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Chapter Three

…Winters arrived twelve minutes later than expected to a parade of patrol vehicles, ambulances, fire trucks, black Medical Examiner SUVs, a small crowd of curious bypassers, and evacuated motel guests in their plainclothes and sleeping garments. Though the temperature had cooled to the higher sixties, it was still tolerable as there was no wind. The public was kept away from the motel’s block, sealing off the entire sidewalk outside the Seaside.
…An officer guarding the crime scene perimeter and deviating incoming traffic recognized Randall and cleared the way for him. The detective parallel-parked his black VW sedan by Cross Bay Boulevard’s concrete island, behind a white van labeled NYPD Crime Scene Unit.
…Wearing a silver trench coat over a black, long-sleeved polyester shirt with blue trousers, Randall climbed out of his car and scanned the area. Two massive trucks from the Fire Department’s Hazardous Materials Technical Unit and an NYPD Emergency Service Unit eclipsed the motel’s front entrance. Those divisions were necessary in the event of toxic materials present in any scenario, whether it was microorganic or chemical.
…Randall swerved between the enormous trucks to show his face. The dozen uniformed officers guarding the entrance beneath the green canopy wore facial masks and gloves. He didn’t see any technician in hazmat suits yet.
…A sergeant radioed with his scanner: “Winters’ outside.”
…Simonelli replied: “Have him suited up.”
…“Any word on the blood tests?” Winters said.
…The sergeant shook his head.
…“Responding officer?”
…“Abel Perez,” the sergeant pointed to a paramedic van parked on the corner block to his right. “In that ambulance. Isolated until results are in.”
…“Detective?” an ESU officer wearing only a black PD tight shirt and jeans approached Winters from behind.
…“Yes?”
…“I’ll prep you,” the brawny-physiqued officer said. “Can I take your coat?”
…Winters followed the officer and his assistant forty yards from the motel. They arrived at a mammoth, parked white ESU truck. Its side compartment revealed body armors, gas tanks, tactical gear, drones, night vision tools, among other emergency equipment. The officers aided the detective in putting on protective gear. It included a white Tyvek suit, latex gloves, face mask, blue disposable covers for his loafers, and a transparent facial cover, completely shielding him from airborne particles. 
…“All set, sir.”
…Ready to begin, Winters returned to the entrance and walked into the lobby. It was fully deserted, but not for long. From the corridor of bedrooms on the right, strolled in the soaring, middle-aged, long-faced Ryan Simonelli concealed in the same Tyvek suit and masks as Randall. 
…“I bet twenty you’ve never seen this much blood in your life,” he said, speaking louder than usual to be understood in his muffling.
…“Save your money,” Winters followed Ryan into a long, red-carpeted hallway of room doors. “Haven’t talked to the responding officer but brief me.”
…“Eleven forty,” Ryan said, “this couple checks in. Man is drunk like a wife beater. Name’s Javier Escalera. Female’s probably younger than him. No name yet. They didn’t spend much time in the lobby before they went to the room. And—”
…“Who checked them in?” Randall interrupted.
…“Shirley Lime, front desk. Manager is McCoy. He found the corpse. They’re ambulanced.
…Winters and Simonelli were coming closer to 1027, located two rooms from the end of the hallway. The door to the crime scene had been encased with polyethylene sheeting using chemical taping to make it stick to the frame. No technician or officer stood outside.
…“But hear this,” Simonelli stopped Winters. “At around twelve-thirty, the next-door occupant called the lobby complaining about someone coughing up and vomiting like dying of the plague. Took him a few minutes to phone the lobby, thinking it may have been nothing serious, until it got worse. Manager phones Javier’s room, nothing. Knocks on the door, nothing. Decides to unlock the door, sees the horrorshow inside, and then pulls the fire alarm and everyone got out.”
…“And this girl—the missing one?”
…Simonelli shrugged. “We don’t know.”
…A brief pause. Winters hoped Simonelli was joking. “Nobody saw her walking out the lobby?”
…“Probably when the alarm went off. Motel was two-thirds occupied.”
…“Cameras?”
…“They have a cloud-based system. Manager can access it but he’s scared shitless to come back in.”
