by DJ Steele
"Detective," the dispatcher said. "Got a signal 7 for you. Ready to copy?"
Shockley grabbed a pad and pen from his jacket and took notes. After the call ended, he started to say something to his dad.
His dad spoke first, "I know the drill, Mike. We need to leave."
Chapter Four
Shockley enjoyed watching his father's mood change when he activated the lights and siren on his unmarked car. The old man relished a little excitement even if it was just speeding down the road to take him home.
In his father’s driveway, Shockley slammed the car in park and started to jump out to help his dad to the front door.
A rough hand gripped Shockley’s arm. "You go do what you gotta do, son. I can manage." The old man opened the car door, used his cane to steady himself and stepped out. He looked back at Shockley making sure he had his attention. "Be careful, son. You hear me? This world just ain’t no good anymore." His father had a worried look on his face.
Driving toward the crime scene, he pondered his father’s words, This world just ain’t no good anymore. In his line of work, there were days he would agree with what the old man said. One crime came to mind. A husband had beaten his wife unconscious and then poured drain cleaner down her throat. The husband’s body was found lying in a pool of blood on the floor in the kitchen. He had put a bullet in his own head. The wife survived. She was only 19 years old. He clinched his jaw tightly. Yep, that night he felt the world was just no good.
He was glad he got a coffee to go. This could be a long day. Double homicide at the Willow Oaks Motel. Probably gang related. That part of town was known for drugs and prostitution.
He slowed his approach to the motel and observed the crime scene perimeter had been cordoned off. The street patrol officer was doing a good job holding back the onlookers on the sidewalk opposite the motel.
"Shit," he hissed when he saw the white van. How she got here before any other news team was a mystery. Susan Porter was a crime journalist for the local news. He was sure she was part hound dog. Porter could sniff out a story before it was a story.
One of the patrol officers had his hands up blocking her and her cameraman from getting closer. Porter was good at her job, but she could be a cop’s worst nightmare. The department had a hell of a good media relations officer to fend questions, but she wasn’t here yet. Porter’s problem was she was not a patient woman. Even at five feet, her penetrating steel blue eyes could send shivers down a cop’s spine. Oh hell, she could send shivers down any man’s spine. She usually disagreed with the boundaries of the crime scene.
He noticed her tight green dress emphasized her curves. She had her platinum hair pulled back in a high ponytail. And to give her two more inches in height, heels. He was amazed by her ability to navigate a crime scene in heels.
She had turned her attention from the officer to a small group of people on the sidewalk. Smart. She was hoping someone saw something. He hoped the First Officer had already rounded up potential witnesses and isolated them from the onlookers. Witnesses were hard to find in this part of town. Prostitutes, drug addicts and others with questionable credibility didn’t want to step forward to help with a criminal investigation.
Maybe they’d get lucky today.
Shockley parked his department issued low-end import behind a squad car, turned off the ignition and sat for a minute. A habit he acquired after being shot at when he went to investigate a domestic disturbance. Back then he was a rookie beat cop. Lucky for him, the husband was drunk when he fired. Back at the station, he learned the husband had been a sniper in the Army. After that near miss, he approached every crime scene like it was an ambush, even if he was not the first to arrive.
Shockley carefully surveyed the motel upstairs and down, the parking lot and the small crowd which had grown to eight. He took a slow draw from his coffee mug. A mobile crime lab emblazoned with Crime Investigation Division was parked near the outside staircase.
Standing in a huddle near the crime lab van was Terrance Bone, Amber Bull and a stocky man he didn't know. Bone was a patrol officer with over 27 years' experience under his belt. He was good at his job and knew how to keep the primary crime scene intact. Bull lived up to her last name, meaning she would not put up with bull from anybody. She was a seasoned crime scene investigator. Her short gray hair and narrow eyes emphasized her serious face. All business. What she lacked in personality, she more than made up for in processing a homicide scene. Bull had unshakable self-confidence and was the best in her line of work. Shockley had a great deal of respect for the middle-aged woman. She was a by-the-book CSI gal. Typically, when things went wrong with an investigation, it started at the crime scene. Bull made sure that didn’t happen.
