The news crews had been shooed off, long ago…most of the officers and detectives had already returned to their departments, satisfied with their reports. Howard, however, was far from satisfied. He continued to scour the scene, trying to memorize every faint detail. A rookie, on the police force, elected to stick around and followed behind him, snapping pictures and jotting down notes, at Howard’s instruction.
“Right here, Littrell.” The young man knelt beside Howard, on the far side, of the parking lot. “It might be nothing…but they are definitely fresh tracks. Someone was in a big hurry, to get out of here…and the tracks don’t line up, correctly, with the parking spaces.” Brian Littrell took several pictures, of the tire tracks, from various angles, making sure to get good shots of the tread patterns.
“How are you going to use these?” Bringing the camera down, away from his face, he looked up at the detective, curiosity in his eyes. He was only a couple years younger than Howard, but was very new, to the force. The younger man had a yearning, in his eyes, that Howard could respect…he wasn’t here to goof off…he was here to learn…he was there to help.
“When we catch this guy, every little piece of evidence is crucial. We may have the murder weapon from a different victim’s case, but if these tracks match those of the killer’s vehicle, it could be proof that he was on this scene…that would connect him to this murder.” Howard stood, his eyes scanning the area, for anything else unusual…anything that stood out, to him…anything, at all.
“But…aren’t there hundreds, or even thousands, of tires, that have the same tread pattern?” Brian asked question, after question, like a small child; but Howard wasn’t bothered or annoyed, by it…he knew it was part of the learning process, and he actually appreciated the younger man’s enthusiasm.
“Yes. It would, indeed, be coincidental evidence. Sometimes, though, coincidental evidence can be quite compelling, to a jury.” Howard gave him a crooked smile, before heading back toward the car.
“Oh…because the defense attorney couldn’t prove that it wasn’t the suspect’s vehicle, if the tire tread patterns match?” Following behind Howard, Brian ran a hand through his short, light brown hair.
“Precisely. However, the fact that the tracks were found in a parking lot…now that could work against us.” Titling his head, he took another look, over the victim’s car. Nothing new stood out, to him.
The victim’s body had been removed hours ago, and taken to the morgue. There would, most definitely, be a trip to that morgue, in Howard’s near future. He was not the type to let any stone go unturned…to allow any minor detail escape his view…no matter how hard the case was, Howard Dorough would barely rest, until he cracked the case wide open.
This was why he was often considered to be the department’s secret weapon. When Howard was called onto a case, it was kept under wraps…the news crews got harsh lectures, to not speak the detective’s name; and they, most often, listened. In past cases, suspects wised up, after hearing that Howard was on the case, and were more careful not to slip up.
“I think we’re done here, Littrell.” Howard righted himself and turned, to face the younger man. Reaching into the inside pocket, of his suit jacket, Howard pulled out his card. “It’s been a pleasure. Call me once you have those developed.”
“Yes Sir!” Brian Littrell nodded, taking the business card. “I will have them done as soon as possible.” After slipping the card into his pocket, he slipped the lens cover onto his camera.
“Thank you.” Giving him a polite nod, he turned, heading toward his vehicle. Both men departed the scene, going their separate ways. Once in his Bentley, he put a call, into his wife, telling her not to wait up, since it would be extremely late when he got home…if he made it home, at all.
Howard’s thoughts drifted, to his wife, as he pulled away from the crime scene. Leigh was everything, to him, and he was thankful that she was so understanding. She was always supportive and never complained, if he was late coming home. Not once, had she gotten mad, if he missed dinner…or had to cancel plans. No matter what his job threw, at them, she remained strong and encouraging. He couldn’t have asked, for a better woman, to be his wife.
Shifting in his seat, Howard drew in a sharp breath. His elbows resting on the table, he let one hand rub over his face, his fingers pausing, to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was nearing the four hour mark, amongst the five cases worth, of files and paperwork. Pictures scattered the table, before him. Slowly, his hand rubbed back over his face, coming to rest over his mouth.
“How can there be nothing?” He sighed, aloud, fiddling with a police report. Scrunching his brows, he began to read the paper, for what seemed like the millionth time.
There were so many pictures…so many police and morgue reports…so many files…so much potential evidence…yet, nothing gave him any clues or leads, to the murderer. There was nothing to go on…nothing to point an arrow at a possible suspect…no finger prints were ever left…not even a partial…forensics came up empty handed, when they poured over the fibers that had been pulled, from the crime scenes; each one had an explanation, there was nothing out of place.
The Defacer had skill, there was no doubt, about that. Eventually, though, he had to slip up…make a mistake…leave behind something…a clue, in some shape, or form. So far, though, there was nothing to go on and it frustrated Howard, to no end.
Every time his eyes drifted up, to the pictures, Howard’s stomach churned. The first victims face had been slit, from the corners of her mouth, to her ears…Black Dahlia style. Deep wounds covered the second victim’s face, rendering it unrecognizable. The third victim was worst, of all; if you asked Howard…her face had practically been skinned, exposing the raw flesh underneath. Defacer had just beaten his fourth victim’s face, and the most recent victim had incurred the countless cigarette burns. Each, and every, one turned Howard’s stomach.
Quickly, gathering the photos, Howard slipped them into their respective folders. He let out a frustrated sigh, as he neatly stacked the piles of papers, sorting them into their individual case files. He had had it, for the night…he needed a break. His head hurt…he was frustrated…and he wanted to be in his bed, next to his wife…not to mention the fact that his stomach couldn’t handle any more, of this, tonight.
Gathering everything, from the table, Howard lifted the large pile, into his arms. He hastily made his was through the empty building, dropping the pile onto his office desk. Locking up, as he left, he left the case, at the door.
As hard as it was, for any detective, to do…it was essential that your personal life was left, at the door, when you came into work…then your work life, and all its cases, were left behind, when you headed home. If your mind constantly swirled around the cases, you were working on, it could eat you alive…lives have been ripped apart…marriages have fallen apart…detectives and officers have become victims, themselves, in a figurative sense.
Howard had to be especially careful, because he was the type to, completely, throw himself into each case. Every crime became personal, to him…every victim became like family…he truly became attached to every case. Maybe that was why Howard committed himself, to cracking every one, of his cases…making sure every murderer faced justice, and every family received closure. It hit him hard; if a case went cold…he lost sleep for weeks at a time…and milled it over, as to what he had missed.
Parking the Bentley, Howard groaned and cut the engine. It was well past 3am, now, and he was exhausted. Each individual muscle screamed, at him, as he climbed from the car. Once in the house, Howard kicked off his shoes, by the door. He, then, wasted no time, making his way, up the stairs. Slowly, he pushed open the bedroom door, his eyes landing on his sleeping wife.
Howard lazily opened the dresser drawer, sifting through for something to sleep in. Grabbing a pair of silky pajama pants, he made his way, to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he slipped on his pants and shuffled back into the bedroom. His eyes were already drifting shut, while he pulled back the comforter. Sitting down, he clicked on the alarm, letting out a long yawn. He leaned over, giving his wife a gentle kiss, before settling under the covers.
His alarm would sound off, in only a few hours…that gave him just enough time, to catch a fairly descent power nap. It only took moments, before his eyes drifted shut and soft snores came from his throat.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I really appreciate all, of you, that are giving this story a chance. Like I mentioned before, it's very different than what I've written before, but I have a lot of ideas, for it. Thank you for the reviews, too, it really gives me motivation, to keep going with this story. Hopefully a new chapter will be up soon. Thanks again!
