Kobe (10 page)

Chapter XIII

The Residue of

discovery

            
 
The apartment floor creaks from the weight of the Kobe police force, a slew of officers trudge and step in the small section eight development. The sweet onion smell of sweat and the sour stench of death mix to form a putrid potpourri.

              Sheriff Judd invades the scene, an old law dog quickly running out of tricks. Disappearances, break-ins, and now a murder, are raising too many questions in the community.

              Katie is a hot topic on social network sites. Jessica and Krystal have taken it upon themselves to run a campaign for the missing waitress. Posts are up on Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, you name it. Two sweet girls playing Scooby Doo have really gummed up the works for Judd.

              The Kool Beans owner, Herbert, keeps coming down to the station, asking about a broken window. Judd took the money out of his own pocket to fit the bill. He told Herbert that he would help file the insurance claim and sent out a repairman, easy fix. However, the old hippie still wants justice. He wants to know why his premium didn't go up.

              Yeah, it's been a rough week.

              Bayside has always been famous for petty crime. Drugs, assault, domestic violence, theft, but never murder. Killing usually happens in less populated areas, where witnesses aren't popping up with stories. Bodies wind up in cabins, smokehouses, farms, places where things can be hidden, or at least altered to fit the needs of the public.

              Kobe citizens want their news to be black in white. Small towns, even most big towns, don't consider a gray area when it comes to crime. People want proof, and quickly. After that, they want peace and quiet.

              That's how it used to be, anyway.

              Now everyone wants to play the hero. What they don't understand is sometimes a hero doesn't wear an 'S' on his chest and the right decision isn't always the best decision.

              Detective Daniels, a thirty-year-old man with a clean shave and a prominent chin approaches Sheriff Judd. He's a thin guy with a bit of stubble on his face. Judd likes him, at least as much as he can like a square cop. His record is clean, no traffic tickets or citations, hell, he even helps old ladies across the street. Yeah, you could say Detective Daniels was alright in Judd's book.

              "Hey, Sheriff."

              "Mornin' Daniels. What's the word?" Judd takes a sip from his to-go cup of coffee.

              "Worst I've ever seen." Officer Daniels leads Judd through the hallway, slowly, so he can absorb the scene. "The struggle began in this back bedroom."  Officer Daniels motions towards Tina's body. "She was covered with a sheet after her head was chopped off."

              "Clean off huh?"

              "Not exactly clean," Daniels paces around the body. "It's more like he played tug of war until it popped off."

              "Where's the head?" Judd asks.

              "They sent it off to the lab for prints," Daniels says, "Did I mention there was a hatchet stuck through the skull?"

              "Nope. That's a fuck ton of a detail to forget about. Or were you goin' for the element of surprise?"

              "Element of surprise."

              Judd puts his hand on Daniels' shoulder, "what else, hoss?"

              "If you look here you can see that he smashed her body against the wall." Daniels points with a steel pen toward splatters of blood up and down the hallway. "He looks like he developed a rythymn as well."

              "Like a goddamn rockstar, huh Daniels?"

              "Just about," Daniels says.

              "Then he put a sheet over 'er like she'd fuckin' disappear. What a moron. Killers today ain't got much gumption, that's for sure." He hands his to-go cup to a rookie officer and waves him thanks. "Why would he do that, I wonder. Was the head underneath the sheet too?"

              "No the head was found on the bedroom floor," Daniels walks deeper into the apartment where other officers are dusting for fingerprints and analyzing data.

              "We have reason to believe the killer was incredibly intoxicated while committing the crime." Daniels says.

              "We got a suspect?" Judd asks, but not directly to Daniels. He crouches near the body and talks to the stump of Tina's neck. "This is too angry of a crime for no one to notice."

              "After interviewing the neighbors, we believe it's a man named Rupert McDermott, the victim's eldest son. He goes by the nickname Skaggs." Daniels squats down next to Sheriff Judd.

              "They rattled names off that quick?" Judd pulls out a stainless steel pen, wipes it off with a handkerchief, and explores the wound.

              "We have a key witness down at the station named Quinn McDermott, the victim's youngest son. He fled from the crime scene after the suspect decapitated the victim."

              "This Quinn, he a high school kid?"

              "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

              "I know him. He hangs out with my boys," Judd says, "keep the cameras away from him, and away from here, best you can. The last thing we need is some reporter blowing this out of proportion."

              "To be frank, Sheriff, there's a head detached from a lady's body on the blade of a hatchet, that's been beaten against the wall so hard her eyes popped out of her skull. Not to mention, there's enough drug residue on a mirror in the back bedroom to overdose an elephant."

              "Well, thanks for bein' frank, but how boutcha be Detective fuckin' Daniels and clean this shit up. I'm gonna go see the kid."

* * * * *

              With the police occupied on another floor, the break in at 1408 is chump change. Billy walks into his home, amazed. It looks like a tornado went through the place.

              Roc jogs down the hall. "What up Billy?"

              "What the fuck Roc?" Billy asks. "You see anything?"

              "It was Skaggs. He bucked a few at me and ran out the front door." Roc walks into the apartment.