He took another swig of coffee, grabbed his jacket lying on the back seat and opened the car door. He took off his windbreaker, tossed it in the back seat and replaced it with his suit jacket. Jeans and a suit jacket would have to do. He leaned inside his car to retrieve his coffee cup. Shockley strode across the motel parking lot, lifted up the tape and ducked under.
"Nice of you to show up to the rodeo, Cowboy," said Terrance Bone. Bone had nicknamed Shockley Cowboy because he always wore cowboy boots. Otherwise, Shockley usually looked like a tall slim businessman with his well-pressed dress shirt, slacks and suit coat. The cowboy boots were part of his attire because he grew up wearing them on the ranch. And once he broke in a good pair of boots, he never wore anything else. They came in handy once when he had to get a knife-wielding criminal’s attention.
"Glad I could help out, T-Bone," Shockley replied with a grin and raised eyebrow.
"What’s with the jeans, Cowboy? You think it’s sloppy-dress Friday?"
Shockley first met T-Bone almost six years ago at another crime scene. His first impression of the African American police officer was that he must have played football in a previous life due to his broad shoulders, barrel chest and thick neck. When he shook the man’s hand, he was convinced T-Bone played ball. "Looks like they sent me a cowboy to solve a murder," was T-Bone’s introduction to him. "Plan on chasing the perp in those fancy boots?"
"Nah." Shockley glanced down at his boots. "I don’t like to run. I just use them for bustin’ balls, Officer Bone."
T-Bone bellowed out a loud raw laugh. "Just call me T-Bone, Cowboy."
That was the beginning of their friendship.
From then on, Shockley knew T-Bone had his back.
T-Bone held a camera down by his side. Bull was wearing a white jumpsuit, which T-Bone called a bunny suit, surgical gloves, hairnet, and a mask dangling around her neck. The stocky man stood next to Bull. He was maybe 5'5", had dark leathery skin and greased back hair. The stocky man was in desperate need of a bath. Bull seemed unfazed. She was used to bad smells, he figured.
"Alright kids knock it off," Bull scolded. "This is a double homicide. I have done my initial walk-through, taken temperature of bodies and made sure the crime scene is secure."
"What, no foreplay?" Shockley teased.
Bull would have kicked another man’s ass for saying that to her, but she liked Shockley. "Fill the cowboy in, Terrance."
T-Bone reached in his breast pocket, pulled out a small memo pad and flipped it open.
"The manager here called it in." T-Bone nodded toward the stocky man. "Said housekeeping found two bodies on the floor when she opened the door to room 205 for cleaning. The woman speaks no English and was interrogated by Officer Perez. The manager called 9-1-1 at 11:30 am to report two probable dead. Female and male inside room 205. The manager claimed he never went inside. Scared the shit out of him. When I arrived at 11:40 am, I entered room 205 and confirmed both victims were dead. The thermostat was set at 60 degrees. Felt like I was in a meat locker. Room was clear. I noted the room looked like a war zone. I called Metro and requested you and Bull. Bull arrived at 12:10 pm. She did a walk-through and made sure the crime scene was secure."
Shockley turned to the man standing next to Bull. "Yo
u the manager?"
"Yeah."
"The victims in room 205, did they check in together?"
"Nah. Some woman, named Miss Smith paid for the room."
"Cash, I assume?"
"Yeah. Most people pay cash. Don’t trust credit cards."
"And what time did Miss Smith check in?"
"Noon yesterday. I remembered cause my favorite show comes on TV."
"What time did the man show up?"
"Don’t know. None of my business who they have in their room." The manager crossed his arms.
"Is the woman who booked the room the one lying on the floor dead?" asked Shockley.
"Hell, I seen enough police shows to know you don’t touch nothin’. I mean when I heard Yolando screaming like some freak, I ran up there and saw them two dead bodies on the floor with blood all over the damn place. I called 9-1-1 right then and there." The manager tucked his thumbs in his front jean pockets. "You know this is gonna hurt my business."
