Dead Drop: A Girl's Guide to Homicide

by D. A. Brown

  “You’re never going to believe what I found under my table.”

  “Dust?”

  Stinson was dressed in sweats. A pricey running jacket hung open over a gray Nike t-shirt.

  “I take it you forgot that we were going for a run this morning?”

  “Shit. Yes, I totally forgot.” Sophia grabbed Stinson’s arm and led him to the kitchen. “You’ve got to see this.”

  “Did you sleep in those clothes? And by the way, you look like hell.” Stinson stopped Sophia and turned her to him. “Are you OK?”

  Sophia pulled him into the kitchen. “I’m fine. I hit my head on the kitchen table.”

  “What the hell were you doing?” Stinson had stopped in the doorway and pushed Sophia’s hand down. “Are you drunk?”

  “No.” She pointed at the table. “I had a couple glasses of wine last night. That’s all.”

  “I’m looking at the table, Benedetti.”

  “It’s under there.”

  “What’s under there?”

  “A thumb.”

  “A thumb?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Stinson knelt on the floor, his knees cracking sharply and contorted himself so he could see under the table.

  “I can’t see a fucking thing under here. Get me a flashlight.”

  “I didn’t have any problem seeing it, you moron. It’s right there.” Sophia fished in a kitchen drawer. She handed him a small tactical light.

  Stinson turned off the light and pulled at something under the table. He swung around and sat on his haunches, a smile spreading across his face. “It’s a thumb drive.” He pulled on the severed end and revealed a small usb stick. “Oh, this is going to provide the squad with hours of hilarity.”

  Sophia grabbed the drive from him and rolled it over in her hand. “David must have put it there.”

  “David? What the fuck was he doing here?”

  “He stopped by last night.” Sophia pulled the end off of the drive to expose the male end of the plug.

  “Since when does he stop by?” He stood up and arched his back. “I thought you had a restraining order.”

  The thumb drive looked like a severed and slightly decomposed thumb. Something right up David’s alley.

  She set it down on the table. “I need some coffee.”

  “I have a better idea. Since you clearly aren’t going to accompany me on a lovely jog around the lake where I can check out the ladies without appearing to be a serial killer, why don’t you take a shower and we’ll grab some grub at Glo’s.” Stinson leaned over and scratched Bodhi’s chest. “I’ll feed the hound.”

  “I’m not sure I can eat,” Sophia said.

  “And I’m sure I can. Go clean yourself up.” Tommy grabbed the bag of dog food off the sink and poured it into Bodhi’s dish.

  Sophia smiled at the sight of Bodhi inhaling her kibble.

  “I won’t be long.” Passing a framed photo of the old Georgetown precinct that hung in the hallway, Sophia caught her reflection in the glass. She stopped to fix her hair and laughed. She and Tommy were now officially on the most informal of terms. She looked like warmed over death.

  Sophia stepped out of the shower, wiped the steam from the mirror and wrapped her hair with the towel. She ran her fingers down the tattoo sleeve on her left arm. Jason had finished the last piece two months ago. She’d given him a black and white photo of a marshy field, smothered in fog. From the field, a murder of crows flew up from her elbow to the top of her shoulder. It was exquisitely beautiful in its texture and nuance. And yet, she’d shared with no one the fact that she’d spent well over a thousand dollars to ink her skin. She’d started the process over two years ago, savoring the secret that she shared only with the tattoo artist.

  Her hands reached her shoulder and brushed the scar on her neck. It had faded but was still visible, especially when she got hot. It stood slightly raised, teasingly adjacent to her carotid artery, a reminder of how close she came to dying the day David decided to kill himself.

  It was almost two years ago and against her best instincts, when Sophia had accepted an invitation to meet up with her academy mates at the pub where they’d spent many a Friday after a week of classes. She’d hoped David wouldn’t be interested and she could go alone, but he’d enthusiastically encouraged her to RSVP and told her to include him in the count.

  The first one to call her was Darryl Parker.

