Why is this city in a perpetual state of gloom? The sky is slate and overcast, I don't think I've seen the sun in days. And the dingy warehouse only adds to the somber mood. It's a despondent little hole in the wall smack in the middle of the meatpacking district, which is slightly out of my jurisdiction but I've been brought in because of the similarities to the Hell's Kitchen Hacker case. The entire scene has been cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, and we've started to accumulate a bit of a crowd; reporters, people from neighboring buildings and the detectives I've got working the crowd all line the edge of the scene.
I push through the entire congregation of vultures and head straight inside to the M.E, I find them in the little office off to the side of the main floor. It's nothing more than a box of glass an sheet metal, shelves lining the walls. They've moved in a bunch of forensic equipment, L.E.D lights, cases and cases of gear for testing only God knows what. I don't bother myself with he technicalities. Instead I go over to the head medical examiner whose crouched in front of one of the shelves. I squat down next to her and see her gloves hands holding a pair of tweezers trying to pry something from beneath the shelf. "What are we looking at?" I ask when she finally looks up at me.
"Do you want the full analysis or the abridged version?" she shoots back, and I think she might be a little annoyed but it's hard to tell from behind all of that protective gear. I don't know how she can look so comfortable in that get up. I feel utterly foolish, but it's a requirement on crime scenes, contamination is not something we're willing to risk but it's an even bigger issue on this case. I'm not taking any chances, no matter how stuffy this mask gets.
"The abridged version if you can," I say hopefully. If this is a Hell's Kitchen Hacker case then I'm praying we finally catch a break in terms of evidence or at least something to follow.
She shakes her head, and my heart sinks a little. I already know what she's about to say before the words leave her mouth. "A whole lot of nothing." She tells me and I can't say om entirely surprised. When I got the call they said it matched his M.O. Which essentially means that there was no evidence outside of the fact that the victim was hacked to death with a nine inch serrated blade. "Same as every other case," she goes on, and I don't need to be able to see her face to hear the discouraged edge to her voice. "Victim suffered blunt force trauma to the temple, probably at another location, brought here bound at the wrists and ankles and then suffered multiple stab wounds to the abdominal, thoracic, and facial regions. Multiple lacerations made by the same weapon caused penetrating trauma, indicating a nine inch blade most likely a hunting knife or something with a similar serrated pattern. Nothing new."
I nod, I've heard this song many times before, since I'd taken over this case I'd probably heard this exact thing over a hundred times. I'd consulted with multiple medical examiners across different precincts even just to be sure and they all said exactly the same thing. There's no evidence. Still, I have to be certain, "What about the surrounding scene?"
She sighs, it's hard to hear with the mask on but I understand the sentiment nonetheless. "Everything's been scrubbed down with a mixture of Sodium Hypochlorite. As far as we can tell, the chemical composition matches that of the traces found at the other scenes but we'll have to run more tests at the lab to be certain. No DNA evidence and everything on the body was doused in so much chemical even if something was left behind its useless to us now. He's careful, meticulous. Hell, he even wiped away the footprints he left behind in the dust on the warehouse floor. There's nothing we can trace back to him."
"So, what you're saying is there's no way to catch this guy?" I huff an exasperated breath. So much for taking this lunatic off the streets. "Anything on the vic?" It's a last ditch effort to salvage this shit show but it's worth a shot maybe the victim could lead us to a killer.
I catch the shake of the medical examiners head and I know that's probably a long shot, "John Doe, the wounds to the face make facial recognition impossible. This guy really did a number on him." She says and from the tone of her voice I'm grateful the body was already cleared away by the time I got here. These techs have seen the worst of the worst so for her to sound this rattled means it was probably pretty gruesome. "Fingertips were burned, so there's no way to get a hit in AFIS. Our best bet at this point are dental records but that could take at least a week or two even with a fast track."
