I TOOK CARE OF THE BODY

The crime scene photos were beyond gruesome. They would make a Hollywood slasher film fanatic sick. The body had been moved and staged for our benefit. I couldn’t imagine where the murder had taken place. Without a doubt it was isolated and sound proof. No physical evidence of any kind at the scene.

The medical examiner said he’d been killed over several days. Several. Days.

I didn’t mourn him. Few would. His own mother — when I told her — said, “We’ll, it’s done, then.”

I stared at a photo of the victim. Victim — that word left a bad taste in my brain. He was a serial killer, for God’s sake. Responsible for eight murders — that we know of. He needed killing. But the State of Indiana should have done it after a lengthy and expensive trial, sentencing, a series of appeals — not a vigilante citizen.

I sat my coffee on the counter and read the note again. Not that I needed to read it. I memorized those seven syllables days ago when I found it under my wiper blade. I supervised crime scene techs and other officers as they processed the scene around my unmarked car.

“I TOOK CARE OF THE BODY”

We found the body a day later in an abandoned shed near the CSX train yard.

I knew who wrote the note. He called me eighteen months ago telling me he’d find the guy responsible for his heartache. Not that I’d ever be able to prove it. He was too smart for that. The pen had likely been tossed into a tree shredder by…