  “Uh, do you think it’s a good idea to have David come to this thing? I mean, isn’t he going to be a little uncomfortable and all?” Daryl was not known for his tact but he had a fondness for Sophia, and like all of her classmates, he wasn’t happy that David was coming. Despite graduating at the top of the class, he’d crashed and burned during the final field training phase and was summarily terminated. It was a rookie’s worst nightmare, enduring months of grueling training at the academy only to wash out once on the street. His field training officer noted several instances of hesitation when dealing with suspects, so much so, that he’d been pulled out of rotation for remedial training. In the Academy, he was smooth and decisive - on the streets, he froze under pressure. It was a deal breaker for the department and he was fired. Suddenly, he wasn’t part of the blue clan.

  “He wants to be there with me. He’s fine. He’s moved on. And he said he wants to see all of you again.” She didn’t really believe a word coming out of her mouth.

  The dinner had been fun and Sophia had been surprised at how comfortable and calm David was listening to the stories of pranks and spectacular failures shared by the survivors. The laughter was good for him, she thought. It’d been awhile since she’d laughed so hard, and he seemed to be enjoying himself.

  She hadn’t noticed how much David had to drink, and she was only slightly conscious of her own level of intoxication. He was the designated driver, and she deserved to let loose with old friends.

  On the way home, the silence was toxic.

  “Did you have fun? You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” Sophia turned to face him.

  “I’m so much better than all of them.” He shook his head.

  “Including me?”

  “Yeah, including you.”

  “Fuck you, David. I knew it was a mistake to have you come.”

  Sophia looked through the windshield at the traffic ahead and then at the speedometer. It read 65.

  “Slow down. The speed limit’s 55. That’s all you need is a DUI.” I-5 was busy despite the late hour. David darted in and out of lanes, barely missing cars.

  “I graduated at the top of the class, don’t you remember? I scored number one at EVOC” He swerved around a container truck.

  “David, slow down!”

  She expected something more grandiose, more elegant and less homicidal of him. He stomped on the accelerator as if he had mistaken it for the brake. The car lurched forward, narrowly missing an SUV as David yanked the steering wheel sharply to the left and toward the center median.

  “No, fuck you Sophia.”

  The car veered violently toward the jersey barrier and went airborne. She remembered enough to testify in the civil case but little else. She had no recollection of the piece of windshield that separated her shoulder and sliced her neck.

  Despite David’s best efforts, they both had survived, and it was David who filed for divorce, not wanting to be the one who was left in the marriage. She accepted service graciously and returned the favor by cooperating fully with the prosecutor’s office when David pled out to vehicular assault with time served.

  Sophia let the steam obscure her reflection in the mirror until she was once again a shadow.

  Stinson yelled from the hallway.“Are you going to be done soon? Like this year, maybe? I’ve run out of ways to entertain Bodhi.”

  “Just trying to figure out what to wear.”

  “It’s not like it’s a special occasion, you know. Just throw something on. Nothing too splashy, though. I don’t want you to look bette
r than me.”

  Sophia chuckled despite a pounding headache. Throwing back some aspirin, she noticed the vial was almost empty. She’d gone through the Costco sized bottle in a little over a month.

  She pulled on some black slacks, a white long sleeved shirt that was thick enough to hide her ink, and slipped on a lightweight lavender sweater. A quick blotting of makeup completed her prep. She grabbed her holster and slid it over her belt. On her left side, she affixed her handcuff and magazine holder. She snapped her detective badge on her belt.

  Stinson sat at the kitchen table, flipping the thumb drive like a poker chip. Bodhi lay under the table on top of Stinson’s running shoes.

  “So, what was he doing here, anyway?”

  “Just so you know, I haven’t seen him in at least two years. Swear on my life, Tommy. But he scared the shit out of me last night.” Sophia bent down to scratch Bodhi.

  “Well, did he call you first? Or did he just show up?”

  “He called earlier. He sounded drunk and begged me to meet him. I told him to fuck off, basically.”

