I started the Death and the Detective series from the writing prompts challenges at Creative Copy Challenge. The words in bold are the writing prompts from the challenge.
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Challenge #79
The killer began to wash the sticky traces of blood from his hands. Staring at the imagined stain, he washed again and again, uttering a soft admonition, “Wash your hands, William. You are such a dirty, little boy.”
When his hands began to bleed, he reached for a tube of ointment. Instead of remorse, he felt calm, as he slowly traced the river’s path of blood. He closed his eyes to escape to his castle of peace, where his bundle of conflict unraveled in the order of the truly mad.
He would not be ignored. Stone by stone, he would build his monument of glory. Body by body, he would get closer to his final reward. He would challenge fate and win.
“Notice me now, Dr. Sweeney?”
Challenge #81
Detective Brett Connors pushed on the door to the morgue. No matter how many times he had been there before, he was never ready for the slap of the strong, antiseptic smell – or the ear-splitting sound of Metallica blasting across the room.
Snatching the remote, Brett slammed the room into silence.
“Every time I come in here, I promise myself that I will not make a reference about the music being loud enough to wake up the dead.”
“Yet, every time, you do, Brett. You need a new line.”
“No, Randy, you need to get beyond your teenage years.”
Randy Watkins was the city’s coroner. Confined to a wheelchair from those teenage years did nothing to slow him down. Brett often wondered if his chosen career stemmed from the auto accident that crippled Randy and took the life of his friend. But, that one was best left to the lady shrink.
“That’s not my vic.”
“No, indeed. This corpulent fellow is far from the slender lady you brought me.”
Furrow after furrow of fat spread itself across the coroner’s table like the escaping layers of a baker’s unrolled dough. The layers deformed his back like an old lady’s dowager’s hump.
“Let me just don this gentleman in his opulent and resplendent cloak, and we’ll take a look at your lady,” Randy said while gently pulling the white sheet to the deceased’s chin.
That was something Brett always appreciated about Randy – the respect and dignity he gave to those who no longer felt.
Rolling over to another draped figure, Randy slowly pulled the sheet back on the latest victim. Brett could only feel relief that the poor woman no longer suffered.
Her body showed signs of severe abuse and her eyes had been carved away with a surgeon’s precision.
“What can you tell me, Randy?”
“Mark will have to confirm, but it appears she had several drugs in her body. The burn marks look like electrical shock, and the eyes were not taken by an amateur.”
Lifting her left arm, Randy showed Brett the marks.
“Intravenous, I’d say.”
“It’s ketamine, fed intravenously,” was the answer from crime tech, Mark Johnson, who just walked through the door.
“I just confirmed it. Vets mostly use it. Let me tell you, the dose this lady had, took her on a wild ride.”
“What kind of ride?” Brett questioned.
“One that ranks right up there with PCP – nasty.”
Brett felt himself vacillate between pity and rage. What had this girl ever done to anyone to deserve such a fate? He fantasized how he would terminate the killer’s life – in ways more painful than what he dealt out.
“That’s not all. I found traces of quinine. You know? The drug used to treat malaria.”
“What the hell?”
Challenge #83
Murder is always personal. The latest even more so. Detective Brett Connors leaned back in his chair, eying his murder board.
The first murder victim was an unidentified Jane Doe who appeared to know her way around the drug scene. She was found in a coffin, the lid off and resting in Mission Bay sand, as if dropped by the sea’s trembling hand. A carved message of Die Whore in the side of the coffin was not the only macabre puzzle piece. The coroner made the grisly discovery that the victim’s tongue had been cut out.
Then there was Jane Doe #2– her sightless body dumped on Dr. Maggie Sweeney’s balcony. The openings that once held her eyes did little to erase the vacant stare of the dead from Brett’s mind. His own narrowed stare defied his body’s outward passivity. The tortuous journey to death of these two Jane Does brought them now to Brett.
Maggie Sweeney – the department’s resident shrink and Brett’s uncomfortable obsession. Instead of freaking out at having a murdered woman dumped on her balcony, the cool lady doc held it together. More than one stressed-out cop challenged that awesome control of hers – especially Brett.
Nibbling on a toothpick, a poor substitute for the cigarette he constantly craved, Brett picked up his phone to harass the crime tech, Mark Johnson.
“You got the time, we know the crime,” came the ebullient voice.
“Cute, Johnson. You ought to have that stitched on a pillow.”
“Detective Connors. I didn’t know you were into embroidery. I suppose you want to know something more on the vic that went plonk on the Doc’s door.”
“Well, as much as I hate to change the vivacious topic, yeah, I’d like to know about the victim – her identity would be a good start.”
“No can do, yet, but I’m working on it. There was something else I found out though.”
“So, when were you going to tell me?”
“Patience, Detective. I just got the information, no more than five minutes ago. Our little dynamo got a piece of this guy.”
“You have DNA?” Brett felt his adrenaline punching up.
“Looks like. I need to run it, but do your job and we’ll seal the deal.”
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