by Cade Brogan
“I don’t know,” Rich answered, following her. “Maybe, maybe not. I sure hope so though.” They stepped the stairs to the parking lot. “We haven’t even had a chance to get the camper out of storage.” With violent crime on the rise and detective positions left unfilled, days off were increasingly hard to come by. “Chinese?” he asked, pausing next to his unmarked squad car.
“The place on Archer?” Rylee asked.
“Of course,” Rich answered.
“Good,” Rylee said, glancing across the lot to her truck, “because Buckshot loves their crab rangoon.”
Chapter Three
“I don’t get why we have to go every Sunday,” Abby grumbled, yanking her blue dress off the hanger with enough force to tear the fabric. “No one else has to go every single week.” She didn’t care much for any of them, but if she had to wear one, it was her favorite.
“Because we do,” Kenzie responded. “I don’t ask much of you, Abigail.” Their gazes locked for a long moment.
“I hate you sometimes,” Abby muttered under her breath, jerking the dress on.
Kenzie took a breath, knowing that her thirteen-year-old was baiting her. “Wear your jeans if you want,” she said softly. She didn’t know what to do anymore. It seemed like everything, large and small, led to an argument. She opted to let this incident pass without comment. As the adult, she had the responsibility to help them choose their battles wisely. Years of counseling and they had virtually nothing to show for it. She’d resigned herself to the fact that she might never be forgiven for leaving, and subsequently divorcing, Abby’s father. Maybe she had it coming, who knows? To Abby, and her ex for that matter, her decision to leave had come out of the blue. In some respects, she supposed that was true. She’d been on the Dan Ryan that morning, running late. Traffic was more congested than usual. As it crawled to a stop, her mind filled with a notion of her future, old and unfulfilled. She was only twenty-nine, but in her mind, she saw her life ticking away, miserable. She moved out that weekend. Abby, then eight, refused to come with her. She was a strong-willed child and held her ground until the Court forced her to. In hindsight, Kenzie wondered if being honest about her reasons for leaving might’ve been the better thing to do. But she just couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t bring herself to. Five years, five long years since that day, and still her daughter hadn’t forgiven her. She blamed her for everything—that he hadn’t visited this year; hadn’t called since her birthday, and never wrote her. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she had the right to stay angry for what seemed like forever. A wave of emptiness passed through the pit of her stomach as she slipped into her navy skirt. She called out “Abby” as she fastened the clasp on her necklace, a cross with a fiery orange garnet, her birthstone.
No answer.
Not unusual.
“Abby,” she called out again.
No answer.
Again, not unusual.
She exhaled, making her way down the upstairs hallway. “Did you hear me?” Kenzie asked, taking a position at the center of her daughter’s bedroom doorway.
“Yeah, I heard ya,” Abby answered, “I was waiting for the rest of it.”
Kenzie held her gaze for a long moment. “Come on,” she said firmly, “it’s time to go.”
“Straight there?” Abby asked. She removed her ear buds and laid them on the nightstand.
“No,” Kenzie responded, “we’re picking up Sally and Jodi.”
“Figures,” Abby said as she climbed into their old four-door.
“Neither has it easy, Abigail,” Kenzie continued. She shook her head slowly as she turned the key to start the car. It hesitated, like it might soon need a new battery, and then turned over. “Giving folks a ride is something we can do to help, something that doesn’t hurt us at all.”
“I know,” Abby mumbled. She leaned back, looking away for the next fourteen blocks. “There’s Jodi,” she finally blurted out as they approached the graffitied red brick structure, “but no Sally.”
“Guess she’s not going this morning,” Kenzie responded, pulling over.
“Not everybody thinks they have to go every week,” Abby responded.
“I know, Abigail,” Kenzie said, sighing. “I know.” She glanced to the backseat with a warm smile as her passenger climbed in and shut her door. “Good morning,” she greeted, forcing lift into her voice. “What a beautiful dress! Robin egg blue’s my favorite color.”
