He cleared his throat and admitted, "My old man took over from a long legacy of good ole boys. The stink of their corruption ran deep. This is a high-profile case. I'm not taking any chances."
Kallie pointed to a building as they passed. "Four thousand block."
He nodded and maneuvered into the right-hand lane of the four lanes heading East.
"Dirty cops..." She shook her head.
"Police officers are human. Sure, we screen, and we test, but at the end of the day, we are a microcosm of society, and quite frankly, sometimes our society sucks. The only thing we can do is be the best fucking cops we can be."
"There are thousands of us."
"And the few that fuck up, who are aggressive, biased, abusive, they make us all look bad."
"So why do we do it?" Kallie pointed to an empty parking slot just beyond the dry cleaner’s storefront.
"I don't know what your reason is, but I protect and serve because I believe people should be able to live without fear, and someone needs to speak for the victims." He put the car into park after a quick parallel park.
"Exactly. Yeah, I missed it. This. When I was working for Guardian. I missed making a difference for a community. Guardian is exceptional at what they do, don't get me wrong, but they are so many levels removed from this." Her eyes scanned the street.
"Well, we are in the thick of it." He glanced down the busy city street. "Why would Treyson come all the way over here to drop off laundry?"
"Is it close to where one of the lovers lives?" Kallie thumbed back through her notebook looking for addresses.
"It's nearer Garrett's and Chloe's. Not as close to Ava’s." He turned off the car. "Ready?"
"Yep."
They made their way into the Plaid Iron and stood at the back of the lobby. A line several people deep waited at the counter. A pretty redhead, an arm and one ankle in a cast, knee propped up on a scooter, rolled to counter. "Here you go, Mr. Robinson. I'm sorry about the wait." She fished the hanger off a small bar someone had installed on the side of the scooter. It looked flimsy, but seemed to do the trick.
"No worries, Cynthia. Can't you take some time off? You're looking tired." The older gentleman took the jacket she handed him.
"Oh, no. I'm fine. Just really clumsy."
The older man shook his head. "Honey, no one is that clumsy."
Warning bells clamored in Brock's brain. He stared harder at the woman–black slashes under her eyes, fat lip, bruised cheek. Looked like someone had used the small woman as a punching bag.
"Yeah, you'd think that wouldn't you? But, then there is me!" The woman smiled brightly. Unfortunately, it didn't reach her eyes. They waited as she processed the line, pushing her little scooter for items she couldn't access by using the conveyor belt of clothes.
"Ticket?" The woman's hand shook as she extended it.
He displayed his badge at the same time as Kallie. "Detectives King and Redman. We have several tickets issued to a Samuel Treyson." What color was left in the woman's already sallow complexion drained.
"Mr. Treyson?" She looked from one of them to the other, her brown eyes wide. Her mouth dropped open, and she wrapped her good arm around herself protectively. She seemed to shrink into herself.
"Yes. When was the last time he was in here?" Kallie opened her notebook and stared at the woman, her pen ready to take notes.
"Um… I don't remember? I'd have to look at the ticket. Is he in trouble?" Her fingers traced the edge of her half cast.
"Were you in an accident?" Kallie nodded at the cast.
"Uh, no... I fell. Fell down the stairs at my apartment building. Tried to stop my fall with my arm and that didn't go well." The woman shook her head and winced slightly.
"When did you fall?"
"When? Oh, um… a couple days ago." She glanced behind her. "Is there something I can help you with? I can't release the clothes without the ticket."
Brock leaned forward, crowding the counter on purpose. The woman moved back, her eyes narrowed, and she looked away. Fell down, his ass. More like pushed down or worse, beaten. "How well did you know Mr. Treyson?"
"He had a couple of places on my route. I'd see him from time to time."
"Your route?" Kallie asked for clarification.
"Yeah, I work the pick up laundry service."
Brock stood up giving the woman room before he prompted, "You met him then?"
She nodded. "He's really nice. "
"So, you met the people he lived with?"
