Dying to Meet You Read online

  Several police officers sat hunched over a body that was resting against the nearest dumpster.

  “Mind if we have some room, officers?” Kasey asked. “I can take it from here.”

  One of the officers kneeling by the body turned to her and raised his eyebrow.

  “Come on, Morales, you know the drill. She’s with us,” Bishop said. “Give her some space.”

  “She’s a lab geek, not a cop, Bishop. Can’t you get her in a windbreaker or something? It’s a little off-putting seeing a civilian poking around an active crime scene.”

  Kasey dismissed the comment. “I would wear one, Morales, but then we’d clash, and I think we both know I’d wear it better. I just don’t want you feeling bad about yourself.” Kasey bent down to examine the victim.

  “Smart ass.” Morales laughed as he stood up.

  “Careful, Morales, the last man to focus on that particular part of my anatomy is still nursing three broken ribs.”

  “The Ainsley brat?” Morales asked.

  “That’s the one,” Kasey replied.

  “Should have said something sooner, Chase. Most of the precinct has wanted to do that for years. If you have enough stones to stand up to the Ainsley's and their money, you’re alright by me.”

  “Thanks for the endorsement, Morales. Now if you don’t mind, make yourself scarce. You boys are blocking my light.”

  Morales shook his head. “Plenty of bark to go with the bite, Chase. You’ll keep. Hey Johnson, let’s hit the streets. See if we can’t find a witness. There’s more than two dozen apartments with a view to this alleyway. It’s hard to believe no one saw anything.”

  “Thanks, Morales,” Bishop said as the two officers strode toward the street. “I’m going to talk to the super, Chase. Shout if you find anything.”

  Kasey nodded as she set about her examination. The body was that of a young woman in her early twenties. The woman was lying against the dumpster at an impossible angle, her neck clearly broken. Her brunette hair was disheveled from her fall. An angry purple bruise had swollen the side of her face, likely caused by the impact when she had struck the dumpster. The blow itself would have hurt but it wasn’t the cause of death.

  Death itself had been caused by severe trauma to the neck. Kasey understood at last Bishop’s pen snapping metaphor. The level of strength required to inflict such a wound was considerable, far more than movies liked to portray. It appeared the attacker had strength to spare, coming dangerously close to separating the woman’s head from her shoulders.

  Kasey continued her examination. The victim’s finger nails were short and well-kept. In the event of a fight, a victim might have trace elements of her attacker’s DNA under her nails. If there was any, it wasn’t visible to the naked eye. The lab would need to do further testing.

  The woman was still wearing her flannelette pajamas and slippers. Her bag of trash lay scattered in the alley. The lid of the dumpster was still raised. Whoever had attacked the young woman, had done so when she had tried to heft the trash into the dumpster.

  If I had to guess, I’d say she was jumped from behind. Her neck was broken, and she dropped to the ground, striking her face on the dumpster. But if you were going to kill her, why not shove the body into the dumpster and hide the evidence?

  The crime scene made little sense. If it was a robbery, it was a poorly planned one. The woman’s attire didn’t even have any pockets, so no chance of a wallet. If it was premeditated, why leave the body to be found?

  Kasey had more questions than answers.

  She determined to get a better look at the bruising around the victim’s neck. She set down her kit and gingerly lowered the woman’s body so that she was lying flat on the alley floor. As she did so, Kasey watched as a familiar haze cloud her sight. This time, it didn’t catch her unaware. She closed her eyes and welcomed the vision.

  When the haze cleared, Kasey hovered like a ghost in the living room of an apartment. Often in her visions, she sat as a silent observer witnessing events unfold before her. But from time to time, Kasey would experience events as if she were the victim themselves. Those particular visions hit her the hardest.

  From the window, she could see the busy lights of the street below and in the distance, the brightly lit skyline of New York City after dark. She strove to establish a time line. Anything that might help her understand what had happened to the young woman.

  Unfortunately, the scenes from the vision might have taken place days, weeks, or even months ago. Context was everything. Kasey searched the apartment and heard the jingling of keys at the front door. As a key slid into the lock, movement erupted in the kitchen.

