And Crawling Things Lurk
Chapter 20: Leavings in the Alley

Carolyn Miyamoto shifted the dustpan to her other hand so she could reach down and remove the lid of the trash bucket. It was nothing but an old, five-gallon paint can, but it was strong and a good size for her use. With a clatter, the sweepings containing cut off and discarded frame pieces along with normal dirt and dust joined the bucket’s fill.

Facing out in the back doorway of her artist supply and framing shop, she felt her pocket for her keys before letting the door close behind her. Keeping her eyes on the stairs, then, she stepped down to the alley surface. As soon as she came through the door, the stink of the alley struck her, and this morning it was even worse than normal. It shouldn’t take her long, though, just to dump her bucket and get back inside. She had discussed with her neighbors the placing of materials that were noxious in the dumpster or cans. But, really, the shops using this alley dealt very little with such stuff. The shoe repair shop handled glues and like chemicals, but didn’t dispose of enough to cause a problem. Besides, this was not a chemical smell, not a manufactured chemical smell. She couldn’t imagine what could cause such a stench, but she would definitely have to talk to her neighbors. Maybe someone had filled one of the cans with dead rats or something. Maybe one of the restaurants around town was trying to avoid dumpster fees of their own. But what would a restaurant have that could smell like this? It was similar to what the old tannery and the old tallow plant used to emit back when they still made leather and soap, but they were both sweet compared to this.

Her trash bucket wasn’t all that big, but it was heavy with all the pieces of wood in it. She carried it with both hands to the open side of the dumpster just to her left, but when she swung it back prior to letting its forward swing carry it up and over the lip, she turned with it far enough to notice an overturned wheelchair out in the middle of the alley just a little way farther in than her door. She let the strength drain out of the swing as she glanced back at the far end of the alley but didn’t see anyone. She settled the heavy bucket to the ground and walked over to kneel beside the chair, lightly brushing her fingers over it while she pondered the mystery. It was large, black, and battery powered like one used around town by an old, legless man she had heard referred to as Sarge. The chair didn’t appear to be broken or wrecked, so why was it just left there in the alley? Of course, it could have a mechanical problem that wouldn’t necessarily be obvious to her. But as expensive as she was certain these things were, surely it would be repairable.

With nothing further to go on, she walked back and gripped the handle of her bucket. The heavy container lifted as she stood, its weight again pulling her arms straight. As she started another backswing, building momentum for the lift on the forward swing, she made her pre-dumping glance into the dumpster. The level of the fill was about where she expected for this day of the week, but recognition of what she had just looked at failed to immediately coalesce in her mind. The bucket was already swinging forward, but suddenly the strength to lift it over the lip of the dumpster went out of her. It crashed into the side, and the handle slipped out of her weakened her grip, letting the bucket of sweepings fall to the pavement, tip and spill its contents.

She peered back into the dumpster, to look once again at the large, gauzy covered item right on top of the rest. Her mind rebelled at what it insisted she saw. She went numb all over. She had seen old flies and moths caught in spider webs that looked like this, just their general shape perceptible beneath the covering web, and sometimes she could even tell what kind of insects they were because the covering was not always complete. Just like what she looked at now, with the folded arms and clutching hands and the twisted head with the mouth open in a silent scream, and wide open, lifeless eyes peering back at her.

Screaming, she ran out of the alley and into the street straight into the front of a passing bakery delivery van.

The driver was slowing in anticipation of making a left turn at the corner and only caught sight of Carolyn at the last instant. His reflexive jerk of the wheel to the right was enough to prevent his truck from rolling over her after she bounced back and landed on the pavement, still and silent.

The driver stopped and jumped out to kneel beside her, his hands darting this way and that, uncertain where, how or even if he should touch her. He went with the safer option and dialed 9-1-1 on his cell phone.

When Don braked to a stop behind the van scant minutes later, the driver was kneeling beside Carolyn’s still body, crying and reaching out to touch her, but, afraid, jerked his hand back.

“She just came running out and right into me,” he pleaded with Don. “I didn’t have a chance to miss her, honest. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t see her until she hit me.”

“Okay, man, okay. Just take it easy. I believe you. Why don’t you go over there and have a seat on the curb? Let me see what I can do here. The ambulance is on the way.”

About that time, another unit arrived from the other direction and stopped at the cross street to divert traffic.