"Yolando?"
The manager said, "She’s legal. Cleans rooms."
"That was at exactly 11:30?"
"I dunno. Shit I was shaking. Nothin' like this has ever happened here."
"Did you see anybody enter or leave the room?"
"Hell no. I give my customers privacy. I was in my office, like I said, watchin’ TV."
"T-Bone, was there only this one car in the parking lot?" Shockley asked as he pointed at the car.
"Yeah. It was here when we pulled in. Otherwise, the place was a ghost town. Seems everybody heard the ruckus and vanished. I got Pete running the plate."
Shockley eyed the sky. "Those are nimbostratus clouds. Might rain. Go ahead and dust the car for prints. Don't want to take any chances."
"Bull, let’s take the manager up and see if he can I.D. the dead woman," instructed Shockley.
The manager backed away from Bull and shook his head causing his greasy hair to stick to his face. "You gotta be joking. I ain’t goin’ back up there and look at that bloody face. I don’t even remember what that woman who checked in looked like. After a while they all look alike."
T-Bone edged over toward the manager. He rested his oversized hand on his sidearm. In a low firm voice, he said, "I’m sure you wanna cooperate with the police otherwise we'll have to investigate what really goes on in this shit hole."
The manager wiped a strand of hair from his face. "You don’t have to threaten me. I always cooperate with you guys."
Bull picked up her bag and headed toward the stairs followed by T-Bone, the manager and Shockley.
"Mike," a female voice yelled from across the street. It was the reporter, Susan Porter. "Mike Shockley. Can I have a moment of your time? Just a couple of questions."
Shockley knew the score. Unless he nipped this in the bud, Susan would pester another police officer until she got something."
"Bull, you and T-Bone go on up and I’ll be there in a few minutes," Shockley instructed the group.
T-Bone shot a look toward Shockley and replied, "Yeah, Cowboy, go take your coffee break with that reporter and we’ll work this case."
"Want to change places, T-Bone?"
"Not a chance. That woman has superpowers, and I ain’t gonna let her melt me down." T-Bone chuckled as he, Bull and the manager headed up the stairs.
Shockley lumbered out toward the street to meet Porter. She had melted him down once. He wasn’t going to let that happen again.
"Susan, good to see—"
A blast wave drove him forward onto the reporter.
His ears filled with the sound of a deafening explosion.
Chapter Five
Lack of conversation while driving to Willow Oaks Motel put Julia on edge. Yesterday she would have welcomed the silence. Today it gnawed at her.
Laquita’s long intertwined fingers sat in her lap like she was silently praying. Maybe she was. Yesterday, when the husband they were surveilling appeared to spot them, Laquita crumpled like a rag doll on the floorboard of the car. Now Laquita believed her friend was right. The husband and the woman were dead. Murdered. In a motel room they were paid to watch.
Julia drove as fast as traffic would let her on the busy city streets. In less than fifteen minutes they'd be there and then she'd know if Laquita's friend was right. Her fingers wrapped tighter around the steering wheel. Bumper to bumper traffic didn’t lighten the mood in the car either. Even with the windows shut, she smelled exhaust fumes.
Yesterday’s events didn’t add up. The nagging dread of what might be the truth caused her muscles to tense, her jaw clenched. Laquita’s friend must be wrong or maybe…. Don’t think it.
The voice from the GPS punctured the quietness.
Turn right in half a mile.
It wouldn't be long before they reached the cheap run-down motel. From the corner of her eye, Julia scanned Laquita’s face. Her mid-length afro was pushed back with a wide multi-colored headband. Large gold hoop earrings dangled against her shoulders. There was a jagged scar on Laquita’s forehead near her hairline. An injury that had never been stitched, leaving a lasting reminder.
Scars.
Her own past carried them. Not physical scars. Emotional. Her parents weren’t killed in a car accident like she told Laquita. They were murdered. Her grandmother should have told her the truth. Elke was a trained liar. Then again, when she lied to Laquita about how her parents had died, it seemed too natural. Her therapist said to heal emotionally she had to forgive Elke. And herself.
