CHAPTER 1
Dr. NIYAH LEE
After navigating the worst traffic in Chicago, Dr. Niyah Lee Reed arrived at her crime scene. She had received the call two hours earlier. But Niyah was a medical examiner in Chicago. To say she was busy would be a gross understatement.
After driving past the onlookers, she pulled up to the crime-scene tape. A uniformed officer raised the yellow tape, allowing her to enter the perimeter. After passing a few police cars, she pulled as close to the address as possible. Once parked, Niyah grabbed her bag and hopped out of the car.
“Dr. Reed, hey,” the on-scene lieutenant dryly greeted.
“Good evening, Lieu. What we got?”
The lieutenant sighed and pointed toward a brownstone in the middle of the block. “One victim. A male...black. Looks like a stabbing.”
Niyah grabbed a pair of gloves from her back pocket. “Detectives on scene?”
“The detective is running behind, and beat officers are canvassing the area right now. My guys have secured the scene.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Canvassing the area for witnesses was common practice. Officers would go door to door searching for anyone with pertinent information about the homicide.
Niyah headed toward the brownstone, hoping the lieutenant ensured none of the officers had contaminated the crime scene. She walked up the steps and stopped just at the front door. Per her usual routine, she dropped her bag at the door, kneeled, and reached inside for a pair of disposable shoe covers. While slipping them on, she peeped inside the brownstone. Thankfully, she didn’t see a lot of foot traffic inside.
After grabbing her bag, Niyah entered the apartment. The floor was littered with fast-food bags, burger wrappers, beercans, and discarded blunt tobacco. The living room was devoid of furniture, but there were crates arranged in a circle, which must have been the designated gathering spot.
Niyah sniffed the air for the scent of decay but smelled none, an indication that the body was more than likely still fresh. A CPD crime-scene unit was taking photos and collecting evidence in the living room.
“The body?” Niyah questioned as she entered.
One of the officers looked up and gestured toward a dark hallway. She slipped on her gloves and looked for a light switch as she walked down the hall. There was no switch, only a string hanging from the ceiling light. Niyah pulled the string, but it didn’t work. Luckily, there was a dim light coming from a cracked door at the end of the hall. She could hear the staticky chatter from a police radio behind the door. After making her way down the hall, she pushed into a room that turned out to be a bedroom.
“Good morning,” she greeted the only other person in the room.
Judging by her CPD uniform and the fact that she was dusting the nightstand for fingerprints, she had to be the evidence technician.
“Are you the detective in charge?”
“Medical Examiner,” Niyah responded, pointing to the ID badge on her shirt.
In contrast to the living room, the bedroom was fully furnished with a television, a tattered wood chest-and-nightstand set, and a bed that held the naked body of a young black man. Niyah pulled a recorder out of her pocket and moved closer to the bed. She pressed a button and spoke into the device. After recording the date and time, she continued with, “No aroma of decomposition upon arrival, male, black, possibly in his late twenties.”
Niyah noted six small puncture wounds just along the victim’s sternum as the most likely cause of death. She also recorded his approximate height and weight, along with several tattoos. His penis was covered with dry, white residue that could have been vaginal secretions or semen.
The mattress was soaked with blood. Niyah took a step back and examined the floor. The carpet was dirty but not stained with blood, which hinted that the victim hadn’t been placed in the bed but had actually been killed in the bed.
The squeak of the door opening prompted Niyah to turn around. Homicide Detective Belladonna Deveraux entered the room and stuffed her hands in a pair of gloves. “Wassup, Doc?” she greeted.
“Hey, Bella. What’s good?”
Bella peered over at the body on the bed. “Not him,” she muttered under her breath. She turned to the evidence technician. “When you’re done here, can you make sure to process the beer bottles in the front room?”
“You got it,” the evidence tech agreed with a nod.
Bella walked over and looked down at the body. She pointed at the tattoo on his chest that read, “WWM,” which more than likely stood for Wild West Mafia. “Westside Mafia,” she muttered to herself.
“Hmm?” Niyah asked, half hearing her.
“The tattoo… Westside Mafia. He is or once was a gangbanger.
