Chapter 8 #2
“Hey, stranger.” He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “You must be on call again.”
I shrugged. “I take most weekends. It’s easier to get a sitter during the day than in the middle of the night. Those calls can go to someone without a toddler.”
“Makes sense.” Kobe gnawed his lower lip and rocked on his heels. “So? How’ve you been?”
“No complaints. You?”
“Good. Good. Still working that case, but… You know.”
I didn’t but nodded regardless.
A silent and awkward moment followed, so I volleyed his comment back. “You must be on call again too.”
“Nope. It doesn’t work that way in homicide.
I’m ruled by obligation. Weekends off are a rare commodity.
” Kobe craned his neck toward the crime scene, but a line of trees blocked our view.
“I was told the details are strikingly similar to our Dr. Kordestani, so Sarge wanted us here instead of regular PD getting involved.”
I hitched a brow. “Similar?”
“That’s what they’re telling me. I don’t know more. We haven’t got up close and personal yet. They wouldn’t let us through until they got the okay from you.”
“I see. Shall we?”
Kobe stayed a generous distance behind as I circled a cluster of trees and aimed for the main attraction—a dead man seated on a wooden bench overlooking the icy path of the outdoor rink. CSIs surrounded the area, documenting everything and dropping tags over evidence.
Kobe’s superior was correct. At first glance, I noted many similarities to Navid Kordestani, but the overall impression was unique.
“Oh, Jesus.” Kobe winced when we circled the bench to view the scene head-on. He sucked air between his teeth and palmed his crotch. “Ow. Who the fuck does something like that?”
I said nothing, taking in every nuance of the display before approaching the dead body.
Unlike forty-seven-year-old Navid, the man occupying the bench that morning was not far into his twenties.
He, too, carried marks on his neck that suggested strangulation.
He, too, had his hands positioned on his lap as though in supplication.
Whereas Navid had been dressed for running, this man was naked, his clothes folded in a neat pile at his side.
Navid’s heart had been impaled. The victim on the bench had a similar flower spike inserted through the shaft of his penis—hence Kobe’s reaction.
Another rose.
Another note.
“Same perp,” Kobe said, still grimacing. “Gotta be. Flower spike, white rose, cardstock tied with a ribbon. Even his positioning on the bench is identical.”
I hummed in agreement, still scanning and analyzing every detail.
“Tabarnak,” Kobe muttered. “No wonder Sarge called us. Can I approach?”
“Yes. Don’t touch anything.”
“Not my first day, Doc.” He smacked my arm and winked before aiming for the bench.
I stared after him, thinking, wondering, and feeling… things I shouldn’t. Things resembling attraction. Desire. Giving my head a shake, grounding myself in reality, I followed Kobe and got to work.
Kobe circled the victim, ensuring he kept a wide berth so as not to impede my initial survey of the body.
He wore the introspective expression I’d seen the previous weekend.
It contradicted the boyish smile and flirtatious behavior I’d been privy to more than once.
It was the face of a man absorbing details and rewinding time as he reconstructed a murder. Kobe was astute. Focused.
A photographer joined me, and I directed him through several shots, taking pictures of the victim at various angles.
The dead man’s neck. The first signs of bruising and the various shallow scratches.
The positioning of his hands and the state of his fingernails.
The signs of petechiae around his unseeing eyes.
His protruding tongue with a small trace of blood on its tip.
He’d likely bitten it during the struggle.
Then, I instructed my helper to focus his lens on the impaled penis.
Kobe’s partner joined him a few minutes later, and I listened to them converse as I documented my findings, took measurements, readings, and inspected various abrasions on the naked man’s torso.
“Can you estimate the time of death, Doc?” Kobe asked as I took the victim’s temperature via a slit in the abdomen to access the liver.
I stared at the thermometer as the mercury climbed, then settled.
“Not with much accuracy. Pre-dawn? After midnight? He’s showing signs of rigor, but the freezing temperature can severely compromise its onset.
My reading is quite low, but that doesn’t surprise me, considering the weather.
Too many factors at play. Ask me again when he’s in the lab.
