Hank was in his early forties, his hair already completely gray, as well as his perpetual stubble. He was fit, not because he worked out, but because he was always stressed, and always working.
He was a homicide detective for the Oregon State Police and he worked cases all over Oregon. He used to work homicide for the Portland Police Department, but found their case load to be light and unsatisfying.
Hank Miller needed a challenge, and he found it with the State Police. Cases came in constantly, from just about every county in Oregon. He just received a case file from Clackamas County, about some poor bastard that had gotten drawn and quartered up at Frog Lake, near Mt. Hood. As if that wasn't bad enough, the guy had also been dragged around the park by a motor vehicle. Then set on fire.
The M.E. report showed the time of death for the victim at around ten p.m. a week ago. Hank looked through the pictures of the scene that were included in the file, and saw that there was a big tree that the victim had been tied to. The pictures also showed a trail that the victim had been dragged along, by a car or some other vehicle. The result of which left the victim with one less arm and a very fucked up leg.
"Interesting." Hank said, as he sat at his desk, perusing the file.
Hank's partner, Detective Jack Trainer looked up from the file he was working on, surprised to hear anything from the usually quiet and obsessed Hank. Trainer was a big, bald guy. His love of doughnuts way surpassed his desire for work.
"Holy shit. He speaks. Must be a nasty one, eh, Henry?" Trainer asked, as Hank ignored him, deep in thought over the Frog Lake file.
"Hank!" Trainer shouted, tossing a bagel at his partner. "Speak up, Hank. What is it? Can't be worse than the one I've got here. This guy got dragged up Mt. Hood for miles. Took those guys in Clackamas County several hours just to pick up the scattered body parts off the highway."
Hank continued to ignore his partner, as he looked at pictures of the tracks that were left at the scene at Frog Lake.
"Frog Lake." Hank finally said.
"What about it?" asked Trainer.
"We're going to Frog Lake. Also by Mt. Hood, like your case. Two birds, one stone." Hank said, getting up from his desk and grabbing his coat.
"Now?" Trainer asked. "Fuck, man, I just ordered Chinese food." But, Trainer knew that Hank Miller didn't give a shit. He watched Hank walk down the stairs, to the lobby of their office.
"Goddammit, Henry!" Trainer yelled, as he got up from his desk and trailed after Hank. By the time Trainer got down to the lobby, Hank had already gotten their car and stopped it in front of the station, waiting impatiently for Trainer.
Hank rolled down his window, staring down Trainer, who was finally coming out of the station. "Get in," he said. "And stop calling me Henry."
Trainer got in the car, and Hank hit the gas. From Salem, it would be about a ninety minute drive to Frog Lake, and Hank wasn't looking forward to Trainer's motor-boat mouth.
"Fine." Trainer said, as they hit the road. "But, it's your name. Henry Miller. That name is famous, man. What's wrong with Henry? Everybody loves Henry. It's a great name..." And so the Trainer motor-boat mouth went for the ninety minute drive.
By the time they got to Frog Lake, Hank pretty much wanted to kill himself. His partner's incessant yapping was driving him insane.
They had called ahead to the Clackamas County Sheriff Department, so someone would be at the Frog Lake scene when they arrived.
Hank and his partner got out of their vehicle and wandered over to an officer who was parked close to the scene of the crime. The officer got out of his warm cruiser and met the two detectives.
"You the guys from State?" The officer asked. He was an average looking guy. Fit, but boring. Could only been on the job for a couple years. He wasn't a detective. Just an errand boy for the chief, mostly. He was only familiar with this case because his chief said to read all of it before he came to the scene.
"Yeah," said Trainer, as he came up to the officer and shook his hand. "I'm Detective Jack Trainer, and this here non-social bastard is Henry Miller."
"Oh, okay. I'm Officer Daniels, from County. My chief told me you guys were on your way. Nasty crime scene we got here." Daniels said, as he took Trainer over to the tree where the victim had been tied. Hank was already there, squatting down at the tree, inspecting it.
Officer Daniels watched Hank, as he worked. "So, is he like some kind of consultant, or something?" Daniels asked, since Hank hadn't been referred to as a detective.
