Author’s Note: This is the edited opening chapter of my ongoing first draft on my novel, working title “Amerika the Beautiful”, set in an alternate present day where, due to South Vietnam’s victory in the Vietnam War, China and the Soviet Union underwent a reproachment resulting in a world where the Cold War never ended. Likes and feedback are very much appreciated.
Chapter One
“We found a body washed up on the Potomac.”
Anton grunted, sleepily rubbing his bleary auburn eyes open. He knew he shouldn’t have fallen asleep, what with being on call and all, but it was a damn sight better than staring at the wall. Now he had to drag his body to wherever the DC Metropolitan Police needed him.
“A couple of teens on a late-night rager found the body on Teddy Roosevelt Island, we have a pair of officers at the scene, we need you to look into it” said the Dispatcher, a familiar, husky female voice which prompted a chuckle from Anton.
“The teens were drinking?”
He could’ve sworn there was a tired chuckle on the other end.
“Yes they were.”
“Well no good deed goes unpunished.”
“How soon could you get on the scene?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Will do, Dispatch out.”
Anton sighed, time to earn his paycheck. He rose from the edge of his bed, slunking over to the sink to wash some cold water on his face. For a man of his age, he looked worn and battered. His dirty, unkempt stubble and the growing bald spot on his head betrayed not a 38 year old detective of some repute, but a war veteran. He rubbed some tap water on his hair to clean it up, knowing it wouldn’t stick but willing to make an effort anyways. His ex-wife kept nagging him to shave his head and go bald already but he couldn’t quite let go of his hair just yet. He grabbed his toothbrush and lazily sprinkled some leftover toothpaste on it. It wouldn’t look good to have a detective with the smell of alcohol on his breath while he was on call. He had a reputation to uphold, perhaps not a sterling one but he gets the job done at least.
Once he was done brushing his teeth he hoddled over to the door, dressed himself with a sweater and coat from the coat rack and opened his apartment door. Making sure to put on his belt and holster, his issued Glock 19 strapped. Taking one last look at his pig sty of a studio apartment with a grimace, he walked through the threshold. He locked the door on his way out and slinked quietly over to the elevator. When it arrived, he was greeted with the unmistakable smell of piss and vomit. When the elevator arrived on the first floor, he saw Jerry the Concierge drooling on a crumpled day-old issue of Sports Illustrated. A few years ago he would’ve shook his head at the sight, nowadays he couldn’t even give a shrug.
The cool winter air of a late December evening greeted him when he stepped outside. Another gray winter with no snow, and looking around the street reminded him of some pictures he saw of old Commie blocs in some random Eastern European country he saw once on the internet, back when the internet was still new and not a nightmare. He wondered if they were any better off now as he walked over to his dinky little gray motor pool Ford Fiesta. He opened the car, greeted by the stale air of old-car smell. It took a couple of clicks of the engine button before the car managed to start. Anton rubbed his eyes one more time before he started the drive. It took him around 10 minutes to get from Stadium-Armory and cross over to the Virginia side of the Potomac. Parking his car, he noticed two vehicles in the parking lot, a Ford Victoria police cruiser and an old beaten up white Honda Civic. He took note of the civilian car’s license plate and the police car number as he reversed his car onto the parking spot. Exiting the car briskly, he began on his 5 minute trek across the footbridge that led to the island. The lights of the building that surrounded the banks of the Potomac began to dim ever so slightly behind him with every step. When he reached the island, he heard voices speaking at a low volume on his left-hand side, where the island’s walking trail looped around. Deciding that that must be where the cops and the witnesses were, he followed the voices until they steadily grew louder with every step until he found a small clearing inside the forest, the Potomac now out of sight behind the canvas of trees. A pair of Patrol Officers was the source of the chatter, arguing. The pair took him in with a startle, no way he looked that worse for wear right?
“Freeze!” one of the officers ordered, unholstering his pistol and pointing it squarely at Anton’s chest. The bags under his eyes and the manic look on his face was plain to see even in the darkness, betraying his inexperience. The other officer, seemingly his senior, looked at his junior with a chagrined look. Anton grimaced and raised both his arms in the air, reasoning that it must be hard for them to recognize him as a fellow MPD officer. After all, he wouldn’t be able to recognize them either were it not for their uniforms. He hoped the more senior officer would be able to calm down his junior, probably addled on sleep deprivation.
“Relax Moreau, he’s a detective. Look at his badge you idiot.” The senior said lazily. Moreau had the decency of looking embarrassed as he lowered his firearm.
“Shit, I’m sorry sir!”
“It’s okay,” Anton said, slowly but surely lowering his arms. This wasn’t the first time a fellow officer aimed their gun at him and it probably wouldn’t be the last, “happens to the best of us.”
