by Lori Gordon
Sam frowned and moved aside to give Lombardo a better view of the body, shooting a wary glance in his direction. There were two things everyone at the precinct knew about Lombardo. The first was that he lived for the job. The second was that he had a reputation for hitting on younger women. Not that she gave a damn about his personal life, that was his business.
On a professional level, she respected his opinions. He was a decent cop. A twenty-year vet. The scuttlebutt was that despite killer instincts and attention to detail Lombardo would never rise higher than the rank of detective due to his tendency to be brash with the press during high profile cases and the fact that tidbits of information tended to leak out when he was on the job. Classified information the CPD wanted to keep out of the public eye.
Lombardo vehemently claimed he wasn’t to blame. She suspected his memory got faulty after kicking back a few too many boilermakers in neighborhood bars. Ignoring the rumors, she’d given him the benefit of doubt. But now he was on her turf and stepping on her toes. Again. And he was a bit of an asshole.
“What are you doing here?” She snapped. The LT had assigned her the case. Lombardo had no reason to be at the scene.
He craned his neck to see the markings on the body. “I heard the call come in over the radio.”
“At this hour?” It was well past midnight. “Shouldn’t you be home, in bed?” she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They conjured up images of Lombardo diddling with a younger woman.
“Yeah, well, I was having a pizza over at Giordano’s on Davidson. The night ended earlier than planned, so I was cruising for a bit.”
Sam read between the lines. His much younger date dumped him and he hadn’t given up hope of getting lucky with some local bar cutie. She sighed. What he did on his own time wasn’t her concern. The life of a homicide detective could get damn lonely at times. Who was she to judge? Her own life was a big enough mess.
Deciding to ignore him, her gaze swept the room. “Who found the body?”
A uniform stepped forward, keeping his eyes off the bed. He pulled out his notebook but answered without bothering to look at it. “The couple in the next suite called the front desk to complain about a strong ammonia order coming from this room. After repeated attempts to contact the victim, the night manager used his key card to let himself in.”
“Witnesses? Anyone hear a disturbance? See anything suspicious?”
“No Ma’am.”
Sam sighed. “Do we at least have an ID on the victim?”
“No Ma’am.” He hesitated. “Well, not really. You’re not going to like this.”
So far, she didn’t like anything about tonight. She pushed a strand of hair off her face with the back of her glove. “Go ahead, tell me anyway.”
“The room is registered to a Mr. Harvey Wallbanger. It was paid for by one of those prepaid credit cards you can buy and load at a variety of stores and currency exchanges. You know, like a gift card.”
Sam felt the knot tighten between her brows. “Doesn’t the hotel require an ID at check in?”
The officers face reddened, “Hotels like this cater to the wealthy and famous. They said it’s not unusual for someone to check in under an assumed name but that they do require an actual ID even though they keep identities under wraps. The clerk at the reservation desk is new. She screwed up. The girl’s downstairs in tears if you want to talk to her.”
“Oh for crying out loud.” Sam threw up her hands. “My guess, if this was premeditated; the killer targeted the new girl on purpose. Apparently our UNSUB did his homework. Alright then, we’ll have to run the prints and hope we get a match.” She turned towards Matsuda. “So much for your playtime gone haywire theory.”
“Uh, Detective?” Matsuda interjected, ignoring her comment. “Perhaps you didn’t notice the victim’s finger pads?”
Her face crinkled as if she swallowed something rotten. “Prints cut off?”
“Burned off.”
“This case keeps getting better and better. All right, let’s get as many shots of the victims face as we can. Maybe we’ll get a hit with facial recognition. If not, we’ll have to rely on dental records.”
Lombardo’s eyes narrowed, a shit-eating grin on his face. It was clear he wanted to be the big dog on the scene and wasn’t above trying to embarrass her, “So, Sam I Am, any of your psycho, psyche senses kicking in yet?”
