The Killing Room (Richard Montanari) - By Richard Montanari Page 0,10

Amber Street was one-way, Jessica and Byrne drove down to York first, then cut back. As they neared the address Jessica saw a sector car parked on Amber, its lights flashing. On a street like this, the longer the bar flashed, the more likely it would be to draw people out of their houses. Right now they didn’t need a crowd. In fact, unless the perpetrator stood at the front in an orange jumpsuit with a sign around his neck confessing to the crime, they never needed a crowd.

The patrol officer was a Hispanic woman in her twenties.

Before getting out of the car Jessica studied the scene. The address was a freestanding, two-story, red-sandstone building. Buildings such as these were common in Kensington, structures rehabbed and repurposed over the years. While many had been torn down over the past three decades, as Kensington and neighboring Harrowgate, West Kensington, and Fishtown attempted to gentrify, many remained, sandwiched between blocks of rowhouses and commercial buildings.

The two front windows of this building were barred. To the right was an alleyway. Above the entrance was a low bell tower.

Jessica and Byrne exited the car, crossed the street. They clipped their badges onto their coats. Before they reached the curb Byrne got Jessica’s attention. He nodded at the high wall of the old warehouse next to their address. On it someone had painted a mural with a large gray dove perched on an olive branch.

You’ll find the first of the dead at Amber and Cumberland. Beneath the dove.

The young patrol officer paced nervously near her car. As they got closer Jessica could see the officer’s eyes. Something was very wrong. The officer looked like she had seen a monster. Her nametag identified her as P/O A. MARTINEZ.

‘Good morning,’ Byrne said.

‘Morning, sir.’

‘What can you tell me?’

Officer Martinez took a deep breath. When she exhaled the air came out in short, frosty blasts. She pointed at the building behind her, explained how she had taken the call, searched the alleyway, found nothing. She said she’d then remembered the ‘beneath the dove’ detail she’d gotten from dispatch. It was then she noticed the mural on the wall, and that the door to the building was ajar.

‘I entered the premises, found a white male, twenties, in the basement. Whole lotta blood, sir. Whole lotta blood.’

Jessica and Byrne looked at each other. It wasn’t a prank call after all.

‘DOA?’ Byrne asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did you check vitals?’

The officer looked everywhere but Byrne’s eyes. In other words, no. Martinez knew she had to answer, and do so truthfully. She did. ‘No, sir. But he’s –’

‘So you’re not sure he’s dead?’

Another pause. ‘No, sir. But there’s –’

‘Did you call for backup, clear the building?’

Martinez cleared her throat. ‘I cleared the basement.’

‘By yourself?’

The look on Martinez’s face said that she was ready to turn in her badge, even if this wasn’t a firing offense. It appeared that whatever she had seen inside this old stone building was worth throwing away her time at the academy. Jessica had seen the look many times. She imagined she had looked this way to more than a few detectives during her rookie year. It was a look that said: I didn’t sign on for this.

Byrne put a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. ‘Where exactly is the body?’

Martinez pulled it together. ‘Down the stairs, hard right, under the steps.’

Byrne pointed to the door. ‘Is this where you gained entry?’

Martinez nodded.

‘Did you announce yourself?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Byrne looked at the building, back. ‘Call for two more units,’ he said. He pointed at the sector car. ‘And kill the lights.’

If Martinez looked embarrassed before, she looked mortified now. ‘Yes, sir.’

P/O A. Martinez took a few steps away, keyed her shoulder microphone, officially a veteran first-responder to what was probably her first homicide. She opened the car door, reached in, turned off the flashing bar lights.

Jessica glanced at the building. She was not looking forward to entering, considering how this young patrol officer had reacted. But this was what she had signed on for, and she was going inside, whether she liked it or not.

The second sector car arrived a few minutes later. These officers were veteran patrolmen with whom Jessica and Byrne had worked before. Byrne instructed them to clear the first and second floors of the structure, along with the tower. It may have been a typically small, converted commercial space – probably no more than 2,000 square feet total – but there were lots of places to hide, and they