Excerpt of Measureless Night by Chris Culver

The picture was a wide-angle shot of Michelle Washington’s body.
Someone had ripped off her shirt and bra. A dark liquid glistened against her
brown skin, forming a word from her neck to her navel. I felt sick, but I
forced my face to remain impassive, a skill I had picked up from several
years working homicides.

“The liquid is probably blood, and it says slut,” said Bowers. “Someone cut
off her hand—before she died, according to Dr. Rodriguez—and then used her
fingertips as a brush.”

I’ve been a police officer for a long time, even spending a couple of very
good years as a homicide detective. Rarely did I hear things that took me
aback, but this did. You’ve really got to hate somebody to dismember her
while she’s alive, to hear her scream as the knife strikes bone, and to keep
going until the deed is done.

“How’d you connect her to me?”

Bowers glanced up from his phone, but then glanced back at the screen. “She
had your card in her purse.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “And
you can’t think of any reason why someone would want to hurt her?”

I started to tell him no, but a sick thought hit me. Michelle and I hadn’t
met by chance. Ten years ago, she and her brother had witnessed a murder. It
was one of the first homicides I ever worked, and their testimony helped send
a violent and very well-connected gang leader to prison for murder. I didn’t
often keep up with the criminals I put away, but Santino Ramirez had a
special place in my heart. He was the first and only man I ever sent to death
row. Unless he won a last-minute appeal, he’d get a needle in the arm in a
couple of days. The world would be a better place without him.

I swallowed a lump in my throat and hoped I was wrong about what I was about
to say.

“She testified against Santino Ramirez ten years ago,” I said. “His old gang
might have just called her out.”