Except for a scraped forehead from colliding with the van, Carolyn had no other apparent injuries. When Don felt for a pulse in her neck, his touch and the pressure of his fingertips began to rouse her. She groaned and stirred, her eyes fluttered once or twice then popped open. They flittered about, back and forth, finally landing on Don as they grew large and round. She looked into his eyes with such intensity, he was afraid she was in terrible pain, but then she started to rise. With a restraining hand to her shoulder, he encouraged her to remain where she was, assuring her that the ambulance was almost there. Its approaching siren was quickly becoming the dominant sound on the street.

“You’re going to be okay, Carolyn. Really, it looks like just a good bump on the head. You’ll be fine.”

But she kept trying to rise. When she looked over toward the alley and back at him, there was no denying the look of fear in her eyes.

“There...there...”

“What? What is it?”

“Some...something...someone...”

“Okay, now. Just go easy. It’s all over. You –”

“Dumpster…alley! There’s some...”

The ambulance crew came wheeling a gurney to Carolyn’s other side, and one of the men moved around to take Don’s place as he scooted sideways.

“You want me to look?”

“Yes! Yes, look!”

As he backed away, he nodded and promised to do as she asked. But first, he needed to talk to the van driver. By the time he got back to him, the man had had time to settle down and think about what had happened.

With all the driver and vehicle information recorded, and as Don began working on the scene sketch, he nodded as the driver embellished on his statement of what had happened.

“She came running out of the alley like something was chasing her. I don’t think she saw me any more than I saw her. And, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she was screaming. Oh, man. My boss is going to kill me. Twelve years, and not one accident. Now this. Oh, man.”

“Hey, twelve years, with all the hours and the miles you put on? That’s a pretty good record. I think you’ll be okay on this one.” Don watched the ambulance pull out en route to the hospital and nodded to the van driver. “Okay, road’s open. You can go.”

With the scene cleared, Don waved at the officer at the intersection to secure traffic control then turned and faced the mouth of the alley. What had so frightened Carolyn in there that caused her to blindly run out into the street? What could there be in her own alley?

When he got to the edge and could see all the way to the far end, he spotted the chair on its side. His stomach churned. His mind swirled. As far as he knew, Sarge had the only chair like it in town, and he couldn’t imagine how it could be here without its owner. It could have been stolen, of course, but not without Sarge raising all kinds of hell – if he was able to. What kind of sicko would steal Sarge’s chair? He knew there were heartless souls around that were capable of such a thing, even if for no other reason than a stupid joke. Would someone really hit Sarge over the head or something just to take his chair? ’Cause that’s the only way it could be done. Sarge was a strong man even if he didn’t have his legs, and he wouldn’t have relinquished his pride and joy without a hell of a fight. It wasn’t like anyone could use it, not around Cedar City, anyway, without everyone knowing where it came from. There was probably a black-market demand for something like that. Down in the city, maybe. Not much surprised him, anymore. But, then, why leave it in the alley?

As he started into the alley, he pondered how heavy that chair was and how he might be able to recover it. Probably have to call for a tow truck. Or, if it would run, he should be able to run it up a ramp into a truck bed. A city truck should be able to haul it for him. But what was there about Sarge’s chair that would scare Carolyn so? Then, as he got out of the street and into the confines of the alley, out of any breeze, he stopped in mid-stride. A mild tingle began at the base of his neck and quickly worked its way all the way down his spine, then spread out to encompass his entire back. Faint as he first entered the alley, the stench was there—the stench. The one that he had begun to associate with anything bad that happened in his town.

It got stronger, it seemed, with each step he took. When he reached the chair, and he was satisfied it was still just the chair lying on its side, he peered around at the rest of the alley. Nothing else appeared to be out of place or unusual...except for the trash bucket from Carolyn’s shop on its side and its contents scattered. It was right next to the end of the dumpster where she would have dropped it if whatever made her run was inside the dumpster. Then it hit him. She had told him to look in the dumpster, not the alley.

Even before he was close enough to see inside the big, metal box, the strength of the stench was enough to convince him that it was the source. With the presence of the chair, he was pretty certain what he was going to replace. Steeling himself, he stepped over and peered in.

