Stacy Dittrich - The Body Mafia

The Body Mafia

Stacy Dittrich

LEISURE BOOKS NEW YORK CITY

I heard Michael grab his keys before opening the garage door. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and smiled. Michael was, and has been since Ive known him, therapy for me. He was a man I loved like no other man. Hearing the fire crackle interrupted my thoughts. I stood up with the intention of closing the fireplace screen but was thrown against the wall beside me.

All I could hear was an explosion and glass breaking and I felt the air being sucked out of the room. My ears felt like they, too, had exploded. It took a few moments to realize what exactly had happened.

It was only when I crawled to the large hole in the wall where the windows used to be that I saw that Michaels car was engulfed in flames.

The past had finally caught up with me

To my loving family, Rich, Brooke, and Jordyn

Table of Contents

Zamboanga City, Philippines

Two hundred fifty thousand U.S. dollars, my friendas promised, the man said as he handed the American the large yellow envelope.

The American slowly opened the envelope, pulling out the crisp, clean bills, flipping through half of the stack like a deck of playing cards. He was making a conscious effort to keep the bills hidden from view.

An intimidating man, the American , thought the Filipino as he eyed him up and down. Standing well over six feet tall, and wearing a shiny black suit that most likely cost him thousands of dollars and polished black shoes, the American never spoke during their meetings. After the quarterly packages were delivered to the hospital by those who worked for him, the American would meet the Filipino to collect his money in the crowded marketplace. Then, with no more than a nod and the slightest glimpse of a smile, the American would be on his way. The noise of blaring motor scooters, cars, and street merchants would make it difficult to engage in a lengthy conversation even if the Filipino insisted. But today things would be different. Today the American would have to speak. The Filipinos boss wanted a definitive answer from the American and his employers.

Satisfied he had accurately counted the money, the American turned to walk away.

Sir, one moment, sir the Filipino began in his broken English.

The American turned and faced him with a look of unconcealed curiosity. Remaining silent, the American nodded for the Filipino to continue, his expression changing to disdain.

The Filipino was nervous. He knew who the man was and where he had come from. Hed heard the stories from his boss. This man, his employers, and their colleagues were among the FBIs highest priorities, but even they couldnt touch them. His mouth dry, the Filipino did his best to swallow before speaking.

Sir, he want more and he want them quickly. He say he double money if packages come sooner. Heres list. The Filipino handed the man the small piece of paper and noticed his hand was trembling. He want answer from you before you get on plane.

The American looked intently at the list before focusing back on the Filipino. The mans eyes narrowed to mere slits before the tiniest hint of a smirk formed at the corners of his mouth. The Filipino, worried the American would see his heart beating through his shirt or the sweat that had formed above his brow, did his best to smile. He was terrified while waiting for the mans answer, which came sooner than expected.

Tell himwed be happy to.

Are you ready for this one, CeeCee?

My good friend and fellow detective, Jeff Cooper, stuck his head into the doorway of my office. Coop wore his trademark grin, and his blue eyes were sparkling. Married to the boss, Captain Naomi Cooper, Coop was our division comedian. We were all detectives in the Major Crimes Division of the Richland Metropolitan Police Department in Mansfield, Ohio. I, Sergeant CeeCee Gallagher, was working diligently on a rape case when Coop interrupted.

If its the one about the retarded guy in the pool, you already told it to me yesterday, I said, referring to Coops endless jokes.

No, its not a joke. He walked into my office and sat down in one of the chairs facing my desk.

Spit it out. Im busy on the Taylor rape case.

You might as well put it aside. You and I are headed down to Bunker Hill Road. A lady was driving south toward State Route 97 and a buzzard dropped a hand on her car.

I stopped shuffling papers and looked at him. A what?

A hand.

I quickly caught on. Coop, I dont have time for this

I told you, CeeCee, its not a joke. The lady was driving and said she saw a couple of buzzards on the road chewing on something. She thought maybe it was a dead possum. When she got close enough, it scared the birds off the road, and one of them kept the chew toy in his little claws when they flew up. Or are they called talons? His hands rose up, mimicking claws. Apparently, the damn thing couldnt hold it very well, because he dropped it right on this womans windshield, and yes, it was a human hand. Needless to say, she freaked out and wound up smashing into a tree.

Is she okay? I asked, knowing Id have done the same thing.

Yup, physically, but you can imagine how youd feel if you just left a shitty day at work and then had a hand dropped on your car.

Since you havent mentioned it, Im assuming the mystery of where the hand came from is still going on? I couldnt imagine a living person who recently had their hand cut off would leave it lying around for the damn buzzards.

The uniforms are walking the woods right now, looking for either a body or other parts. Weve already called the hospitals to see if someone came in missing a lefty. Maybe from an industrial accident, or a car mechanicwho knows? But none of them have. He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair.

The uniforms Coop referred to were the uniformed patrolmen who drove marked cruisers and worked out on the road. In the southern part of Richland County, the woods around the area where this had occurred were very dense. I was sure there had to be at least fifteen to twenty uniforms down there. I started shoving files into my briefcase while Coop stood and waited impatiently, tapping a pen on my desk.

You should ask your dad about the time someone found an entire arm in the middle of the road. I guess some motorcycle guy was drunk off his ass and wrecked. Tore his arm clean off. He got back on the bike and drove away like that.

I dont need to ask. Uncle Max probably took a picture of it, and Ive probably seen it already. I grabbed my keys, ready to leave.

My father, Mitch Gallagher, and his brothers Max and Mike were old-timers with the departmentall lieutenants. Each supervised a different shift of road patrol; my father was in charge of the night shift. I wasnt joking about the picture, either. My uncles, thanks to their morbid sense of humor, had albums full of homicide pictures and body parts that they passed around to my cousins and me during family functions. Needless to say, growing up surrounded by cops made for a less-than-normal childhood. My fathers other brother, Matt, was shot on duty in the late 1970s and had to retire early. He lives in North Carolina.

Yeah, Im sure you have. God knows Ive seen Maxs album plentyDont remember an arm in the road, though. Of course, he probably has ten to fifteen different albums of that shit.

I laughed and shook my head as I walked out of my office behind Coop. We were going to ride to the scene in Coops car, and after I had gotten into the passenger seat, I looked at my watch.

Damn, I muttered.

What? Coop started the car and began pulling out of the parking lot.

I need to call Michael and tell him Im going to be late. I pulled my cell phone out of my briefcase.