Her brows furrowed and she echoed, "People he lived with?"
"Yes, at the places you picked up his laundry."
"No. I mean, yes. I delivered the clean clothes in the afternoon. I didn’t have the delivery route long. But to answer your questions, other people answered the door and took the clothes, but I never really 'met' them, you know?"
"Got it. You no longer do laundry delivery service?"
"No, not for a while now."
"Why's that?"
"She works the front and runs just about everything." Cynthia's head whipped around. A big, barrel-chested man strode from the back of the facility. He wore a wifebeater and low-slung jeans. He pushed his too long hair from his face. He had two full sleeves of tats and from the looks of his shoulders, a lot more ink under the wifebeater. The man loomed over Cynthia. "The woman who used to run the counter service found a job closer to home. Cynthia filled in on the route for me when I wasn't feeling well. Since then, I've been moved to the back, and she's taken over the front.” He extended his hand. There were bruises all over his arm along with scratches, and was that a bite mark on his bicep? "Dawson Jenkins. This is Cynthia White.”
“Dawson and I are engaged." Cynthia added.
Brock's eyes darted to the woman's hand. No ring. He cocked his head at the announcement.
"My hand swelled up after I fell. Had to take it off or risk the possibility of losing a finger." She glanced over at Dawson’s outstretched hand and then darted a quick look at the man.
The guy dropped his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your names."
"Detectives King and Redman. How well did you know Mr. Treyson?"
The man's brow furrowed.
"Samuel Treyson." Kallie repeated the name when he didn’t speak.
"Is this about his murder?" Dawson snapped his attention to Kallie.
"Murder?" Cynthia's eyes widened, and her hand covered her mouth. She sank back on the leg still propped up on the scooter.
Dawson didn’t look at Cynthia. "He was killed––at the warehouse district. It’s all over the news."
"You didn't answer the question." Kallie stood straight and looked the guy in the eyes. Direct, authoritative, and completely composed.
Dawson gave her a look of disdain and then looked back at Brock. "I knew him."
"How well?"
The man crossed his arms over his chest. He sent a quick glance at Cynthia. "As well as I know the rest of my customers. Do I need to get a lawyer?"
"Do you think you need a lawyer?" Kallie returned.
"Nah, I don't, 'cause I didn't do anything wrong." He tried, but failed, to hold Kallie's stare.
"Maybe not to Treyson." Brock leaned away from the counter and looked directly at Cynthia. "If you need anything, anything at all, you come find me at the Southern precinct." He pulled one of his business cards and handed it to her as he stared at the motherfucker next to her.
"I'm not sure what you mean." The woman looked up at Dawson and smiled, although once again her eyes weren't mirroring the expression, they were... vacant.
Kallie asked for and received both Cynthia and Dawson’s information. They lived in separate apartments of the same building. She also jotted down their cell phone numbers.
"We'll be back in a couple days. Follow up questions." Kallie closed her notebook and pocketed it. The same motion moved her coat behind the weapon she wore on her waist, not in a shoulder holster, like he did. She arched an eyebrow and then winked at Dawson. "Be seeing you aroun
d."
"Oh, I'm really looking forward to that, Detective," Dawson said with a smile, with almost a hopeful look on his face, which was… weird and tripped bells, although he had no fucking clue why.
They made it two steps past the window before Kallie lost it. "That motherfucker is abusing her."
"Yeah, he could be." He hated there was nothing they could do about it.
"Could be?"
"Unless she comes forward, it is hard to prove."
"I'm going to be coming back."
"She's got to make a complaint, or you have to catch him in the act." There were no handprint bruises on her that he could see, and he'd looked. He’d wanted a reason to put cuffs on that bastard.
Kallie stopped on the sidewalk and palmed her phone. Glancing at the screen, she growled in irritation before shoving the phone back in her pocket. "He's going to end up killing her," she snapped. She wrenched the car door open and dropped inside the car.