Shock at the familiarity of the unholy bundle struck him like a wave of frigid, briny water breaking over a stony beach. The resemblance to both Be-Be and Josie left no doubt in his mind that they were all related. He had to force himself to look away from the horror frozen on Sarge’s face, the twist of his lips set to frame shrieks of terror terminated in mid-scream and unblinking eyes open so wide the round irises seemed to float in white pools.

He moved his patrol car to block off the entrance of the alley. When he called in the new replace to the department, De Leon came on the air and instructed him to not touch anything and that he was on his way. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Don muttered after he hung up the radio mike and took his little blue jar out of the glove compartment.

While waiting for De Leon, he photographed everything in the alley from as many angles as he could manage. He confirmed that all four doors to the alley were locked, then strung “Police Line, Do Not Cross” tape across the mouth of the alley as well as each of the four recessed doorways to prevent anyone inside from coming out. Other than that, he would let Super-cop’s expertise dictate the course of things. After all, the LAPD academy did graduate some pretty sharp cops. De Leon had to have absorbed something. He was well into a crime scene sketch when De Leon’s unmarked car parked across the street from the alley entrance.

Striding across the street and into the alley, the Inspector wore a friendly smile. “Morning, Don. Jesus, it stinks in here!”

Don refrained from responding.

“Whooee! When’s the last time you took a shower?”

Don still refrained from responding.

“On the radio, you said possible one-eighty-seven. You have anything to establish it as homicide? Besides the smell?”

Don glared at the Inspector before answering. “Well, somehow Sarge got from his chair…which is there, to inside the dumpster…which is there, without legs, and in the process managed to get himself all wrapped up in strands of something, the finishing touches of which were made after his arms would have been rendered useless. If it was suicide, I sure as hell can’t figure out how he did it. Accidental is probably out, too. Oh, and there’s an expression of pure horror on his face. Notice I didn’t mention the smell. But, even if it was college kids, it’s still murder. Of course, a cougar might have hauled him up there...like stashing a deer carcass up a tree for later. I think we can rule Simms out, though, since he’s still in county jail.

De Leon returned Don’s gaze without interruption until he finished.

“You need to remember who you’re talking to, Patrolman Evans. I don’t care if there are similarities to the Reynolds case, I’m not going to let you re-open it. When I make an arrest and close a case, it stays that way until the DA wins it or blows it in court.”

“Similarities? They’re identical! Hell, you haven’t even looked at the body, yet. Take a look! It’s right there in the dumpster!”

“Officer Evans, I don’t need for you to tell me how to investigate a scene. Now, why don’t you go stand out there at the mouth of the alley and see that I’m not disturbed by gawking lookie-loos that don’t have the intelligence to...”

A car braked to a stop in the street just beyond Don’s and both front doors flew open. The Chief got out of the driver’s side and a smartly dressed woman in a business suit got out the other. Without pause, they both walked around the end of the patrol car, ducked beneath the tape and into the alley.

“Evans, we heard your radio.” The chief looked a little pale. “You’re sure it’s Sarge?”

“No doubt, chief.” Don hooked his thumb over his shoulder towards the wheelchair. “There’s that, plus you can see his face clearly beneath the bindings.”

Leaving De Leon standing in the middle of the alley, Don led the chief and his companion to the dumpster. As they approached the corner with the open lid and the spilled bucket still on its side below it, the chief’s companion spoke. “Hi, Don. It’s been a long time. I’m sorry it’s taken something like this to get us together, again. How’s it going...otherwise?”

“Okay, Michelle.” His eyes met hers. An ironic twist in his smile softened and faded away. “I’m doing okay.”

“Inspector De Leon,” the chief said. “Come on over here, would you. I’d like you to meet Michelle Reece, our esteemed, newly elected District Attorney. She was our south-county prosecutor up to a couple of years ago, so these are her old stomping grounds. We were having a meeting in my office when Evans’s call came in.”

De Leon reached out to shake her hand, grasping it in both of his and hanging on well after the initial two shakes.

“Madame District Attorney, I’m very please to meet you. I’ve heard so many good things about you and the many wonderful changes you’re bringing to the office of the District Attorney since your election. I’m proud to say I was one of your staunchest –”

“Actually, detective, the chief and I were just going over the Reynolds case when Don’s call came in. If this one is related to it, I would very much like to take a look. Would you mind?”

