The Tears Devourer

IX

    Mondy put his coffee in the tiny round space among all the clutter on his desk. He was quietly reading the detailed report from Monroe Durand, the department's medical examiner, and trying to decipher what the intentions of the arsonist perpetrator were caught just days ago. He took off his glasses and laid them to rest on top of a pile of folders, which contained clues from multiple closed cases, about arsonists in other states. Suddenly, his right pocket of the khaki pants he was wearing began to vibrate and jump from the holster. He took out his phone and identified the owner of the other conduit on the dialer.

    "Tell me, Alex, what is it?" The detective settled into his wooden seat, supporting the wrinkled light blue shirt on the padded back, and resting his neck on the excess part.

    "Brendan... I need..." Detective Rocha couldn't finish her sentence. She sounded nervous, as rarely. "You should come to the Washington Bridge."

    "Why? What happened, Alex?" Mondy frowned and leaned forward, leaning against the desk.

    "And it's just... Brendan, do you remember the girl you were assigned last year?"

    "Ariana Torres," answered the mechanic. "What happened? They found her? She's fine?" He jumped up from his chair, and asked the last thing, still knowing deep inside him that these kinds of calls don't have a happy ending.

    "Connie got the call a couple of minutes ago," Rocha informed her. "You must... You should see for yourself."

    "Give me your exact point, Alex. I'm coming right away." Mondy reached for the right drawer closest to him and withdrew a set of keys that jingled in the air as he slipped them into his left trouser pocket.

    "Take 1203, and go down the Washington Bridge," she explained. "And Brendan... I'm so sorry."

    Mondy hung up the call, grabbed his coat, and left his office. He went to the private parking for detectives of the department and started the old Mustang of the 70, that car that long ago no longer touched. Patient, he drove serenely through the lonely streets of Dells, until he reached the area that his colleague had dictated to him. He got off, using an unmarked dirt road, and stopped just outside the yellow police ribbon that was engraved on it: 'No Trespassing.'

    He got out, crossed the ribbon underneath, crouching as far as his spine allowed him, and lifting the tape the few inches that it prevented him, and slowly approached the boys in their robes.

    Alex Rocha was near the scene. She was slim and slender, dressed entirely in black, and her dark brown hair was tied back in a small ponytail, lifting it a few inches from her head, then letting it fall like a waterfall. She was exchanging information about the discovery when she noticed the presence of his colleague. She stopped jotting down her little notebook, and approached him quickly, trying to comfort him by putting a hand on his shoulder and stroking him like a pet.

    "How do you know it's her?" Mondy broke the silence. "Who gave confirmation of identity?"

    "I'm sorry, Brendan," she repeats, not quite sure what else to do or say to help him. "The characteristics of the body match that of the victim. Durand is pretty sure it's her... Eighty percent, he said. You know him, always giving figures and details without knowing very well how to sympathize with whoever he's talking to." She pauses for a moment to observe her friend's reaction. "I know... Well, this was a difficult case for you two. Have you told Herrera?"

    "We got him, you know?" Mondy answered, still staring at Ariana's supposed corpse, wet and unrecognizable, impregnated in a rock by some sudden blow from the icy tide. "We got him... That son of a b***h slipped out of our hands when we got him."

    "It was for lack of evidence, right?"

    "The evidence was there, but it wasn't pointing at him." Brendan rubbed both eyes, they felt a bit tired, and he remembered that in his haste, he left his glasses on the desk.

    "And why did you want them pointed at him?"

    "Because he did it, Alex." He covered his mouth with his right hand, resting his left on his waist. He did his best to keep his voice from breaking. "He did it. I know. But what I never knew was how to prove it. If only… Damn it, Alex," he burst into tears. Detective Brendan dropped down, bending his knees and burying the head until his chin touched his chest, and his tears fell straight to the ground.

    "If only what, Brendan?" Asked Rocha, holding back a thick tear from the edge of her right eyelid.

    "I gave up," Mondy sighed, then drew in more air, only to bounce back. He was trying to breathe continuously, but he was caught by the trembling in his chest, which was light but excruciating. "I had no idea how to route the leads to his last name, nor how to find another suspect. I failed her, her parents, the department... It wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but it was the first time in a long, long time."

    "Brendan... It wasn't your fault, you know that, right?" Rocha crouched on the same level as her colleague and put her arm around his shoulders.

    "Maybe not his disappearance... But her death." He wiped away his tears and took a deep breath. "I only needed permission, only needed a cry, a moan that comes from his house... We follow him everywhere, and we never find anything strange."

    "Maybe it wasn't him... You never considered that?"

    "We didn't have another suspect, he was the product of my intuition."

    "I never knew why you drop the case," Alex confessed. "I don't think anyone in the department really knows."

    "Do you remember the detective from Brooklyn who came one day and left the next?" Mondy lifted his eyes to Alex's, and she could see how red and swollen they were.

    "Yeah, sure... It was..." Rocha looked up everywhere, trying to remember the name.

    "Hunt. Elijah Hunt," Mondy said. "He asked us to stop. He warned us that there was no point in looking further."

    "They never told us that."

    "Hunt spoke to Newell. He informed us that Ariana fit the description of a well-known serial killer in Brooklyn. That we keep everything quiet so that the guy wouldn't think we suspected his whereabouts in Dells."

    "But hide it from the squad?" Alex wrinkled his face and raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't that seem excessive to you?"

    "Hunt was freaking out," Mondy continued, already sitting on his calves, and resting his arms on his thighs. "He'd been chasing that bastard for years, and he wanted the asshole to keep thinking that we thought we knew his current whereabouts, in Brooklyn. So he asked us to stop the search for the victim since according to his data, she would already be dead by then."

    "The report is ready, Detective," one of the medical examiners in a gown reported, approaching the officers. "Shall we proceed to transfer the body to the van?"

    "Uh... Mondy?" He stopped and helped his colleague to imitate him. "Would you like to take a look at the scene?" asked Rocha.

    "It's fine. They can take it," he ordered, and the examiner turned his back on them after nodding with the square white helmet on. Three more approached, transferred the corpse to a stretcher, and wrapped it in a white cloak, covering it in its entirety.

    "How long do you think it'll take Newell to give Hunt the tip?" Rocha snapped.

    "How long is it gonna take?... Alex, Hunt must be on his way by now."

    "Detectives, everything is ready to go to the department," a second in a robe informed them, who suddenly approached. "Do you want to read the preliminary report, or will the officer wait?"

    "I'd like to read what you have for now," Brendan said. The coroner looked at Rocha doubtfully, but she nodded at him, consenting to dispatch.

    "We must leave in the patrol, the sooner we put the body in cooling, the more evidence can be collected." Both detectives stared at him, waiting for one more question, as the examiner was watching them as if asking permission to withdraw.

    "You can go," Alex replied, breaking the ice. "I'll go back with Detective Mondy. I look forward to that report as soon as possible, was it clear?" The coroner nodded and withdrew quickly, in the direction of the patrol. The car started, and seconds later, he followed closely the van that was carrying the body of Ariana Torres inside.