"Oh no. He's lead detective, actually. I just like to fuck with him. Ain't that right, Henry?" Trainer taunted Hank, with a stupid grin.
Hank ignored him. "So, the right arm was tied up here, then?" Hank finally asked the officer.
"Yea. I mean, as far as we can tell." Daniels answered, not really sure of the facts, just what was written in the file.
"I saw from the M.E. report, that the vic's left leg was nearly separated at the knee. Is that right?" asked Hank.
"I believe so," said Daniels.
Hank traced the grooves made on the tree with a gloved hand. He looked close to the bark, inspecting it for fibers from the rope that the report had mentioned. After tracing the grooves all the way around the large tree, and looking at every inch, he found nothing to suggest that a rope was used.
"Your report said that a rope was used to tie the vic's right arm to this tree, correct?" Hank asked the officer.
"Right. I think so, yea. I just read the report this morning, so..." Officer Daniels said, trying to convey to the detectives that they really shouldn't expect much from him.
"Just leave the poor kid alone and do your thing Henry. You don't have to verify every goddamn thing with this guy, for christ sake." Trainer said, being impatient and useless as usual.
Hank ignored him, as always. "Did your crime scene unit find any rope fibers in the bark of the tree? I don't see any here, but I'm sure your guys would have picked them out and filed them. I don't remember any mention of fibers being found in the report."
"No, none that I remember either," said Daniels.
Hank stepped away from the tree a few feet to get a feel for the scene. "Okay, so it's probably not a rope. With the amount of force it takes to rip the vic's arm off, a rope would have left fibers, for sure. My guess is, he used a chain. You can tell from the shape of the scraping here, on the tree. It was most likely a chain."
Trainer looked confused. "Oh come on, how could you possibly know that? A rope would still dig into the tree, with enough force."
"Shut up, Jack. Show me the fibers. There are none." Hank said, as he still studied the tree and surrounding area.
"Do I need to leave you two alone for a while?" asked Daniels. "I mean, I don't want to interfere."
Hank ignored the question, but Trainer answered. "Nah. There's really no new information here, anyway. I don't even know why we came here, really. There's nothing new. I doubt we will come up with anything you guys haven't already found."
"Detective Miller seems to be finding something. I mean, we kinda thought it was a rope. Not that it matters or anything." Daniels trailed on, as Hank studied the scene some more.
Even though it had been a week since the incident, Hank could still see the trail on the ground, where the vic had been dragged. There were burn marks everywhere, following the trail around park picnic tables and other trees.
"So, since the vic's left leg was nearly separated, I would think that his left leg was tied to whatever vehicle was used to drag the body around the park." Hank surmised.
"Well, we thought it was a small car," said Daniels.
"I saw in the report that your crime scene unit found two sets of tracks in the dirt, near the scene. Your guys traced the larger set to a Ford F series truck, correct?" Hank asked the young officer.
"F350, I believe. They think maybe it was pulling a trailer, too." Said Daniels.
"So, how could the smaller set be a small car?" Hank asked. "The tracks made by the vehicle that pulled our vic are way too narrow for even a small car. Most likely an ATV. Maybe a tractor, but probably an ATV," explained Hank.
"That makes sense," Daniels replied.
"Oh stop it. Don't encourage him," Trainer chimed in. "He gets way too full of himself. Don't ya, Henry?"
"The crime scene guys took molds of the vehicle that pulled our vic, did they not?" asked Hank, ignoring Trainer again.
"Yes," said Daniels. "But they couldn't match it to a make or model."
"Have them run it against ATV tires." Hank advised the young officer.
Daniels took the hint and went to his cruiser to radio in the new information. Hopefully it wouldn't take too long to get the results.
Hank got down on the ground, in front of the tree that the vic had been tied to. He smelled the ground. As Hank had his face to the ground, something smelled familiar.
"Jack, make yourself useful, and go get the bottle of lighter fluid that I have in the trunk."
Jack Trainer just stood his ground. "Why would you have a bottle of lighter fluid in our trunk? Why? What possible reason would you have to keep a bottle of lighter fluid in our trunk?"
