Summit Boys

Wrentham Massachusetts was beautiful in autumn by anyone’s standards. Under the unfortunate circumstances, however, Detective Becker wasn’t in the mood to listen to such trivial banter – even from his partner. With an intentionally audible sigh Becker squat to the ground, sifted a hand through his auburn hair, and surveyed the area for evidence. A red shoelace coiled in the muddy gravel caught his eye. With the careful extension of his arm, he dangled the string inches from his face and peered over his glasses to view it in focus. A few feet to the side, Atticus returned his gaze from the sky back to the scene and cracked his knuckles.

“You think our brazzi went on the job shitfaced often?”

Becker let out a coarse chuckle. “He was confirmed to be of Chilean descent.” He turned his head sideways to view the corpse of a Hispanic man who lay a few meters away from the two. “Besides, I don’t think average daily BAC was required on the job application.” Becker put the shoelace in an evidence bag and crumpled it into his coat pocket. “Did normal inspection turn up anything besides what we initially found?”

Atticus removed a clipboard from under his armpit and handed it to Becker, who chewed the tips of his fingernails as he reviewed the document. The two idly walked over to the body. The dead man lay flat on his back, with his eyes and mouth gaping open. Flies buzzed and crawled in every orifice on his face save for inside the man’s large nose, which was forcefully stuffed to the brim with powder white cocaine. His red pin-striped collared shirt was cut open near the ribs, and a large bag of the same crushed crystals lay dumped apathetically on his scrawny chest. The rest of the body lay unscathed, except for a strange feature that remained puzzling to the detectives: on the right ankle of the man, a ringed cut bore deep around the entire diameter leaving the skin rashed and bloody. Underneath the ankle lay a roughly cut piece of cardboard with barely legible English written on one side. The message read: ‘From Cantu With Love.’ Atticus clapped his hands in resolution.

“If we’re done with him, Mort’s gonna bag him up and we can get the hell out of here.”
Becker raised a finger to motion he needed a moment. Reaching into his coat, he retrieved the shoelace and knelt next to the foot of the body. “Bingo. Looks like we’re headed back to puzzle palace.” The red shoelace matched identically to the ones on the man’s battered sneakers.

Atticus scratched his head. “At least it’s a lead relating to the cut in the ankle I suppose” he said, “but why would a perp remove a shoelace?”

Becker beamed. His teeth were definitely not front cover material. “That’s why they pay me.”

“Spare us the one-liners.”

“Sorry honey.” Becker clamped his dirtied hand onto Atticus’s shoulder. “Now get back in the cruiser, its show time.”