“Uh...uh, no. No, of course not. Who better to evaluate the scene than the District Attorney? Although, the Reynolds case has been cl—”

Without waiting for the inspector to finish, she turned to the dumpster. “Don, do you have your blue jar handy?”

Don stepped forward and held the Vicks out to her. “Still like to get your feet wet, huh?”

She smiled at his reference to her past willingness to prepare for a case from the earliest opportunities and scooped out a dab on her finger.

“Damp, anyway. The Reynolds autopsy left a lot of questions unanswered. How similar it this one?”

Don offered the Vicks jar to De Leon who took it with a look of confusion until the chief took it from him and scooped out a dab for himself. Don stepped past De Leon and motioned for Michelle to join him at the corner of the dumpster.

“Without having been at the autopsy, you missed the smell, but the photos would give you a good idea of what we found inside her – or didn’t replace. You’ll have to take my word for it that the smell here is the same. Now...take a look...”

When they peered into the dumpster together, her reaction was an audible gasp. After a couple of forced breaths and a soft, “Oh, Sarge,” she went on with, “The covering certainly looks like what was on Reynolds. Have you checked him for wounds yet?”

“Not yet. I didn’t want to move him until...the inspector had a look.”

Don fished out his wad of blue latex gloves and gave her two. After pulling two more out for himself, he handed the rest back to the chief, who, with De Leon, was peering over Don’s shoulder at the body.

“But, now, if...” He motioned for her to lift one shoulder while he raised the other, making room for either the chief or De Leon to move in close enough to raise the pelvis. Neither one did. “Here on the neck, I’ve got two small punctures.” She tilted her head his way enough to see them and nodded. “Similar ones on Reynolds were just over an inch deep. I don’t see anything on the front. Raise him a little higher...that’s good.” He lowered his head enough to see the underside of his side of the rib-cage. “Nothing over here. How about your side? Look for something the size of a bullet hole. Probably no blood around it...just a hole.”

She leaned down enough to see the back of Sarge’s left side. “I’ve got it. Not a bullet hole. No blood. None at all. More like it was pushed in...stabbed?”

“We never identified the weapon on Reynolds, but it did look like some kind of stab or puncture.”

After they lowered the body back to rest atop the dumpster’s fill, Michelle ran her finger-tips across the network of strands covering Sarge, testing their strength and texture. “Aside from the location, is there anything different from this body and Reynolds’?”

Don paused, glanced back at De Leon, then at the chief, and back at Michelle.

“Presuming that the light weight, even discounting the missing legs, is due to missing organs like we found when we opened Reynolds...no, I would say there is no significant difference.”

Michelle gazed at the body for a moment before she stepped back and stripped the gloves from her hands. She handed them to Don and shook her head in bewilderment. “Two bodies with such strange...got yourself a hell of a mystery, Don.”

“Well, three if you count Be-Be.”

“Someone else was killed like this?”

“He was a dog. He went after someone that tried to go through a little girl’s bedroom window one night, and he never came home. We found him a couple of weeks later in an abandoned building, the same one we found Reynolds but a different room. He was like this.”

“Why wasn’t it mentioned in the Reynolds case? Seems to me the condition is unique enough to connect them.”

He glanced at De Leon and the chief, both standing with open mouths working like fish gasping for water. “At the time, they were deemed not to be connected.”

With a frown creasing her forehead, she started to respond. Then, as though a light flickered through her mind, she closed her mouth and subtly nodded. She turned with a smile to the chief. “Chief, like I said back at your office, whatever method was used in the Reynolds case seems to be a bit above the skill level of Jackie Simms. And since he couldn’t possibly be responsible for this one, I see no reason to keep him in custody. Would you like for me to have the hold on him removed?”

With a glance toward De Leon, the chief shook his head. “No, that’s quite all right. We’ll take care of it. Are you about ready to head back to my office?”

Beaming her politician’s smile, she said, “Yes, chief, I believe I am. Oh, and Inspector, I’ll look forward to seeing your report on this autopsy.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The chief and the District Attorney walked away, leaving Don and De Leon at the dumpster. After they were out of voice range, De Leon turned to Don, his rage barely contained.

“You’re enjoying the hell out of this, aren’t you?”

Don glanced over at the chair, back at the dumpster, and then glared into De Leon’s eyes before he forced his response through clenched teeth. “Not even a little bit.”