Chapter 1

 
When the back door cracked open, the Senior Hotel Manager of the Comfort Inn saw a shadow which resembled a tall man wearing a trench coat and a teardrop dress hat.  Then she heard footsteps; and in a flash the shadow was gone.  She was not fazed because parking was behind the building.  When the wind hit her face, she crossed and rubbed her arms to keep them warm.  After she straightened the cross on her necklace, she pushed her windblown hair behind both ears.   The manager looked at her Timex gold tone watch.  “The garbage truck will be here soon.”

Due to the overcast, the back of the hotel was very sombrous.  At two o’clock in the morning, everything was quiet as usual.  At the far right of the back door, only one light was working.  She made a mental note to call maintenance.  The dumpster reeked of beer; and a sudden sound startled her.  Picking up a scrub brush, she threw it at the dumpster.  A face, with a black mask around the eyes, popped up.  “Largate de aquí animal cochino, cochino!”  She screamed as the filthy raccoon came out of the dumpster at her command.  As the bushy tail vanished in the woods, all that was left were sounds of crickets chirping in a distance.

When she turned back to put the trash into the dumpster, she noticed the soles of shoes on a person lying on a discarded box spring.  When she told him that he needed to leave, the person never moved.  So the manager picked back up the scrub brush and tapped him on the feet.  There was still no movement.  As she stepped closer to get a full view of his total body, she thought he looked familiar and knelt down beside him.  His face was pale and she screamed, “Ayudenme aquí esta una persona muerta!  Alguien llame a la policía por favor!”   No one responded to her cry for help; so she ran back into the hotel to dial 911.

Within the hour, Linda Hubbard, the Lead Crime Scene Investigator (CSI) snapped pictures as Detective Marcus Brown, who was known as Swoosh, walked under the crime scene tape to get a good look.  He saw hotel guests from inside looking through the open curtains.  Swoosh waved hello to a police officer who was stationed on Branch Avenue for traffic control.   Because the police officer stopped directing traffic to acknowledge Swoosh, an impatient driver honked his car horn and yelled, “Hey!  What’s going on over there?”  Bystanders chattered about the possibilities of what led to this event, because they loved to see the police in action.

The Prince George’s (P.G.) County police assisted the D.C. detectives in securing the perimeter, because the Comfort Inn was on the borderline between D.C. and Maryland.  Linda walked the grid with her camera as the crowd witnessed the white sheet being placed over the body.  Linda put numbered tags near different objects and took pictures of her findings.  From her peripheral, she noticed a tall male coming in her direction.
“Hello Linda.”

Linda looked up from her camera and said, “Hey Swoosh. This one is pretty bad.”  She immediately noticed Swoosh's haircut.  His brunette hair with blonde highlights was cut short on the top and the sides but long in the back.  Linda never told Swoosh, but she always thought he looked like a younger version of Richard Dean Anderson. 

“So what do we have?” asked Swoosh.

“Well, it looks like strangulation.”

“Male or female?  What is that?” asked Swoosh pointing to a piece of cloth as he pulled back the sheet.

“It’s a male; and from what I can see it’s a white G-String around his neck with something tied to it.”

Swoosh put his right hand on his forehead and began to rub softly.  Linda said, “Oh, here you go rubbing your head.  Do you have to do that at every crime scene?”

“I sure hope we don’t have a serial killer.”

“What makes you say that?”

Pointing towards the G-String, Swoosh said, “Well that’s a note tied to it; and once it’s cleared, we’ll see what it says.”

“Have you called Trooper?”

Swoosh looked at Linda not wanting to answer her question. “No, not yet.”

“What are you waiting for?  I think Trooper will want to see this.”

“She is a workaholic.  She needs to rest this weekend.  Don’t you think?”

“Trooper is one of our best detectives.  We need her here.  She sees things you even miss.”  Linda said with a smirk.

With the car door opened and his left leg extended out of the car, Swoosh called dispatch to connect him to Trooper’s home phone.  Linda glanced over at Swoosh and realized that the size of the police car was not comfortable for his height.  Once, Swoosh told her that he played basketball for Notre Dame and that his teammates gave him the nickname Swoosh.  Even though he was scouted by the NBA Development League, his passion was to become a homicide detective.  People thought he was out of his mind when he turned down the NBA; however, the unsolved murder of his older brother was a major driving factor for him choosing a police career over basketball.  He felt authorities dropped the ball on his brother’s case; and he was determined to be the detective in whom families could depend. 

Trooper picked up the phone in a groggy voice, “This better be good it’s 4 in the morning.”

“Good morning partner.  Sleeping well?” asked Swoosh.

“Don’t PARTNER me; and yes I was sleeping well until the bat phone rang.” 

“I think you want to see this.”

“What is it?  Can’t you handle this until I get in on Monday?”  Putting the pillow over her head, Trooper really wanted to let this one pass.  “The team is asking for you specifically,” said Swoosh.  Detective Hanae Troop was the quick-witted one on the force, with an 85 percentile rank in closing cases.  She leveraged her criminal law degree from Duke University in solving crimes.  As a result, her first police partner nicknamed her Trooper because she was the epitome of the type of detective that the force wanted in their Homicide Division. 

Trooper said, “Alright, I’m on my way.” 

Traveling at high speeds throughout D.C., Trooper’s blue flashing lights were in full blast.  Upon arrival at the crime scene, 5 different news crews tried to bum-rush the vehicle; however, Swoosh towered over them and was able to push back the camera man who was in Trooper’s way.  Almost falling down, he yelled, “Hey man watch the camera!”  Right then and there, the reporters knew that Swoosh meant business; and they cleared a path.  Swoosh pointed to a P.G. County cop and screamed, “Put them further back!”  The noise from the crowd was giving Trooper a headache.

“You look good for just waking up,” said Swoosh. 

Trooper said a curse word under her breath.

Swoosh asked, “What did you say?”  His comment was genuine; however, Trooper believed otherwise.  Swoosh never understood how a woman could always look as if she were going to a photo shoot, even near the break of dawn.  Never requiring makeup, Trooper’s milk chocolate skin was flawless.  She always wore her hair bone straight and pulled back into a long ponytail.  At this time of the morning, she wore a beautiful pink and blue silk scarf tied around her head.   

Trooper ignored his question and asked, “What do we have?”

“A black male, age in his mid-twenties, 5’ 8”, and strangled.  It doesn’t seem to be a robbery.  He still has on an Italian suit, Stacey Adam shoes, an expensive gold necklace, an authentic Movado watch; and in his waist pouch there is $300 in $1 bills and $100 in larger bills.”

“What is that?” asked Trooper pointing towards an object marked #1.

“You would never believe me if I told you.”

“Try me,” said Trooper kneeling down.

“It’s a G-String.”

“You have got to be kidding me.  Is that a note?”