Page 40 of 1st Shock
I refuse to let that rotten energy take over. As dog-tired as I am, as heavy as I feel, there's important work to be done and it needs a positive attitude.
I set my phone and earbuds on the entry table I found at a flea market. I tend not to buy used furniture—God only knows what kind of weirdness it might carry. A friend likes to boast she won Al Capone's desk at an auction years back and now keeps it in her bedroom.
Al Capone's desk.
In her bedroom.
Talk about crazy. No way in hell I'm bringing that into my house. He could’ve carved up a body on that thing.
My table though? The expertly carved legs drew me in, and I immediately wanted it. Ten minutes of questioning the merchant and receiving assurances he'd made it the week prior and it hadn't been anywhere but his home, I loaded it into my van. Am I nuts?
Probably.
I can't worry about it.
Charlie knocks again. "Meg?"
"I'm here."
I open the door and my stomach collapses. So much for starting with positive energy. My sister isn't alone. The fact JJ is with her isn't a shock. His car has been parked in our shared driveway at certain times the last few days. Those being late at night and early in the morning.
During those visits, he's been the stealth bomber of lovers. Coming and going in silence and avoiding me seeing him.
"JJ," I say. "No offense, but this can't be good."
"I'm sorry." Charlie gets straight to the point. That's her style and more than likely she's figured out I know this isn't a social call. Not this early with JJ and his wrinkled suit in tow.
I push my shoulders back, readying myself for whatever news they have. As long as it's not our parents, I can deal with it. "What is it?"
Charlie comes inside, waving JJ in behind her. "JJ got a call. We have another body."
Another...body.
A huge rush of air blasts between my lips. It's not quite relief, but it's a whole lot better than where my mind had taken me seconds ago. All I know is my mother and father aren't dead.
For a few seconds, I'm polarized. Just standing there unable to move. Charlie retreats a step, but I put my hands up. Someone has died, more than likely been murdered. What right do I have to receive comfort or coddling?
Finally, I close the door. "I'm fine. Tell me about the body. Is it..." How do I ask this? "...one of ours?"
Meaning is she a young blonde found on or near the Beltway.
Charlie nods. "She was discovered at one-thirty this morning a quarter mile from the Beltway. Some idiot couple riding home from a bar had a fight and the woman threw her husband's phone out the window. He stopped to look for it and stumbled over our victim."
"My God."
"The M.E. said she hasn't been dead twenty-four hours."
Good.
Excellent actually. Twisted, I know. I'm not oblivious to the poor woman being brutally murdered. It's tragic and horrifying and at some point, I’ll experience rage over the injustice.
But we have abody. With skin and organs and cartilage.
I automatically form questions regarding DNA and blood under the nails. What about semen or saliva on her body? Hair? The killer could’ve left any number of possible leads.
"Before you ask," Charlie says, "I don't know about trace evidence. I haven't been able to reach anyone at the lab."
"Has she been identified?"
