Continuation of last week's post, now titled The Prophet. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for the feedback:)
WARNING: Graphic Content
Flies swarmed in her face. Attracted to the rotting horror in the trailer, the annoying insects had come in droves. Cops and stone-faced forensics people surfed through the trash, picking apart the garbage like prospectors digging for gold. Jaymee watched as a steady stream of techs wearing contraptions resembling full body condoms carried evidence out of the trailer into an official looking white van.
“When was the last time you saw the victim?”
Jaymee’s eyes flickered to the detective called Adams. Short and pudgy, he appeared to be on the other side of forty and sliding full speed down the hill. Wrinkles lined his eyes, and sweat shined on his forehead. He dabbed his face with a dingy hanky and waited for her response.
“Few days ago. After work.”
“And what did the victim do for a living?”
“Her name was Crystal,” Jaymee snapped. “She stripped at local shit-hole in Grand Rapids.”
The detective raised a grayed eyebrow. “Her income limited to stripping? No side jobs?”
“She did what she had to do.”
“Don’t we all.”
Jaymee clamped her lips shut. Typical old school cop. Didn’t give a fuck about the people living below the poverty line unless he could do something to bust their chops. “Can I go now?”
“You’re a witness.”
“I didn’t see a damned thing! She was dead when I got here!”
Dead for a while, by the looks of it. If Jaymee lived to be a withered old lady, she would never forget the sight of Crystal’s body. Wrists and ankles tied down, dried blood pooled around her lower region, her private area slashed open, dark bruises everywhere. Slashes on her breasts and arms. The white sheets had been stained red—Crystal had bled out from the gaping wound in her neck.
Jaymee had heard a cop say her injuries were sustained pre-mortem. Which meant Crystal had suffered unimaginable pain. Her eyes were wide open in death—had she been conscious until the knife slit her throat?
“You discovered the body,” Adams said.
“I’ve told you everything.”
He ignored her. “Crystal have any enemies? She do her extracurricular work on her own or did she have an employer?”
“She didn’t have a fucking pimp.” Jaymee’d had enough of Adam’s prejudice. “Crystal wasn’t a streetwalker. Sometimes she did the guys favors for extra cash—that’s it.”
“Nothing unusual in the past week or so?”
“Adams!” A deep voice called from the left. Yet another car had arrived on scene, this one a shiny, black Impala. A man stepped out, stylish black sunglasses protecting his eyes from the sun. His jeans hung loosely around his hips, and the dark, green shirt he wore complimented his tanned skin.
Jaymee watched his approach. He didn’t look like a cop. Reporter? No press badge, just a Blackberry and a bag slung over his shoulder. He had an air of cool confidence that set her on edge.
“Samuels,” the detective sounded less than pleased at the other man’s arrival. “Not sure why you’re here.”
“Your boss just called me,” the newcomer said. He towered over Adams by several inches.
Adams scowled. “What for?”
Jaymee rolled her eyes at the pissing contest. Why didn’t men just greet one another by whipping out their dicks and measuring? Get the ego bullshit over with.
“Not exactly. Couple of new things.”
Adam's face turned puce. “Says who? I haven’t heard a damned thing about it.”
“Check with your boss. He’s inside while you’re conducting interviews.”
Jaymee raised her hand. “Can I go now? I have nothing else to say.”
Tall, dark, and annoying turned to smile down at her. “Agent Nick Samuels, Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.”
The big boys. No wonder Adams was ticked. Cops hated having their turf invaded.
“Jaymee Morris. Waitress at The Wall-eyed Bar, greasiest food in Grand Rapids.”
“And the person who discovered the body,” Samuels pointed out.
“That, too.” She cut Samuels off before he could speak again. “I’ve already told your buddy everything.”
“Of course, but I’d like to ask you some different questions. We have reason to believe your friend’s murder is related to a string of others near the Twin Cities.”
“You know how far we are from the Cities?” Jayme scoffed. “Don’t murders tend to stick to a favorite place?”
Samuels pushed his sunglasses onto his head. Green eyes stared intently down at her. “Serial killers can be unpredictable. There are stressors that can make them alter their procedures.”
Jaymee felt dizzy. “You think this is a serial killer?”
“There’s no evidence of that yet,” Adams sputtered. “None that I’ve seen, anyway.”
Samuel’s eyes didn’t leave Jaymee’s. “You haven’t seen the proverb yet.”
“Proverb?” Jaymee asked.
“Ms. Morris,” Samuels said, “Have you heard of The Prophet?”