Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

it was on file at the guard shack. Her full name is Kimberly MacGregor and she drives a ten-year-old Toyota Corolla. Blue.’
    ‘Fine. I’ll call you if . . . Wait.’ Joseph turned, looking back to the five cars parked between Ford’s SUV and the alley into which the homeless man had gone a few minutes before. Joseph started to run, abruptly stopping at the last vehicle in line.
    ‘What is it?’ his father demanded. ‘Joseph?’
    Joseph stared at the blue Corolla. There was a dark brown smear on the passenger door handle. Dried blood. Heart sinking, he crouched by the door where he saw two more smears, hand-shaped, woman-sized.
    ‘Read me the license plate number.’ His father did and it was a match. ‘I found the girl’s car.’ The blood he’d keep from his father, for now. ‘I’ll call you when I know—’ A shrill scream from within the alley cut him off.
    ‘What was that? Joseph, answer—’
    Joseph ran to the alley entrance. The homeless man was running in the opposite direction, hands empty. Something had scared him so badly that he’d dropped his sack.
    ‘Call you back,’ Joseph said curtly, dropping his phone into his pocket as he started after the man. But halfway into the alley Joseph stopped short.
    A pair of feet wearing bright red socks stuck out from one end of a pile of flattened boxes, reminding Joseph ridiculously of the witch’s red shoes sticking out from under Dorothy’s house. Except the feet were big. A man’s feet.
    Grimly, he stepped around the pile of boxes, then let out a relieved breath. It wasn’t Daphne’s son. It wasn’t anyone Joseph knew. But the man was unquestionably dead, the cause of death most likely the slit across his throat that went ear to ear.
    Joseph swallowed hard. The victim’s head clung to his body by about two inches of flesh on the back of his neck. He’d seen his share of slit throats in the course of his career, but this one . . . it was damn near decapitation.
    No wonder the homeless guy took off . The sack he’d left behind sat a few feet from the victim’s head. A pair of running shoes had rolled to the pavement. The shoe size looked to be a match for the dead man’s feet.
    That’s cold . Stealing the shoes off a dead man . It appeared that the homeless guy had started to pull boxes off the victim when he’d seen the head and bolted.
    About half of the victim’s torso was uncovered. He was a black male, mid thirties. About six feet and broad-shouldered. He wore a leather jacket, unzipped, and under it a grey sweatshirt with three big black letters.
    The middle letter was a P, visible where the jacket parted. To the left of it was what looked like an M. To the right . . . It was a D. Joseph sighed quietly. Aw, hell .
    MPD. Metro Police Department. This guy’s a DC cop .
    Joseph crouched next to the victim. Carefully he probed the man’s chest through the sweatshirt. And felt something hard. On a chain. In the shape of a shield. A DC cop killed in the line of duty .
    ‘Goddammit,’ Joseph muttered, dialing his cell phone as he came to his feet. The murder of a cop was enough of a loss. That the victim had been on duty made it that much worse. That the victim was Joseph’s own age . . . It hit damn close to home.
    ‘Special Agent Lamar, VCET.’
    Supervisory Special Agent Boaz Lamar headed the Violent Crimes Enforcement Team, a joint task force staffed by Baltimore city and county cops and the FBI. Bo and Joseph went way back in the Bureau – Bo had been one of his trainers, when Joseph had been a newly sworn agent.
    Three years ago, Bo began preparing for his retirement and had asked Joseph to transfer from the domestic terrorism unit into VCET, with the plan being Joseph’s eventual promotion into Bo’s job. For reasons of his own, Joseph had declined, then and every other time Bo brought it up.
    Until nine months ago when everything changed and, again for reasons of his own, Joseph accepted Bo’s offer, surprising everyone. When grilled by his family, he’d said he needed a change. When grilled by his bosses, he’d said he wanted to stick closer to home. Neither was a lie. But the real reason he kept to himself.
    It had been a damn good reason nine months ago. Six months of paperwork and red tape later, Joseph had his transfer, but his real reason wasn’t actionable anymore.
    Because he’d waited too long and Daphne had chosen someone else.
    Sometimes life’s a bitch that way . He looked down at the