Unfinished Business. C. A. Walters Walters
big tires. The differences between the two men didn’t make them clash, however; rather it made them a very cohesive unit, given their different points of view.
Wilson was very much the Irish-Welsh mix his ancestry brought to him, with his strawberry blonde hair, fair complexion, and baby blue eyes. James had more of a Latin look, his mother had come from Spain, and his father was a Massachusetts born Yankee. Black hair, big brown “bedroom” eyes, and olive complexion. The two men couldn’t have been more different. They both knew that the banter between them masked any nervousness they had over the pending case. Not that death held any horror for either of them, both had served in the war, and had seen their share of atrocities. Not only that, but having been on the force for over 10 years, and partners for 6, not much could shake them anymore. But there was still the adrenalin rush, the sense of anticipation, wondering what kind of horror man had perpetrated on man this time.
The answer to that question was not long in coming. Soon enough they rounded the corner, and saw the flashing lights and chaos that always marked a crime scene. The news crews were out in force, microwave dishes rising above news vans like the arms of some gigantic insect. Parking on the side of the road, they got out and flashed their shields to the uniform manning the crime scene tape.
Mornin’ detectives, sorry to start your day out on a note like this.” said Officer Brown, the uniform on duty. “Yeah, well, sometimes it be’s that way, as B. B. King would say,” replied James.
They stepped into the parking lot where the crime scene techs were working, picked up plastic “booties” to put over their shoes, and rubber gloves. The techies had already marked various things on the ground, and one of the techs came over.
“It appears that he came out of the building, going to his car to go home from work. As he reached the car, you can see there is blood spatter on the car next to it, so we figure he was hit on the head as he reached for the door. The perp then must have carried him into the woods, there are no drag marks. We have marked and photographed the location of any footprints, and we’re making casts of the prints in the edge of the woods. The body shows blunt trauma to the side of the skull, the throat has been cut, and it has been eviscerated. Not a pretty sight.”
“Who found the body?” asked Wilson.
Officer Johnson, the C.S.I. on scene answered “Groundskeeper, he was checking the trees for loose limbs, and saw the body hanging.”
“Any witnesses see or hear anything?”
“Nah, the folks in the home are too old, or senile, and the nurses’ station is on the other side of the building.” said Johnson. “Whoever did this seemed to have planned it pretty well, dark area of the parking lot, late at night, and away from anybody who could have heard or seen anything.”
The two detectives walked around the crime scene, looking at it from all angles. The body had been taken down from the tree, and the rope used to hang it up had been put into evidence. The footprints near the base of the tree were all marked, and had been casted. Farther from the tree, all sign of footprints disappeared. Looking closely at some of the loose dirt, one could see where the mud had been raked over to hide whatever prints had been there. It was nearly a quarter mile from that point to the nearest road, and there were no tire tracks visible anywhere between the scene and the road. Of course, the perpetrator could have come up the road in front of the home, and parked in the same parking lot as the victim. At this juncture, there really just wasn’t any way to tell. Returning to the lot, Wilson and James walked up to the techie they had talked to before.
“We’ll have to start learning all we can about the “vic”, then we’ll go from there. I guess we’ve got all we can from here, we’ll get your report at the station.” said Wilson.
Ron added, “Yeah, we’ll go talk to the people in the nursing home, then head back to the office. This place is so secluded; there isn’t another building for a quarter mile in either direction.”
The two detectives made their way into the nursing home, and indeed, there was little to be gained there. Approaching the reception desk, detective Wilson flipped open his I.D., and said, “Detective Wilson, Boston P.D.” The nurse at the desk looked scared, so he told her, “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Ms. - Roberts, is it?” We’re only here to get as much information as possible.”
“How do you know my name?” She asked.
Wilson smiled his disarming smile and said “that’s what it says on your name tag.” She blushed, and relaxed a little bit.
“We’ll need to see the manager, is he in his office?” asked Ron.
“Yes, sir, he was called as soon as we called the police. Right this way.” She led them left down a short hallway to an office door with a nameplate that read, Dr. William Olafson, Director. As she opened the door, the Doctor looked up from his computer, where he had been typing something.
“Just composing a statement for the media, gentlemen. Come in, have a seat.” said Dr. Olafson.
“We won’t take up too much of your time, Dr. Olafson”, said Ron. “We just have a few questions.”
“Now, the name of the victim was…”
“Jim, James McCutcheon.” said the doctor. “He had worked for us for about 3 years. Quiet sort, didn’t really socialize with the other workers, just kind of stayed to himself.”
“Did he have any problems while he was here?” asked Wilson.
“No, he was a pretty good worker, well, there was one incident when a nurse wrote him up for being abusive to a patient, but she moved out of state, and nothing ever came of it.”
“We’ll need his personnel record, and any other records of that incident”, said Wilson. “I hope I won’t need to get a warrant…”
“No, of course not”, replied Olafson. “He’s deceased, so there’s no problem providing his record to the police. We want to co-operate fully.”
“That’s fine, Dr. Olafson”, “We’ll take the papers, and get out of your way. I’m sure you have a media circus to deal with,” said Wilson.
“Here you go, detective. The complete personnel record on Mr. McCutcheon. If there is nothing else…”
“We’ll be in touch, Dr. Olafson. Just don’t leave town suddenly.” Wilson chuckled when he said that last, so the Doctor would know he was trying to lighten the mood a little.
The two detectives got into the Jeep, and taking one last look around, drove off to go back to the office. In each of their minds they were starting to plot the strategy they would need to try to solve this case.
Wilson grabbed a cup of what passed for coffee in the precinct house, roughly a cross between motor oil and whale piss. Walking to his desk, he smiled at the receptionist.
Sitting down, he turned to his computer monitor, to see what e-mails he had. Various spam, somehow getting through the filters. A message from his sister, asking him to come to a family picnic that weekend. And a message from the L.T., telling him that the forensic reports were available for him, and that the tox screens and M.E. report should be in by noon.
Wilson took a sip of his ersatz coffee, grimacing in imagined pain at the taste. Just then, Ron came into the office they shared.
“Why would you try to drink that swill?” he asked as he set down a box and two large glasses from a local donut shop. “You got to have a death wish, man.”
“Just too lazy to stop on the way in, pal. Thanks for the coffee” said Wilson, as he reached for one of the cups. “I was just on my way to forensics, to see what they’ve figured out so far.”
“Let’s go then”, said Ron. The two made their way to the fourth floor, to meet with the forensic specialist assigned to the case.
Arriving at the lab, they spotted their old friend Simon looking at something