She turned to glare at him. As a result of the media frenzy after Melanie disappeared, her practice had taken a direct hit. Patients who depended on her for help felt compelled to turn the conversation towards her family tragedy, making for stilted awkward sessions The flow of new patients from referrals dried up. She was barely eeking out a living. After much deliberation, she decided to change her name professionally, shortening her last name from Blackstone to Black.
When she traded her psychologists couch in for a badge, her moniker changed once again. Samantha apparently was too much of a mouthful for her fellow officers.
They called her Sam Black.
It took some getting used to.
Wanting to test her mettle the day she arrived at the 18th, Alec, her newly assigned partner, nicknamed her Sam I Am. From him, it was annoying, but tolerable. Coming from Lombardo it just pissed her off, as did his snide reference to her former career. She drew herself to her full height of five feet two inches and stared down her nose at him. “As a matter of fact, yes, they are.” Asshole, she added, mumbling quietly so no one would hear.
A disturbance in the next room interrupted them. Sam swore under her breath. “Great. This night just keeps popping. Detective Cupcake decided to show up.”
“Sam, play nice. You were new once.” Lombardo chided.
“Yeah, but I was never that damn perky. Jesus, she’s like Susie Sunshine on steroids. Working Major Case Homicides? That’s just…creepy.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Lombardo whispered in her ear. “You may have a few years on her, but you’re still hot as hell.”
Sam choked back her disgust, “You’re a pig, Lombardo.” So much for attempting to have a civil conversation with him.
Before he had a chance to respond, Nikki Fletcher, her new partner in the wake of Alec’s temporary absence, burst through the doorway. “Hey guys, sorry it took me so long to get here. What’d I miss?” she asked without preamble in a breathy voice worthy of a Marilyn Monroe impersonator.
Sam restrained the urge to roll her eyes. Her “partner” must have been channeling the brand new twenty-six foot statue of the “Seven Year Itch” star that had been erected on the Magnificent Mile last week. Erected, being the operative word, given the lewd poses male spectators assumed underneath the statue and that Sam had the misfortune to witness each day on her commute to work.
Every man in the room stood a little straighter. Nikki smiled, tossing long red hair over her shoulder. The rain stopped hours ago, but her curls appeared slightly damp. Her simple white t-shirt molded to her body, as did her hip hugger jeans.
Friction bristled in the air. Sam waved Lombardo off and moved aside, giving Nikki a clear view of their victim. “See for yourself.”
Nikki fluttered her eyelashes at Lombardo and Mark Matsuda and she approached the bloodied bed. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, a cardinal sin when working a crime scene. Always pay attention to details. The younger woman’s five-inch stiletto heels tangled in the thick carpeting, pitching her forward. Sam’s mouth dropped open in horror. She leapt forward to catch her partner a second too late. Nikki landed with a solid thump on the victim’s body, pulling Sam down hard on her knees beside her.
Sam tightened her jaw to keep from losing her cool. Nikki shrieked, and gagged, clawing her way off the body. Lombardo rushed to the young detective’s aid, helping her regain her footing. Bits of blood and gore clung to her cheek.
Sam swallowed her irritation in an effort to remain professional and hauled herself upright, watching Nikki bend over and vomit, splattering the vic
tim and the bed.
“Get her out of here,” she barked at Lombardo, searching for the videographer. “Did you get this on film?”
“Got it all,” the man said.
“We need a close up of the mess she made so we have it on record. Good Lord, this is who I have to work with?” Sam threw up her hands, glaring at Lombardo. “I said out. Now.”
Lombardo nodded, following her command. Sam waited until he ushered Nikki out of the room, then got back down on her hands and knees, taking a second look at the floor. A tiny slip of balled up paper lay beneath the bed, close to the headboard. Using the edge of her gloved finger, she coaxed it out. Like the bed and the carpet, it was blood-soaked, useless in its current condition. But perhaps with a little drying out, it could provide a clue. She called over one of the techs to bag it, knowing it could just as easily been there for days, wedged close enough to the leg of the bed to have escaped the maids daily vacuuming. In a word, she wasn’t getting her hopes up. Nothing was going right tonight.