"She knows to come looking for us at the precinct. Next time you stop by, I'll give you a couple business cards for local shelters and social workers." Brock turned on the vehicle and waited for traffic to clear before he merged into the lanes of traffic. "Was that the ex again?"
She waved a dismissive hand. "She's so freaking tiny. He was what… six-two or three and at least a hundred pounds heavier than her? I hate abusive pricks." She ground out the words and flopped her head against the headrest. "Okay, sorry. I'm picking up my soapbox and heading home now, and yes, I know she needs to make the complaint. It is just frustrating."
"That fire in your gut? That's the reason you do this job. You, my dear detective, are a warrior for the underdog and you can preach to me from your soapbox anytime."
"Yeah, well, we all need someone, don't we?"
"Always." He wondered if she realized she'd included herself in that comment. His admiration for this woman just reached a new level. She was a survivor. He depressed his turn indicator and headed toward the morgue.
10
Kallie hated morgues. Hated them with a passion, but as far as morgues went, Hope City's wasn't the worst she'd ever seen. As a matter of fact, the building was new, and it appeared to be more of a business office than a morgue.
"Over this way." Brock led her to a reception area. "Hey Dori, how you been?"
A brunette gave Brock a long thirsty look—like he was a glass of water and she was dying from thirst. "Hey Brock. I'm fine." She leaned forward and gave Kallie a once over. "New partner? What happened to Jordan, and why haven't you called me? We should hang out."
"Jordan is being loaned to the Feds. This is Kallie Redman, my new partner. Kallie, this is Dori Chamberlain. She went to school with my baby sister, Bekki. I've known Dori since she was in diapers."
The amusement in Brock's eyes when the woman nearly had an aneurysm was not funny. Okay, it was hilarious, but all the sexy eyes and want on the woman's face was placed quickly and firmly in the 'you're too young for me and this shit is never going to happen' category. He'd obviously had to set the woman straight on other occasions because he was damn good and succinct with the shoot down.
Dori finally jacked her jaw off the floor and huffed, "What do you need?"
"Dr. Carpenter?"
"She's in Autopsy Four. You can sign in and go through to the observation loft." Brock made quick work of signing in and grabbing a badge for each of them. They headed down a long corridor, but Kallie waited until they turned the corner before she started laughing. "Please tell me you've let her down gently in the past, because that was not nice."
"That girl." Brock groaned and pointed to the right. "She was out of control in school. I joined the Marines and came back, and she's grown up and more determined than ever. Seems she thinks we have chemistry."
"Do you? Have chemistry?" The woman was all smoldering beauty and tight clothes.
"Hell no. The only thing we have in common is my baby sister. I'm sure she thinks those faces and looks are sexy, but all I see is the dirty little tomboy who used to climb trees with Bekki. Through here." He pointed to the door to the right.
Kallie went through the door he held open and did a double take. Well, damn. "Nice."
"Yeah, and no smell." He moved down the small incline to the front row of a small theatre separated from the autopsy room by windows of glass and took a seat. The dead body on the slab was Treyson. From the looks of things, Dr. Carpenter was just about done. Her personal protective equipment was still in place, but the Y incision was sewn up, so she'd already finished the autopsy. Brock reached over and flipped the intercom. A gentle chime stopped Dr. Carpenter in her tracks. She looked up at the window above her. "Hello, Detective. I heard you caught this case."
"Hi Doc, yep. This is my new partner, Kallie Redman."
Kallie waved.
"Nice to meet you, Detective. What happened to Jordan? Did the feds finally pull their heads out of their asses?"
Brock laughed and nodded. "They did."
"Speaking from a strictly medical point of view, the position has to be uncomfortable. So, what questions can I answer? Pending histology, trace, and toxicology, of course."
"Of course. Let's start with the basics."
"All right. Male, thirty-seven-years old, identified as one Samuel Treyson by the next of kin. I conducted a forensic autopsy as required by state law due to unexplained, suspicious death. My examination revealed he died of exsanguination."
"That probably had something to do with the ear to ear throat slit." Brock chuckled when the doctor flipped him off.
