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John Raide · (11-02-2013)

FROM breakfast on through all the day
At home among my friends I stay, But every night I go abroad Afar into the land of Nod.
-Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894)

John Raide opened one eye, then another as someone knocked on the window of his car. He pushed the sunglasses back up on his face and hoped he hadn't given the kid the impression he was sleeping. The kid was a baby face, and he politely stepped back as John climbed out of the rental car.

"They're... uh ... waiting for you," the kid said.

John nodded as they stepped between two PD cruisers at the front of the apartment complex. The first floor was quiet with the distant hum of laundry rolling in a dryer somewhere down the hall. John fell in step behind the rookie as they took the stairs on the right.

Sagamore Court wasn't much different than most other apartment complexes in the area. It was almost hospital like in its choice of color scheme and carpet design.

You wouldn't want anything too upsetting to anyone, John thought.

On the third floor, John pushed through a couple of patrolmen who had probably responded to the call first. The door to the second apartment in from the landing was open. Detective Doug Marston stood there bracing his large frame against the doorway. He turned when he saw John approaching.

"Well holy fucking Christmas," he said. "Look what the cat dragged in. What's with the shades?

John lowered them to show off the still rough purple shiner under his right eye.

"Keerist-!" Marston grunted. "What lucky asshole did that to you?"

"My sparring partner."

"You still doing the fight thing? If so, maybe you better hang the gloves up for awhile."

John just smirked and patted Marston on the shoulder as he stepped into the apartment. In the middle of the kitchen floor, under a sheet, was a body. John stood to the side of it for a moment, and took the atmosphere of the apartment in.

From off the side hallway, entered a thin man with charcoal colored hair that was turning white at the edges. He wore a chalkboard gray suit and John noticed an expensive gold watch on his wrist.

"Excuse me, but who the fuck are you? We're in the middle of a crime scene investigation here."

Marston stepped into the kitchen now, holding his hands up, and John almost smiled at the similarity Marston had with a bear standing on its hind legs.

"It's okay, Vin," Marston said. "I asked him to come."

"I don't care if you asked your fucking mother to come, who the hell is he?"

"I'm a consultant."

"A consultant of what?"

John looked down at the body.

"This."

"Hey look, Vin," Marston started. "Why don't you grab a smoke break and clear your head for a bit."

Vin muttered something under his breath, then shoved past Marston on his way out the door.

"He's charming. I like him."

"He's something," Marston said.

"So who am I looking at?"

"Name's Caitlin Donaher. She's been missing for two years."

"This her apartment? Got a roommate? Who was paying rent?"

"Funny thing about that," Marston said. "Landlord claims she was paying her rent on time every month, always in cash. But here's where it gets stranger, her father reported her missing two years ago and since she's MIA her place of employment took her off the payroll."

John nodded. The apartment was clean, the furniture minimal. He took a pair of latex gloves off Marston and poked through some of the cabinets and the refrigerator. Both were empty.

"Someone painted in here and redid the carpets."

"What's that?"

"It smells too new in here. Which means someone replaced the carpets and repainted or the girl never had a chance to put her own scent in the place."

"Interesting idea."

"Yeah, but anyway, you said there were markings on the body?"

"Have a peek."

John dropped to a knee in front of the body and pulled back the sheet. The girl had a head full or curly red hair that now hung over her face like a discarded mop. He took his index finger, pushed a strand of hair off her face.

The girl's eye had been removed, the wound cauterized. He guessed the other one probably had been as well. John pulled the sheet back farther to look at the area below her shoulder. Someone had branded an odd barcode onto the center of her back.

"Shit..."

"Same as the others."

John got back to his feet and surveyed the apartment again.

"I'm going to take a look around."

"Make it quick. Vin will want back up here soon."

"I also want to see a copy of the lease if that's possible, to see who signed it or at the very least see if the signatures match."

"We'll see what we can do."

John carefully stepped around Caitlin Donaher and moved into the small hallway that would take him to her bedroom. The room itself was small, cluttered with boxes of her belongings that hadn't been unpacked yet.

"You move in. Finally get your own place. It's your first time on your own... then what happened...?"

If the room was holding anything insightful, it wasn't willing to budge. He poked his head into the walk-in-closet where Caitlin had yet to hang any of her clothes. He stood in the doorway, forearms resting on the frame and exhaled.

Then, his eyes fell to the leather purse on the other side of the bed. A short scene played out in his head: Caitlin tossing the purse down, puts too much into it, purse falls off the bed onto the floor.

He stepped over to it, kneeled, and took a glance inside. Nothing of value at first, makeup, tissues, a pack of cigarettes -- no wallet, but there beneath a torn paperback was a cell phone.

The son of a bitch powered on too. In the top right of the screen the little battery icon flashed red and demanded a charge. He checked 'Received Calls' and noticed six or seven from an unrestricted number. He made a mental note and switched to 'Dialed Calls.'

There was one.

A number that read: 514-0514

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