Sam took a deep breath, trying to quiet the anger trembling throughout her body. She snapped off her gloves, rubbing the knot at the back of her neck. Matsudo looked at her in sympathy and motioned to the forensics team to take over. “You okay?”
Suddenly exhausted, she shook her head, “No, I’m not okay. Did you know how many ways she contaminated the scene? Jesus Christ. Hair, fibers, salvia, nail scrapings, vomit. If she hadn’t been busy sticking out her boobs, she might have watched where she was going.”
“Take a minute to calm down, Sam. We’ve worked a lot of scenes together. It’s not like you to lose your cool.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, “You’re wound tighter than a drum tonight. What’s going on with you?”
It would have been easy to crumble. He was right. This wasn’t like her. She took pride in her professionalism. Sam straightened her shoulders, pulling herself together. “What’s going on is that we have two crimes to solve and we’re wasting too damn much time.”
Matsuda placed his hand on her back, rubbing gently. “It’s a process, Sam. You know that. The victims are dead. All they have is time.”
“But we don’t. Not if we’re going to catch this bastard.” She ducked under the crime scene tape and headed to the suite they’d commandeered as a temporary command post to interview hotel staff and occupants of the floor. A few people remained scattered throughout the living room area. Their expressions held varying degrees of fear, nervousness, and trepidation. Sam smiled pleasantly, making eye contact with each person in the room before hunting down her partner.
Lombardo had taken Nikki Fletcher to one of the bedrooms. He perched uncomfortably on the edge of a dresser. Sounds of water running echoed through the bathroom door.
“She’s still cleaning up?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. She feels real bad about what happened. I’m pretty sure I heard her toss her cookies a couple more times,” Lombardo said.
“Okay, thanks for keeping an eye on her. Can you give us a minute?”
“Sure.” He pushed himself off the edge of the dresser. “You want I should start interviewing the people in the next room?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse. He had no business being here. This was her case; she should be the one conducting the interviews. But. She glanced at the bathroom door. Her gut told her Nikki was going to be next to useless for the rest of the night. “Yeah, thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
She rubbed her eyes, steeling herself to deal with her partner. While it was true that Nikki had messed up royally, landing face first on a pulpy mass of blood and gore would be traumatic for anyone. Good partners watched each other’s backs. It was on her to make this right.
“Nikki?” She rapped on the bathroom door, “How’re you doing in there?”
Silence greeted her. Sam sighed, knocking a second time, “You all right?”
Still no response. She tried the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand. Easing the door open, she peered inside. Nikki sat on the toilet seat, face buried in her hands.
Despite her earlier anger, she felt a stab of sympathy for the other woman. She was new to the precinct and managed to humiliate herself in a big way on her first assignment. It was a hell of an impression to make.
Years of training as a psychologist kicked into high gear. Sam may have traded her therapists couch for a badge, but she couldn’t turn a blind eye to someone in pain. Nikki’s shoulders shook from the force of her tears. Sam crouched down in front of her, and took hold of the other woman’s wrists, gently pulling them away from her face. “Hey, you gonna make me work this scene alone?”
Unable to shield her face, Nikki bowed her head, eyes trained on the ground. Make-up streaked her cheeks; her eyes reddened and puffy.
Sam didn’t know her partner well enough to know what tact to take, forcing her to make a split second decision. The woman was a cop; she had to have some toughness inside her. Treating her with kid gloves might compound her humiliation.
“You plan on sitting on your ass all night while Lombardo does your job for you? Come on pull it together. You’re not the first cop to throw up at a crime scene, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. I’d kind of like to get some sleep tonight, so if you don’t mind, let’s get back to work.”
Nikki raised her head. For a fleeting moment, Sam saw doubt and anguish on her face. “You want me back out there?”
“You think I want you sitting in here all night? You messed up. It happens. What matters is how you deal with it. You can hide out here and be a baby, in which case I’ll have to report you to Lieutenant Ashborne, or we can get out there, do the job, and get on with it. Your choice.”