“Well Moreau here is hardly the best of us, not yet anyways.” The senior officer clicked his tongue like a mother hen. As Anton approached the pair, he could slowly make out the man’s features. He had seen him before at a few functions. He was middle-aged, no younger than 40, with a clean face free of facial hair, well-combed blonde hair hidden from view by a baseball cap. His night-black police vest did not hide his toned, athletic body, a fact Anton noted with a little bit of envy and not a scant amount of interest.
“Officer Collins, Precinct 207. We were the closest patrol to the distress call.”
“We’ve met before, I think. Detective Byrd, Homicide.”
“Well when you served for as long as I have you’re bound to make a few acquaintances.”
“Sir, I’d just like to apologize for pointing my gun at you, it was unprofessional of me”
Moreau said apolegetically, his voice trailing off half-beggingly. Anton shook his head.
“Like I said, happens to the best of us. Apology accepted Officer Moreau.”
“Never seen a black man before Uncle Tom?!” a slurred voice came from some distance away. Moreau narrowed his eyes, but again his partner shut him down, this time before he made a mistake.
“And here I was thinking giving you just a few hours in the drunk tank, or does a week sound good to you moron?” exclaimed Collins, waving his arm threateningly at the voice. Anton looked them over, they were sitting some distance away from the trio in the fetal position, hands cuffed. Anton grimaced, deciding to best leave it be for the two patrol officers.
“The body?” he asked, beginning to grow impatient.
“Right, Moreau handle these two miscreants will you? And don’t do something Internal Affairs will regret you doing.”
Moreau nodded and flashed Moreau a smirk before walking up over to the two unfortunate samaritans. Collins began to walk towards the river, flashlight in hand.
“Dispatch gave you the rundown sir?”
“Only the basics”
“Those kids found the body after one of them found their mom’s booze stash or something and decided to take her car on a joyride. Noticed the Civic in the parking lot?”
“Yes”
“There’s opened bottles of Jack in there, no dashcam and the boys are already drunk so we’ll have to verify with Traffic on whether they were drinking and driving.” Collins rambled, seemingly running off a list of things he needed to say.
“Anyways, the body’s in pretty poor shape. Witnesses say they didn’t tamper with it and I’m inclined to believe them. It’s not fresh, maybe 1 week since death and I doubt we can determine the cause of death until forensics get here. Also we’re pretty sure it’s a male, middle-aged maybe.” Anton caught a sharp, pungent odor that betrayed that they were getting close to where the body washed up. About a hundred feet out from where he had found the quartet. They had ended up on the river’s beach.
“Here he is.” Collins grimaced, turning to Anton with a lopsided frown on his face, pointing to a spot just a few feet from where they were standing. The detective squinted his eyes, recognizing the faint outline of what used to be a person lying on the beach on his back. Anton took a few short steps towards the body, searching for a handkerchief in his coat to cover his nose. He cursed inwardly, he must’ve left it back at his apartment.
“Can I please borrow your flashlight? I left mine back home” Anton said, stretching a hand towards Collins, who wordlessly obliged him. He clicked the flashlight on, shining it on his query. ‘Poor shape’ was a pretty sharp understatement. He wouldn’t be surprised if the body actually originated from Pennsylvania at the state of decomposition. The face was unrecognizable with dry, brown abrasions on the skin that continued lower down the body, occasionally interrupted by splashes of soap-white fat that resembled a macabre camouflage pattern. As the flashlight trailed from head to toe, Anton frowned when he saw the state of the body’s feet. It was skeletonized, down to the bone. The most interesting thing about the body though was the neck. As green and gray as the skin was, he could just about make out a thin, black line encircling the man’s neck, like wire. The detective nodded.
“Well, really the only good news was that the body still had all its limbs. It is likely male, you can tell by the shoulder width. This man had been submerged for three days at least, usually how long it takes for a drowned corpse to surface to water.” He began to explain to Collins, turning to face the Officer who was starting to go green from the proximity to the corpse.
“There’s two possibilities, either he came from way up river, which is unlikely since he’s only showed up now, or the body was frozen, thawed, and decomposed rapidly. Somebody must’ve put him in a freezer, decided they didn’t want to put up with him anymore and dumped him in the river.”
“Clumsy job maybe?” Collins asked.
“We’ll have to check in with any suicide records to make sure, but that looks to be the likeliest possibility. And as for the cause of death…” Anton trailed off, deep in thought, staring absentmindedly at what used to be the man’s face.
“We’ll have to check in with forensics and coroners to be sure but you see those marks on his neck?” Anton pointed the flashlight, signalling for Collins to come closer.
“That wound, Officer Collins, is consistent with garroting.”
Collins nodded, “Not exactly a typical homicide method” he said curtly.
“No.” Anton rubbed his chin, he really could use a shave.
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