Brush Creek Charlie, D. B. Reynolds [top non fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

this dead body?”
“Actually, I pulled it out of Brush Creek, right in the vicinity of the old Volker Park.”
“How long ago did you discover the body?”
“Not even twenty minutes ago.”
“Sir, police will be dispatched to the scene.”
“I might add that the body might’ve been dismembered.”
“Police officers will be arriving soon.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome.”
Spencer dropped the phone back on the receiver. Good vibes went through him after knowing he’d done the right thing. A decomposed body meant nothing to most people. Officers of every rank with the KCPD showed up at the scene.
They looked at the morbid discovery of Spencer Cochran.
Lead homicide detective Lieutenant Jerry Overstreet arrived minutes behind his colleagues, eager to go to work on his next assignment. Overstreet didn’t look bad for a fifty-eight year old man who’d spent thirty-four long stressful years with the KCPD. No smoking, very little alcohol, a fairly decent diet, routine exercising, and a loving wife with obedient kids to look after him, were the surviving tactics he’d attributed to his feet of longevity with the police department. Crime scene tape sectioned off the direct area where the body had been discovered.
Neighbors who lived near Brush Creek peeked out their windows. Some came out on their porches, pretending to get their morning paper or feed the dogs. Others listened to pick up a conversation about what had happened. More KCPD squad cars and news vans parked one right behind the other.
Dedicated veteran homicide detective Jerry Overstreet approached Sergeant David Eckerman for answers. “Sarge, what do we have?”
“A mutilated body found in the creek waters early this morning.”
“Any positive identification?”
“Not yet, but the coroner’s office is on the scene.”
“Who discovered the body?”
Sergeant Eckerman pointed over to Spencer Cochran. “The tall skinny guy standing over there in the blue Nike jogging suit.”
“Alright Sarge, if you and the other guys find anything substantial, make sure it gets to the crime lab. Make sure nothing’s removed from the scene until the body’s fingerprinted and loaded onto the wagon.”
“Will do, Lieutenant.”
Overstreet gained full respect from his colleagues because of his boldness. He made a beeline straight for Spencer. A handshake and a cordial smile were enough to signal he yearned for immediate answers.
“Sir,” Overstreet paused, ready to take notes on his pad. “I’m Lieutenant Jerry Overstreet with the Kansas City, Missouri Police Department. I’d like for you to tell me how you discovered the body in the creek waters.”
Spencer pointed to the calm waters of Brush Creek. “I’d been jogging near the banks and saw these turtles perched on top of two large trashbags. At first, I thought nothing of it since I thought the trashbags looked like a couple of sandbags. When I got up close, I saw an arm sticking out of one of the bags. Right then, I knew there was a body inside. I must confess, Lieutenant, that I dragged both bags out of the creek water and sat them in the grass. I know that it’s not customary for someone who finds a dead body to touch it.”
“You haven’t committed a crime, sir. Sometimes, the unknown makes us do our own investigation.”
“Next step was for me to contact the police. That’s when I went over into The Plaza and called nine-one-one.”
“Upon finding the body, were there any other people here in the creek?”
“No sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, Lieutenant, since I’m usually the only one out here jogging early in the morning.”
“What time do you start out jogging?”
“Five o’clock sharp.”
“Approximately what time did you make your discovery?”
“Somewhere, uh, between five-thirty and five-forty-five.”
“So again, you’re the only one out here during those early morning hours?”
“Yes I am.”
“Sir, we’ll need for you to come down to headquarters and give a statement.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks for your cooperation.”
“You’re welcome, Lieutenant.”
The next subject Lieutenant Overstreet made a beeline for was Dr. Anthony McKinnis. The renowned Jackson County Medical Examiner brought his top forensic kit to the scene. He’d geared up to do the type of work he lived for. Dr. McKinnis gained more answers for the inquisitive law enforcement community than a winning contestant on Jeopardy. Overstreet and Dr. McKinnis knew one another quite well, having worked together on countless homicide cases. Getting to the bottom of things by solving the most complicated murders fed their huge egos.
“Doc, whaddaya have on the vic so far?” Overstreet asked.
“First, we might have a sicko on our hands,” Dr. McKinnis noted, examining the torso quite closely. “Second, with this body not only being mutilated, the bloating and discoloration tells me that it’s been floating in the creek waters for over two weeks.”
“The jogger who found the body, he said he saw some turtles perched on top.”
“I’m sure the turtles feasted on the body. The perp who dumped this body into the creek, they worked in a calculated and systematic way.”
“Look doc, I’ll check missing persons records. Given the shape the vic’s in, the department is gonna try and make a positive identification, possibly distribute photographs to TV and newspapers. We’re hoping you guys can help us identify clothing markings or labels.”
“I’ll examine the remains for tattoos, scars, or birthmarks. If the need be, I’ll make impressions of teeth for possible dental identification.”
“Hope we catch this nut before he strikes again. You and I both know that killing gets good to these sonofabitches.”
“A couple of days, I should have something for you.”
“Doc McKinnis, you’re the best.”
Overstreet walked around the crime scene in search of further clues. Foot impressions, cigarette butts, and tire tracks were the main evidence he scrounged for. Nothing popped up for him and other detectives. If hair or semen or saliva samples were left on the body, Dr. McKinnis would be the genius who figured it out for the police department.
Overstreet turned to one of the officers with further instructions. “Alright guys, let’s close up the scene. The body’s already been taken to the morgue for examination. Let’s get all these onlookers back to where they belong.”
“Does that include the media, too, Lieutenant Overstreet?”
“You know we can’t escape from talking to those guys.”
“Like a sore that won’t heal.”
“You’re absolutely right, officer.”
“Hope the media vultures will leave something after the frenzy.”
Veteran anchorwman Stephanie Powers with KCTZ Newschannel Seven approached Overstreet with her aggressive camera crew. She gripped the microphone like an expert swordsman holding his sword.
“Lieutenant, what could you tell us about the body found floating in Brush Creek?” Stephanie asked Overstreet, a grave innocence in her eyes.
Overstreet looked over at the creek waters. “Right now, we have a white female, identification unknown, her dismembered body found in industrial trashbags.”
“Who discovered the body?”
“A jogger who comes out early in the morning to run along the Brush Creek walkway. This person has been taken to headquarters to give a statement.”
“Would you say that this is possibly the work of a serial killer?”
“It’s very possible.”
“What’re the plans of the police department in solving this homicide?”
“First, after a positive identification is made, we’re going to start questioning those closest to the victim. Second, we’re hoping that DNA evidence will lead us straight to the victim’s killer.”
“Why do you think the body was dumped in Brush Creek?”
“For convenience, possibly for calculated reasons.”
“Detective, thank you very much for your time.”
“You’re welcome.”
Stephanie stared straight into the camera. “Police are asking for help in solving this gruesome homicide. Callers can remain anonymous and there will be a reward leading to the capture of the victim’s killer. Please call the tips hotline at: 474-TIPS. This is Stephanie Powers reporting live from Brush Creek.”
From the KCPD to news crews, everyone disappeared from the wretched crime scene in which one psychotic bastard helped create. Answers hung in the balance about who could’ve killed a harmless woman.