"Great, so we're left holding our own tails and waiting for this guy to strike again and hopefully he screws up next time." It's not a question but I guess the edge to my voice has her feeling obligated to answer.
"No necessarily… " she hesitates. Those two little words kindle a small spark of hope in my chest. If there's even a slight possibility that there might be a lead, I'd follow it to the ends of the earth to get this guy off the streets. I've got kids in this city, and granted all four of them don't fit the victim profile but there's a chance this guy goes off the rails and starts murdering whoever crosses his path. It's not uncommon with psychos that are this diligent about crime scene clean up. I'd rather not take the risk. I make an impatient motion for her to go on and I see the hesitation in her body language, whatever she's about to say she doesn't think it's going to go over well. "Don't get your hopes up but I think I've got a piece of a latex glove caught under this shelf." She motions to the space in front of her with her tweezers. That gets my attention, my eyes snap to the area she indicated and sure enough, there's a piece of what looks like black plastic.
"You need me to move the shelf?" There's no way to keep the buoyant tone out of my voice. If we get a glove we could get a fingerprint or a partial which could at least narrow down the suspect pool to a specific race or age range. This might be the break we've been looking for.
"No, moving the shelf might disrupt the scene and destroy whatever evidence that little piece of latex might hold." I raise my hands in a show of surrender and then gesture for her to continue with whatever she was doing before I interrupted.
For the next seven minutes I watch with baited breath as she cuts away pieces of the bookshelf, slowly. So agonizingly slow that I'm sure I'm going to keel over and die from the anticipation alone, more than a few times. Eventually, she gets enough of the shelf out of the way that we can safely remove the latex, which she promptly drops into a clear zip lock bag that's sealed and labeled and then dropped into her little case. "I'll get these results back to you as soon as I can, Captain." I nod I hope my gratitude for what she might have just found is evident.
"Alright, I'll leave you to it. I've got some canvassing to do." She gives a sharp jerk of her head and heads off toward the other techs that are congregating around the back of one of their trucks.
I make my way out onto the street and shed my little hazmad suit as quickly as I can. Inhaling, a deep breath, probably not a good idea when I get the reek of garbage from the back ally. The crowds lessened some in the time I spent inside with the medical examiner. The reporters are still here though, bunch of bloodsuckers. I approach Jensen who's at the edge of the police boundary.
"Captain," he calls in greeting. "What's the damage?" I can see the hopeful tint to his expression. Jensen's spent the better part of two years chasing this guy down and making it just in time to bag the body. If anyone's desperate to close this case it's him and Morgan, they've got the most riding on this one. It's one of the first homicide cases I assigned to the two of them, I'm pretty sure they feel personally responsible for getting this guy.
"Nothing new, no evidence, no DNA, not even a strand of hair." I tell him. "But I do need you to look into black latex gloves for me."
"Like the kind they use at tattoo shops?" that catches my attention.
"What?" I don't think I breathe while I wait for him to answer me. He's clearly confused by the sudden change in my demeanor, he doesn't realize how important this could be.
"Well, that's the only place I've ever seen black latex gloves before, tattoo shops." When I don't say anything he goes on, "The M.E's and crime scene techs all use either blue or purple. I've seen my cat's vet use white but the only place I've ever seen black is when I watch that one show about the tattoo shop in L.A." He shrugs as if he hasn't just given me the biggest lead in this case. We might be able to connect that glove to someone who works in a tattoo shop or a specific shipment of gloves to a particular shop. At the very least, we could narrow down the suspects to a handful of people.
"Jensen, I could kiss you." I tell him, unable to hide my elation. "Look into that for me and make sure we widen our canvassing perimeter to a one hundred mile radius. I'm going to head back to the station and try to pull as much of the security cam footage from the surrounding buildings." I throw that last boy over my shoulder as I head in the direction of the cruiser I used to get here. I've got something I can chase down and in a case like this that's all I can ask for. I can't help the optimism that blooms on my chest, taking root like a weed. I might just crack this one after all.