Page 52 of Crow
CHAPTER9
In the harshlight of early dawn, Detective Feliz Contreras stood over the dead body. The man lay in a pool of his own blood and brain matter. There was a gaping hole in his skull directly above the right temple and several contusions to the head.
“Looks like gunshot wounds,” Contreras said.
“That’s what I thought. The trauma is pretty sizable,” Sheriff Wexler said. “But there’s no way this is suicide.”
“It’d be impossible to self-inflict that kind of damage.” Contreras looked up at the sheriff. “Did you find ID on him?”
Wexler blew out a long breath. “No, but I have my deputies going through the dumpsters. From his clothes and shoes, I’d say he was homeless.”
Contreras rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, feeling a headache coming on. “It looks like a similar pattern as in the other four murder victims.”
Sheriff Wexler nodded. “That’s what my deputies and I figured when we responded to the call.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Shit, we got a serial killer preying on homeless men.”
“It’s looking that way, but we can’t be sure until the autopsy. With this one, it looks like the perpetrator used a gun, which is different from the other four who were bludgeoned, beaten, and stabbed to death.” Contreras took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at its bitterness. “The location of this victim isn’t too far from the last body, correct?”
“Yep, that one was murdered in the stairwell of Madera Crossing, which is one block west of here. The previous victim was found across the street from the building.”
“Any witnesses?” Contreras asked.
“Nope, at least that’s what the residents at the building and the surrounding ones are saying. I’ll bet my month’s salary someone saw something, but they’re all scared shitless and they don’t trust the cops.”
“Someone must’ve found the victims.”
“The last two were called in anonymously, and the others were found by a sanitation crew.” Wexler scrubbed the side of his face. “The killer seems to strike late at night when the streets are empty. Maybe the sick bastard lives at those apartments at Madera Crossing.”
“Maybe. The killer is most likely familiar with the area,” Onofrio said.
Contreras looked at his partner and nodded. “There has to be some connection. Either he lives at the apartments or somewhere in the neighborhood.”
“And there’s a shitload of rage against the homeless,” Onofrio said.
“Homelessmen,” Wexler said.
“We searched everywhere and found nothing,” Deputy Miles Carmody said as he walked over to them.
“Then, for now, he’s John Doe.” Wexler sighed. “After the autopsy, we’ll know if our suspicions are confirmed.”
“If they are, the bastard’s escalating his kills,” Contreras said.
Kicking the dirt with the toe of his boot, the sheriff nodded. “I know. The first two were months apart, and I didn’t make the connection, but when the third and fourth victims were found, I knew we had a problem. That’s when I called you guys.”
Contreras and Onofrio were detectives with the Durango Police Department. They assisted the smaller counties in the area with the more complicated investigations. The city detectives and their team were more experienced in murder cases, and Durango had better investigative and forensic tools to help catch the killers than a small town like Alina had. Both detectives had helped Sheriff Wexler with past homicides, and they all respected each other and knew their boundaries.
“The van’s coming,” Deputy Carmody said. “I’ll make sure they can get through.” He walked toward the crowd of curious onlookers that had been gathering in the alley for the past two hours.
“I’ll see you both this afternoon at the medical examiner’s office,” Wexler said as he slowly walked away.
“I’m going to talk again to the man who found the victim,” Onofrio said. “Understandably, he was pretty freaked out when I’d interviewed him earlier, but he’s got some coffee in him, and a bit more time has passed. Maybe he can remember more details than what he’d told me.”
“Sounds good, Vince,” Contreras said. From the corner of his eye, he saw Roberto Anchondo, a member of the CSI team, approaching. He and Roberto had worked countless cases together over the years.
Gesturing to the van parked at the end of the alley, Roberto said, “The body’s ready to be moved.”
“Did you uncover any bullets or cartridge casings?”
Roberto shook his head. “No, and no guns either.”
