Free The Body Box by Lynn Abercrombie Page A

he’s got her locked up down there and he can’t get down to the cabin except on weekends. Because he’s got to go to his job up in Atlanta during the week. And maybe he doesn’t leave her enough food but for a couple of days. So during the week, she starves, then on the weekends he comes down and feeds her. That would explain why she had a meal in her when he finally got around to killing her.”
    Gooch drove silently.
    â€œLet me ask you a question,” I said. “Being honest here. Are you testing me? Is this whole silent-treatment deal like a hazing kind of thing?”
    â€œSilent treatment?” Gooch looked over at me briefly, then looked back at the road.
    â€œSilent treatment.”
    We drove a few more blocks, then the lieutenant finally said, “If I had something worthwhile to say, I’d say it.”
    â€œWhat’s that mean?” I said.
    But it was pointless. I got nothing, not even a glance from those lynch-mob eyes.

TWELVE
    The next morning when I walked into the office, Lt. Gooch wasn’t at his desk. I was a little surprised. Usually he had been coming into the office at a ridiculously early hour. I figured he’d given me a week of show and now he was going to start malingering in a more conspicuous way.
    I had nothing to do, so I skulked outside and hung a bunch of the MISSING posters of Jenny Dial on telephone poles up and down Ponce de Leon Ave. I figured the Chief couldn’t fault me for that. Anyway, who would even notice? The poles were covered with tattered ads for rock bands. I wondered if anybody in the entire history of the universe had ever looked at anything stapled to a telephone pole. After a while, the whole business started making me feel depressed. So I went back to the office.
    Around ten-fifteen Gooch walked in and dropped a brown manila envelope on my desk. It had the logo of the GBI Crime Lab in the corner.
    â€œCongratulations,” he said.
    â€œWhat.”
    â€œYou just solved your first murder.”
    I stared at him dumbly, not getting what he was talking about.
    â€œVernell Moncrief,” Gooch said. “The DNA from the semen found on Marquavious Roberts. It matches the mouth swab you took off him yesterday.”
    I squinted at him, then opened the envelope. Inside was a DNA reported dated and time stamped nine-fifteen AM today. “How’d you get this?” I said. “The tech over there told me only God himself could get next-day service on DNA.”
    â€œMaking the world in seven days, that made me sweat a little. Getting some DNA run overnight, that’s nothing.”
    â€œYou just made a joke!” I said. I walked to the door and yelled out into the empty, echoing hallway. “Listen up, people! The Lieutenant just made a joke!”
    â€œWho says I’m joking?” he growled.
    I looked to see if he might crack a smile, but he all he did was spit tobacco juice in his Dixie cup and lock the cup back in his desk. I reviewed the report carefully. The DNA from Vernell’s mouth swab was a clear match to the semen found on Marquavious Robert’s body over a decade ago. Finally I looked up. “I guess we better go pick him up, huh, Lieutenant?”
    â€œI want SWAT involved,” Lt. Gooch said. “Full felony takedown.”
    I raised one eyebrow. Back in Narcotics we didn’t use SWAT unless we absolutely, positively had to. Calling SWAT was the sissy play. You’d get a reputation as being a hairstyle if you couldn’t close your own busts.
    Gooch must have seen what I was thinking. But as usual, he didn’t say anything.

    SWAT is a blunt instrument. Rapid entry, rapid takedown. That’s what they’re good at. Anything more subtle, and their value starts to drop.
    Unfortunately the bust didn’t go the way it should have, and we ended up trying to fix a Swiss watch with a hammer.
    We got some intel at the last minute, a CI of Gooch’s, who