The Lost Witness by Robert Ellis Read Free Book Online

other way.”
    “Because of his training,” she said. “His experience. He’s done amputations before.”
    “So many that I can’t believe he didn’t spend time overseas. Iraq or Afghanistan. You don’t get this good without practice. And this guy’s had a lot of
practice.”
    Lena took a step closer, gazing at the victim. The evidence was overwhelming. Jane Doe’s body had been drained of blood and dismembered by someone who knew how to do it, and for whatever
reason, had done it many times before. As she thought it over, a chill moved up her spine. Jane Doe’s murder was performed by someone who liked it. Someone with a medical degree who cared
about the quality of his work. . . .

 
6
    L ena ordered an extra-large cup of Colombian, spotted an empty table by the far window, and cut across the room. Digging
her laptop out of her briefcase, she found an outlet under the table, hit the power switch, and waited for the computer to boot up.
    In spite of its close proximity to Parker Center, the Blackbird Café wasn’t exactly a cop hangout. Nor did many tourists wander through the door. Instead, the café catered to
artists and musicians who had migrated downtown over the past decade and sought a quiet place to sip what was probably the best cup of coffee in town. The place was hidden on a side street halfway
down the block—an old brick building with vaulted ceilings that was originally built as a horse stable, served as an auto-repair garage for more than fifty years, and now had the look and
feel of a community reading room. The lights were dim, the walls lined with books, paintings, and photographs. Last month a patron donated three prints by Minor White to the café’s
art collection, three views of the world cast in light and shadow that Lena couldn’t stop looking at.
    She had been a regular since her brother turned her on to the place after a gig at the Palladium. The Blackbird Café was open 24/7 every day of the year. Since her transfer from Hollywood
to downtown, the place had become an oasis for her, and she needed it right now. One or two sips worth of high-end caffeine before she stepped back into the grind.
    Klinger had called. Chief Logan wanted another briefing in an hour. Lena wasn’t looking forward to the meeting and thought it a complete waste of time.
    And the autopsy had been an ordeal. The condition of the victim, worse than anything she had ever experienced before. Lena had worked with Pete Sweeney at the homicide table in Hollywood for two
and half years. Her introduction to the Robbery-Homicide Division ten months ago had been a brutal murder case with multiple victims.
    But this one was different. A lot different.
    As she thought it over, it was the murderer’s expertise that made it different. The precision he exhibited with the knife. His obvious skills and physical strength. The cuts that
weren’t really cuts, but so well executed that Madina had called them incisions. It all pointed to a level of coldness and brutality that felt like it came from another world, a very dark and
lonely world.
    Lena glanced at her computer, still booting up. Lifting the lid off her coffee, she let the steam rise into her face and tried to forget about the foul odor she endured at the autopsy. The smell
of death had permeated her clothes and ruined them. Even though she had showered and changed in the locker room at Parker Center, she could still smell it. Not in her clean pair of black jeans or
her sweater, but lurking in the deepest recesses of her memory. She knew from experience that it would take two or three days, maybe even a week, before it faded into the background.
    She took a first sip of coffee, glanced around the room, and turned back to her laptop. She had filed a preliminary report and created the murder book last night—a three-ring binder often
called a Blue Book that would serve as the complete record for the case. But her concern right now was the chronological