***
The church was a spacious, modern structure equipped to seat about twenty-five hundred to three thousand, with rows of pews facing a gigantic raised platform at the front. The stage lighting and sound system gave the impression that those in attendance were in for a show. Ten musicians were playing, and probably would continue to play, an easy mix of worship rock-n-roll. The lyrics were displayed on several large monitors. The pews were outfitted with soft cushions and headphones.
Joanna had arrived a good forty-five minutes before the service was scheduled to start. She liked to get a feel for a holy space before sitting down. So far, most were between the ages of thirty and fifty-five, predominately white. At least a thousand were milling around, many of whom were wearing t-shirts printed with one of two biblical quotes—Proverbs 9:10, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” And Leviticus 20:13, “If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.” They were two of her favorite verses. She liked this church and planned to come back.
“Good morning,” the greeters chirped, smiling.
“And good morning to you,” Joanna responded, smiling back. She shook their hands and studied them for an extra moment. What a difficult choice, she thought, guessing both to be first generation biracial. It was never a good idea to take more than one from the same house of worship, but...
“I’m Jodi,” the taller one blurted out, still smiling, “Welcome to The Covenant. We hope with us you find the Lord.”
“I’m sure I will,” Joanna responded, smiling back.
“And I’m Kenzie,” said the curvaceous one with the bouncy dark curls. She looked a little older, maybe thirty-four or five. “Welcome,” she added, pointing to an area with tables on the far side of the room. “Please, enjoy some refreshments and make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that,” Joanna responded, locking onto her deep brown eyes. Maybe you should take both, she thought. It’s a large congregation after all. I can’t imagine that anyone would notice. She picked up an apocalypse pamphlet from a tabletop display as she made her way over to the cappuccino bar. Just this once, she told herself. Do them, and then you can move on to another house of worship.
***
Break lights flickered as the late model SUV in front of Joanna moved through the intersection. Too close, she told herself. Fall back. She eased up on the accelerator. In the next block, the traffic light turned yellow, and the old sedan stopped. The light was red by the time she came to a halt. She checked her mirror as she slid her tongue along the inside surface of her upper teeth. A poppy seed from the bagel she’d consumed had lodged itself between the two in front. There we go, she thought, swallowing. She nudged her cat-eye glasses up the bridge of her nose and re-tucked a stray lock of auburn hair into her bun. She considered the need for a salon appointment as the light turned green, but ruled it out as she moved forward. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation. It was always fun to scope out a new hunting ground. A full-size pickup passed, and then pulled in front of her. A woman with an olive complexion was driving. Her hair was dark brown, tapered in back, and feathered over her eyebrows. Masculine in appearance, she was most likely a lesbian. She had a dog with black spotted ears. The canine looked right at Joanna through the passenger window. She didn’t like dogs, large or small. She lifted her foot off the accelerator when an unmarked squad car pulled in behind the black truck. They turned the next corner. She squinted to s
ee the street sign, making a mental note of where she was. Archer. Near Chinatown. In the next block, a red Volkswagen came to an abrupt halt. She stretched, keeping the old sedan in her sights as she whipped around. Could the two women be sisters? Probably not, because other than skin tone, they didn’t look much like one another. Six blocks down and one over, the old sedan came to a stop and the tall one—Jodi—got out. She waved to the curvy one—Kenzie—and the kid before making her way up the sidewalk. The building was like the one this morning, rundown. She’d come back later to figure out which apartment Jodi lived in. With any luck, her name would be on the mailbox. The old sedan pulled back into traffic. Off we go, she thought with an inward smile. “Off we go,” she giggled. “Off we go to a brand new hunting ground!”
Chapter Four
“It’s our turn to try out the new one,” Rich said, “so be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” Rylee responded, smiling and gently nudging his shoulder.
“Uh-huh,” Rich answered, “sure you are.” He was shaking his head as the receptionist appeared in the Medical Examiner’s window. “Hayes and Winters,” he announced, showing his ID even though he didn’t have to. “We’ve got the nine o’clock, Sally Dee Smith.”