I might be able to give you a smaller window. ”
Detective Hayashi gestured to the pile of neatly folded clothes at the end of the bench. A battered leather wallet rested on top. “Can we check for ID?”
I glanced at the photographer, who nodded, indicating he’d taken those shots already. “Go ahead.”
Kobe grabbed the wallet and found the victim’s driver’s license. “Jesse Vargas. Born in September 2002. So that makes him…”
“Twenty-three.” His partner removed the ID from Kobe’s hand and examined it. “No attempt to hide the victim’s identity.”
Kobe met my gaze. “Can we approach the body?”
I gave my consent, and the two detectives moved in. Kobe cringed again as he inspected the spike through the man’s penis. “Please tell me this was postmortem like the other guy.”
I didn’t answer.
Seemingly less affected, Detective Hayashi crouched and examined the injury.
“It enters just below the corona and exits the frenulum,” I explained. She hadn’t asked, but I felt compelled to fill the silence.
“Isn’t the frenulum an area of high sensitivity?” Hayashi asked, glancing between Kobe and me.
“It can be,” I answered.
Hayashi looked at Kobe, whose pinched expression hadn’t changed. “That could be notable.”
“Our perp issued pain instead of pleasure.” Kobe nodded. “Except, if he was dead first, it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“True. Maybe he’s trying to send a different message,” Hayashi said.
“Speaking of…” Kobe motioned to the cardstock.
Hayashi inspected it first, and her nose twitched. “Do you smell it?”
“Tropical perfume?” Kobe asked, not getting closer.
“Yes. It’s fainter than last time, but it’s there.” She tipped her head at the stack of clothing. “I also smell stale cigarettes and beer wafting off those.”
“Might have been out partying last night. Read the card, Rue.”
Hayashi used two glove-covered fingers to turn it the right way. “‘A self-righteous prick.’” She huffed what could have been a laugh. “That’s… creative.”
“That’s sadistic.” Kobe crossed his arms. It seemed more an act of discomfort than that of a person trying to stay warm.
Kobe scanned the sectioned off area, zeroing in on a patch of disturbed snow and several evidence markers. Stepping carefully, he approached the marks and studied them for a long time before calling to his partner. “We’ve got similar signs of a struggle. Might even be more intense than last time.”
His partner joined him.
Kobe pointed to the ground. “The prints aren’t as clear. It’s like they’ve been purposefully rubbed out.”
“Our perp was careful.”
Kobe made a noise of consent and glanced back at the bench and the man. It was then that I realized I was too busy watching him and not busy enough doing my job.
Our eyes locked, and Kobe’s intense concentration broke. He smiled and winked.
I looked away, refocusing on the body.
A short time later, Kobe mused to his partner.
“I’d say he was attacked in the pre-dawn, or thereabouts.
Maybe while stumbling home from a party.
His driver’s license says he lives on Marlborough Avenue.
That’s a few blocks that way. He’s attacked, strangled, stripped, and displayed on the bench in the same fashion as Navid.
Then a spike is inserted through his… goods.
A perfume-scented rose and an obscure note are attached.
I have no fucking idea why or what it means. ”
“How long would it have taken?” Hayashi asked.
Kobe waffled his head from side to side. “Ten or fifteen minutes? Maybe less. Hey, Doc? What would be your guess for this victim’s weight and height?”
I scanned the naked man. “Roughly five ten or five eleven. One sixty to one seventy.”
Kobe hummed, staring at the marks in the snow.
“We need to figure out who this guy is and how he relates to our first victim,” Kobe’s partner said. “I’m going to track down the person who discovered the body and see what they have to say, then I’ll call Sarge and update her. Are we done here?”
“Yeah. Give me a few more minutes. I’ll meet you at the car.”
Hayashi headed to the perimeter of the crime scene and ducked under the tape as she pressed a phone to her ear. I was left alone with Kobe, who rejoined me, peeling his gloves off and stuffing them and his hands into his pockets.
“It’s the same perp,” he said, reiterating his original comment.
“Seems to be.”
“There’s barely any blood around that spike. It’s postmortem, like the other one.”
Since I didn’t think Kobe was looking for confirmation, I stayed quiet.
