Harley~
Both Rae and I have been on edge over the past few days. I don't like the idea of the stalker being able to get so close to me. Rae assures me he hasn't returned, but that's even more unsettling. Since he isn't watching me, and no more bodies have washed up, I can only assume the stalker is torturing his next victim. Either way, I have failed. I sighed heavily as I made my way to Belinda's office, because she had summoned me.
'Rae, I am going to need your help. The faster we finish this, the faster we can move on. Do you think you can try extra hard to control yourself?'
She growls at me, 'I promise to try. You'll owe me big time when this is over. I want some RAE time. No humans, no stalkers, no stress! And we are going to see Melinda!'
'I will call her. Now, can you please be a good little wolf?' I scan my badge to gain access to the lab.
Belinda's place is always damp, cold, and has a pungent smell of death. She has obviously become immune to the stench and the constant presence of bodies lying around, but I haven't. The lab gives me the hebegebes every time I set foot in it. I keep my eyes to the front as I move past the former human who is now Belinda's freaky ass, life-size wind chime. She nearly went off the deep end the year I dressed Mr. Bones McGee up as Santa.
"Good morning, Detective." She greets me. "I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the glove had sufficient DNA to analyze. The bad news is that I have run the results through Cotus. No hits yet, just like the others; it's as if he doesn't exist. Not even a parking ticket. However, the glove itself may have more to tell."
She steps over to the computer in her lab. I follow her, looking over her shoulder." Like what?"
"The manufacturer uses the dot peening process to mark the latex used to make their gloves. Through it, I found the distributor." She hands me a file and taps on the keyboard.
I opened the file. "The Hempfort Corp.? Why does that name sound familiar?"
"Probably because it's one of the nation's biggest medical suppliers." She gestures towards the screen. "Surgeons mainly used this glove, and it is only available through Hempfort." She stands up, puts on gloves, hands me a pair, and leads me back into the exam room. She pulls back the sheet covering the body.
I become a little dizzy as my brain works its magic. I briefly close my eyes against the pain that shoots through my head. Vividly, I remember where I'd seen the name. The third victim had a business card with that big-ass H logo on it stuffed in his shirt pocket. I had thought little of it until now. It may not be much, but it's my first piece of linking evidence. If I could put a name to his face, I could give his family some closure. Since I don't believe in coincidences, I know where the stalker got the glove.
Belinda draws me out of my head. "Detective?" I refocus on her. "I can give you a better profile now that he's dried out a little. He's Caucasian, I'd say between 35 and 40 years old." She lifted one of his hands for me to look at. "His well-manicured nails suggest he hasn't done a lot of hard labor."
"He was a pencil pusher, just like the others." I thought out loud.
"Yes, I believe the two misfits were dockhands just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"So if you had the box that the glove came from, you could make a match?"
"Most definitely." She nodded her head. "You find the box. I can tie it to whoever killed this man." She prepares her tools. "I am about to open him up. Want to give me a hand?"
"No, thank you!" I almost heaved at the thought.
Leaving the coroner's office as quickly as possible, I went straight to the evidence room in search of the box containing the dead man's effects. Finding it, I tore open the lid, and the card was still inside. It must be my lucky day; there was a local office. I enter the massive glass doors of the Hempfort enterprise building and hear the air pull behind me. At least the air works, and it will be cool inside.
As many times as I have driven past this building and thought that they were doing too much from the outside, the inside was just as overly extravagant. I step into the lobby and cross over the embroidered rug, proclaiming, Who owns the building? " Rae sneezes when the host of chemicals inside hits her nose. With all the COVID-19 protocols, I know they have to follow them, but dammit, so much bleach in one place should be illegal.
At the reception desk, I flash my badge and ask to speak with the office manager. I look around and see that there are at least 25 office doors arranged in a large circle, with hallways running between them, every other office. Most of the doors are closed, and I can't help but wonder what the suits are doing inside. A few moments later, a middle-aged, heavy-set fellow comes out to greet me.
His voice pulls me off my train. "Detective, what can I do for you?"
I place the file on the desk, open it, and show him a picture of victim number three. "Do you know this man? Mr.....?"
"My name is Piolt, and yes, his name is Joswa Cervantes. They fired him about a week ago.
"Terminated? Why?"
"He was one of our delivery drivers. Hempfort has a strict no-call, no-show, no-job policy. Cervantes stopped showing up for his shifts, and upper management considered that to be as good as two weeks."
"He didn't quit, Mr. Piolt; he's dead. I am going to need any information you have about him."