"Smart ass. Based on the angle of the wounds, I would feel comfortable concluding the person was taller than Samuel or in a position behind the victim with the victim on his knees."
"From what I saw at the death scene, I agree, although I hadn't considered him kneeling." He glanced at Kallie. "We need to re-examine his clothing. I didn't look for anything on his slacks, but there was ash everywhere. "
Dr. Carpenter continued, "I already sent his clothing to the lab. Here is something you probably didn't know. In addition to what appeared to be ash covering his skin, over the mouth, cheek and chin area we found something that almost resembled adipocere."
Kallie leaned forward. "Isn't that when the fat of the body turns into soap due to wet environments?"
"Oh, Detective, you need to keep this woman. She's sharp. Yes, Detective, it is, but as this victim was transported within hours of his death and was not exposed to the elements, the appearance of this material makes no sense. Upon further examination, there was irritation, almost like a burn, which would explain the resemblance of the spot to adipocere. I took samples and sent them to the lab for analysis along with his clothes for examination for trace evidence."
"Did he inhale anything?" Kallie stood to look over the table.
"Ah, that is the most frustrating part of this job. Visually, I couldn't see anything, but we won't know for sure until we get the reports back."
Brock stood up. "Doc, this case needs to be jumped to the front of the line."
"Indeed. I've been called no less than seven times, each person stressing the importance of prompt resolution. The only person I haven't heard from is your father."
"He won't call."
"And that is why he is the best man for the job. Now if you'll excuse me, detectives, I need to finish up and start my report."
"Do you have any idea when we can expect the lab results?"
They could hear a long exhale of breath even though they couldn't see the woman's mouth because of the PPE she wore. "Normally, I'd say six to eight weeks, to account for redundancy testing. We're jumping the backlog, so that will eliminate maybe three weeks. That leaves secondary confirmation, the written report and the QC process. Hell, you'll be lucky to see the tox and histology reports in three to four weeks. The trace? That's inhouse up at Briar Hill, so you'll have that answer within a day, maybe two depending on their mass spectrometer backlog."
"Thanks, Doc." Brock reached for the int
ercom, but the doctor's voice stopped him.
"Sorry I couldn't give you more. This guy had a long life ahead of him. It's a shame someone decided to take that from him. Get that son of a bitch, will you?"
"Yes, ma'am." Brock flipped the intercom switch, and they left the viewing area. As they entered the hall, he stopped to glance at his phone. "Perfect. We now have access to Treyson's schedule." He tapped the screen and smiled. "Look at that. Three meetings we didn't know about before.
Kallie nodded. Her mind swirled with a thousand details, but a few were like grains of sand. They stuck against something in her brain and irritated her. She'd learned to pay attention to those small things. Brock waved at Dori as they hustled to the car, and she waited until the engine started to turn to her partner. "Brock, in my mind there are things that don't add up."
Brock nodded. "Why did Treyson stop the laundry pick up at the apartments and start taking his clothes to the storefront?"
Kallie nodded. "That's one. Two is why was Treyson at that warehouse? Who was he meeting?"
"Three, where is that damn car or barring that, how did he get there?" Brock drove away from the parking slot.
"Four, who was he looking to add to the group? Could it have been Cynthia?"
Brock nodded. "It could explain why he was going to the storefront instead of using the home service, but we have nothing to back that up."
"Then we need to dig." She clicked her seatbelt into place.
"Let's mark off the taxi companies on the way to the office. We're looking for any fares to the warehouse district the night of the murder and reconfirm with the car service he used that he, in fact, didn't use them that night."
"On it." Kallie pulled up her search engine and started making phone calls. As much as she hated the why of her job, she lived for this. Tracking the bastards that killed. Her phone lit up as she searched. An unknown number. She accepted the call but didn't put it on speaker. "Hello." She wasn't going to answer with her name because Rich's threats, while on the back burner of her mind, were still an issue.
"Kallie. How have you been?" She recognized the voice, it was Lance, Rich's brother.
A Hope City Duet Page 11