Detective Inspector Jose Mundalez knew there was something weird about this one. Just knew it.
He crushed his cigarette beneath his foot and moved one step closer to the body. Matty ‘MJ’ Jacobson had boiled to death in an enormous vat of baked beans, his corpse discovered in a desolate warehouse at just after 6am on a swelteringly hot Chicago morning.
Mundalez had worked some sick cases in his time. He’d been just a rookie when he’d solved his first serial homicide case: a psycho by the name of The Washing Up Liquid Killer (also known as Steve). Tortured by his memories, he’d drank too much, screwed too much, couponed too much. Ordered by his captain to take leave, he’d left Chicago P.D. to rediscover the convoluted sob story that had made him want to become a cop in the first place.
But now he was back, and something about this case had excited him. What was the victim doing out here? And why was he covered in beans?
Matty’s family, friends and co-workers had all confirmed that he didn’t even like baked beans. The CSI squad had recovered no beans from his house. So what was he doing dead in this warehouse, beans all up in his grill?
“Lopez,” Mundalez barked at the young detective examining the vat. “Have we confirmed the time of death?”
Lopez smirked. “In Heinz-sight that would have been a good idea.”
“Get back to work,” Mundalez snapped.
He stepped carefully onto the silver ladder attached to the side of the vat. Peering over the edge, he surveyed its contents.
Beans. Lots and lots of beans.
The smell was rancid. Like tomatoes and entrails and when you pull a load of hair out of the plughole and it looks like a small mammal. At the edge, a puffy face floated helplessly.
Teetering on the top rung of the ladder, Mundalez leaned towards Matty’s face.
“U OK, hun?” he whispered.