  A woman appeared in the kitchen doorway. Kasey knew her at a glance: it was the woman from the alley. She was wearing the same flannelette pajamas.

  It’s last night. Unless she wears those same ugly pajamas every night. Darn it.

  The door swung inward revealing an unkempt man in soiled overalls. “Brad, where the hell have you been? It’s almost midnight,” the woman said.

  “Out. What is it to you? the man responded, his words running together.

  “Oh great, you’re drunk again. It’s only Tuesday. How are we even going to pay rent here if you lose your job? We can barely afford it as is.” The woman grabbed a pile of bills off the table and shook them in the air.

  “Money, money, money. That’s all you care about. Stop treating me like I’m your meal ticket. We’ve been dating for over a year now.”

  The woman threw down the bills in protest. “I work two jobs, Brad, just to cover my share of the rent. It’s hardly what I had in mind when I said I wanted to live in New York.”

  Brad teetered in the door before stumbling to the sofa. “Well, sorry your dream isn’t what it was cracked up to be. If you put the same effort into us that you do at work maybe life wouldn’t be like this at all.”

  “Maybe if you stopped trying to drink yourself to death, I would want to,” the woman replied as she disappeared into the kitchen. She re-emerged moments later carrying a bag of trash. She crossed the narrow living room and slid into her slippers without saying another word.

  “Yeah that’s right, you take out the trash,” Brad said, waving his arm around. “About time you pulled your weight around here.”

  Turning in the doorway, the woman replied, “I’d take you out too, if I could carry you, but I can’t. So, it seems I’m stuck with you.” With that, she slammed the door on the way out. Even in her slippers her trudging could be heard as she made her way down the hall to the elevator. Kasey longed to follow her, but her vision form wouldn’t budge.

  It took Brad a moment for the insult to sink in.

  “Trash… I’ll give you trash,” Brad muttered as he pulled himself to his feet.

  “Kasey!” a voice called.

  The mist descended, obscuring her view. Kasey blinked to clear her vision. Bishop stood over her, at her side stood the building super and two more police officers.

  “What’s up?” Kasey asked, tilting her head to one side.

  “Mind explaining what you’re up to, dreamboat? CPR isn’t going to bring her back. Her neck’s been snapped.”

  “I wasn’t doing CPR, detective,” Kasey answered, scrambling for an answer. “I was simply trying to get a closer look at these markings on her neck.”

  “And?” Bishop pressed.

  “The bruising suggests she was surprised from behind.”

  “Anything that might give us an idea of who we are looking for?” Bishop asked.

  Kasey scrambled for a means to convey what she’d learned from her vision. Clairvoyance was not a promising substitute for evidence at the NYPD. “This was an execution, not an accident, detective. We’ll need to do further tests but if I were you I’d be looking for a boyfriend or lover. Someone with an axe to grind. You get anything useful out of the super?”

  “Not particularly. He mentioned a few of the tenants complaining of a domestic last night around midnight. Coul
d be our girl.” Bishop turned back to the building super. “Spencer, those complaints, which floor were they from?”

  “The third floor, ma’am. Same as her,” the super replied, pointing to the body.

  “Did anyone else share the apartment? A husband or boyfriend? Maybe a girlfriend?”

  “Boyfriend. Drunken layabout by the name of Brad Tescoe. They’ve been living here for a little over a year.”

  “Any idea where we can find Brad now?” Bishop asked.

  “He’s a mechanic somewhere in Queens. Not sure where exactly. He’s normally home around five, if you want to wait for him,” Spencer said.

  “Oh, I don’t think we’ll be waiting,” Bishop replied turning to the officer beside her. “Danetto, Put out an all-points bulletin on one Brad Tescoe. He’s wanted for questioning. See if you can’t track down his workplace. If he hasn’t skipped town, he might be there.”

  “Sure thing, detective,” the officer said before he made his way back to the squad car for a radio.

  “Anything of note upstairs?” Kasey asked.