Nikki studied the floor for several long moments before running her hands over her tear-streaked face. She looked up, and forced a bright smile, wiping her palms on her jeans. “Let’s do this.”
Sam smiled back, secretly disturbed by the odd light flicker in Nikki’s eyes. A stab of apprehension sliced through her. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the other woman if something else was bothering her. She stopped herself just in time. She wasn’t the girl’s babysitter. If Nikki wanted to make it on the job, she had to learn to pull her weight, no matter how bad the scene.
“Do you want me to question the witnesses?” Nikki asked.
Sam took one look at her partner’s blood smeared clothes and mottled face. She’d scare the hell out of them. “Not looking like that. Find out from CSU if they’ve recovered a cell phone or computer. See if the victim made any calls from the room. Get copies of the surveillance tapes. You know the drill. I’ll take care of the witness statements and check back with you when I’m through here.”
The transformation was unnerving. Nikki squared her shoulders and shook out her long red curls. Her features shifted. The flirtatious smile and slightly narrowed eyes slid back in place. Her hips swayed with borderline suggestiveness as she walked from the room to complete her assignment.
Sam sighed. Her headache expanded to her temples. She rubbed them, listening to Nikki call out to Lombardo and giggle.
God help her. Sam shook her head, unwrapped a Hersey’s kiss, popped it in her mouth, and tried to shake the bad feeling that settled in her gut.
For more information on
Till Death
Please visit the author’s website
www.lorigordon.net
From the Skinbone Harris – Sierra Montgomery
Suspense Novel Series
State of Panic
Run or die… An insidious plot. A chilling charade. A brutal murder is only the beginning. When her fiancée is burned alive in front of her and the murderer realizes there is a witness to his fiery crime, Sierra finds herself running for her life as she tries to unravel the mysteries surrounding of the life and death of the man she thought she was going to marry… and the more she discovers, the more danger she faces. Can Sierra uncover the truth in time?
Praise for State of Panic
“A mesmerizing st
ory of wit and betrayal” ~ Jonas Saul
“A great book which is very deserving of 5 stars. ” ~ Stuart Mccallum
“This story starts at a sprint and doesn’t let up. It’s a sizzling summer read, fall read, blood pumping winter read, or afresh spring read. The one thing I can guarantee is once you start, you won’t stop.” ~ Mark Souza
“Lori Gordon has added a new heroine to the pantheon of memorable characters in thriller/suspense literature—Sierra Montgomery, trapped in the deadly war between madmen aspiring to rule the world and the good guys trying to stop them.” ~ William Stroupe
“An alarming, believable and utterly consuming tale.”
“A seriously an incredible book.”
“This is a fast paced page turner. ”
“I had never read anything by this author before but you can bet I will be looking for her other books.”
“State of Panic grabbed me from the first page and I had a hard time putting it down. I really enjoyed the characters and all the twists and turns. It starts with a great premise and has a satisfying finish. Highly recommended.”
Enjoy an excerpt from
State of Panic
Chapter One
Sierra writhed beneath him. Her nails dug into his arms, urging him to go faster. His body was slick. A bead of sweat dropped onto her cheek. Her back arched, she was so close.
“Quiet.”
At first, she thought he was kidding. He froze above her, body rigid with tension. She groaned thrusting her hips against his, trying to pull him closer.
He was off her in an instant.
She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. Her hand groped in the dark for the sheet. The air conditioning was a blast of ice against her overheated skin. “What’s the matter?”
“I said, quiet. Don’t you understand what quiet means?” He sat perched on the edge of the bed. His head was cocked, as if he was listening for something.
An angry flush stained her cheeks. She loved him. She was about to marry him for Christ’s sake, but there were times he tried her patience. It had been a long day and she was exhausted. She was tempted to roll over and go to sleep, but she was getting tired of his strange outbursts. It would serve him right if she got dressed and went home.