Thursday, September 4, 2014

Going to the Graves (Blogophilia 28.7)



Murray slouched to the black Crown Vic and got in. Let me guess. It’s here in Norcross. He thought about going home and changing into more professional clothes, but that would take too long. Baseball shirt and shorts will have to do. Wincing as he slid on the hot vinyl, he dialed back to headquarters to get the location.  

“Gwinnet Homicide.  Jackson.” Even after all these years that donkey voice still grated at his nerves.

“Hey, Murray here.  What’s up?”

“Sorry to bust up the ballgame Lieutenant, but we just got a call out of the Graves. I knew you were in the neighborhood and I figured you could field this.” Murray heard a suppressed bray from his partner. 

“I love you, too, Jackson. But, the game is over. What do we know about it so far?”

“Not much. Male. Latin. No age or I.D. yet, but pretty young. Found by one of the residents at the bottom of the hill a little while ago. Patrol apparently has the scene secure, so you should be ready to roll when you get there. Crime Scene is also en route and may beat you there. I’m finishing up a report, so I'll be down about 20 minutes.

“Take your time. I doubt you’ll miss much. See you there.” 

As he clicked off, Little Wally came running up, curls flowing in the breeze.

“You going to work, Grandpa?”

“Yeah. Somebody is hurt and needs my help.”

The little boy nodded and grinned, flinging his sticky arms around his neck. 

“I love you. Maybe you’ll get home in time to play some catch.”

“We’ll see, Superman.”, He patted him on the shoulder.  “Now get on back to Mom. She’s waiting.”

As the little boy ran to his parents, Murray sighed. He wondered if his deceased had left anyone behind. There probably was a Mama, possibly a girl friend and kids. He probably lived a “Fuck the Future” life. A lot of those young kids do, with no plans for the future past Friday. Then the future fucks them back and leaves their corpses littering the landscape.  

He cranked the car and turned the air conditioning up to full.

Turning out on to Jimmy Carter, he frowned. While it was only about three miles to that cesspit of sin, he had to travel the worst designed road in the State of Georgia to get there.  Sure enough, he went about five hundred yards before he hit gridlock. Sweat poured down his face as he thought about what he might find. 

This was the third or fourth case this year out of the Graves. He had worked a domestic and Jackson had drawn a bad drug deal. Both of those closed pretty quickly. The perps involved were well known and there was enough physical evidence not to need much testimony. Last he had heard, both were negotiating plea deals. This was helpful since this was a neighborhood where snitches were likely to get killed.

One case was still open.  A young illegal girl was found naked in one of the dumpsters with her throat slit. Two months later they didn’t have a good I.D, just her street name: Bella Paloma. She was about 18, very thin with coal black hair and sharp features. Murray had seen her once or twice working at Jimmy Carter and Singleton, but never had any reason to talk to her. The other hookers knew nothing about her, only that she had come from El Salvador maybe a month or six weeks ago. Now she was just another piece of used trash.

Working that scene was tough. The girl had been killed somewhere else, very little blood anywhere around. The dumpster itself was out of the direct line of sight from the other buildings, so when the neighbors claimed they didn’t see anything, they may have been right. But the detectives didn’t even get that. Everybody claimed they were inside and that wasn’t their business. They certainly didn’t want the attention of some pimp with SureƱo Trece ties. 

The only lead they had was a tire tread in the clay next to the dumpster and a beige Toyota seen leaving about the time she was found. Of course, no one had a description of the driver.  

So, would this new body be connected to that one?  Nah. Nobody promised me magic in this job.  


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Topic-Trevor Clower

Pic-Nina Nixon

Pic-Guardian, Watching, King of my domain, Kitty, Bird watching, Purrrfect.

 

12 comments:

  1. Tough job, dealing with death all the time.

    8 points Earthling! :)

    Marvin

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  2. Are all of these places in your story around Atlanta? The Graves sounds like a very forbidding place to be. Your story weaving is excellent, by the way!

    I must admit that I have fallen way behind on my readings. I was expecting a Jeremy saga here and was totally surprised to read this. Need to catch up on your writes!!

    Blue fool

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  3. Yes they are. Most of the action for the next couple of episodes takes place in Norcross, a blue collar, industrial suburb about miles 15 NE of Atlanta. Over the last 25 years it has morphed from being white to immigrant, with Hispanics and Vietnamese the largest group. Very few of the shop signs are in English.

    As far as the Graves Apartments, it is a composite of a number of the older Garden Style complexes in the area. Most of them were built in the 1970's and have seen better days. A good way to look at places like this is they are the modern day trailer parks, full of the drama of the poor.

    Oh, and this IS part of the Jeremy story. The two threads will be joining a little ways down the line.

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  4. I'll bet I've been through that part of Georgia in my frequent travels down to Tallahassee since we seem to take a slightly different route each time. Gritty and gravely write - this is an excellent side story that'll weave right into the Jeremy plot. Bring it! :)

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    Replies
    1. If you have gone straight through Atlanta you have (and passed my exit on the other side of I-285).

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  5. If there is a connection, maybe he will get some help from a new partner. Otherwise, I don't see him making much head way.

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  6. awesome installment here Christopher!! ~Christine W.

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