  “A few of our boys have swept the apartment. Didn’t find a thing. It definitely went down here in the alley,” Bishop answered. “If it was the boyfriend, find me something we can use to put him away.”

  “Will do, detective. Give me a lab and a few hours. If he left a trace, I’ll find it,” Kasey said, bending back over the body for a closer look.

  Kasey looked at the young woman before her. Such a waste of life. It was times like this she was proud of what she did. Sure, as a doctor she might do some good, cure a cold maybe even save a life here or there. But here on the job, every time she helped close a case, it was one more violent offender off the streets, one more opportunist behind bars. Every day she could make a difference.

  She went to stand but something caught her eye. Leaning forward, she examined the bruising around the woman’s throat. She reached for her kit and produced a set of forceps and an evidence bag. Leaning back over the victim, she gently lifted a hair from the woman’s neck. It was short and blond, a stark contrast to the victim’s chocolate brown locks.

  “What have you got there, Chase?” Bishop asked.

  “It’s a hair. Not our victim’s, either,” Kasey said with a measure of satisfaction as she held the hair up for a better look.

  “You think it’s our suspect’s?” Bishop asked.

  “I doubt it,” Kasey replied, her enthusiasm dying out.

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s short and fine, so unless her dog strangled her to death, we’re out of luck. It’s not human,” Kasey answered, bagging the hair for evidence.

  “That’s odd, victim didn’t have a dog,” Bishop answered. “No pets are allowed in the building.”

  “Maybe a stray wandered through this morning,” Kasey answered as she stood up. “Shame the NYPD doesn’t have any dog whisperers on the payroll. We could have used a witness.”

  “Very funny, Chase. Bag Beth for transport. We’ll see what the lab shows up.”

  Kasey scowled. “Beth?”

  “The victim. One Elizabeth Morrison. Everyone calls her Beth, or at least they did,” Bishop said. “Let’s get her back to the station ASAP. We need to find this missing boyfriend.”

  A shiver ran down her spine as Kasey looked down at the young woman at her feet. It had been almost a decade since she had changed her name, as a child she’d always been known as Beth. Beth Stonemoore. Shaking off the unsettling tingle, Kasey dug into her kit and drew out a body bag.

  Don’t worry, Beth, we’ll find who did this to you, Kasey thought as she unzipped the heavy-duty white plastic sheath. It had been weeks since she had seen a vision, now she had witnessed two in a single morning.

  Chapter Three

  As Bishop steered the squad car through the busy Manhattan traffic, Kasey was fixated on the victim. She couldn't help but empathize with the woman. Having seen her in vision, it was hard not to.

  Kasey struggled to suppress her feelings, an unsettling combination of nerves, anger, and anticipation. Anger at how Beth’s life had ended, mixed with a fear of any person capable of such a heinous and violent act. The OCME’s office had felt so much more disconnected from the crimes themselves. It was different being on the front lines.

  Bishop passed the time going over the facts of the case, but Kasey was too distracted.

  Kasey too, had come to New York, not so much chasing a dream as she was fleeing her old life.

  Kasey couldn't help but think what might have happened had she been a little less lucky. She could have wound up like Beth, wrapped in plastic and riding in the back of a patrol van. Kasey shook her head, trying to clear the macabre thought.

  “What's the matter, Chase?” Bishop asked. “You don’t quite seem yourself this morning.”

  “How do you do it, Bishop? How do you attend a scene like that and manage to go about your day like normal?”

  “Experience, Kasey,” Bishop replied. “Years of seeing the worst humanity has to offer has a way of numbing you to it. I know it wasn’t a pretty sight. Are you sure that’s all that is bothering you?”

  “It's nothing, detective, just a bit of a slow start today is all,” Kasey answered unconvincingly.

  “You sure it's not the fact we just bagged a woman your age? A death like that can often cut a little close to home,” Bishop said as she slowly drummed her fingers on the wheel.

