Friday, September 26, 2014
Jackson and Murrray (Blogophilia 31.7)
“So, lift me up, Walt.” The skinny black detective with the graying hair shouted as he approached the body, ever present Starbucks cup in his hand.
Murray winced. With his extended jaw line, Willie Jackson always reminded him of a jackass, his braying voice always saying something inappropriate. At lunch he would chomp on corn on the cob with his flat teeth. Chomp. Chomp. He thought about giving him a feedbag for Christmas on year, but chickened out the last minute. He brushed the memory aside and looked down at his notebook.
“Not much here that will do that, as usual.” Scratching an itch with his pen, he continued. “We have a well-ventilated ‘banger about 20 with no I.D. There isn’t a lot of blood, so he was probably dumped and probably not that long ago. The little Vietnamese guy in Diaz’s car found him coming home from work. Interesting thing, he might be connected to the hooker we pulled out of here.”
Jackson’s eyebrows raised with the cup.
“How you making the connection?”
“’Bella Paloma’ tattoo on his neck, and it is done in the same script.”
“How do you like them apples?” Jackson rubbed his jaw. “All this time we thought that was her street name. Maybe this part of something bigger. So, where do we start?”
“Well, Crime Scene is almost done processing. Get a briefing then start canvassing. I’d start with this building on the left. They had the best view of the proceedings. I have Diaz up at the Laundromat at the top of the hill to check for video. There was also a receipt from the convenience store at I-85 that needs to be run down. Meanwhile, I still need to talk to our 911 caller.” He started toward the cruiser, then he turned back towards his partner.
“Oh,guess who I think I saw in the onlookers? Remember that psycho kid that burned up his Mama and Cousin years ago when we were in Dekalb?”
“Jeremy Allen? How could I forget? I thought he was still in the nuthouse. Little bastard bit the hell out of me after I asked him why don’t you do right. Never saw so much hate in one set of eyes ever. He’d be what? 24, 25 by now? Wonder what he was doing here?”
“Hell if I know. Maybe he lives around here.” Murray tapped his notebook with his pen. “He beat feet quick when he saw me, though. He was in an older Toyota, similar to the one described in the hooker case. It will be something we’ll need to check out, but I don’t think this is his style.”
“Didn’t Mama castrate him or something?” Jackson visibly shuddered.“That would make somebody angry enough to lash out at women.”
“Yeah, according to the relatives, she thought he was going straight to hell and his cousin and didn’t want any more spawn. Anyway, let me talk to Mr. Ngyuen, and see what he has to say and we’ll follow up on ol’ Jeremy later. Poor guy’s been here a long time.”