“That’s… mighty personal. It sends a strong message, don’t you think? A heartless bastard. Spike through the heart. A self-righteous prick. A spike through the… prick. Fuck me. It hurts looking at it.”
I almost laughed when he winced again.
“Our perp is making a statement. A loud statement. What do you think he’s trying to tell us?”
I considered for a long time before shaking my head. “That’s not really my line of work.”
Kobe nodded, seeming to deflate. “Right. Sorry.”
Registering that his question might have been an attempt at building a rapport, I reluctantly added, “But I agree. There does seem to be an evolving pattern.”
More silence.
A thought occurred to me. “Oh, I have a name for you. Dr. Delmar Housing. He’s working on research regarding fragrance transference and identification. It’s still in its infancy, but he might be able to answer some of your questions.”
“You’re amazing. Can you text me his contact information?”
“I will. I have it at the office.”
“Great.” Kobe shifted his weight. “So, um, when do you think you’ll get to the autopsy?”
I removed my gloves, tossing them aside. “Although I’d prefer working without a mass of students hovering over me, I can’t make it happen today. My babysitter only came because I promised I wouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”
“Not a fan of students?”
“They slow me down. I didn’t work at a teaching facility in Gatineau, so it’s taking some getting used to.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“If I can swing it. Considering the nature of the case and its relation to the other death, I’ll be sure I’m the one taking care of it.”
“I appreciate that. If I can manage to sneak out, I’d like to observe.”
“You know your presence isn’t necessary. You’ll get a full report.”
Kobe side-eyed me, and a shy smile touched his lips. “I’ll take a second date however I can get it, Doc.”
“Ah. I see.” I hedged, then faced him, matching his stance and stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets. “I’d like to think we can do better than an autopsy suite.”
“Oh?” His smile grew. “Suggestions?”
And just like that, I tumbled headfirst into everything Kobe.
I couldn’t say I was sad about it. In fact, the light banter was a breath of fresh air under the circumstances.
I considered options as I ignored the voice in the back of my head, telling me to politely decline. Walk away. Resist temptation.
But I didn’t want to.
“How early are you at the office in the morning?” I asked instead.
“Ordinarily, around eight. Unless we get called to a scene during the night.” He cocked a brow. “Why?”
“Well, I have a sitter who comes to the house a few mornings a week, so I can hit the gym. Normally, I’m back in time to shower and take Cosette to daycare before I head to work.
I could possibly convince Danica to stay and take Cosette to Miss Heather’s instead, shower at the gym, and meet you for a morning coffee.
There’s a wonderful café near me. I discovered it last month.
They make an exquisite spinach and egg croissant breakfast sandwich.
The raspberry and white chocolate scones are good too. I haven’t tried everything.”
“That sounds like a much more appealing date than watching you dissect a human cadaver.”
I inadvertently chuckled, which made Kobe’s dimples pop as he pumped a fist. “Score. It’s not easy to get you to laugh. Not gonna lie. I like it. You should do it more often.”
I sobered, remembering why I rarely laughed anymore, but I shook free from those tainted thoughts before they impeded the progress I’d made.
Kobe and I stared at one another for a long time until his partner called, “Haven. We’re out. Move your ass.”
Kobe thumbed over his shoulder. “I gotta go. She outranks me and will put me in time-out if I don’t listen, so… We’ll talk again?”
“Yes.”
“Text me the name of that café, and we’ll make plans for that breakfast date.”
I didn’t respond as Kobe winked and spun, heading to the crime scene tape and his partner.
It was official. I was going on an unquestionable second date with Detective Kobe Haven of the Ottawa Police.
Excitement and nerves burbled in my low belly, warring with a hefty dose of guilt and fear.
This was it. I had to take a chance. I had enough could-haves, should-haves, and would-haves in the rearview mirror to last a lifetime.
I didn’t need more. Maybe things would work out.
Maybe they wouldn’t. The ashy remains of my heart couldn’t possibly incur more damage.
A long time ago, be it in a university textbook, on a podcast, or while watching a documentary on TV, I heard a quote. “To live without risk is to risk not living.” I couldn’t recall who said it, but it had been rolling around my brain a lot lately.
Perhaps Kobe Haven was a risk worth taking.