CHAPTER 1. UNLUCKY JURISDICTION
Lestrade needed answers, this was the third cop in a month, all the same story, they'd left for a shift, and either not shown up for work and were reported missing by a spouse or family member, or worse they went out on a call never reporting back only to be found a few weeks later in some random abandoned place dumped, similar wounds, different weapons. But it had to be a pattern. It couldn't be coincidence. He felt stumped, there was nothing linking the men, no common criminals to threaten them, no dirty business, nothing, hell the officers didn't even know each other.
"Sir, its Keithers, Frank Keithers." A young PC that often worked with Lestrade's team approached the DI, his back turned to the body.
"Lets see it." Lestrade commanded, recognizing the name, dammit not another one.
Anderson pulled the sheet back for DI Lestrade, ignoring the PC who had just identified the body. The younger officer Jeffrys turned now, removing his hat, crouching down, he tried to keep a cool face but DI could see the turmoil beneath the young mans façade. "He trained me. I patrolled with him graveyard shift, before they moved me up to days and to London. Damn fine officer."
But what's he doing out here?" Lestrade shook his head, running a hand through his peppered silver hair. Another constable dumped in his city, the older DI had nothing, he swore under his breath. Standing up now, he hadn't known the dead officer, but from the look of the volunteer Sc's standing around quietly not even disguising the fact that they were listening, he could see the man had been well respected in his district. DI Lestrade had glanced over the mans missing persons report, when it came into his office a few weeks back. He had hopped the man had just run out on his wife, but glancing over the missing constables dossier it wasn't likely.
A good officer from his file, been on the force five years, he'd been ex military. No blemishes on his work record, nothing to explain why he had been dumped in uniform like garbage forgotten, a bullet hole through his heart, a city away from where he worked as a traffic cop. Nothing fits.
The department kept this out of the papers, but Lestrade couldn't guarantee for how long. Metro was pressing him and NSY for answers. He sighed pulling out his phone; Sergeant Donovan rolled her eyes and made a very audible sigh knowing whom he was about to call.