Justice

by Dustin Stevens

  With barely a return to the room she had been staying in, Rye and Blue had piled into her rental car and returned to Honolulu International, making the forty-five minute drive in just under half an hour.

  Two hours later, she was wedged into the last available seat on a flight to San Francisco, forced to sit in a chair that would not recline and listen to the repeated slamming of the lavatory door behind her for five hours.

  A combination that did little to enhance her mood.

  From there she had gone on to Denver before finally arriving in Columbus, a journey that had taken her fourteen hours, not counting the six hour shift in time zones along the way.

  Throughout, she had not managed to get a single moment of rest, her mind churning too fast to allow sleep to enter, her chest pulled tight as she imagined every possible reason for the message.

  The sender was somebody she had only encountered the one time, a first meeting she had hoped would be a last. For the first six months since parting ways, Rye had worried that every incoming email, every missed phone call, would be from her, both of their fears finally coming to pass.

  Over time, that thought had eventually waned, bringing with it some semblance of hope that they had done their job correctly, that everything would turn out for the best.

  A hope that now, two years later, was proving to be foolish.

  With nothing but a single duffel thrown over her shoulder, Rye strolled through the security checkpoint and out into the general lobby, ignoring the scads of book shops and fast food offerings filing by on either side. Aiming her focus on the overhead signs, she went straight to the rental car counters and secured a midsize-SUV, not caring about the exorbitant walk-up fee being charged or the young man openly leering at her as she plunked down a credit card with the name of an alias that could never actually be traced back to her scrawled across the bottom.

  Once it was secured, she went into the lot and moved it from the rental car section into general parking, pulling as close to the elevators for the facility as possible before hopping out.

  After almost twenty hours in transit, her nerves were jumping, her mind piecing together everything that needed to happen in the coming hours.

  Beginning with returning to baggage claim and grabbing Blue.

  Getting the rental car first was not how she would have preferred to play things, though more than once she had seen companies take one look at the creature and refuse service.

  Right now, that was an eventuality she couldn’t allow to happen, no matter how pissy they might get on the back end.

  Besides, it’s not like she had any intention of ever actually returning the vehicle.

  And she damned sure wasn’t about to go anywhere – let alone into whatever this situation might be – without Blue by her side.

  Chapter Six

  The bulk of the 8th Precinct’s jurisdiction was comprised of a chunk of ground called The Bottoms, an area that many in the city claimed earned its moniker by being located in the river bottom areas formed by the Scioto and Olentangy Rivers flowing nearby.

  To those that were familiar with Columbus, had lived there for any length of time, or even had driven through it, the origin could most likely be attributed to a much more dubious reason, one rife with the rampant crime and drug culture that seemed to take hold there.

  Even the encroaching gentrification of the Arena and Short North Districts no more than a couple of miles away had done nothing to soften the stranglehold of the deplorable enclave. Such was the state of affairs that at least eighty percent of Reed Mattox’s work took place in the small concentration consisting of no more than a dozen blocks square, he and Billie’s patrol on the night shift starting and ending there without fail.

  Which is what made it all the more surprising when this particular assignment – a handpicked one from the captain himself – took him not down into The Bottoms, but rather out into the surrounding neighborhoods.

  Not to the string of low-rent bars and abandoned buildings, but into the residential area that framed the district.

  “Well, then, this is different,” Reed muttered, flicking his gaze between the GPS system mounted on the dash and the scene filing by on either side.

  In a harsh contrast to what he expected, to what he had previously experienced, the area looked to be as close as the 8th had to anything resembling suburbia. Single family dwellings lined the streets, their exteriors done in brick or vinyl siding. Lawns were kept at least somewhat in check, the cars that were parked outside looked to be operable.

  Twice more, Reed checked the address he’d been given, replaying the conversation he’d had moments before with Grimes in his head.

  The details at this point were still painfully thin. All that was really known was that there had been a double homicide, one of the victims being a sort that had made a lot of headlines in life, would be likely to make even more with death.

  What exactly that meant, Reed couldn’t be sure, surmising that Grimes only had nominally more of an understanding at the moment.

  Another classic example of the department flow chart, which meant something caught the brass’s attention downtown, who forwarded it onto the middlemen like Grimes, that eventually dumped it on down to Reed.

  Or, as his Pop would have framed it, proof positive that shit always rolled downhill.

  It wasn’t until Reed rounded one last corner, taking him to the outer edge of Hilliard, straining the very boundaries of his jurisdiction, that any indication of a crime scene presented itself.

  One moment, he was driving through a quiet street, even the moon overhead blotted out by the thick expanse of trees hanging over the street.

  The next, his world was awash with neon, red and blue lights flashing by in rapid fashion, bouncing off the front facades of the buildings nearby, reflecting from their windows.

  In the small gaps between their passing, faces could be seen pressed tight to the glass, neighbors all staring out, trying in vain to see what was happening.