"Just shut up and get it," Hank insisted, and finally Trainer moved his fat ass to fetch the fluid.
Hank sat up, in the charred dirt, as Trainer handed him the bottle of fluid. He smelled the bottle of lighter fluid. Then, he put the bottle aside, and put his face to the charred ground, under the tree once more.
"Yup. It's lighter fluid," Hank finally explained, as Officer Daniels left his cruiser to join the conversation.
"What's lighter fluid?" asked Daniels. "That's not in the file."
"No question. It's lighter fluid," explained Hank. "It looks to me, that the unsub doused the vic with lighter fluid, here at the tree. Probably even set him on fire here, before he took off with the ATV. You can see clearly that the charred ground starts here, under the tree."
"This is all guess-work," said Trainer, kicking a stone with his foot, bored out of his mind. He really hated his job, and was perfectly aware that he was very bad at it. His father was a cop who pretty much insisted that Jack Jr. would be the best cop there ever was. Unfortunately, Jack Jr. hated his father, and was bad at his job out of spite.
"No, no... I think he's onto something," said Daniels. "We thought that the perp, or I guess yer calling him 'unsub'? Well, we thought the unsub just set the guy on fire after he was done pulling the limbs out with his car or ATV, or whatever. Thought he was just trying to cover up something."
"He wasn't covering up anything," said Hank. "He just wanted the poor guy to suffer as much as possible. Yanking his limbs out wasn't enough. He had to make the guy burn at the same time."
"Wow, that's sick." Said Daniels.
"That's bullshit," said Trainer. "No way. You don't set someone on fire, then go riding around the park with him. You set him on fire to hide some evidence. We're not looking for some sick fuck, we're looking for an organised killer who covers his tracks."
"I don't think he tried to cover his tracks at all," said Hank. "He was just having a good time, enjoying himself. Not a care in the world."
"What makes you say that?" Asked Daniels, curious.
"I'll show you," Hank said, as he went to his car and pulled out his copy of the Clackamas County report. He grabbed one picture in particular, one of an evidence bag that held a Dairy Queen wrapper.
He held the picture up, so both Officer Daniels, and Trainer could see it. "How do you explain this wrapper?" asked Hank.
"No way," said Trainer, with a dumbstruck look. "Where the hell did those crime scene guys find that? It could be anybody's stupid Dairy Queen wrapper."
"The report said they found it right by the truck tracks," explained Daniels. "They found prints and DNA, but haven't found any matches yet."
"Did they run it against state and federal employees?" asked Hank.
"I don't know. I don't think so. Usually just the IAFIS criminal database," said Daniels.
"Well, I'm just saying that if you want to widen the search, check the federal employees. If there's still no match, check state as well." Hank said, as he looked over the pictures of the truck tracks.
"Good idea," said Daniels. "I'll have them check those databases as well."
"Yea, good luck with that," Trainer said, losing his patience.
"I'll bet this Dairy Queen wrapper fell out of the unsub's truck as he got back in to leave," Hank said.
"What the hell are you even talking about Henry? How do you even know the unsub is a 'he' for Christ's sake? Could be some pissed off bitch that caught her lover cheating or something," said Trainer, just trying to crack Hank.
"It's not a woman," Hank said, sure of himself.
"Come on..." Trainer started. "So the girl and her boyfriend go up the mountain to ride their ATVs. She decides on the way to finally get rid of him for good, so they stop here, she goes all she-bitch, sets him on fire and takes off. How's that?"
"No tracks on the driver side," Hank explained. "Someone waited in the truck as our unsub killed the vic."
"That's cold," said Daniels.
"Okay. Fine. Now what, Sherlock?" Trainer said, hoping Hank didn't have the answer, and they could finally go home.
"Looks like we're off to Dairy Queen," Hank said.
"Goddamnit," Trainer grumbled, as he got into their unmarked car.
Hank thanked Officer Daniels for his help, gave him a card and said to call if they found a print match.
"I'd better at least get some ice cream out of this," Trainer said, as Hank finally got in the car and started to drive down Highway 26 towards the Grill and Chill.
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DISCLAIMER: This is fiction, you fucking idiots. It's just a goddamn story.
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