  “Maybe. I’ve had a lot on my plate lately,” Kasey said, turning to Bishop. “I wasn't exactly planning on this transfer from the OCME. Don't get me wrong, I'm loving working with you, but the Ainsley stink is a little harder to get rid of than I'd first thought. Just a little worried it might follow me over here. That much money gives a person reach.”

  Bishop’s eyes went wide as her mouth dropped open. “I thought your old boss put the clamps on that one when she shot down the assault charges.”

  “She did, but you know that nagging feeling you get, when you know something isn't quite over? I feel it now. Like something is out there hovering on the horizon, just waiting to fall on me like a stack of bricks.”

  “Well, aren't you just a little ray of sunshine,” Bishop said.

  “You can’t talk, Bishop. I don't think I’ve seen you smile in the week we've been together.”

  Bishop's mouth edged up, slightly.

  After she pulled into the precinct, she turned to Kasey. “Well, find me something we can use to nail the boyfriend and you might just see one today.”

  Kasey chuckled. “You got it, boss.”

  She leapt out of the car and made her way over to the loading dock so that she could sign the body into the morgue. The sooner she could get answers, the better she'd feel.

  The van pulled up and backed into the dock, beeping as it reversed. When it came to a stop, two officers jumped out of the van and proceeded to load the body bag onto a gurney. Kasey followed the two officers through the doors and trailed them down the hall. They rode the elevator in silence down to the morgue.

  As its doors opened, she was met by the department’s own medical examiner, the impossibly cheery Doctor Vida Khatri. Vida was of Indian heritage but born in the United Kingdom. His accent provided a distracting alternative from the usual New York accent Kasey had become so familiar with.

  Vida himself seemed high on life, an unlikely disposition given his profession and the fact that he spent twelve hours a day surrounded by dead people.

  “Oh, Kasey, you shouldn't have,” Vida began, pointing at the gurney being pushed by the two officers. “And here I didn't get you anything.”

  “Come on, Vida. The woman just died. Show a little respect,” Kasey began following the gurney into the morgue.

  “I hope so, otherwise she's gonna get a hell of a shock when she wakes up in here,” Vida answered with a wry grin. Fast on his feet, Vida made even the precinct morgue a pleasant environment to work in. A marked difference from the increasingly tense environment at the OCME.

 
Kasey knew it was impossible to try and lampoon the doctor's enthusiasm. “I guess you're right, Vida, but all the same, you might want to double check before we open her up. If the first thing she sees is you standing over her with a bone saw… well, I'm sure she'll scream loud enough to wake the others, dead or not.”

  Vida chuckled as he followed close behind. “Sound counsel to be sure. I’m not quite ready to face the zombie apocalypse this morning. So, what have you brought me?”

  “Deceased young woman in her early twenties, cause of death, broken neck. Obvious swelling and bruising around the esophagus lead us to believe it was not an accident. Additional bruising on the face likely occurred postmortem, probably when she hit the dumpster or pavement. The victim had been heard arguing with her boyfriend who is now missing. He is our lead suspect. We need to run a set of labs, ensure there was no other foul play. Bishop needs something we can use when they eventually drag in her sorry excuse for a boyfriend.” Kasey answered matter-of-factly.

  “Lovers spat, those are the worst,” Vida answered as the officers brought the gurney to a halt in the centre of the room. “Alright fellers, you can leave her there. We've got it from here.”

  The taller of the two officers, Jones, turned to the doc. “She’s all yours, Vida. Find us something we can use to nail this fool, would ya?”

  “That's my job,” Vida replied as the two officers hurried out of the morgue closing the door behind them.

  Vida unzipped the white body bag and Kasey helped him lift the victim onto the steel examination table. Vida fussed about the body, making a cursory examination.

  “I daresay you're right about the cause of death, but just to make things interesting, I’ll put down a twenty and say it wasn't the boyfriend, it was someone else. A losing bet perhaps, but hey, you seem like you could use the money.” Vida chuckled as he continued his inspection.

  “A wound like that and you think it wasn't the boyfriend?” Kasey asked. “You're on, Vida. I'll take your money, even if it's just to teach you a lesson. You're an addict and one of these days it will be the death of you.”