  “Great,” Reed whispered, flicking his gaze to the rearview mirror to see Billie’s ears twitch at the sound of his voice. “You know how much we love working with an audience.”

  To that the sole response was a single flicker of her tongue, a momentary splash of pink against a black background, before being retracted back into place.

  “Yeah, I agree.”

  Easing his sedan up to a stop behind the closest blue-and-white parked along the curb, Reed killed the engine and climbed out. Shutting the door before Billie could attempt to exit behind him, he pulled the coiled short lead from the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

  With his opposite hand, he extracted his badge and hung it from his neck, the leather and metal thumping against his chest as he opened the back door and affixed the lead to Billie’s collar.

  “Come.”

  If given their preference, Reed and Billie both would have preferred to work with the eight-foot lead, allowing her maximum room and him the freedom of attaching her to his waist, using his body as an anchor against her.

  When approaching fresh crime scenes, he had long since discovered it was best to use the short lead, keeping a tight lock on her.

  The pairing of the two had first occurred when he moved over to the 8th, fresh off the death of his partner Riley Poole, an on-the-job accident that had occurred while he was three thousand miles away at a football game in California. In the wake of it, he had wrestled with all the expected trappings of blaming himself and even considered leaving the force, hindsight only beginning to give him the distance to see how many of the traditional tropes he had checked off along the way.

  If not for the benevolence of Grimes, there was no telling how many more he might have gotten to before pulling out of his tailspin.

  Or even if he ever would have.

  Unable to even consider working with someone else, it had been suggested that he consider working with K-9. Having grown up with pets, never before had he considered the notion, so
mething it had taken months for him to truly wrap his head around.

  On the flip side was his partner Billie, a former Marine that had been cycled back stateside after her partner was killed by an IED in Afghanistan. Standing at waist-height and weighing more than sixty pounds, she was a Belgian Malinois with rare all-black markings.

  An appearance that put her somewhere between a wolf and a hellhound, her arrival alone often being enough to create some form of order in any given situation.

  When that didn’t work, some combination of her two-hundred-and-twenty-five-million scent receptors and the razor sharp teeth that had earned her breed the nickname of maligators usually seemed to do the trick.

  With her affixed to the short lead, Reed could feel the striated muscles of her torso flexing and clenching against his thigh as the two made their way forward. His eyes pinched tight against the glare of flashing lights, he led Billie through the tangle of first responder vehicles.

  For more than twenty yards, they picked their way ahead before coming up on the line of yellow police tape that demarcated the start of the official crime scene. Feeling the weight of his badge bouncing against his chest, he extended a hand and lifted the tape overhead, taking a moment to fully assess what lay before him.

  Much like the rest of the streets they had driven in on, the place was a far cry from the style permeating most of the area. Bypassing dark brick or stone, the building had a wooden plank façade painted yellow, all visible edges outlined in white.

  Rising three stories in height, the structure looked to be a small apartment building, a single glass entry in the front allowing for access and egress.

  Along the front walk and under the first-floor windows, flowers had already been planted in anticipation of spring, ditto for the handful of hardwood trees dotting the front.

  “I didn’t know you two were on tonight,” a voice said, drawing Reed’s attention to the side.

  A few feet away, Officer Derek Greene approached, a hand extended before him. The better part of a decade older than Reed, his mocha-colored skin was free of blemish, the first signs of gray just starting to appear at the temples.

  “Detective.”

  “Officer,” Reed replied, reciprocating the shake. “And we’re not. Grimes called us at home and asked us to meet with him.”

  Positioning himself beside Reed, Greene folded his arms over his chest, the men standing parallel, Billie between them. “Ahh, that makes sense.”

  “Yeah,” Reed said, “apologies for the delay in getting here, Captain asked us to stop by the precinct first.”

  Flicking a sideways glance his way, Greene held his features in a severe configuration, jerking his head quickly to either side, a terse movement covering no more than a few inches in either direction.

  “Not what I meant.”

  Feeling a crease appear between his brows, Reed processed the statement for a moment before asking, “The new guys? They really that bad?”

  Keeping his gaze on Reed for an instant longer, Greene returned his attention to the front of the building and said, “No. Well, yes, but that’s actually not what I meant either.”

  Again, confusion settled onto Reed’s face as he looked to Greene before adjusting his stance to take in the building before them.

  “So it’s a mess in there?”

  “Mhmm,” Greene intoned, “and a mess out here. Right now, Gilchrist is trying to placate a hysterical family member that is screaming everything she can think of.”

  At the mention of Greene’s younger partner, Reed bent forward at the waist, seeing no sign of the man or the scene that was being described.

  In fact, from where he stood, he couldn’t yet see much at all.

  Certainly nothing that would call for him being summoned from home minutes before enjoying his steak.

  Pushing out a slow breath, he returned himself to full height. Moving a few inches closer to the side, he mumbled, “Alright, so far I’ve been told a half-dozen times that it is awful, but I’m yet to actually find out a damn thing. What exactly is going on here?”