Her anger with Elke started when she learned the truth about her past from her grandfather in Germany. A bomb was planted in Elke's home because she had information the Russians didn't want in the hands of the CIA. On that tragic day, Elke had taken her to the park while her parents waited at her grandmother's home. After her parents died in the explosion, Elke took her to Germany and had new identities made for them. She was a child. Elke brainwashed her. Julia forgot her birth name among so many other things. Elke continued to interfere in her life even when she became an adult. She resented Elke not believing she could take care of herself.
Perhaps she should never have bought the investigative business, but it was too late to think about that now. She wasn't going to give up. Not yet. She had to prove to Elke she had made the right decision buying the business.
Think.
What facts did she know?
She and Laquita both saw the husband enter the motel room. And leave the motel room. Unless there was another person already in that room. Was it possible they were set up and the wife was somehow involved? Her legs stiffened as she accelerated through the yellow light.
Growing up she was taught not to trust people. She didn’t know Laquita. Who was she? Maybe Laquita was part of this scam. She should have fired her yesterday. Damn.
The woman in the passenger seat was probably close to her age. Late twenties. It was difficult to tell. Her ebony skin was smooth except for the scar on her forehead. Laquita was taller than she was. Maybe 5’ 8".
Before they left the office, she read the words imprinted on Laquita’s navy t-shirt. I need a coffee the size of my butt. That would be a big cup of coffee. Laquita was not a catwalk model. She probably never owned size 0 jeans. The woman had curves. Breasts large enough to catch a man’s attention, high cheekbones, and full lips coated in clear lip gloss.
In 200 feet turn left.
Laquita stared at the GPS display tracking their position. They were getting close. They passed an abandoned car with the back windshield blown out. Soon they would be in a part of town you did not want to be in after dark. Or any time for that matter.
"Laquita," Julia’s voice strained. "If there really are police at the motel, I’ll slow down and we’ll act curious."
"Do what?" Laquita raised her sunglasses to her forehead and shot a look like Julia had lost her mind. "We don’t wanna stare. We gotta look innocent."
"We are innocent," Julia declared, her voice stiff. "But if we act like a crime scene is not interesting
, we look guilty. People are morbidly curious sometimes, they look."
Laquita tilted her head toward Julia. "Sounds to me like you might know somethin' 'bout cops and crime scenes."
Julia’s throat tightened.
"I watch TV." She feigned a smile. If Laquita only knew. Cops and crime scenes were part of her past. She had witnessed too many people die. All within close proximity to her. That bit of knowledge could scare her new hire into quitting. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to share her past.
The GPS did not get a chance to tell her their destination was up ahead before Julia’s smile quickly faded. The tension inside the car increased.
The motel parking lot was a hive of activity. There were police cruisers lit up like Christmas with whirling red, white, and blue lights. A white van parked on the side of the lot had the back doors wide open. Gawkers had gathered across the street on the sidewalk.
"Omigod," blurted Laquita. She pushed her sunglasses tight against her face and slithered down in the seat.
"Dammit Laquita. Sit up. You look like a criminal who just returned to the crime scene." Sweat began to dampen Julia’s forehead.
"Hell girl, you and me are already sweatin’ like sinners in church," Laquita’s high-pitched voice hurled back.
"Sit up," ordered Julia.
Laquita straightened while admitting, "Cops make me nervous. I don’t trust ‘em. Ya watch the news, then ya know they shoot us Blacks."
Police made Julia nervous too. She had had her share of experiences with them. Once they hauled her into the station for questioning. There had been a murder at her previous employment. This was another part of town. There were lots of law enforcement agencies in the D.C. area. The odds that the officers she had been involved with would be at this location were slim to none. Julia forced her trembling hands to steer the car toward the commotion in front of them.
"The police are not going to shoot you. Quit being a drama queen," Julia said with a reassuring smile. Why did I bring her?