The Connection

Prologue

White Waters put her foot harder on the accelerator, pushing her car along faster, siren blaring loud above her. Others cars flashed by as a blur as she flew through a red light, causing several cars passing through to slam on their brakes and yell at her and flip her some nasty gestures. She didn’t care. A crime scene was being investigated, and she was already late as it was.

It was a warm sunny morning in Colorado for the 25-year-old member of the forensics team. She had just resigned herself to doing nothing except curl up on the couch, eat potato chips, and work on her novel until she fell asleep when she got the call. It was a local police officer, saying that someone had called in a murder about a half-hour drive from her current location, and they needed her there ASAP. They had hung up the phone before she could ask any questions, so she lazily got up and unenthusiastically got dressed for the day ahead. “Just when everything is starting out so well,” she mumbled to herself as she pulled on her expensive brown leather jacket and walked out the door.
When she pulled up roughly 20 minutes later, she jumped out of the car and slammed the door, jacket catching. While attempting to open the door, she saw her keys sitting on the seat, and the car was self-locking. She swore quietly and just removed the jacket, leaving it dangling off the car door. This was not going to be a good day. She hurriedly approached a man in a long brown jacket and black pants. The balding man turned when he heard her draw near. “Ah, Ms. Waters. Nice of you to finally show up.”

“Sorry Mr. Blutori,” she wheezed out, grasping her knees for support. “I got caught up in paperwork.”

The man lifted an eyebrow. “Paperwork? You mean that novel you’re writing?”

White blushed. “Uh…yeah.”

“I thought so. I figured you didn’t mean OFFICIAL paperwork since you haven’t turned in your last three reports.”

“Oh shit, has it been that many?” she asked, scratching her neck, avoiding eye contact with her boss.

“Actually, you’ve missed more than that, but I took care of them for you. Try to keep up on your work. I know that story is important to you, but it’ll have to wait until what you’re paid to do is done. Do you understand?”

She hung her head. “Yes, sir, Mr. Blutori.”

“Ok,” he stepped aside to let her past. “See what you make of this, Forensic Investigator Waters. The body is just over there. Can’t miss it. We’re trying to keep pedestrians as far away as possible. We don’t want this particular case in the papers.”

She stepped past him and lifted the police tape to gain access to the body. A couple of cops were off to the side, talking to each other. They looked over as she flipped her badge at them, and they nodded and went back to their conversation. She continued for a short while up a small hill and when she crested it, she found the rest of the forensic team walking around, some occasionally bending down or taking notes on clipboards.

As she descended the small slope, one of the forensic scientists approached her. “What do we have, Samson?”

“We got a homicide, Waters. Female in her late 20’s to early 30’s. Abrasions on her wrists suggested she was tied up, but no sign of rape or abuse on the body. Her face though, that’s a different story.” He leaned in close. “I think this is why Blutori wants this out of the papers. Doesn’t want a panic.” White cocked an eyebrow, and Samson motioned her over.

The pale corpse was laying a couple feet away, and White had to close her eyes and catch her breath before she looked again. She had seen some gruesome homicide scenes before, including a crazy lady covered in blood and with intestines draped over her shoulders like a scarf come running out of a house. The corpse seemed almost perfectly untouched, except the face. Her bottom jaw was missing, and from the sinews protruding from her face, it looked like a finishing move in Mortal Kombat. She swallowed, and walked up to the corpse. “Corpse’s torso and legs don’t appear to have any immediate physical ailments, arms have slight abrasions, looks like she was tied with something, probably rope. Face has…” she cleared her throat before continuing, “Face has missing lower jaw, forcibly removed by the look of it. Eyes are also missing. Appears to have bled to death. Purpose for homocide currently unknown.” She turned to Samson who was standing a couple feet away. “Seems similar to that case a couple weeks ago. Similar setting as well.”

“I know,” he said as she stood up and straightened her shirt. “Body in the middle of nowhere, with no bottom jaw or eyes. It seems he had time to tie up his victims, but at the same time, he seemed in a hurry to not bother to surgically remove his, um, trophies. And it’s strange that he didn’t even seem to bother even touching her body. Many serial killers keep one or more organs from victims. We checked for fingerprints, but found none. It's possible we're dealing with a professional, but he is leading us astray with false information."

"Or she," White said nonchalantly.

"Excuse me?"

"She. The person we're dealing with could also be female. It's more rare, but there are female serial killers; Marie Marguerite de Brinvilliers, Bella Poulsdatter, Myra Hindley, Susan Atkins."

Samson held up a hand. "Ok, first problem. You're lucky I know who you're talking about, since half of these ladies went by another, more well-known name. Marie opted out of her middle name, and Bella went with Belle Gunness. The second problem is, is that all of these women had accomplices, often male."

"Susan Atkins didn't."

"She's not much of an exception. She and her followers took instructions from a male, so that counts in my book."

White shrugged. "Ok, so maybe it was a woman. Maybe it was ten women. The point is, we need to get the rest of this evidence pointed out, then get the coroner out here to pick her up."

Samson agreed and they continued to gather what they could from the seemingly untouched ground, and quit after half an hour of finding nothing. White inquired as to why the coroner was still not there. The cops on patrol said he wasn't responding to any calls, but said they were free to leave since the site was secured. White left the site and remembered that her car keys were locked inside the car. Another one of the cops came by with a car jam and popped the lock for her. She thanked him and took off after throwing her jacket into the back seat.

After she got home, White decided she was too tired to work on her novel. The site had been overly gruesome, no clues, and the sun had quickly picked up heat. She walked up the stairs to her bed and flopped down face first into the soft mattress. Sighing heavily, she looked up to see her My Little Pony poster. It featured Rainbow Dash flying with her colors following her. She sighed again and said, "At least you guys don't have to deal with this kind of stuff. When was the last time you guys had a murder?"

Feeling hungry, White managed to get up and head down to the kitchen, and noticed a sticky note stuck to the counter. Curious, she picked it up. It read "Great job to the best forensiks skientist!"

She snorted in laughter. It was a note from Brad, as he was the only one who spelled forensics that way because he said he didn't believe in the letter C, plus he was an expert lock-picker on the force. The bank had once challenged him to break open their 'unbreakable' safe without using drills or other heat tools. Brad had gotten to work and after 6 hours, the safe was open, leaving bankers and bystanding police open mouthed in shock. He had gone around collecting his winnings from people who had betted he couldn't get in. Before leaving, he had suggested replacing with a better locking system, and told them to call him when they needed a lock test.

White poured herself some cereal and milk, noting that Brad had left another gallon in her fridge. Every time he "stopped by", he left something in her fridge, usually a gallon of milk. The first time she had heard him in the house, she had been terrified, and snuck down the stairs with her handgun, ready to shoot her first intruder. Obviously it was just Brad, but when she saw him, she had so much adrenaline in her body that she had sat on the bottom stair just out of sight, and cried silently until she heard the door open, close, and lock. She had walked over to see if anything was missing, and looked in her fridge, realizing that there was a brand-new gallon of milk that wasn't there before.

She trudged up the stairs to her bed again. Jumping on the bed, she turned on the television to see what was on. Like usual, nothing good. "Great. Forty bucks a month for a thousand channels I don't watch. I need to get a better deal." At least My Little Pony had a new episode every Saturday, bringing color to her world for 22 minutes a week. Finishing her cereal, she snuggled down into a laying position and let her imagination take her into a new world as sleep overtook her. Her last thought was At least you guys don't have to deal with this kind of stuff. When was the last time you guys had a murder?