              "Naw," Billy looks around the apartment, contemplating where to start, "Skaggs is soft as an egg, ain't no way he did this," Billy looks under his couch to see his missing box, "you sure?" He stares deep into Roc's eyes.

              "Bullets is in the mu' fuckin' walls, nigga!" Roc storms into the open hallway and motions toward the bullet holes. "Ain't like they got there by they fuckin' selves! Whatchu think, I put 'em there, fool?

              "Skaggs is a pussy," Billy yells," he wouldn't stick up for himself against a kindergartner. I believe you, Roc, it ain't that, it just don't add up." Billy snatches an empty glass and throws it against the wall."Motherfucker!" He kicks the coffee table, flips his couch over. The ex-jock pulls his bicep back, about to swing his fist through a wall when Roc grabs him.

              "I know you pissed, but cop's is upstairs," Roc closes the door.

              Billy calms down a bit. "Yeah, I saw that. Why?" Billy walks to his freezer and grabs a bottle of vodka and chugs it. "You heard anything?"

              "Dat pussy you said couldn't hurt a kindergartner, kilt his own mama. Cut her head off with a hatchet. He had...like...Freddy Krueger fingers or some shit."

              "He finally lost it, He couldn't stand bein' without his little faggy boyfriend, Leroy," Billy storms into his bedroom. "that nasty lookin' big eared snot nosed little bitch!" He shovels through the mess Skaggs left behind. All his weapons and ammo are gone. "You got a gun?"

              "Course, nigga. Whatchu think?" Roc says.

              "I'm gonna kill this mother fucker," Billy says, "I'm gonna blast out a knee cap and let him fall. Then I'll kill him with my bare hands."

* * * * *

              Quinn taps his fingers on a metal table. The interrogation room is cold. Not the temperature, the environment, frigid, fake, almost alien. The walls are gray and the tile is white. The fluorescent light shows every blemish. Every strange bruise or track mark.

              Detective Travis, a fat old man in a shirt and tie with a bad comb-over, sits with his back to the two-way mirror. "I'm sorry son," Travis sincerely says.

              "Don't call me son, I'm an orphan now." Quinn takes off his glasses and wipes them on the bottom of his shirt. Even though Travis is right across from him, he feels alone. For the first time in his young life, he's empty.

              "Fair enough." Travis leans back in the metal chair. "You want to tell me what happened?"

              "I was getting ready to go hang out with my buddy, Rob. My mom was in the shower and Skaggs' music was blasting."

              "Okay, what then?" Travis asks.

              Quinn looks down. His tears roll down his face onto the chilled, stainless steel table. "The last time I ever talked to her, it was a selfish act. I could've said, you know, I love you, but no, I asked her to take me to my friend's house."

              "It's not your fault. I know it doesn't feel like that right now, but it's not your fault. Go ahead and tell me what your brother did."

              "He's a piece of shit. He was in his room blasting music. And the next thing I know my mom's head is attached to a fucking hatchet."

              "You saw him do it?"

              "I saw him smash her head against the wall." He wipes the tears from his face. "Her skull, just bouncing and bleeding in the hallway.  He didn't pay me a bit of attention."

              "Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you knock on any doors?"

              "I came here right away, fucker!" Quinn's emotions grab hold.

              A quick knock saves Quinn from speaking anymore. Judd walks in and immediately removes Quinn's interest from Travis.

              Judd puts his hand on Quinn's shoulder and gives it a hard squeeze. The sheriff motions for Detective Travis to get out of the room.

              "Hey, Judd," Quinn mutters with his lip shaking.

              "How ya doin' Quinn?" Judd asks.

              "I've had better days," Quinn wipes his tears away.

              "I'll bet. I'm real sorry about your mom. She was one of the sweetest women I've ever met."

              "Thanks."

              "You can stay with us for a while. I'm sure we can make some space. Hell, Austin's never home, you can take his bed."

              "Thanks, Judd, that's really nice of you."

              "No problem. I'm just glad you're safe. You just gotta stay here for a while. You ain't in trouble for nothin' I just think this is the safest place for you until I sort this whole thing out. After I get a hold of your brother, I'll set you up with Karen and me."

              "I think he's coming after you, Judd. He thinks you killed his buddy, Leroy."

              "Leroy who?"

              "I don't know his last name. He's a punk rocker with his hair up in spikes. He wears leather and shit. Skaggs said Leroy was the one who broke into Kool Beans."

              "I'm a cop, Quinn. I've killed in the past. Ain't nuttin pretty and ain't nuttin pleasant. I would never kill again unless I had to. All I know is that someone broke into the coffee shop, we got there, and we got some prints.

              "They got 'em processed but they ain't got a match yet. As for yer brother, I'm hopin he comes lookin' for me! If he wants blood, by God I'll give it to 'em."

              "And if he doesn't come after you?" Quinn asks.

              "I got all my men looking for him right now in the Bay. We'll find him in the next forty-eight hours."

* * * * *

              Krystal and Austin share a white sheet on a king size bed. They clasp hands and peck each other's skin with soft kisses. The satin only slightly hides their not-so-private parts.

              Krystal's dark, quarter size nipples, dust over his tight pectoral muscles. Austin's abs spasm with every tender touch.