D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

“If you’re through wasting time, I would like to–” Todd stopped in mid-sentence, distracted by a woman just stepping into the lobby. She had unnaturally red hair and an emerald green dress that looked short enough to make sitting down dangerous.

“Oh, Todd!” she called. “Marcy said you had my paycheck.”

“Certainly. One moment.” Todd fumbled in his jacket pockets, searching.

The woman turned to Nick and offered him her hand. “Hi, I’m Jessica Campbell.” She twisted a bit of her hair around her finger, giving Nick a smile that seemed to say “I know you’re picturing me naked, but I don’t mind.” Her hair had HiLites woven throughout, thin strands of plastic that glowed softly, giving her an almost angelic radiance.

“I’m Nick Wergild, Food Health Magazine.”

“Oh, are you here to make sure everything’s clean and sanitary?”

“Sure. I have to look the place over so we can give Hand to Mouth a good rating in our next issue. We’re reviewing all of the cannibalistic restaurants in the northwest… We should have plenty of space left for ads.”

“So, how much do you make at that magazine?” she asked, gently stroking his arm.

“I do alright,” he said, smiling. “Not enough to eat here, though. I hear dinner costs an arm and a leg.”

“Never heard that one before… After you’re done, do you want to go do something?” she asked, sliding her hand to his chest.

“Oh, sure. Dinner? Drinks? Pie eating contest?”

Todd shoved an envelope into Jessica’s hands. “I found it. Now, your shift is over, so I suggest that you head home.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the door. Returning to Nick, he said, “Please accept my apologies. I simply cannot have anyone standing about. Any of my employees could be involved with the murder, so it will be better if no one knew about your investigation.”

“Come on, Sweeny,” Nick grumbled, “She thinks I’m here to look for bugs, not bodies. Anyway, there’ll be time for that later. Show me where you make the ground Chuck.” As they walked, Nick tried to come up with a good cannibalism joke based around English food. There was blood pudding, sure, but that was too easy. “How about ‘Steve and kidney pie’?” he thought. “Fisherman and chips? Human beans on toast? …Ah, I’ll keep working on it.”

Todd took Nick down to the far end of the restaurant, where a gray door was marked “No Admittance – Employees Only – Empleados Solamente .” Pointing at a tiny camera over the door, Nick asked, “Do you have any footage from the night of the murder?”

“Unfortunately, no. I erase all of the old footage at the beginning of every month. The video files from that night were deleted days before I realized anything had occurred.”

“That’s too bad. Usually video of the murder taking place makes solving the case so much easier. Especially if it clearly shows the murderer’s face as he drops his wallet in a pool of his own DNA.” Noticing Todd’s puzzled expression, he added, “It happened once! Unfortunately, we had to let the guy go. A typo in the paperwork listed his crime as ‘man laughter.’”

Ignoring Nick, Todd unlocked the door and showed him inside. The butcher shop was one long, foul-smelling room with freezer doors at the far end. There were several extremely thick, steel tables with various saws and meat slicers attached. Behind one of the tables stood a gigantic man with a face like a constipated bulldog. He was cutting thin slices of meat from what was left of a human leg. Looking up, he called, “Evening, Mr. Sweeney. Just finishing up here.”

“Alright, Gordon,” Todd replied. “Lock up when you are finished.” Turning to Nick, he said quietly, “This fellow is Gordon Dunmore. He manages the butcher shop. Worked here for years.”

“He would have known Flockhart, right?” Nick whispered. “It seems odd to me that he wouldn’t have recognized her body.”

“Occasionally,” Todd said, “the donor bodies have their heads removed at the hospital. It helps to protect their privacy, and gives their families something to keep for the funeral. I imagine that the killer would have decapitated Renée, to insure that her body would blend in with the others.”

“Well, that’s good news!” Realizing how that sounded, he added, “I mean good for me. I’ll have at least one body part to look for. Now, does this place have a back door?”

“Certainly. Come this way.” Todd showed Nick to the delivery bay doors. “Both doors are solid steel, with triple-bolting security locks. The small door next to them leads to the employee car park. There are seven security cameras outside, all of them equipped with night vision.”

“Is this the only way inside?” Nick asked, examining the locks. There were no scratches or dents to indicate the lock had been forced open. “Any windows? Skylights? Giant ventilation ducts someone could crawl through?”

“The only other way in is through the restaurant. I certainly would not want windows back here… My customers enjoy the food, but most would never want to see it prepared.” Todd sighed dejectedly. “I thought that my security was sufficient. I was only worried about people stealing meat, not leaving me more. Ah, but c’est la vie .”

“I think you mean ‘ c’est la mort .’ Well, there’s no use examining the butcher shop; there must be blood from dozens of people in here. I should have a look outside.”

“Certainly. The car park is this way.”

There was an overhang by the door where the butcher shop employees could smoke and stay out of the rain. “Well, look at that!” Nick thought. “This might have provided enough protection from the elements to preserve some evidence.” Standing in the parking lot, he pulled a tiny, black box from his pocket. “This is an ultraviolet light,” he explained. “If Renée was killed before she was brought here, there might still be drops of blood or other fluids.”

“Other fluids?”

“Anything, really. Urine, saliva, Dijon mustard… And if I can’t find anything with the light, I can always hose everything down with luminol. Luminol is a chemical that glows when it comes into contact with blood. …It also reacts with copper, which is nice. Whenever I investigate a crime scene, I find a penny.” He waved the light along the doorframe, watching closely for any signs of fluorescing body fluids. “Did Flockhart have any enemies?” he asked, not looking up from his work.

“Well, I know some of the employees resented my promoting her to head waitress. Any of them could have disliked her, I suppose. She could be rather curt at times. And there is always her ex-boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend? Why didn’t you say so! Tell me about him.” Three tiny dots of blood were visible at the bottom of the doorframe, glowing yellow under the ultraviolet light. Turning around, Nick could see that there was a curved trail leading back into the parking lot.

“His name is Clayton West. He saw Renée for about a year, until a bad breakup a few months ago. She wanted children, but he did not. He also thought that she was having an affair. I have no idea if that was the truth or if it was just something he said to make her seem like the villain.”

Only half listening, Nick followed the trail of blood. It crept for a few feet, curving sharply to the right. Three feet later, it ended abruptly. “Here’s what we know,” he said, gesturing with the light. “The killer had Flockhart in the back of his trunk. See where the blood trail bends? He carried her around the back of the car on his way to the restaurant’s back door.”

“And that tells us what, exactly?”

“When the murderer brought Flockhart’s body here, he didn’t do it on foot.”