CHAPTER—8

Sandy Barnholtz and her longtime lover Carol Wexler experienced their share of problems just like other couples. And like heterosexual couples, the lesbian couple argued constantly and had occasional fist fights. The making up after a scuffle was always worth it. Lovemaking seemed the best after building up high levels of tension. Carol complained non-stop about how Sandy burned too much incense. Sandy bitched about how Carol threw dirty clothes all around the house and wouldn’t cook. As of late, their lovemaking declined to points of non-satisfaction. Carol had issues about not being able to take her lover to heights of sexual euphoria.
“Tell me, babe, what’s happening with us?” Carol questioned Sandy, her face dropped.
“Nothing’s happening with us,” Sandy defended. “Why’d you bring up something happening with us?”
“When we make love, babe,” Carol huffed. “You lay there and act like you don’t even enjoy it. Something’s going on and you’re not telling me.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Those energizing orgasms, what happened to you getting them? Your toes curling and legs flying into the air, what happened to that? You sweating and breathing like you’ve ran ten miles non-stop, what happened to that?”
Sandy jerked her head frontwards to lock eyes with Carol. “Carol, you can’t expect those things to happen everytime we make love. Maybe the mood isn’t always right. Maybe I’m not feeling so great or have things on my mind.”
“Are you cheating on me?”
“How absurd. I’ve been loyal to