Maxine - 1 - Dead Body

14:40 Hours

Haley's Woods

Maxine McMenamin's first day as a cop didn't start as expected. Watch Command assigned her and two academy graduates to help protect the crime scene of a dead body found in Haley's Woods. Maxine, both first-day classmates and Sergeant Guldbrandsen, stood where the road met the gravel and the wood line.

"Don't speak or think," he said.

He choked up phlegm, turned away from them, and spat. He turned again, running his tongue over his front teeth.

"Your only job here is to look like you know what you're doing. So, don't do a freaking thing unless you're told."

He took a cigar from the inside of his jacket pocket with one hand. Then he took a zippo lighter from his front pants pocket with the other. The decorated silver case had a nude woman with butterfly wings and playboy's best 1983 written underneath. Three times he tapped it against his portable before flicking it open.

"Your job is to keep peepers, thrill-seekers, YouTubers, and the general populace of nuisance reporters away from the area."

He stared at the cigar head between puffs, unable to get the needed flame. Another lighter slap, this time with his palm, and he made another attempt.

"A lot of brass is heading here. Just stand there and look important."

He motioned to a giant pine tree towering over the rest. After inhaling, Guldbrandsen closed his eyes from the smoke.

"Christ on Friday," he snapped. "Just do your freaking job, and don't ask questions."

As he exhaled, the head of his cigar glowed bright red with little flecks of black ash. He pointed at her two former classmates, now comrades in arms. Then, he put the cigar between his teeth.

"You two. Wait here until I come back.

McMenamin, let's go. Ladies first."

He waved his arm, guiding her towards the old New York and Long Branch railroad bump. The sound of the creek got louder as they approached the taped-off area of the crime scene. Maxine felt awkward walking in the mud with a gun, portable, and full duty belt around her waist. She tugged on the HPD embroidered on her turtleneck and pulled the sweater from her chest. She felt the kevlar's unfamiliar stiffness against her torso and wondered if she'd ever get used to it.

By the time they reached the railroad bump, she smelled the creek bed.

"Keep your portable all the way up," he said. "And stay in this area. Don't go wandering off. Give yourself a break if needed and switch with another boot."

He looked at the huge pine tree where four Homicide Detectives and CSI assembled.

Guldbrandsen pointed back at her first-day classmates and coughed. "I'm leaving you in charge of the shit brigade. You're next Training Officer will be here in about an hour."

He took one more puff and stared at her for a moment. His eyes squinted, and his lips pursed. Maxine felt like he was trying to figure her out.

"Do me one more favor," he said. He continued to stare at the crew near the giant pine. They dressed in fine trench coats, scarves, and shiny dress shoes. "Stay away from those clowns. They're nothing but trouble."

"I'll be good, sergeant. And I'll watch after the shit brigade. Promise."

Guldbrandsen's lips drew back, and his cheeks raised into a smile. He shook his head and laughed.

"You'll be alright, kiddo."

2

She heard laughter from the giant pine tree behind her as he walked away.

She turned toward the group and watched them exchanging hushed comments. An ogling detective caught her staring and nodded his head with a smile.

"Officer," he shouted. "I need your portable, forthwith."

Maxine sighed and hesitated. Her heart raced as she took hold of the radio mounted on her belt.

"Just great," she said. "I'm starting to think I made a mistake."

She lifted the yellow police line tape, swinging her head beneath. As Maxine neared their temporary domain, she heard their raised voices. They didn't hide their comments, mocking her body and beauty with sexual innuendo.

Her awkwardness turned to anger as she gritted her teeth and flexed her jaw. She wanted to say something, call them out for their childish antics. But she remembered Guldbrandsen's warning.

The ogling detective raised his chin with tongue in cheek. She watched him stare at her chest and crotch before lifting his eyes.

She took the portable from her hip and held it out by the antenna.

"I was just kidding, doll. You didn't think we'd be out here without one, did you?" 

Of course, I did. Freaking rookie mistake.

She stared at the ground and touched her chin and cheek.

"I wanted to take in the sights and say hello. Haven't seen you before," he said. "I'm detective Sal Bongiovanni."

One detective walked behind her to stare at her ass. She looked at him and glared. She lost her patience but had to eat the words she wanted to speak.

It was unfortunate, but she was used to it. Her mother warned that her body and beauty came at a price. And she never wanted to flaunt it by dress, provocative pictures, or unrealistic flirtation. However, that doesn't mean that she dresses down. Maxine loved fancy wear, makeup, and getting her hair done, but only on special occasions. She didn't see the sense of spending two hours in front of a mirror for work or school. She wanted recognition for her performance as a cop, not the shape of her breasts or backside.

Detective Sal Bongiovanni raised his collar and wrinkled his nose. "What's your name?"

"Maxine McMenamin. My father is a retired Deputy Chief." As much as it pained her to use his name, it was the only weapon she had in fighting back, at least for now.

Detective Bongiovanni's demeanor changed. He seemed confused. His smile faded, and he licked his lips before pulling them back.

"Your Calum McMenamin's daughter?" he said. "He told me I might see you. But I didn't expect you here or in this shit hole precinct."

She felt a shift in the situation's dominance. Now she had the upper hand. Though just six months retired, her dad's name still carried weight and intimidation. Sal Bongiovanni nodded, and the banter of the other detectives dissipated. With a flick of his wrist, they hurried toward the partially unearthed body.

"I worked with your father over in White Colar Crimes for a bit," he said. "He's a good guy. He looked after me."

Bongiovanni smiled through the embarrassment. His face softened, and the tension melted away with the slightest shift in expression. He tried to be warm, and his eyes lingered on hers with a smile. However, Maxine felt uncomfortable as she heard the suggestive tones in his voice.

