Whiter Than Snow - Chapter One

Chapter One

Colorado Springs, Colorado – Ash Wednesday

         Sergeant Bernard Yates ignored his stomach’s protests and gulped the last swig of lukewarm coffee as he headed the Jaguar down South Nevada, toward Cheyenne Canyon. A 911 dispatcher had fielded a call from a frantic jogger, panicked by the discovery of a woman’s nude body near the creek. The familiarity of the latest discovery sent a new wave of stomach acid through Yates’s gut.
         “This can’t be happening,” he thought. “Not again.”
         Yates turned right on Cheyenne Road and headed toward a fury of red, white and blue flashing lights. A squad car blocked the road at Cresta, and a uniformed officer directed curious motorists towards the designated detour. Yates rolled the Jaguar alongside the officer and displayed his badge. The police officer nodded him on, and Yates pulled his car next to the squad cars already at the scene. The area was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, and Yates could see a commotion of officers on the other side. Yates pulled on latex gloves and headed toward the turmoil.
         “Sergeant.”
         Yates looked up. Officer Daniel Westmeyer, a dapper and fervent rookie, had migrated from the Army’s military police, straight into civilian law enforcement without skipping one beat. His crew cut and strong jaw reeked of duty, honor and country. The stench of his job had not yet contaminated his perspective.
         “I was first on the scene,” Westmeyer eagerly announced. “It’s similar to the piano teacher last month, sir. The palms and feet are painted red and the body’s posed like a crucifix. A star has been cut into the chest. Appears to be some sort of ritual.”
         Stepping over the police tape, Yates shook his head and cursed.
         Detective James Davenport greeted him. Davenport was a portly man with a red crew cut and freckles covering his baby face, weathered by extended service in protecting and serving.
         “What have we got so far, Jim?” Yates asked as the two men headed down the embankment toward the body. The ground was soggy from a recent spring snow and the morning’s misty rainfall.
         “Looks an awful lot like the Jordan case, Sarge.”
         Yates approached the body and pulled back the cover that now sheltered the victim from further humiliation. Kneeling down, he observed the raw skin on her neck. Her face, now blue with cyanosis, was frozen with the last gasp of life. Her blue eyes stared blankly into death’s eternal abyss. The whites of her eyes were peppered with red dots, the result of hemorrhaging during her final moments. Irritation around her mouth indicated she had been gagged. He studied her hands, now rigid from rigor mortis. Abrasive wounds around the wrists were consistent with the markings of duct tape. A pricey diamond wedding set graced her left hand. An anxious husband did not yet know it was time to grieve for the woman who suffered unspeakable horrors, unable to move or cry out for him.
         “She can’t be over thirty,” observed Yates. “This cut appears to be some sort of post mortem ritual. No broken nails or defense wounds. This lady didn’t have a chance.”
Yates replaced the cover and rose to his feet. Someone was going to have a hell of a time getting this one into a body bag.
         “What else you got, Jim?”
         “Not much. Forensics is still combing the area. This damp weather isn’t helping. There were a few footprints and tire tracks near the deceased. We’re lucky the animals didn’t get her. She’d be a real feast for a mountain lion, especially this time of year.”
         “Any sign of sexual assault?”
         “Undetermined. She has some redness and swelling in the vaginal area. We’ll know more when we get her to the morgue. No drag marks on the ground, and her feet are clean. We assume she was carried.”
         “OK, good work, Jim. Let’s get her ID’d as soon as possible. Anyone talk to the neighbors?”
         “No one saw or heard a thing. This area’s pretty wooded, and it’s hard to see down here from the houses. As soon as we get her ID’d, we’ll talk to more people. If anything, we’ll send her description to the news media.”
         “Good. Someone is surely missing her.” And God help them when they find out what became of her.
         Yates’s cell phone rang. He unclipped the phone from his belt.
         “Yates.”
         “Bernie, how are you?”
         Mayor Daphne Gonzales, tornado in a navy blue suit. Sharp abdominal pain shot through his body.
         “Mayor Gonzales, good morning.”
         “Bernie, my office just received word about another body being found in the Canyon.”
Yates felt stomach acid burn his esophagus and gurgle up his throat.
         “Yes, Ma’am. Major Crimes is working on it as we speak.”
         “We need this solved, Bernie. Our city is under the magnifying glass of the international Christian community. We don’t want this tainting the city’s image. These church leaders look to Colorado Springs as a safe haven, a New Jerusalem, if I may.”
         Yates knew that negative press in an election year resulted in undesired consequences affecting his career. A stain on the mayor’s political skirt would cause the conventional community to cast her back to her roots in the typing pool. Cult slayings were incompatible with the city’s wholesome reputation. The mayor stood on a conservative platform, and those values had persuaded the international committee to hold its conference within her domain.
         “This is our top priority, Ma’am.”
         “There are a lot of those vegetarian devil worshippers practicing witchcraft up in Manitou Springs. Why don’t you go find your suspect up there? We can get this solved in plenty of time for the conference.”
         Yates stiffened. The mayor’s high-pitched, staccato voice grated on his nerves. He worked up one more ounce of patience and replied, “We’re on it, Ma’am.”
         Silence filled the phone, apart from the mayor’s acrylic fingernails tapping nervously on the mayoral desk. Ta-ta-ta-tap. Ta-ta-ta-tap.
         Then finally, “OK, Bernie. Don’t make this difficult for both of us.”
         “Do I hear a veiled threat there, Madam Mayor?”
         “No, Sergeant, it’s not veiled at all.”
         Mayor Gonzales hung up.