“Be right back,” the woman responded, disappearing down the hall. Nice lady, always in good humor in spite of the fact that she was counting the days to retirement. Rylee would be counting too if she spent all day, every day, with dead people and forensic pathologists.
“My least favorite part of the job,” Rich admitted, wrinkling his nose.
“Mine too,” Rylee said, breathing through her mouth, “Especially when someone’s working on a decomposer.” She dabbed a bit of Vicks in each nostril, an old trick she’d learned from her field-training officer. “Here, want some?” she offered.
“Yeah, thanks,” Rich responded, stretching to catch the small tin that she’d just tossed at him. “I need to replenish our supply.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rylee chuckled. “It doesn’t cost that much.” She’d been carrying the product with her since she’d been a rookie cop. It was hard to believe that’d be twelve years, come the first of July.
“Dr. Grey’s expecting you,” the receptionist announced, stepping back to the window. The door latch clicked when she pressed the buzzer. “Room five,” she added. “You can go on back.”
“Thanks,” Rich said, leading the way down the extra wide corridor. He grimaced as they walked past door number three. “Stinker’s in there,” he commented, wrinkling his nose. “Feel bad for whoever’s got that one.”
“Yeah, me too,” Rylee said with a hard swallow. “You know it’s bad when Vicks can’t cut it.”
“Oh yeah,” Rich said, nodding, and picking up the pace toward door number five.
Rylee shook her head when he held it open for her. “Such a gentleman,” she commented, sarcastically.
Joanna looked up, catching her eye.
“Good morning,” Rylee greeted, “Detective Hayes.” She nodded toward Rich. “And my partner, Detective Winters.”
“Good to meet you,” Joanna responded, promptly returning to her task at hand. She was an attractive woman, super-sexy, in her thirties. She had green eyes, an oval shaped face, and eyebrows that curved at the end. The standard blue garb looked good on her, including the latex gloves and cap. A stray lock of reddish hair dangled over the rim of her catlike glasses. Without a word, she stepped into a large walk-in refrigerator, wheeled out a stainless steel gurney, and unzipped the black bag. “Sally Dee Smith, the deceased,” she announced flatly. “It’ll take five, maybe six hours, to disassemble the body.” She looked up. “Make yourselves comfortable, but don’t get in my way.” Her eye contact was direct and intentional. “I don’t appreciate distractions, including questions, when I’m working.”
“Don’t know why people have to act like that,” Rylee commented under her breath.
“She’s new,” Rich said. “Give her a break.”
“Not an excuse,” Rylee responded, shaking her head. She lifted Joanna’s business card from the holder—B.S., M.S., Pharm.D., and M.D.—Microbiology, Forensic Toxicology, Pharmacy, and Medicine. “See, here’s her problem,” she added, handing him the card, “her credentials read like a can of alphabet soup. We’re just pond scum cops and she thinks she’s better than we are.”
“Man,” Rich commented, studying her, “are you ever cranked this morning.” He paused, cocking his head. “Ahhh...now I know why...”
Rylee met his gaze, waiting.
“You think she’s hot,” he continued.
“You gotta be kidding,” Rylee responded, shaking her head as her voice lifted a full octave. “Her?”
“Yes,” Rich said, his slow smile building, “her.” He chuckled. “You’re interested alright, and you’re pissed because she didn’t bat her pretty little green eyes at you.” Rylee wasn’t used to women looking the other way.
“Not at all,” Rylee said firmly. “Not in the least.” She locked gazes, adding, “I don’t date bitches.”
“Not since your last one,” Rich countered. It’d been two months and Rylee was still trying to break free of her last short-term girlfriend. His smile broadened. “But who said anything about dating her?” he teased.
“Would you just shut up before she hears you,” Rylee said, dropping her chin like she did when she was serious.
“Certainly,” Rich responded, leaning back, and winking.
