up and looked around the woods. They seemed to stretch on forever. “ And if this guy has more of these pits… ”
    The young cop leaned over the police tape and yelled, “ Hey , detectives? Animal Control is here! ”
     
    ***
     
    Sleep was not something Ted Newcomb got during these kinds of cases. It was one thing to find a DOA with a gunshot or stab wound, but torture victims burned afterimages in his mind that took years to scrub away. And so he stirred all night and tried to rationalize it all. Which was a futile exercise in the end. The world was sick, and there was no solution. Even if he did catch this guy, legal council would just convince the jury he was abused as a kid and deserved to spend his days in a padded room with a soft cot and three square meals. It was bullshit.
    The M . E . ’ s report was on his desk the next morning. No other leads had come in since the body ’ s discovery yesterday afternoon. The employee list for the factory had been secured and officers had questioned everyone on it throughout the night. Turned out they were all married, and all had alibis. All of them. They were t old not to leave town anyway.  But Ted knew, people lie. He would follow up on them all tomorrow.
    He filed it in his briefcase, started going through his other notes. There were so many that he still needed to weed through. He ’ d gotten home late and had talked to so many people yesterday his head was still dizzy. Maybe the telephone/cable worker angle would pan out.  He made another call to the cable companies, asked for a list of employees. The cable company said it was contacting their lawyer and would get back to him asap. Swore their employees were screened and bonded.
    It was ten before George showed up, a cup of coffee in his hands. He didn ’ t look like he ’ d slept any better. Said something about needing to spend the morning with his little girl after yesterday ’ s find. Wasn ’ t the best work acumen to have, but Ted understood. You see enough dead bodies you begin to wonder when you ’ re number ’ s coming up. George was eligible for early retirement and had been talking about moving his family someplace warmer, buying a boat, finding Mandy a good school and a safe place to grow up. If such a place existed anymore.
    Ted maneuvered through the desks and plopped down in a chair next to George. He took out his notes and started leafing through them. “ I got the report from the M . E. Our Jane Doe is Shelly Dumas, lived two streets over from the park. Single, no kids, traveled a lot for work so no one in the neighborhood would really know if she was missing or not. She did real estate, worked for herself.  So no boss or friends calling to find out why she wasn ’ t in work. Blunt force trauma to the head. But the rats definitely killed her. At least, that’s the definitive cause of death. No way to look for hemorrhaging. Chewed her up, sent her into shock, she bled out and died. Ate half her flesh and most of her internal organs. Has more germs in her now than they have text books for. CDC is flying someone in to take a closer look, just to be safe. M . E . puts her decomp at about two days. ”
    George sipped coffee from his I LOVE DADDY mug. “ Jesus. And forensics? ”
    “ Place was clean of trace save for about a gazillion rat hairs. They took a mold of the prints, second ed the idea the guy has boots with spikes on them. Someone speculated the skinnier drag marks could be a small body, maybe a kid, judging by the way it slides. ‘ Could be ’ is the thing. Could also be a suitcase or his laundry for all we know. Neighborhood kids are all accounted for anyway.