One Hand on the Podium

Prologue:

Flies and maggots feasted on the open wounds of the nude female body that workers were exhuming from under piles of landfill garbage. The young woman’s wrists and ankles were bound together behind her back with twine. On that thick, muggy July morning, U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation agent Tom Merritt, and his partner Steve Frankano, stood in the mist from the dense fog hugging the mounds of refuge. They looked on in disgust at the victim’s bloated, pale gray naked body, holding handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses to cope with the rotten stench, their eyes watering, as police search teams and their dogs scavenged the area for further evidence, .

“Jesus, that’s horrible.” The agents walked back to their car and leaned against the front fender. “Is she the girl we’ve been looking for?” Merritt asked.

“‘Fraid so,” Frankano muttered. He had a habit of running his hands over his clean shaven head as if he hoped he’d find the black waves he’d once had. He’d shaven it on his fortieth birthday, refusing to opt for a comb-over like his dad.

Merritt looked down, shaking his head at his mud-covered shoes. He picked up a stick and scraped each one as clean as he could get them.

“Well, Tom,” Frankano asked, “what do you think?” Frankano found an unbuttoned button on his shirt and stuck his forefinger through it to scratch an itch on his large dark black hairy stomach that nagged at him right then. He didn’t worry that anyone might have seen his stomach showing through, since his dress habits weren’t much better than his sloppy housekeeping at his home back in Maryland. Except for his drinking binges, Frankano had many other personality traits that were more redeeming, so his close friends and associates easily overlooked his grooming.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Merritt said as he tossed the stick aside. “I think this whole investigation has gotten out of hand.” He looked at his partner, then raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“I agree with you, Tom. But there’s not much we can do except…”

“Damn it, Steve, come on. You saw what he did to her. She’s been mutilated, for Christ’s sake!” Merritt rubbed his red-bearded chin and looked at his fingers to see if any mud was on them. Then he did it again, to be sure. “We promised this little Illinois farm girl we would protect her and we failed. We’re responsible for this. We fucked up, big time.”

“I’m not blind to what’s going on here, Tom,” Frankano said. “I know how you feel. It’s very frustrating for me too. But we came here to do our job and that’s what we are going to do.”

“I’m not sure anymore, Steve. I don’t think it’s our job to stand by and let this continue,” Merritt said. “This is a whole new thing, right? How long can we let this go on?”

“I wish I knew, Tom. I really wish I knew.”

“Well, I’m ready to get out of here and head back home to Maryland. I never liked the Midwest. It’s so fucking depressing here. Besides, I miss my wife and kids,” Merritt revealed. “Jenny wants me home for my twin’s birthdays this year. I’ve missed it the last few years.”

“I’m ready to get out of here too. I’m supposed to report in to the Washington Bureau tonight to get our next orders. Hopefully a decision will be made soon.”

Merritt paused, looked around, then over at Frankano. “You’re shirt’s unbuttoned, Steve.” He nodded his head indicating the open button hole.

Frankano clumsily looked down over his big belly, making a face with his mouth as though to help him see better, “Oh, yeah, I knew that.” He didn’t bother buttoning it.

“Does the agency realize the extent of what this guy is doing, Steve?”

“Yeah, Tom, ‘fraid so. They know everything.”