Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
rise and shine. *******. I don't need to look at my phone to know who's calling. There's only one person and one reason my phone is ringing at 5:30 a.m. Only a mile into my run, I stopped breath clouding around me and pull my phone from my armband. A bead of sweat rolls down between my breasts, beset. I answer and start walking to keep my muscles warm. Sorry to wake you, Detective, the officer on the line says. And I recognized the voice as Mike Anderson, a rookie cop working the graveyard shift. I was already up. Have a body for me. We do. Jog was founded about 20 minutes ago on the run. Just another reason not to be a runner. I'm literally on a run right now. Well, too bad you didn't find it. These girls are pretty shaken up. I can imagine. I stopped at a crosswalk and take a minute to stretch my calves. So why are you calling me? Once you see it, you'll know why. Desperate to work my way up the ranks I took on the case is no one else wanted the ones deemed spooky or weird. That got me the nickname of Molder amongst the other detectives. What started as a joke quickly became a compliment. The occult and magic don't exist. There was always a logical explanation. Well, as logical as any murder can be taking on and solving some of the Philadelphia police departments most obscure cases was no easy feat. But I've never been one to back down from a challenge. Text me the address. Sending now Thanks, Anderson. I stretch my legs and wait for the text to come through with the location of the body. Then I'm off turning around and running home to change and take off again, though this time by car, the body was found along a road on the outskirts of town. Three college students stumbled upon it on their run this morning, noticing a bloody shoe sticking up from the weeds. I parked behind a marked police car and get out looking at the small gathering of people. Most are official law enforcement and a few others are Gawker's. There aren't too many houses on this road, which is both good and bad. The road has been blocked off on either side, stopping any traffic from coming through and tampering with my crime scene. The area around the body has been taped off, and the girls who founded are sitting inside a squad car to keep warm. Morning. Detective beset. Morning, I say. Ducking under the yellow police tape, Officer Nick Beasley is holding up for me. I gather my hair of the nape of my neck, securing it in a messy bun to keep it out of the way.