“Deceased person is Sally Dee Smith, thirty-two-year-old, female,” Joanna began, “one-hundred-twenty-nine pounds, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and biracial. ID confirmed by fingerprints and dental records.”
The detectives looked over, their attention shifting from their conversation to the autopsy.
“Frontal, posterior, and profile photographs have been taken,” Joanna continued. “An irregular, flat, congenital birthmark, a Mongolian spot, is present on the deceased left thigh. Measurement is approximately 10 centimeters. One wound, consistent with the puncture of a twenty-gauge needle is present on the neck within the anterior triangle.”
Rylee stepped close to the table, snapping a photograph of the injury from a different angle.
Joanna exhaled loudly, lifting her hands from the cadaver as her face tightened.
“Sorry,” Rylee said softly, her gaze dropping.
“Just get on with whatever you think you need to do,” Joanna snapped, poking her tongue into her cheek, and watching. “I’m sure that shot is far more important than my autopsy.”
“No...Sorry,” Rylee repeated. Card-carrying bitch, she thought as she sat back down.
Joanna took a breath, exhaled, and locked gazes.
Rich looked away, but Rylee refused to drop her eyes. When Joanna switched on the second ultraviolet light, she leaned over to her partner, muttering, “What a battle-axe.”
“Damn right she is,” Rich responded quietly.
Both looked up at the sound of Joanna’s low voice. Too bad she’s such a bitch, Rylee thought.
“A tattoo in the shape of a butterfly,” Joanna continued, “a Monarch, is present on the upper, outer quadrant of the right breast. “Measurement is...” She paused, smiling and calculating. “Approximately five centimeters,” she added, positioning her rib shears. “Dissecting,” she continued, “‘Y’ incision.” The two arms of the letter ran to the middle of Sally’s chest from her shoulder joints. The stem trailed down to her pubic region.
Rylee leaned over, her expression twisting at the sound of a bone saw. “Well, one thing’s certain,” she commented, shaking her head, “this lady loves what she does for a living.”
***
They tipped back in their chairs, flipping through pages, reading. “Okay, so I hate to do it,” Rylee blurted out, “but I have to give it to her. Bitch or not, our new forensic pathologist may have written the most thorough autopsy report I’ve ever seen.”
“She’s good, al
right,” Rich responded. “I think she took tissue samples from anywhere and everywhere that she could get to ‘em.”
“Oh, I’m sure she did,” Rylee agreed with a grimace. “And body fluids too,” she added, again flipping through the pages, “urine, blood, gallbladder bile—everything.” She shook her head, making another face. “She even took a sample of vitreous gel from her eyes...Nasty.”
“Nasty’s right,” Rich responded, adding, “I couldn’t watch when she did it.”
“Me neither,” Rylee chimed in. “But at least we got what we needed.”
Chapter Five
“Wolfsbane,” Rylee said, quietly enough to be talking to herself. She was one of those folks who thought things through out loud. She shook her head, still surprised that the common flowering perennial in the back corner of her grandma’s garden had turned out to be the poison.
“Yeah,” Rich responded, looking up, “who’d have thought?”
“Not me, that’s for sure,” Rylee responded. “You know what one it is, don’t you?” she asked, ready to show off her knowledge.
“Uh-huh,” Rich said. “It’s that tall one you see all over the place south of I-80, the one with gorgeous blue spikes and hood-shaped flowers.”
“Yep, that’s the one,” Rylee responded with a nod. “I marched right over to grandmas’ after we found out about it to tell her she had to make sure to be careful.” She laughed. “But she already knew to watch for it. Still sharp as a tack at seventy-five.” She worried about the day her grandparents would take a downward turn, probably because of her mother. “Said she’d just read an article about it in one of her magazines,” she continued, “said it talked about an experienced gardener who collapsed and died after tending to it in his garden.” She shook her head, finishing her thought. “Had to make sure I knew to wear gloves if I picked one up.”