Naked She Died (standard:mystery, 13146 words)
Author: kendall thomas	Added: Mar 26 2005	Views/Reads: 3948/2965	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Hard Boiled detective story.

NAKED SHE DIED by Will 

"Justice is incidental to law and order." 

~ J. Edgar Hoover 

1 

Mike McKay liked the sound of the morning rain on the roof of his
Mustang 2001 Bullit GT. He had the window slightly down, listening to 
the faint, echoing rumble of thunder in the west over the lake. His 
sleek, Dark Highland Green was parked in front of Dooley's Diner where 
he had just had a breakfast of scrabbled eggs, hash browns and toast. 

Sipping on his take-out he scrolled the window back up and shifted the
Mustang into gear. On his way he got the call from dispatcher: a body 
had been discovered by some kids on Logan Drive in a vacant lot. 

Logan Drive was in the derelict section of town. Abandoned warehouses,
factories, rubble strewn lots and waist high weeds. He left pavement 
near the outskirts of the city limits. The rest was a muddy mess. He 
shifted to a higher gear when the Mustang began to slip. 

After a minute or two he came to a high plank fence, weathered and
leaning, running parallel to the road. Boards were missing here and 
there. Faded advertisements from a bygone era were peeling from its 
gray sides. 

Up ahead he could see a few Crown Vics and a black and white Jeep
Cherokee. A handful of cops in yellow slickers were milling about. A 
fat man, with a slightly jaded look, was leaning against the Jeep. He 
held his arms folded across his chest, a cigar fixed in the corner of 
his mouth. 

McKay pulled up next to the Jeep and picked up his beige, canvas
raincoat off the passenger seat as he got out. 

“How's it hangin', Mike?” the fat man said in a high pitched voice. 

“Freddie.” McKay nodded. Freddie was the coroner. 

The rain fell steadily, but gently. 

Freddie took the stogie from his mouth and tossed it. 

“Paid three bucks for that.” 

His balding head glistened through the thinning, blond hair. His brown
eyes appeared large behind the rimless bifocals. He was wearing a green 
raincoat. The buttons strained over his belly. 

“Whatda we got, Freddie?” McKay asked as he finished slipping on his
raincoat. 

“Female. Been dead three or four weeks. Naked. Didn't see any clothes
around. Wrapped in plastic. You gonna check her out?” 

McKay nodded. 

“Yeah, I figured so, but there's not much point.” A grimaced formed on
his chubby face. “With all the rain we've been having in the last few 
weeks there's not much left.” He glanced at McKay's dress shoes. “You 
got rubber boots?” 

McKay nodded. “In the trunk.” 

He also took out a gas mask and a pair of rubber gloves. 

After ten years on the force, he knew better than to play the macho
role: going without a mask, as some detectives did, to impress the 
lower ranking officers with how tough they were. The smell of a dead 
body is gross and can get into your sinuses and stay there for days. 
And that can play hell with any love life you might have -- not that he 
had one. Still, he was reluctant to put the mask on right away and 
instead held it in his hand as a cop led him to a warp in the fence. 


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