I Want To Live

Chapter Nineteen

    In late April, a body encased in garbage bags washed up on the rocky shoreline of Lake Union near a popular city park. Two cyclists riding the bike trail noticed it. Called 911 about their discovery. Responding police cordoned off the area. Waited for the Medical Examiner and Crime Scene crew to arrive. Later in the morgue, forensic examination revealed extensive battering and broken bones before the body was thrown into the water. A poker chip was found in the victim’s mouth. It appeared the heavy duty garbage bags had slipped from their mooring to a cement block, which was located eventually by police scuba divers on the bottom of Lake Union. It was speculated it was a Mafia related crime.  

    A Departmental Detective remembered a case with a similar poker chip inserted in someone’s mouth. Ken Stapleton, five feet six inches with workout muscles and dark buzz-cut stared at his partner Corrine Hudson, sitting across from him at her desk. “Remember that auto accident about five months back at the intersection of fourth and the Beltway?”

    “You mean that college kid who got T-boned by a hit and run?” Corrine, a Jamaican-born black woman looked away from her computer, arching her eyebrows. 

    “That’s the one. “Didn’t have a chance. Killed outright. The Medical Examiner found a poker chip in his shirt pocket. Didn’t think much about it at the time.” Ken ran stubby fingers across his buzz-cut, a habit when something didn’t feel right to him.

     “Remember that homeless guy found dead in a dumpster a year ago?” interjected Corrine, fingering gold hoop earrings partially hidden by her silky ebony-bobbed hair. “We listed it as a homicide. Figured his cronies beat him up because he wouldn’t share something with them? He had a poker chip on his person also.”

    “Seems to be an ongoing pattern here, Corrine.” Ken sipped from his cold cup of coffee.

    “Wait a second. This past February, wasn’t there a dentist shot execution style, then his house set on fire to cover it up?” Corrine tapped red finger nails on her desk, deep in concentration.

    “Yeh, and he had a poker chip in his mouth too. His poor wife tried to describe the assailant before she died in the Burn Unit.” Ken walked over to the sink to toss out the rest of his coffee.

    “We interviewed her at the hospital before she slipped into a coma. What did she say? ‘red hair’ and ‘tattooed arm’?” Cracking gum in her mouth, an effort to quit smoking.

    “We checked their financial records,” said Ken, pouring fresh hot coffee into his cup. Adding two spoonfuls of sugar. “Turned out the good Doctor was heavily in debt, thousands of dollars. Gambling at invitation-only poker establishments apparently. Nothing substantial could be proven. That homicide eventually ended up as a cold case”.

    “One of our Confidential Informants dropped the name ‘Graham’ connected with illegal gambling a while back. We never found any bona fide evidence of such, however.” Corrine stretched her arms above her head, trying to unkink her back muscles.    

    “Why don’t we ask the Chief if we can run a private investigation. Too many coincidences for me. I’ll bet my shirt there’s a connection between those poker chips and some sort of gambling,” said Ken, running his hand over his face. God, he was tired. A twenty year law enforcement veteran, his energy wasn’t what it used to be when a young rookie.