  This time it was Greene’s turn to push out a long sigh, the duration almost twice that of Reed’s.

  “In short? Looks like a robbery that went sideways, resulted in a double homicide.”

  The skin on either side of Reed’s eyes tightened into a slight wince at the words, murder never being something that was easy to get a handle on, certainly equating to the difficult task Gilchrist was currently facing.

  Though, again, still the sort of thing that was not unheard of in The Bottoms, calling for the way it had thus far been handled.

  Recalling the words of Grimes earlier, Reed nodded, asking, “The victims?”

  “One was a young woman, appears to be wearing the uniform of a nun.”

  Feeling his eyebrows rise slightly, Reed chose to wait on pressing the topic further, sensing that there was something more to be added to the conversation.

  “And the second?”

  “None other than one Lynda Cantwell.”

  Chapter Seven

  The coppery, metallic scent of blood was the first thing Reed noticed, so strong it almost jumped through the front doors, engulfing he and Billie both as they entered. At the first hint of it, he could feel his partner tense by his side, an ingrained response to the external stimuli and the changes in his own body chemistry.

  One of many unique skills she possessed that he was fast becoming dependent on in a way he never thought possible.

  A veteran of crime scenes for more than a decade, Reed was not unfamiliar with the smell of blood. When he had first started in the field, years of television had prepared him for the sight, it being the other senses that needed to fight to keep pace.

  In the beginning, his stomach had turned at the scent, the subject one that Riley had given him grief about on more than one occasion.

  Now, it was something he barely noticed, reserved only for those occasions when there was enough present to get past his initial layer of desensitization.

  Considering what he was now picking up, he could only imagine the pools that must be present, his body reacting in a way it hadn’t in quite some time.

  With his stomach clenching tight, more from growing dread than any actual response to the impending scene, Reed nodded to the pair of patrol officers standing to either side, their backs pressed to the pair of first level doors split evenly around the foyer.

  Between them rose a staircase made of wood, the tops lacquered heavily on either end, the middle rubbed free of varnish from years of use.

  “Officers,” Reed said, glancing to a young man with blonde hair shorn tight to his skull on the right, a slightly older female with fawn colored hair pulled back into a ponytail on the left.

  “You Mattox?” the girl asked, her skin a sallow color that made it look as if she might regurgitate her dinner at any moment.

  Not to mention last night’s dinner. And possibly even the one before that.

  Which was still quite a bit better than the appearance of the young man standing across from her.

  “I am,” Reed replied, not bothering to lift the badge from his chest and wag it at her.

  Just two more of the new hires into the precinct, Reed was quite certain he had never encountered them before, usually working with Greene and Gilchrist outside or the team of Wade McMichaels and Tommy Jacobs that also preferred the night shift.

  Looking like they weren’t more than a couple years out of the Academy, Reed figured they must have been paired up as soon as their respective stints with older badges was complete, just as he and Riley had been once upon a time.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “I’m Leibowitz,” she said before pushing her chin toward her partner. “He’s Bradley.”

  It seemed there might be more the girl wanted to add before pulling up short, not quite trusting herself to say more.

  Reed knew the feeling.

  “Good to meet you both,” he said, forcing
the words out more because of what was to come next than any interest in building staff morale. “This is my partner, and I’m going to leave her here while I make a first run at the scene. She won’t bother you.”

  To that, Leibowitz responded with nothing more than a nod, Reed reciprocating as he turned his chin to the side. “Down.”

  On cue, Billie responded to the command, lowering her backside to the ground without the slightest objection.

  Just as she was trained to.

  Leaving all three behind, Reed reached into his back pocket and extracted a pair of plastic gloves. Pulling them on each hand, he took the stairs one at a time, the wooden steps creaking beneath his weight, the increasing aroma of blood pulling him upward.

  Rising a dozen stairs, he came out on a small landing before turning and heading back the other direction, the reason for the call lying in the second-floor foyer.

  Or, more accurately, on, around, and throughout the foyer.

  Bright halogen bulbs blazed down from the ceiling above, illuminating the scene. Whether they had been on during the crime or after, Reed had no way of knowing, being certain only that every last detail of the space was now under the harsh glow of the lights.

  Which made them all the more vivid, everything standing out in stark relief.

  Ascending a few quick stairs, Reed rose until he had a full view of the space before stopping, his hands hanging by either hip as he swept his gaze from one side to the next.

  The scene bore out what Greene had mentioned below, meaning that there were two female victims present. On the left was a girl that looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties, a long black skirt covering her bottom half, a matching habit blocking her hair and most of her forehead from view, the material bunched behind her in a jagged pattern.

  Between them, what had at one point been a white blouse was now soaked through with blood that saturated the cotton material to the point of appearing black, a few stray spots of gunshot residue visible as well.