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He took stock of his body. His knees and hips were stiff. His shoulder had a pinched nerve. There was a slight headache forming over his left eye. His feet hurt, but he noticed nothing out of th
e ordinary. He’d be more worried if he woke up pain-free.
With a deep sigh and a resignation that comes from years of working as a homicide detective, David walked to the underside of the Harry S. Truman Parkway. He’d been told a body had been discovered. Other than that, he’d been left in the dark.
A few officers stood at the edge of the underpass, keeping a group of homeless people away from the crime scene. The Chatham-Savannah Homeless Authority did its best to make sure the camps never got too out of hand, but the Truman Parkway was a hotbed for individuals trying to stay cool and dry.
A female detective stood closer to the body, waiting for David to nod his way past the officers, one of which lifted the crime scene tape for him. David ducked underneath, trying not to groan as his shoulder twinged in defiance of the movement.
When he straightened up, the other detective lifted a hand in acknowledgement and David returned the favor. He’d seen Detective Adelaide Harris around the precinct every day, but they never had time to say anything more than a simple hello.
He’d always liked Harris’ work ethic and dedication to the job, but he was more grateful to her for keeping Cassie Quinn safe a few months ago when the two came face to face with William Baker. Cassie tended to throw herself in situations without considering an exit plan. Harris had made sure to get her out alive.
Harris offered up a small smile. “Good morning.”
“Is it?”
She shrugged. “Could be worse.” She looked over her shoulder at the body. “Could be better.”
“What’ve we got?”
Harris’ sigh was deep as she walked David over to the body. “Male. Mid-60s. Strangled, legs crushed. Been here for about a day or so. We can’t tell yet whether he was killed here or dumped. There’s been too much traffic in and out from the homeless. We’ve got one guy who says they didn’t know he was dead right away. Just figured he was sleeping. Not sure how true that is given the state of the body, but when they figured out the man was dead, most of them took off for another area.” She jutted her chin to a man smoking a cigarette while talking with a uniformed officer. “That guy reached out to the Homeless Authority and they called us in.”
David listened, but Harris sounded further and further away the more she talked. “Strangled and crushed legs?”
“Yeah.” Harris drew the word out. “It’s why I called you.”
“How’d you know about that?”
She forced a laughed. “I’ve done my research, okay? The name David Klein would be one of myth and legend if you weren’t still on the force, proving to people that you’re real. I was interested in what kind of cases you’d tackled over the years. You know, what kind of cases you’d solved. And what kind of cases you hadn’t solved.” She paused, placed her hands on her hips, and looked past him. “This one case stuck out.”
“That was twenty years ago.” David’s feet were rooted to the ground. “Are you sure it’s the same?”
“No. Not at all. But I figured you’d be the one to ask.” Harris waited for David to say something. When he remained silent, she took a step toward the body. “Want to walk me through what you remember?”
David followed her to the man’s still form. His hair was gray, as was his skin. He’d been dead long enough for the blood drain from his face. He looked peaceful, but a deep bruise around his neck indicated he’d suffered as he died. His crushed legs meant he hadn’t been given a chance to get away as someone stole his life.
“In the early ‘90s,” David began, “we figured out someone was killing addicts around Savannah. Within a few weeks of being released from prison, they’d show up dead. The first three had been dumped in the ocean. They’d washed up on shore not long after and it was easy to tell they’d been killed in the same way—first their legs had been crushed, then they’d been strangled. Somewhere in there, all of them had been pumped full of heroin.”
“The first three?” Harris asked.
David figured she knew the answer to her own questions, but he played along. Explaining it to her out loud, detail by detail would force him to remember what it was like to work the case back when he was still a rookie cop. Maybe he’d remember something critical that could help them now.
“The next four bodies were discovered while we were out searching the woods for a missing girl. It’d been about two years since the three bodies had washed up onto shore. One of the bodies hadn’t been buried deep enough, so one of our dogs had sniffed it out. We couldn’t tell if the man had been strangled, but his legs were crushed. When we kept looking, we found three more. Seven bodies total.”
“And then nothing?”
“And then nothing.” David gestured to the body at his feet. “Until now, I guess. Do we know anything about this guy?”
“Not yet. I’m gonna have the boys do their thing, but I wanted you to have the first look.”
David bent down to get a closer look, this time allowing himself to grunt as his knees resisted the movement. Harris didn’t say anything, for which he was grateful. There was nothing like staring in the face of a dead man, not much older than David was, to make him feel like he was on death’s door.
He took in what he could without moving the body. The man was dressed in casual clothes—jeans and a t-shirt—and had no distinguishing features. He was average, bordering on handsome, with a clean-shaven face. He wore a wedding ring on his left hand.
“It’s been a while.” He looked up at Harris, “but he doesn’t look much like what I remember of the other victims.”
“How so?”
