Page 42 of Dark Romeo

I made a face. “And I’m still in therapy because of it.”

Espo tapped his fingers on his chest. “Here. You hurt me right here.”

I let out a laugh. I caught the flash of his grin out of the corner of my eye. “What’s on the menu this morning?” I asked, changing the subject.

“A body dump off Brunswick Street. Hope you skipped breakfast.”

Finally. I was being assigned a real case. Looks like my father had taken what I’d said to heart. My stomach fluttered with nerves. This was my chance to prove myself. I could not screw up. I grabbed the handle above the door as Espinoza took the corner hard.

Ten minutes later we had parked and were walking down an alleyway in Little Italy. The smell of rotting cabbage and sour fish hit my nostrils, making me scrunch up my nose. This alley backed up a large Italian restaurant called La Cucina that specialized in wood-fired pizzas. Best pizza in the city, in my opinion. We signed in with the officer manning the crime scene perimeter, pulled on shoe booties and snapped on rubber gloves.

“After you,” Espinoza hiked up the yellow crime scene tape for me that had been strung across the alley.

“Nice to see chivalry isn’t dead,” I teased.

Lacey, our newest and youngest medical examiner, was already at the scene. Young, only in her early thirties, she had moved in from out of state. Rumor had it she had graduated with a doctorate in forensic pathology from Harvard Medical School. From my dealings with her, she was thorough, sharp and professional. Best of all, she didn’t take any shit from anybody, most of all because she was a woman of color. She was bent over a body, her thick dark hair tied back from her pretty chocolate-skinned face.

Espo let out a low whistle. He was staring at Lacey’s ass.

I slapped his arm. “Are you really ogling her at a crime scene?”

“What?” Espo gave me one of his trademark “I’m so innocent and even if I weren’t you still love me” grins.

I rolled my eyes. “You are hopeless.”

“Hopelessly in love.”

“You’re hopelessly in love at least once a week.”

“Nu-uh. Put in a good word for me?”

I shook my head firmly and gave him what I hoped was a “leave her alone” glare. I sidled up to Lacey and said a quick hello. From what I could see, the body was male, laying on his back, wearing dark slacks and a dark shirt, soaked with blood. His face was turned away, his clothes torn and he’d been beaten up before he died.

“Morning, beautiful,” Espinoza said, flashing Lacey a grin. Obviously, my glare wasn’t scary enough. “What do you have for us?”

Lacey shook her head, the hint of a blush playing at her cheeks. “This man was tortured, brutally, before he died. Cause of death was the gunshot wound to the head.” She pointed to his forehead. I moved around the body to get a better look. His face was like an overripe grape, purple and engorged, eyes almost completely swollen shut, lips busted up, a small dark bullet wound on his forehead.

“There’s no blood pooling around the body, indicating he was shot somewhere else and dumped here,” continued Lacey. “Lividity also confirms he was moved.”

I nodded. There were dirt and smears of something oily around him but no blood. “Time of death?”

“I won’t know for certain until I get him back to the lab. Based on liver temp and the ambient temperature of this alleyway, I’m estimating sometime on Sunday night.

I leaned down to feel in his pockets. They were totally empty. “No wallet. No I.D. No phone.”

“No eyes on the alleyway,” Espo said, indicating the lack of security cameras. “Maybe one of the nearby traffic cams caught something. I’ll get uniforms to start canvassing the area for witnesses.”

“You won’t get anything,” I said, a heavy feeling in my chest. Verona’s Little Italy was filled with undocumented workers and people hiding from authorities. The locals were notorious for turning a blind eye and keeping their mouths shut. This body dump was a pro job, cold and calculated.

“I know,” said Espo. “But we have to try.”

I nodded. “We have to try.”

“Ligature marks around his wrists and ankles suggested he was tied up for a while,” Lacey pushed up the sleeves to reveal the bruising around his wrists. “And he’s missing fingers…”

I shuddered as I counted three, four, five missing digits. “Have we found the fingers?”

“Not yet. The techies are still looking.”

---