The Rapture of Omega by Stacy Dittrich Read Free Book Online Page B

officers, who happened to be my ex-husband, Eric Schroeder, put in his two cents.
    “Fucking moron.”
    Eric, Selina and Isabelle’s father, hadn’t noticed me approach. We’d been married for over ten years and got along fairly well. Our divorce was the result of his affair with a rookie he was training, Jordan, his current wife, and my feelings for Michael. Regardless, he was a good father and we did our best for the girls. Stocky, with a dark complexion, Eric was very handsome. There was a time when I loved him more than life itself. Funny how things change.
    After their humorous jabs at the dead guy were complete, Eric noticed me when I was almost to the door.
    “CeeCee? What are you doing here? The girls okay?” He looked concerned.
    “They’re fine. I just happened to be driving by and thought I’d poke around a bit. Actually, I’m glad I got to see you—saves me a phone call. I need to drop them off a little early tomorrow.”
    Eric and I shared custody of the girls. We did our best to split up each week between us.
    “No problem. I have to work early but Jordan will be home. I’ll let her know.”
    I nodded toward the door of the motel room. “Has the crime lab already processed the scene?”
    “Go on in.”
    I had been at this particular motel enough while on the job to know what to expect. The room, nothing more than a filthy, cockroach-infested cubicle, had a bed, a small nightstand, and a toilet behind a tattered lime green shower curtain. The yellow paint, probably full of lead, was peeling in thick strips down the walls, forming piles of flakes on the dark shag carpet. A sole framed picture, portraying a black Jesus Christ with his crown of thorns, hung crooked above the nightstand.
    The aromas from the previous tenants still lingered along with the newness of death. Heat always proved to be a top accelerant when it came to pungent smells. I found that I had subconsciously put my hand over my nose, which did little to prevent the rancid odor from tickling its way in.
    On the bed was a thin white male, who appeared to be in his early thirties, wearing only stained light blue boxer shorts; the victim. It was obvious that someone, probably the crime lab technicians, had turned him onto his side.
    Livor mortis was visible; the dark patches along his back where the blood had settled indicated that much. His right arm was extended straight into the air, indicating full rigor mortis, and a small amount of blood and saliva had pooled onto the pillow where his mouth had been. It appeared to be an overdose. In my own estimation, the victim had been dead for at least eight hours.
    “Eric?” I hoped he hadn’t left.
    He appeared in the doorway seconds later. “Yeah?”
    “How was it determined that methadone was the drug used? I don’t see anything.”
    “There was a prescription bottle on the nightstand, with two pills left. Right now, it’s only an assumption. The crime lab took them as evidence.”
    Of course they did. I didn’t bother asking myself how I could have been so stupid, since I’ve made many mistakes over the course of my career. But thankfully, this was a microscopic one. Regardless, I waved the thought off with another question for Eric, and for me.
    “Why not take them all? Why leave only two?” I thought aloud. “Do me a favor, and make sure the lab checks the bottle for prints, would you?”
    “Sure, Cee. Why? You think something’s up with this?”
    I shook my head. “Doubtful, but we should play it safe just the same. By the way, what’s his name?”
    Eric pulled his small notebook out of his uniform pocket and began flipping through pages.
    “Here it is, uh, Benjamin Rader. Age thirty-three, checked in around four this morning, alone, no suitcases that the office manager could see, and no car. There weren’t any clothing or personal items in here when we arrived either. Just the pills, heroin, needles, and the stiff. We didn’t see any track marks on his arms so we