Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
December 12
“Making any progress, A-Mac?” Aiden looked up to see Donna Vasquez leaning on his desk, her palms flat on the scattered paperwork. The veteran detective had short black hair, intelligent eyes, and, most importantly, a keen insight.
“I tracked her Uber driver down; he confirmed he dropped Regina Phelps at the diner Sunday night. He didn’t see her go inside and didn’t see anyone join her.”
“Be nice to keep an eye out. Make sure she made it safely inside,” Vasquez remarked.
Aiden agreed.
Vasquez walked around the desk and peered over Aiden’s shoulder at the file. “And none of the cigarette butts in the alley were hers?”
“She was wearing red lipstick, and I’m assuming she hadn’t finished the cigarette when she was attacked. None of the butts we found had lipstick, and none were partially smoked.”
“And no lighter,” Vasquez added.
“And no lighter. The perp could have taken it.”
“True,” Vasquez said.
“It’s the damnedest thing. The perp kills her, stays with the body long enough for lividity to settle, then moves her. Why?”
“Ritual? Timing? You said the owner of the diner found her Tuesday night. Maybe your killer was worried she wouldn’t be discovered at the primary. Or discovered too soon. You said the body was carried?”
“Looks like it was dragged. Dr. Bright noticed the vic’s shoes were on the wrong feet.”
“Maybe he was trying to move her out of plain sight and just got tired. Shit, I’m at the gym every day, and I couldn’t haul a dead body more than twenty yards.”
“Uniforms went over the entire alley. No sign of the primary crime scene.”
Vasquez clapped him on the back. “Sounds like it’s time for some good old-fashioned leg work.”
Aiden sighed. “Yeah, I’m heading over there.”
Grabbing her empty coffee cup from the neighboring desk, she turned to the break room. “The good news for you is the perp couldn’t have taken her far.”
Aiden stood on the sidewalk facing the diner and stared at his crime scene. The yellow tape had been pulled away on one side and now fluttered across the entrance. Regina Phelps had gotten out of the Uber and stepped into the alley to smoke. She had to have been meeting someone here. She had entered it as her destination, and it was the only place open at that time of night. He walked half a block taking in the shops and low-rent apartments above the storefronts. Across the street, there was a Chinese restaurant, a hardware store, and the entrance to the alley as it continued.
Retracing his steps, Aiden returned to the diner. She got out of the car, maybe looked in the restaurant to see if her companion had arrived. More likely, she checked her phone. She’d just been on a flight, probably hadn’t had a cigarette in hours. She wanted to smoke. The adjacent alley was the perfect place. She’d be out of the path of pedestrians and wouldn’t miss seeing whomever she was meeting.
Aiden wrote his thoughts in his notes app. Why didn’t she smoke here? Where did she smoke? Did the killer want him to think the body hadn’t been moved? Why move her at all?
Returning to the mouth of the alley, Aiden looked up from his phone. About ten feet in, a homeless man was urinating between two dumpsters.
Aiden stepped back without thinking, then paused. What if Regina had intended to smoke in this spot, but something had prevented it? Where would a smoker go? He spied the other alley entrance, waited for the cars to pass, and then jogged across the street, noting he was crossing a jurisdictional line. Shit, that was a headache he didn’t need.
Ten feet in, he sank into a catcher’s stance beside the dark frozen puddle. Motor oil didn’t freeze. Blood did. He withdrew a pocket knife and chipped a sliver, the movement causing a pang in his stiff shoulder. His suspicions were confirmed when the shard melted red on his fingers. He stood and surveyed the area.
A flash of pink caught his eye against the wall under a drain pipe. He walked over to the disposable lighter and texted the Crime Scene Unit. The area was already contaminated. The official time of death was sometime early Monday morning. The garbage had been collected and new trash deposited, cars had cut through, people had pissed or puked. Well, at least he had found his primary crime scene. He’d have to notify the detectives from the adjacent precinct to let them know his investigation was spilling onto their turf. Knowing their caseload, Aiden was fairly confident they would leave the case to him. Unless, of course, there was something high-profile about the crime, a headline to be grabbed. Then he knew of several detectives who would be doing their best to nudge him aside.
Behind him, a steel door opened with a groan, and Aiden turned to see a man in his mid-twenties carrying a bag of trash to the dumpster. Aiden showed his badge. “You work at the Chinese place?”
“It’s my dad’s restaurant. Is this about that murder? Some cops already talked to my dad.”
“I’m just following up. You guys were open Monday?” Aiden asked.
“Seven days a week,” the owner’s son confirmed. “Although, if that ice storm they promised us had happened, my dad would have closed up. It’s not worth keeping the kitchen open on days like that.”
Aiden thanked the guy and wandered out to the street. The medical examiner, Eliza Bright, had mentioned the weather that first night: Lucky for us, that big storm they predicted Monday never materialized. Had the killer counted on the snow to delay discovery of the body, and when no storm came, he moved it to the quieter alley across the street?
Aiden climbed behind the wheel, finished transcribing his thoughts, and drove back to the station. He was going to have to put in some overtime on this one.