…“That footage is key,” Winters said. “First, let’s see it.”
…Simonelli pulled the curtain sheet, letting Winters cautiously step into the narrow foyer.
…On the left, the bathroom doorway was open. A forensic analyst, suited up identically like Winters and Simonelli, scanned the edges of the yellow bathtub with a blacklight, searching for fingerprints or suspicious markings. He was alone. A large black plastic bag resting on an open box rested by the bathroom door. It preserved sealed pieces of evidence.
…Winters then looked ahead to the bedroom space. Three suited-up agents kept busy scrutinizing specific details. One photographed the narrow space behind the television furniture with a digital single lens reflex camera, portable and small enough to move easily between spaces. Another one knelt on the floor, observing patterns of blood drops on the carpeted floor beneath the double bed closest to the foyer. By his knees rested an open steel briefcase showing all the kits, swabs, and tools for collecting and concealing samples.
…The third technician leaned over the mattress, standing on his feet. Randall was most certain it was the medicolegal investigator, who used an LED flashlight to study the horrendous death that occurred that night.  
…“My God…” muttered Winters.
…The corpse of Javier Escalera laid on the first bed, naked, on a puddle of his own gore, in the fetal position on his right shoulder, with his head tilted slightly on the mattress’ edge. The bed had been stripped from its quilt, leaving the rumpled sheets soaked almost completely in the victim’s fluids. No blood missed a portion of Javier’s torso, shoulders, hair, and face. Only his legs up to the knees weren’t stained. With the room temperature in the low sixties, the profuse amount of fluid acquired a gelatinous texture that slightly sank Javier’s upper right body and the lower half of his head in that macabre pond.
…Winter’s mind immediately went to work. 
…The wounds tell it all.
…So far, the way Javier Escalera met his demise was by vomiting the very sanguine that cascaded across the mattress. Scattered drops around the bed frame trickled down the corners. It took a simple glimpse to notice Javier was tall and fit. Not in the sense of a bodybuilder, but rather someone whose employment kept him moving and doing heavy lifting. 
…Did it all happen on the bed?
…Winters did a three-sixty scan of the room, focusing on the carpeted floor, the surfaces of every furniture and walls, including the ceiling. There weren’t blood spatters. If there was stabbing or fighting involved, traces would have been perceivable anywhere above the bed’s height. To knife someone as muscular as the victim, one would need to employ great strength to puncture through to reach the thoracic artery and make him bleed that much.
…Experience had taught Randall which deaths were intentional, negligent, or accidental by simply observing the body and any outstanding details. He couldn’t make an early assessment on this one. 
…“Penny for your thoughts,” Winters said, “Ryan?”
…“Well,” Simonelli moved closer to the corpse, stopping behind the medicolegal investigator, “unless there is an open wound on his right side, then for sure our man bled through the mouth.”
…“You said the guy next door heard someone vomiting.”
…Simonelli nodded. “For about ten minutes intermittently before calling the lobby.”
…“You agree with that, Fogle?” said Winters to the medicolegal, whom he recognized due to his thick spectacles over his mid-fifties round face and marble eyes.
…“What, that he died vomiting blood?”
…“Yeah.”
…“I can’t wait to find out,” Fogle said.
…Winters turned to the crime scene photographer who took pictures of the purple curtained window on the far end of the room.
…“How are we doing with those pictures?”
…Hiram, the African American crime scene photographer, turned. “Just need to get this corner and I’m done.”
…“Took plenty of the carcass?”
…“More than I normally do.”
…“Good,” Winters turned to Simonelli to inquire about the digital file storing all the evidence related to this case. “Have you started uploading to the CMS?”
…“The basics,” Simonelli said. “We already have a case number and file.”
…Winters nodded at the corpse. “Has he been swabbed?”
…“Yeah,” Simonelli pointed at the open silver briefcase. “We got nail samples, swabs on his hands, back, chest, shoulders, penis—speaking of which, I hope our man got a proper blowjob before his send off.”
…Winters frowned at Simonell, wondering if he should call him out for that unnecessary joke.
…“What?” Ryan noticed Winter’s disappointment. “If he did, it’ll help us!”