If he thinks he can try to get in my pants for one second, he's freaking crazy. I don't care if he liked my father or not.

Maxine put her hands in her back pockets and looked at the ground.

"We'll talk soon?" he said. His eyes scrunched as he mimicked Maxine's posture.

Although disgusted by his unwanted attention, she had victory. And instead of dwelling on her new sex symbol status, she turned and headed to the solace of the broomsedge east of the railroad bump.

Maxine grabbed the yellow do not cross tape, ducked underneath, and ran her hands over the tops of the waist-high grass. Though the heavy smell of wet mud and rot hung in the air, the sun was a welcome friend.

3

"Excuse me, sweetheart."

Another voice and another detective. This time it was condescending and short. When she turned, she saw a Homicide Detective Lieutenant with his badge hanging from his waist-length jacket. He was older, probably in his later fifties. He was five-foot-six, stout, and had a squeaky voice. A life lived as a cop's kid, she understood the symptoms of shell shock and burnout. He had a worn and old face. His nose was red and bumpy, his neck sagged, and his eyes had a glazed look, surrounded by dark circles. He breathed heavily, expelling a strong, minty aroma that overpowered his musky cologne. At that moment alone, she pitied him.

"You might want to stay back, tesoro," he said. His Italian was as expected.

"This isn't the place for you, beautiful."

The lieutenant stared at her nameplate and scoffed. His cocky smile turned to smugness. "Huh," he said. "You're Callum McMenamin's kid, right?"

Maxine nodded.

Jeez. Is this going to be the first question everyone asks?

"Hmm, but there's no nepotism in the department, right?"

And with that condescending comment, the pity vanished.

Maxine glared at him as he passed by. But he didn't care. He had already dismissed her and focused on the unearthed body.

A detective, the ogler, cleared his throat as the lieutenant walked toward the tree. The Detective Lieutenant with his badge hanging from his neck huffed.

"What's the sit-rep? And make it quick." he said.

"CSI says, and this is just a preliminary, of course, but they think she's in her late teens to early twenties. Small puncture room at the base of her neck like the others."

The Lieutenant said nothing. His back was to Maxine and his front was facing the creek. He looked down at the body over his left shoulder and bit his lower lip. After he smacked his lips, he looked at the sky and shook his head.

"How'd you find her?"

The ogling detective spoke softer making it harder but not impossible for Maxine to hear.

"Patrol got a nine-one-one call from a frantic mom. Her kid got bit by a raccoon. So, the husband got his shotgun and went looking for said predator when he stumbled upon our vic here," the ogler said.

Since Max was still in earshot, she got closer to the group. They became so intrigued by the body that they had forgotten about her. The only comments she heard were their collective curiosity, making her heart race.

She couldn't resist the morbid curiosity to look at the bloated corpse, partially buried in the soggy turf beneath a towering pine tree. It was a mistake.

The shock of what she saw caused an immediate reaction. Her mind recoiled, and her body shivered.

My God, Maxine. Look away.

But it was too late. She saw the face of death, and it terrified her. The decaying flesh showed the woman's teeth and swollen gums. Her face was black with streaks of a dead flat orange and white lines toward her neck. Her body was twisted, her hip jutting out and her spine curving to the left. The body sank to its elbow in the mud and clumps of blue grama. Moss and matted grass covered her belly. Her right side was visible, her leg and foot propped at the hip and illuminated in the afternoon light. Maxine's mind diagnosed the moment like a photograph, categorizing each section she saw. The woman's face spot shadowed by the sun. Her torso silhouetted against the mud, and her foot jutted above the rest.

And when the lead CSI probed the body, it burst. A horrid stench from the gases trapped beneath the skin spewed into the forest air. They jumped back, some covering their noses with their hands and others with their sleeves to avoid the acrid stench. The smell, intensified by the gusts of March winds, made her nauseous.

Don't get sick. Fight it off. Despite wanting to overcome the smell, the urge to vomit overwhelmed her.

She refused to bend down or lean over. Her stomach and muscles clenched as she turned in haste. She tried to erase the image from her mind. But when she turned to the creek for solace, it mocked her.  

Oh Christ, creek rot. You've got to be freaking kidding me.

She knew there were things she would experience that would break her heart. But she prayed they would be minimal since she wasn't long for this career. This was to be a mere intermission before choosing law school or the FBI. Either way, to her, this was a vocational experience and a means to pay her bills. Plus, it kept her from the horrific boredom of an internship in family law.

This was a job of experience. Maxine understood that most would be bad. Better men and women before her had succumbed to alcohol, drugs, adultery, and suicide. Some joked about the tragedy they saw, using black humor to cope with the darkness of the streets. She hoped, however, that she could handle these with strength and respect.

"What did I get myself into?"

She took the phone from her pocket and swiped the screen. For a moment, she thought about calling her father. She was overwhelmed and wanted away from the woods and the asshole detectives. But more than anything, she had to escape from the body of the early twenties-something girl with muddy hair and dirty feet.

But before she could go any further, she heard the flapping wings above her. And as she looked up, the circling black glossed ravens dipped and bobbed. They seemed jovial in the presence of the dead girl in her late teens to early twenties. They flew upside down and did somersaults. The biggest one would drop a stick and watch as two others raced to snatch it from the air.

A murder of crows. They're here for the slaughter.

As Max watched them play, the biggest one rested on a branch. His head jerked in quick stiff turns before stopping and starting at her. Although her mind dismissed this as paranoia, she spoke to him.

"I'm here for a reason, aren't I?"

Max let her screen time out and put it back into the case on her duty belt.

"This is a warning. Death is here, and the murdering has just begun. I need to help stop it."