Ghost of New Year's Passed

"Tom, I think you need to get down here right away."

"What the hell is going on down there?"

"It's bad, and weird bad, but we just got off the phone with the 911 dispatcher, and she said that the caller specifically asked for you."

"Ok, what's the address? I'm on my way."

I write down the address, though I know generally where it is. I call over to the bartender to settle up and throw a $20 on the bar. I grab my coat and head out the door, hailing a cab as I go.

"12th and Market" I bark at the cabby.

Minutes later, I get out of the cab. I can see the cops at the door of the apartment building. I walk up to one of them, but before I get there one of his buddies says "Tom Adams?"

"Yeah." I pull my ID and show it to him, he takes a quick look and looks at me again.

"Hey, weren't you in private practice before?"

"Yeah, a long time ago."

"You remember me?"

I search my brain. I hate to say it, but all cops look the same to me. It's rare that one stands out. I did criminal defense for several years, and then went to the prosecutor's office after that. So I've seen hundreds of cops.

"Sorry, can't say that I do."

"You cross-examined me on the stand, during a motion to suppress some drugs I found on your client."

"How'd I do?"

"You pissed me off."

"Sounds like I did my job, then." I don't give him a chance to comment further, and head through the doors. There's another cop by the elevator.

"Adams?"

"Yeah"

"3rd floor, apartment 305, you'll see the rest of the guys."

"Thanks."

I enter the elevator and hit the three button, thinking that things are escalating quickly on a New Years Day when I was supposed to be off.

The door opens and I head out of the elevator and see a couple of cops going in and out of a door on the left hand side of the hallway. I flash my ID and head into the apartment. The first thing I notice is the apartment is freezing. I look around to see if any detectives have arrived yet.

"Hey, Tom, over here."

I see Mike Comly, a 40-something homicide detective. I've worked with Mike on a few cases, he's generally a pretty good guy. A bit jaded, perhaps, but then again, I guess we all are.

"What's the story on this one, Mike, and why am I here?"

Mike is looking around and chewing on a toothpick. "Not really sure, other than the caller to 911 said you should be here, but I think it's way too soon to get the prosecutor's office involved. You guys don't usually get involved until we actually have a suspect, but I guess someone downtown figured you might know something."

With that, he turns and heads down a hallway. I can see the lights are on in what I assume is a bedroom.

I've seen dead bodies before. It's never a pleasant experience. Usually, though, I only see the crime scene photos. By the time I actually see the body, which is exceedingly rare, it's already been autopsied and is pretty sanitized. I think I may have seen two crime scenes in my life.

"I'm warning you, this one's pretty brutal." Mike warns as we round the corner into the bedroom.

I'm not sure that brutal is the right word. I now see why it's freezing in here, both windows are open. Between the windows is a bed, which isn't unusual. What is unusual is the body of the naked female missing a portion of her head and face that's on the bed.

"Is it just me, Mike, or should there be a lot more blood?"

Mike nods his head in mock surprise. "Very good, Tom. Any thoughts as to why?"

Now I'm starting to remember why Mike annoys me. He reminds me of my law school professors. Not one of them can actually answer a question without a question.

"Because it's cold?"

"Nope. If I had to guess, it's because the body was dead before it was shot."

"Wait, let me get this straight, someone blew the head off of a dead body?"

"Appears that way."

I let this wash over me for a minute, wracking my brain for an explanation. This scenario sounded eerily similar to law school hypotheticals in criminal law where a professor would start with 'imagine that Jane Doe is dead, but John Smith doesn't know that...'

Very annoying stuff. I guess maybe it's a function of age, but I like my murders nice and clean. Wife finds hubby doing the 4 post polka with the baby-sitter and hits him with a fire poker, text message bingo where boyfriend awards girlfriend a beating, dead wife on the kitchen floor because Bob couldn't take it anymore and hit her with a frying pan to shut her up so he could eat his English muffin in peace. Yes, unoriginal, and boring, but it makes my job easier. And given the amount of nonsense that goes on that makes my job tougher, I feel a bit insulted if the actual criminals try to make figuring out the crime difficult.

The crime scene unit is starting to get moving, and ask me to get out of the doorway of the bedroom. Mike and I walk into the living room.

"Vanessa Lin, age 32, and this is her current address." Mike says. "She look familiar to you, Tom?"

"Hard to say, you know, with half her face missing and all." I quip.

"Current investigation or anything on this chick? We found some blow over in one of the nightstands."

"Not that I'm aware of, and if she is involved in something, it's not anything I'm working on."

Mike raises his eyebrows for a second, looks at the pad he's writing on and says 'then why the hell are you here?'

Why, indeed. I shrug my shoulders. As much to convey my uncertainty as it is an attempt to warm up a bit.

"Ok, Tom, you around for the next week or so?"

"Should be, I have a few personal days I have to use or lose, but I'm not going anywhere soon." I look at the door.

"Ok, Tom, bounce, we'll be in touch if we come up with any reason you should be involved beyond the caller saying so. This looks odd, but probably drug related. Oh, that reminds me, did you see that tattoo?"

I vaguely remember seeing a tatto on the side of her midriff. The lack of a head was the real attention getter though, so I didn't look closely.

"Yeah, dragon or something." I say.

"Yeah, I saw that too. She had an anklet, it said 'sukie?' or something like that." Mike flips the pages of his pad. "Yeah, ring any bells?"

"Not a one." I'm doing my best not to extend this conversation. Mike can be a bit of a talker, and frankly, I'm fucking cold and want to get the hell out of here. I'd like to tell you I have professional curiosity, but from what I can tell, this case has nothing to do with me, and it's a crap shoot if, and it's a big if, a suspect is found that the matter will be assigned to me. There's not really a thing I can do here anyway.

"Ok, Tom, I'll be in touch when I know more. The M.E. will have to do their thing. I'll keep you in the loop, in case something comes back to you because I have no idea why the caller would ask for you."

I nod and head for the street. I pull up my coat and my scarf, scanning the street for a cab. It's early, but since it's a holiday, there's not a whole lot of traffic.

"Adams, you're client was guilty as fuck, by the way." Great. It's the cop from earlier. Fortunately, I cab pulls up, but smartass that I am, I can't resist a parting shot.

"We're all guilty of something, just depends on how it's charged." I cheerily wave.

He gives me the finger.

I look at my phone, it's only 8:23 p.m.

"2nd and Market."

I ride in quiet reflection, trying to place a dragon tattoo and piece together the face of a woman missing half of it.