Joel Goldman: Chasing The Dead

Jared was sitting cross-legged on the pavement, his face blank, staring into the darkness outside the circle of squad cars.

“Man’s eccentric. Doesn’t make him crazy. He volunteer anything?”

“Just that he’s the one who made the 911 call about a body in Rock Creek where it runs through Liberty Park. Figured to let you ask the rest of the questions.”

Rossi sighed, scratching the scruff on his chin. “Great. That’s all I need: a midnight stroll among the dead and the deadbeats.”

“Don’t forget the pervs. Every time we make a sweep down there, we get a couple of sex offenders who forgot to register.”

“Maybe they figure Liberty Park isn’t much of an address.”

“Could be worse. Could be Dogpatch instead. Start knocking on those doors in the middle of the night and you’re just as likely to get shot as have a damn pit bull take a chunk out of your ass.”

Rossi shook his head. “Can’t be helped, since we’ll have to canvass Dogpatch and find out if any of the neighborhood women have gone missing.”

“Like they’d tell us. More likely they’d shoot us for trespassing.”

“Call dispatch and ask for any detectives and uniforms they can send us. We’ll need help with the campers in Liberty Park and the friendly folks in Dogpatch.”

The officers guarding Jared stepped aside when Rossi approached. Jared jumped to his feet, holding his arms stiff at his sides, straining to stay still. Rossi thought he was trying not to salute, though the military impulse looked out of place with the rest of him. His hair was a ragged mop, his face was splotched with irregular patches of whiskers, and he reeked of sour sweat, missing only the boozy tang Rossi expected from someone living in Liberty Park.

“I’m Detective Rossi.”

“Yes, sir,” Jared said.

“Officer Schmitt tells me you were in the service.”

“Army. Did a tour in Afghanistan.”

“Mind if I have a look at your VA card?”

Jared handed it to him. It was one of the new cards, the ones that omitted social security numbers and dates of birth, limiting the information on the card to a name, photograph, and special eligibility indicators-Service Connected, Purple Heart, and Former POW-if applicable. Jared Bell had been awarded the Purple Heart.

Rossi returned the card. “Purple Heart, huh? How’d it happen?”

“I took a round in my gut.”

Jared pulled up his T-shirt, showing Rossi a ridged, ropy scar running six inches across his belly, a field-surgery souvenir.

“I got my scar in the first Gulf War,” Rossi said. Though he’d served, he hadn’t been wounded, telling the lie to build trust and rapport. “Sniper nicked me in the ass, not bad enough for a medal. Did you get him?”

Jared shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ll get him one day.”

“How you going to do that? Reenlist?”

“No, sir. Just talk, I guess. I see him all the time in my dreams, that and a lot of other shit,” he said, dragging both hands down the sides of his nose and over his mouth, then shaking his head. “Maybe I’ll get him one of these nights. That’s all. How about you, sir? Did you get yours?”

“I didn’t, but some soldiers in a helicopter gunship took him out.”

“Good for them, sir.”

Rossi studied the face on the ID, wondering how long it had been since the photograph had been taken. The man in the picture had steady, confident eyes and a square jaw. The man who’d made the 911 call looked lost, his mouth open in a loose grin, jittery and shuffling his feet, dreaming about killing an enemy who was half a world away and probably dead by now anyway.

“So I’m guessing this body you found wasn’t the first one you’ve ever seen.”

“No, sir. I’ve seen a bunch.”

“What can you tell me about this one?”

“Not much, sir. Just that she’s in the creek and she’s dead.”

“How’d you happen to find her?”

“I was sleeping in my tent and got up to take a leak. I did my business and decided to walk a little bit cause I don’t sleep so good. I was down along the creek when I seen her.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“She was on her back, looking straight up at me; at least that’s what it seemed like to me.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I was pretty sure she was dead, but I wanted to be sure-you know what I mean, just in case she wasn’t. So I got down in the water and she was dead all right.”

“What makes you think she was murdered?”

“There was marks all around her neck, like she was strangled.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, sir, she wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

“I’d say those are pretty good reasons. Thanks for calling it in. Can you show us where you found her?”

Jared nodded. “That’s why I called you. Nobody should be left like that.”

Chapter Three

They parked on the north end of Liberty Park, police and paramedics leaving their emergency flashers on to warn approaching cars-red, white, and blue streamers splitting the darkness as they formed a circle around Rossi, waiting for instructions.

“I want to get a look at the body, but we have to be careful with the people in those tents,” Rossi said. “If they fit the homeless profile, some of them may be crazy, some of them may be armed, some of them may be wanted, and some of them may be all three. So be careful. Their first instinct may be to shoot or run, and their second will be to keep their mouths shut. We can’t make them talk, but we can hold on to them long enough to give them a chance to tell us if they heard or saw something.”

“No way to know how many people are down there or where they are. The woods are kind of thick in parts. How do you want to handle it?” Schmitt asked.

“You and the EMTs come with me. Everyone else, gather whoever is camping out. Keep them calm, don’t let them talk to each other, and don’t let them back in their tents until we figure out if we need to search them.”

He shined a flashlight toward the park.

“Okay, Jared, show us how you found her, starting from your tent.”

“My tent?”

“Yeah, I want to see things the way you saw them. You started out from your tent, so that’s what we’ll do.”

Jared nodded, swallowing, jutting his chin out and in like a turtle poking its head in and out of its shell. “You got it, sir.”

Rossi knew that Jared wouldn’t be the first or last to kill someone and report the crime, enjoying the spotlight much as the arsonist who helps put out the fire. Letting Jared lead the way would give him the chance to show off and make a mistake that might expose him as the killer. Rossi and Schmitt flanked him as they entered the park, stopping at a dome-shaped tent.

“This is it, my tent,” Jared said.

Rossi nodded at Schmitt, who took up station at the entrance, arms crossed.

“What’s he doing?” Jared asked Rossi, pointing at Schmitt.

Rossi smiled, putting his arm across Jared’s shoulders. “Making sure no one bothers your stuff while we’re busy with this dead body of yours.”

Jared wriggled away from Rossi, staring at Schmitt, mouth agape, eyes wild.

“Everything I got’s in that tent. I don’t want him or nobody else messin’ with my stuff.”

Rossi figured that by now Jared was sorry he’d called 911. People like him always were. Thinking they were doing the right thing or not thinking at all, and before they knew what hit them, they were caught in a trap they’d set for themselves without realizing it.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Rossi said. “Just do your duty, soldier.”

Jared took a deep breath and pointed downstream.

“She’s over there.”

“Take the point,” Rossi told him, motioning to the paramedics to fall in behind him. “We’ll be right behind you.”