|Naked She Died (standard:mystery, 13146 words)|
|Author: kendall thomas||Added: Mar 26 2005||Views/Reads: 2232/1678||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Hard Boiled detective story.|
NAKED SHE DIED by Will "Justice is incidental to law and order." ~ J. Edgar Hoover 1 Mike McKay liked the sound of the morning rain on the roof of his Mustang 2001 Bullit GT. He had the window slightly down, listening to the faint, echoing rumble of thunder in the west over the lake. His sleek, Dark Highland Green was parked in front of Dooley's Diner where he had just had a breakfast of scrabbled eggs, hash browns and toast. Sipping on his take-out he scrolled the window back up and shifted the Mustang into gear. On his way he got the call from dispatcher: a body had been discovered by some kids on Logan Drive in a vacant lot. Logan Drive was in the derelict section of town. Abandoned warehouses, factories, rubble strewn lots and waist high weeds. He left pavement near the outskirts of the city limits. The rest was a muddy mess. He shifted to a higher gear when the Mustang began to slip. After a minute or two he came to a high plank fence, weathered and leaning, running parallel to the road. Boards were missing here and there. Faded advertisements from a bygone era were peeling from its gray sides. Up ahead he could see a few Crown Vics and a black and white Jeep Cherokee. A handful of cops in yellow slickers were milling about. A fat man, with a slightly jaded look, was leaning against the Jeep. He held his arms folded across his chest, a cigar fixed in the corner of his mouth. McKay pulled up next to the Jeep and picked up his beige, canvas raincoat off the passenger seat as he got out. “How's it hangin', Mike?” the fat man said in a high pitched voice. “Freddie.” McKay nodded. Freddie was the coroner. The rain fell steadily, but gently. Freddie took the stogie from his mouth and tossed it. “Paid three bucks for that.” His balding head glistened through the thinning, blond hair. His brown eyes appeared large behind the rimless bifocals. He was wearing a green raincoat. The buttons strained over his belly. “Whatda we got, Freddie?” McKay asked as he finished slipping on his raincoat. “Female. Been dead three or four weeks. Naked. Didn't see any clothes around. Wrapped in plastic. You gonna check her out?” McKay nodded. “Yeah, I figured so, but there's not much point.” A grimaced formed on his chubby face. “With all the rain we've been having in the last few weeks there's not much left.” He glanced at McKay's dress shoes. “You got rubber boots?” McKay nodded. “In the trunk.” He also took out a gas mask and a pair of rubber gloves. After ten years on the force, he knew better than to play the macho role: going without a mask, as some detectives did, to impress the lower ranking officers with how tough they were. The smell of a dead body is gross and can get into your sinuses and stay there for days. And that can play hell with any love life you might have -- not that he had one. Still, he was reluctant to put the mask on right away and instead held it in his hand as a cop led him to a warp in the fence. Click here to read the rest of this story (1764 more lines)
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