…Randall took a deep breath and decided to brush it aside. He then addressed Fogle. “Need help moving him?”
…Fogle stood on his feet and tilted his head sideways, deciding if it was necessary to flip the entire body over.
…“Nah, a little push to lay him on his back is fine.”
…“You’re the man,” Winters said.
…Everyone observed Fogle conscientiously grab Javier’s left shoulder and neck while laying him on his back to reveal the right side of his torso. The pool of coagulating blood detached from Javier’s skin around the rib cage like splitting wet bread, producing an unnerving squishing sound.
…“Alrighty,” Fogle finished.
…His latexed hands collected some blood while moving the body. Needing to retrieve his flashlight, which hid in his Tyvek’s pocket, he reached for a box of antiseptic sanitizing tissue he had placed on the corner of the TV furniture. It helped wipe clean his gloved hands. He leaned closer to the corpse aided by LED light in his hand.
…As Fogle expected, the preposterous amount of blood layering the skin made it difficult to detect thin or wide perforations. Chunks of drying gore were dispersed across the area that had been pressing against the mattress. 
…“Final assessment?” Simonelli said.
…“Nothing final,” Fogle said. “Preliminarily, our man most likely bled to death through the mouth. Any other open wounds, we have yet to find out.”
…“Then he’s going for the full cut,” Winters said, meaning Javier Escalera’s body would need to be studied thoroughly by a medical examiner. “Hiram, photograph the area Fogle’s looking at.
…Something isn’t right.
…“Javier’s cell phone?” Winters said.
…“Bagged,” said Simonelli. “Found it on the floor beneath the sink, for some reason.”
…“Did it have blood on it?”
…“Nope.”
…“Hmm. Our guy probably took a piss first but was too drunk to forget his phone.”
…Winters looked down to see what gravity brought to the floor. Other than shoe marks and the bloody dots around the bed, some clothes rested by the narrow space between both double beds a foot from the bedside table. They included a pair of brown rubber sole boots lying sideways, with gray socks on them, and a white tee. Each item was mildly stained by blood.
…Randall walked closer and bent his knees to have a look. “Have you checked his clothes.
…“Pictures were taken but I didn’t wanna bag them ‘till you see them,” said Simonelli.
…Using his gloved right hand, Winters lifted the white tee from the ground, revealing nothing but carpet. “We got a shirt, socks, shoes—did he check-in without pants?”
…“That’s all we found.”
…“Nothing under the beds?” Winters said.
…“Nothing but air,” Simonelli said. 
…“Then the girl took off with half his clothes,” Randall stood back up.
…“Probably,” Simonelli said. “At least she left his wallet. Bagged it but took a picture of his license for the CMS.”
…“So, Javier left his phone on the bathroom floor when he took a piss… or shit…, came over to the bed, took off his clothes, probably did some foreplay for about… fifteen minutes… and then the next-door occupant heard the coughing. What do you think of that?”
…“You’re the theory genius,” Simonelli said, “Forgot to say, Javier lives—I mean, lived in Ozone Park. Married with two daughters. Sent a unit to inform the family before you got here.”
…They must be getting the bad news around now.
…“Priors?” said Winters.
…“Domestic disturbance reported last month, but he wasn’t booked. Other than that, he’s clean.”
…Bingo. There’s my first lead.
…“Keep working on the scene,” he said. “We’ll meet in a few hours. Hopefully the manager’s done shitting in his pants so we can get us that security footage.”
…Before leaving, Winters took one last glance at the blood-spattered corpse on the mattress.
…“What you thinking?” Simonelli said.
…Winters had a feeling that someone wanted Javier Escalera to suffer enough and make him die the way it occurred. If not, then it was purely a health issue that caused the copious bleeding. Both theories still needed more data, and he wasn’t ready to voice his opinion just yet.
…“Nothing,” he said.
…Unwilling to waste a second, he marched around the bed walking past Simonelli, departing the room.
…“You don’t just think of nothing when you’re that quiet,” Simonelli said.
…“I’m going to talk to that girl Shirley,” Winters said, “and then head over to Javier’s place. Call me if there are any updates.”

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