Entropy by Robert Raker Read Free Book Online Page B

latex gloves and a tortured artist’s countenance and perplexity, carefully detailing specific measurements and observations in his notebook. It was overcast and dreary. The power had been shut off to the project site, but a quick call to the utility office had seen it turned back on. The glare from the portable floodlights highlighted the haphazard stubble that had formed along the detective’s sharp jaw line. There was dried mud on his coat and blood on the underside of his chin. It looked as if he had started to shave his neck before becoming lost in thought in front of the mirror, fogged by his inability to solve what was happening.
    Mull tried to light a cigarette, but gave up after three matches refused to ignite in the delicate, misty rain. Frustrated, he threw the cigarette onto the ground in front of him. The wind blew it across the muddy ground and into the basement into the water. Following the trail of the cigarette caused me to glance down at the body. The petite fourteen year old was resting face up, fully clothed, her hair swirling gently in the water. The construction site had been sealed off completely, and a barrier had been set up around the perimeter that extended to close to a mile and a half. Instead of getting narrower, the crime scenes were become more expansive. And yet they still remained suffocating.
    â€œDid you get any prints?” Mull asked.
    â€œNo usable prints as yet. Do you want us to identify all the footprints around the body?” a forensics team member answered. “But, it’s been raining for over twenty-four hours, detective. I doubt we’re going to find anything there.”
    â€œThat would be a waste of time I know. Almost sixty people used to come through here on a daily basis according to the project foreman that we tracked down. It’s a fucking mess out here. I’d be surprised if you even get a partial heel print. All in all, it’s a damn smart place to dump the body. Have any of the workers been questioned?” Mull asked.
    â€œNot yet. There were over seventy people employed on this project, and that doesn’t include anyone from the financing company or the architect. Everyone who entered the site during operating hours was required to log in. The company is sending us the logs. We’ll have to wait for the coroner to determine an approximate time of death though,” he began, “because apart from occasional security checks, no one has been on site for almost a month since construction shut down.”
    â€œI’d be surprised if she hadn’t been murdered in the last couple of days,” Mull began. “It would have given him more privacy, less exposure to wait to dump the body. Has the photographer finished yet?”
    â€œAlmost,” the forensics officer replied.
    Mull looked over the man’s right shoulder towards the entrance to the worksite. “Are any of the security systems up and running?”
    â€œNo. The cameras you saw on the way in by the main gate aren’t functional. They were still in the process of being installed when the project was halted.”
    â€œHow did he get in?” Mull asked.
    â€œWhen we arrived the gate was closed, but when we looked closer it appeared that large bolt cutters had been used to sever the lock and chain. We have tagged the broken lock as evidence. It’s not a very sturdy lock, not more than half an inch thick. He would have cut through it in a matter of seconds.”
    â€œLook around and see if you can find what he used. Check the equipment that’s here as well. Pull her out,” Mull said turning towards me. I kneeled along the side of the basement, a pair of goggles hanging loosely around my neck.
    It appeared as if there had been a savage, failed session of Marco Polo; a simple children’s game where one participant is basically blind and has to depend on their ears and sense of touch to lead them. I remembered playing it