Free The Answer Man by Roy Johansen

crimes were on the upswing, the vast majority were still committed by persons known to the victim. ORDER OUT OF CHAOS read a stenciled black-on-white sign tacked to a bulletin board near Gant’s desk. That was as apt a description of his job as he had ever heard.
    “Hi, Gant. How’s it going?” Hound Dog raised her camera.
    Gant smiled. Most cops despised scanner geeks, but he had a soft spot for Hound Dog. The year before, she rescued two children who had been kidnapped by a satanic cult. Her photo of a tire tread led her to their location even though a special police task force had turned up nothing.This did not endear her to the force, however. Cops were furious that the high-profile case was cracked by a scanner geek, and they resented Hound Dog’s presence at their crime scenes more than ever. She snapped a picture of Gant as he walked toward her.
    “Don’t you have enough pictures of me yet, Hound Dog?”
    She shrugged. “I want to shoot up the end of the roll before I go in to work.”
    “I’m flattered.”
    What kind of job could she do after staying out all night? Gant wondered.
    He approached the uniformed officers who were taking statements from two sanitation workers. The garbagemen were not happy.
    The larger of the two men was practically shouting at the officers. “Goddammit, we got a route to finish! We’ve been here an hour. You got our addresses. Can’t you talk to us later?”
    “It won’t be much longer,” Gant assured him, knowing it probably would be. “How did you find him?”
    The other man spoke. “We hooked the Dumpster, and the lift took it up. I was watching it. When Charles started to dump it, I saw the body tumble down. We fished him out of the truck ourselves.”
    Gant walked over to the body, which was covered by a painter’s tarp. He lifted the covering and peeked underneath. The corpse was a mess. Besides the stains of dog shit, coffee grounds, and fruit rinds, the face was broken and bloodied, and a large puncture wound in the chest had dyed the white T-shirt with a crimson shield.
    One of the uniformed officers stepped closer. “Messed up pretty bad. Stabbed, then maybe run over by a car?”
    Gant shook his head. “Not run over. Looks more like a fall.” He glanced at the four stairways situated around the parking lot. “Then he was dragged over here.”
    “Right.” It was obvious from the officer’s tone that he did not have the slightest idea how Gant arrived at his conclusion.
    “Look at the shoes.”
    Gant lifted the tarp higher to show the victim’s tennis shoes. The backs of the heels were scuffed and colored a dirty yellow. Pollen.
    “And it’s all over the back of his jeans, down near his calves. It’s obvious he was dragged. Whoever dragged him probably wasn’t very strong. Or very tall.”
    A clicking sound suddenly made Gant aware that Hound Dog was snapping pictures of the exposed body. Gant threw the tarp back over and shot a cold glance in the kid’s direction.
    He turned back to the officer. “Did you run the victim’s record?”
    “Yes, sir. He had an outstanding assault and battery warrant, and he had been convicted of one count of vandalism. He was a tagger, a graffiti artist. But that was over four years ago.”
    “Okay, I need a door-to-door. See if anyone in the complex heard anything, saw anything. I’ll have a photo transmitted. See if anyone here knew the guy.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Gant turned from the scene and looked at the small crowd of onlookers gathering in the parking lot. Vultures. Why were they here when they could be home watching Katie Couric?
    —
    Sabini wondered about the food in prison. Couldn’t be worse than this crap, he decided as he finished his chili burger and fries. Sitting there in a grease pit two blocks away from the motel where he’d been staying since being kicked out by his wife, he imagined what day-to-day life in prison would be like.
    Sit-ups before breakfast, an hour of letter writing, a shift in