Excerpt: White Rock

I always hated homicide. I had a hard time understanding the twisted compulsion that somehow allowed one human being to justify extinguishing the life of another. Perhaps my lack of understanding was what drove me to try to live my life deciphering the mind of the murderer, the criminal. Perhaps it was my personal demons. Either way, it was a life I chose and a life that caused me to see things that I, as a human with respect for others, grew to despise.
The call came in early on a Tuesday. It was July, and the weather in Texas was hot and sweltering but it had an additional wet and humid edge to it due to freak amounts of rain in June. It must have been raining for three weeks straight, but it was not raining that morning. We pulled our cars to the side of the road and got out, walking towards the bike and jogging path that had summoned our presence.
The White Rock Creek and Lake Trail wound its way through the Northeast corner of Dallas. It had a nice wide sidewalk that followed the path of the creek, connecting various small parks throughout the area, and chopping off the corner where the high five intersections of LBJ and Central Expressway loomed and towered into the sky. The trail eventually led to White Rock Lake, and made its way about three quarters of the way around the lake to the southeast. It made for a pleasant jog, but it was not the safest or best area to go running solo, or running at night.
The sky was overcast, and the sun had been up half an hour or so, but the only light was a filtered gray haze that fit nicely with the mist and dew rising like steam from the grass in the greenbelt and the creek alongside the trail. The recent rains had filled the small stream to near the top of the concrete walls that held it in place, and I noticed the water flowed extremely quickly through the channel. I did not have to walk far before I could see where the responding officers were standing, the yellow caution tape drawing out a broad fence around an area of brush and scrub trees. The coroner was there as well, writing up some paperwork, which led me to believe that his work was pretty much done.
"Hey Jim, what've you got?" I asked. He looked up from his clipboard and paused writing. The stern look on his face melted to a calm seriousness.
"Young woman, probably early twenties," he said. "Shot twice in the chest. Looks to me like she was dumped here. My guess is she's been dead for about twenty-four hours or just under, but I'll be able to get more, most likely, when we get back to the morgue."
I nodded. I waited for a few minutes while he flipped through a couple of pages of his notes. He was either looking for some additional information, or he was looking to corroborate what he had already told me based on the information that he had written down. Either way, he did not have anything more to add, so I thanked him and headed over to take a look at the scene.