  “Basically.”

  “Yes.” Sophia opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of milk. “Want some?”

  “Jesus, I’d rather kiss Bodhi on the mouth.”

  She drank half the glass and licked the edge to keep a drop from running down the side. “I told him I wasn’t going to meet him. And then I proceeded to drink too much wine.”

  “That happening a lot, lately?” Stinson looked at her and stopped flipping the drive. He was sober twenty years.

  “Only when I have to deal with assholes.” She emptied the glass and placed it in the dishwasher. “Perhaps I should have a glass now.”

  Stinson glanced out the window. “Like I said…” He slid his hand over Bodhi’s ears and stepped out of the back door. “Let’s get going.” He dropped the thumb drive into his pocket and jogged down the stairs to his car.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The neon sign at Glo’s flickered into the restaurant. Tommy and Sophia sat at a table against the wall and ordered their usual - Eggs Benedict for Tommy and homemade corned beef hash for Sophia. She’d bested the nausea on the way to breakfast. The small room was empty except for an older women sitting alone and fully immersed in a book. The place was a mainstay of Capitol Hill, nestled on the western slope on E. Olive Way. Tommy had eaten there almost every day when he worked patrol in the East precinct.

  “I thought you weren’t hungry?”

  “You thought wrong.” Sophia cupped her hands around the heavy mug of coffee and looked out the window.

  “There’s the bitchy gal I’ve come to love.” Stinson said, digging into his food as the plate hit the table.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about the scene in the kitchen and…” She trailed off, not ready to concede. That wall was still firmly in place.

  Stinson didn’t look up. “I’m really not happy that you let that shit-bird into your house.”

  "He let himself in."

  “Through an unlocked door.” Stinson finally looked at her. There was a softness to his eyes but a gravitas to his tone. “You know better, Beni."

  "Yes, Dad.."

  “This isn’t a fuckin’ joke, Sophia.”

  She leaned back in her chair and frowned. Stinson never used her first name like that.

  “Look, I know you can take care of yourself and all that…” Stinson looked up from his plate. “But that guy is, I don’t know, he’s just - he’s just bad news.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Tommy. I really do.” She took a sip of coffee, weighing her next few words.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on. He looked terrible.” Sophia said.

  “Don’t really care what he looked like.” Stinson glanced at his watch.

  “But he was really freaked out about something, and he didn’t want to tell me. He wanted to show me something, something about the Halifax case.”

  “Halifax?” For the first time in months, Tommy seemed concerned about something other than his personal life.

  “Yeah, he said he had information on the case. Maybe that’s what’s on the thumb drive.”

  “Well, let’s just set aside the fact that he knows something about a case you’re working on. That’s fucked up enough.” Stinson slammed down his fork on the plate. “You need to be more careful, OK? That means at home and at work. And lay off the wine. Seriously.” Stinson nodded at the waitress and tapped his coffee cup. “I’m done with the lecture.” He scooped up the last of his eggs. “And I’d give the drive to the forensics guys. Let them look at it on a cold machine.”

  The waitress filled up his cup. She smiled at Sophia. “More for you, detective?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” Sophia said.

  The waitress brushed Sophia’s shoulder with her hip on her way to the kitchen.

  “I bet you are,” she smiled.

  Stinson slumped back against his chair. “Jesus. I’m the one with the ego that needs stroking, not you.We need to stop coming here for breakfast."

  "Relax. She may just be immune to your charm.” Sophia finished her glass of water and tucked her napkin under her plate.

  “Hey, let’s go to the high school and talk to Grace’s brother, Barrett. It may be our only chance. I got the feeling from the mom she didn’t want the kid interviewed.”

  “So remind me again what this case is about?”

  Sophia pulled the case file out of her bag and flipped back a couple of sheets. “Says here he found the images of his sister while on his father’s computer.”

