“You’re going to want to see this Sarge.”
The detective’s voice rises, a sign that he’s excited, or at the very least thinks he’s got something. Sergeant Lopez takes the last sip of shitty, bottom-of-the-pot coffee, and wipes his mouth with the red bandana he keeps tucked into his back right pocket before tossing the dregs out onto the pavement of the Store-And-Hide parking lot. The liquid curls and steams, creating a cloud of mist that rises in the early autumn air. The sergeant watches it escape, turns, and saunters into the storage facility where the fifth body has been found.
They’re the first ones on the scene, called in by the owner of the place when his kid, who used the storage unit as a play area, found the body. The owner follows after Lopez but stops short of the roll up door.
“Hadn’t paid in three years but left all their shit,” the man said, voice wavering. “Figured there was no sense to lock it. Andy loved having his own place to hide and read comics. Guess we’ll have to put the kibosh on that after-” he nods towards the dead girl. “Can’t even get him to talk to me about it.”
Lopez grunts, but doesn’t tell the guy how to raise his kid. Detective Mario Gutierrez, the ever-fucking-go-getter that he is, is already poking around the scene. The detective is good, but Lopez doesn’t think Gutierrez really has anything.
But we’ll see, he tells himself.
Lopez wonders if, at this point, it can be considered the work of a serial killer. Five bodies, all young women, had been discovered around the city. One in the shed of a rich woman’s backyard. Another in the unfinished basement of a construction site. The third in an outhouse by the baseball fields. The fourth under the picnic gazebo in the park. Then there’s the fifth, lain sitting up in a storage facility rented out by a tentatively unconnected party.
No leads.
He walks past the body. She’s been covered with a sheet which, as he walks past, lifts on a breeze, and he catches a glimpse of her pale, almost translucent skin. She’s been drained, like the others, before being moved to her current location. There are no marks on her body except for the incision on the right of her neck, at her carotid artery. She didn’t struggle. She went with the person who murdered her.
In the corner is a mirror. A blanket is duct taped to the wall and draped slightly over the edge. The kid had used it as part of his fort. Lopez looks at his reflection. He’s getting old, he tells himself, but he doesn’t look it. His black hair is cropped tightly to his square-like head. Large arms push out against the tight sleeves of his police jacket. He’s aware of the looks they garner from his daughter’s friends. He’s also aware of the teasing way they tell him he doesn’t look old enough to be their dad. It’s nice, especially after the recent divorce, but he knows that it is only a flirtation. Besides, those girls are too young.
So are the ones they’ve been finding.
Gutierrez, is crouched in the middle of the room. A camera flashes, then drops to his side. Lopez stops behind him, shadow looming in the pale yellow light.
“What did you find?”
“It’s not much,” the detective says, shifting so that he can look up at the sergeant, “but it sure as shit is more than we’ve had.”
Lopez looks at the ground in front of Gutierrez and catches his breath. It’s a single boot scuff, half of the heel at most. His hand falls to his back pocket where he removes his bandana and wipes the corner of his mouth, a nervous tick.
“It won’t be enough,” Lopez says. Jesus, his voice sounds tired. “But you’re right… at least it’s something.”
“Did your daughter know this one too?” The detective asks. Lopez follows his gaze to the covered body. The girl is in high school, most likely a junior. She’s pretty, but not a cheerleader. Popular, but not enough to be class president. His daughter would know her, but it would be from middle school, right before the elementary school friends were completely abandoned for the newer, prettier model.
“This one? I couldn’t tell you. If I did it would be from years ago.” He meant to say she.
Gutierrez nods.
It’s the sound of the mirror shifting that gets them to turn. Gutierrez is quick, the barrel of his gun pointed towards the fort. He’s about to call for someone to come out when something does. A good sized rat scuttles out from the mess of blankets. For a moment it seems like the fort is going to hold, but slowly the blanket draws away from the top of the mirror, and it falls out towards them.
The mirror breaks but does not completely shatter. Lopez steps back as shards as big as his shoulder blades break apart like icebergs and skitter across the cement. It takes him a moment to piece together why the pieces look like tinted ice instead of the surface of a pond, but then he realizes that the mirror is two-way glass.
“Holy shit, what a mess,” Gutierrez chuckles as he rises to his feet, “You don’t think the old man will make us…”
He stops speaking and motions for Lopez. He’s staring down at the fragments with a look of concentration; of confusion. Lopez steps around the pieces and stands next to him. He sees what the detective sees and, suddenly, the cold autumn breeze is a little more biting. The sound of sirens rise in the distance like the wail of a seagull. Lopez feels the urge to wipe his mouth but holds his trembling hand to his side.
Written in marker onto the glass is one single word in jagged, young handwriting.
Bandana.
Genre: Mystery
Item: Two Way Mirror
Location: Storage Unit
The Word and The Song 