  “He doesn’t have his own? What kid nowadays doesn’t have his own computer? I’m still paying off a loan to Best Buy for the PC’s and Mac’s and whatever else I bought for my boys, and I still haven’t seen a dime from those two knuckleheads.” Stinson finished his coffee.“So they were actually on the father’s hard drive? Or was he surfing porn on a website and happened to be on his old man’s computer?”

  “Sounds like he accessed the website from dad’s computer. We’ll ask him. That’d be a whole other ball of crap if they were on the hard drive.” Sophia tucked the manila file back into the bag and drank the rest of her coffee.

  Stinson looked out the window.A young man walked slowly by cars parked on East Olive.

  Sophia followed Stinson’s gaze to the street.

  "I spy with my little eye.” Tommy craned his head toward the figure. “Troy Watkins prowling cars. God, I can't believe he’s still alive. He was a hardcore tweaker when I worked the streets ten fuckin' years ago. Jesus, that guy’s made of kryptonite."

  Troy's filthy clothes hung from his body. Scabs covered his face from years of picking at imaginary bugs, a common side affect of meth. A large, green backpack was slung low against his boney ass. His eyes darted between the cars and the street, keeping a watchful eye for an east precinct cruiser. Suddenly he stopped, apparently mesmerized by something on the front seat of a Honda Accord. He bent closer to the passenger window while reaching into his front pocket.

  "Here we go." Stinson stood up, slid his chair back and walked to the door.

  Stinson didn't wait for Sophia, reaching Troy just as the young man tapped the passenger window with a spark plug sending the tempered glass onto the front seat and sidewalk.

  "Goddamnit, Watkins. You piece of shit." Stinson grabbed the skeleton in street rags. Troy swung around and managed to squirm from Stinson’s grip. He squared up on Tommy, then suddenly dropped his fists.

  “Stinson!”

  “What the fuck, Watkins?” Tommy shoved Troy back against the car.

  “Hey man, this window was already broken.” Troy shifted his weight and scrunched up his shoulders.

  “Listen dumb shit, I saw you break it.”

  Troy looked at the sidewalk and fished his hands deep into his pockets.

  “Hands out of the pockets,” Sophia said.

  A few people paused but didn't stop to intervene. With their messenger bags slung over their shoulders and their wh
ite ear buds implanted in their ears, they were on a mission. Perhaps it was the broken glass next to the car, a sight common in the early morning on Capitol Hill, or they just recognized Troy from his years in the neighborhood.

  Sophia pulled her badge off her belt and waved it to a couple of hipsters who were beginning to get that look on their faces that meant they were going to intervene. Being in a plainclothes division had its perks but the downside was that citizens didn’t recognize you as the police and neither did three quarters of the patrol guys.

  “Hey Stinson, you know me. I’m sick. Cut me a break, man.”

  “You busted the fuckin’ window, Troy. You know how much it costs to replace that thing?”

  A young couple stood several feet away. Out of the corner of her eye Sophia saw one them fingering a set of car keys.

  "Excuse me. Can we get to our car?" The female tapped Sophia on the back. Her deep purple hair was offset by almost translucent skin.

  "Hey, you're going to cut him on that glass.” Her male counterpart, wearing the obligatory black skinny jeans and Comet Tavern t-shirt, stepped forward and reached for Stinson's arm.

  "Sir, you need to step back, now." Sophia pushed his hand down.

  "Well, you don't really have to be so rough with him,” the man said. “He clearly has a drug problem.You people are always up here harassing people like him. You should be ashamed.”

  Stinson squinted in the direction of the couple. “Tell that to the owner of this car. I'm sure they'll appreciate the busted window that he’s never going to pay for.”

  "It's just a window. It can be fixed.”

  Stinson shot a look at Sophia.

  She pulled out her cell phone and called the back line to radio. "Hey Donna, it's Sophia. Can you send me a car to Glo's? Stinson found himself a car prowler."

  "We don’t want to press charges"

  Sophia turned. The couple stood at the car, peering inside.

  "This is your car?"

  "Yes. And we don't want this guy arrested." The male said as he pulled off his Herschel tote and threw it into the backseat.