Rogue

by Izzy Gomez

  “Brown,” Al said to Amanda as he headed for the hall to take the call.

  “Oh, God, Amanda.” Emily's voice trembled.

  Amanda looked at her sister. Tears glimmered in Emily’s brown eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss, Emily.” Lame. Completely inadequate.

  Emily shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I mean, it’s that too, but...Daddy. Did you see his face? It’s bad enough he just lost Mom, but now he finds out she was cheating on him. Like this.” She waved her hand around the room.

  The tortured look on Emily’s face undoubtedly matched Amanda's. Her heart hurt for her father. And her dislike of Karen grew. Was there anything she wouldn’t have done for her own selfish reasons, no matter how much she hurt her family? Why had Dad loved her so blindly?

  “What are we going to do, Amanda?”

  She was the big sister. She was supposed to have the answers. Except she didn't. “I don’t know. I wish I did.” Should she hug Emily? Would that make Emily feel better? Would it make her feel better?

  Al’s heavy steps came back into the room. His expression gave nothing of his conversation away, but Amanda could guess how happy Brown was with them. “Captain wants us back at the ranch.”

  So much for a hug. Besides, Emily had Tim. She didn’t need hugs from Amanda.

  “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” Amanda lied. “I’ll stop by tonight, see how Dad’s doing.”

  Emily nodded as she stared blankly out the window.

  “You gonna be OK?”

  Another nod from Emily.

  Amanda hesitated in the doorway. “We’ll find who did this. And we’ll get through it. I promise.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Captain Brown stood behind her desk, wide brown eyes glaring at Voegler.

  Greg flinched at his boss’s harsh words. He could guess why she’d called the two of them into her office, along with O’Donnell and Amanda. But he hadn’t expected the meeting to start with her yelling at Voegler.

  Voegler’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “You know better than to take her out on this case.” Brown jerked her thumb in Amanda’s direction but didn’t take her furious gaze off Voegler.

  Something was clearly going on beyond their cases. Greg shoved his hands in his pockets. From across the small room, he met Amanda’s gaze. With his eyes, he tried to ask what was going on. She shook her head.

  She looked beyond exhausted.

  Purple smudges ringed her non-bruised eye and her eyelids drooped like she might fall asleep on her feet. He had the urge to pull her against him, let her rest her head on his shoulder as long as she needed.

  Shaking off the idea, he focused on the scene before him.

  “Why wouldn’t I take her? She’s my partner and this is our case.” Voegler’s voice was low, dangerous.

  “I’m right here!” Amanda stepped in front of Voegler. “You have a problem with me working on this case, fine. But you’re the one who put us on this in the first place. So don’t get mad at Al for doing his job. Leave your bullshit problem with him out of it.”

  Brown glared at Amanda for a long, charged moment. Amanda and Voegler both glared back.

  O’Donnell let out an exasperated noise. Greg stayed quiet. He didn't understand the dynamic at play nor did he want to.

  Finally Brown smoothed back her dark hair and looked down at her desk. “Schreiber, you’re off the case. You’ll work with O’Donnell on a new case. He has the information.”

  “Cole, you’re on the Schreiber case with Voegler."

  No one spoke.

  “So get to work.”

  Silently, they left the room and moved back to their desks. Greg needed to finish up some paperwork then talk with Voegler, get up to speed. Voegler and Amanda were gone all morning. Surely they’d gotten something.

  He looked over to Amanda’s desk. Voegler stood behind her, hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of this. Cole seems reasonably competent.” Amanda shrugged away from Voegler. “I knew she’d take me off the case. But I’d hoped…”

  Voegler grabbed a pen from his desk and paused as he passed Greg. “I gotta take care of something. I’ll catch you up over lunch.”

  “Sure.” Greg sat down at his desk and rifled through folders, looking for the case he’d been working on last night. From the corner of his eye he could see someone approaching, so he looked up.

  Amanda. His chest warmed.

  Her lips turned up in a hesitant smile. He remembered the way that lip felt when he touched it. Firm, silky. Made for kissing. Everything about her was made for kissing.

  The warmth spread to his gut, down his arms.

  She stopped next to him, resting her hands on the edge of his desk. Greg leaned back in his chair so he could look up at her. Her blueish-greenish eyes were both weary and wary.

  “Sorry about the flip-flopping,” he said. “I’m sure you wanted to work your stepmom’s case.”

  “Department policy.” She looked down at her hands. “I wanted to ask you a favor.”

  He couldn’t imagine a favor he wouldn’t grant her. “Sure.”

  “Al’s going to try to protect me. Keep me out of the loop.” She looked up at Greg, frowning. “He thinks he's my big brother. Have to protect Amanda from the big bad world. He’s got three sisters.”

  That explained a lot about the dynamic between Al and Amanda. “And you’d like me to keep you in the loop?”

  Pushing a folder out of the way, Amanda leaned her hip on the edge of the desk. “I know we don’t know each other very well.”

  Their gazes met. The spark crackling between them belied her statement. Not liking their uneven positions, Greg stood and moved a step closer to her. He was at least six inches taller, more since she was half-sitting on the desk. So he leaned against the desk next to her, bringing them to within inches. Close enough he could see the gold flecks in her eyes.

  “I can't explain it, but it’s important to me to know what’s going on.”

  “It’s family. I understand.” He shoved back the ache reminding him exactly how well he understood. He wanted to touch her again. Wanted to smooth her hair out of her face, wanted to ease the tension in her forehead.

  Hell, he just wanted her.

  “I promised my dad I’d find the person who did this.” The creases on her forehead deepened. "I know we can't ever promise that, but this was different. It's…my dad."

  He didn't understand the conflict mixed with the pain on her face. But he did understand when it got personal.

  “Tell him Voegler and I will do our best to keep your promise.” He would do it because it was his job, but also because he understood the need to have answers. Again he had to punch down the ache that came whenever he thought of his brother.

  Her eyes looked so sad, he no longer stopped himself from reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes and leaned ever so slightly into his hand. He wanted to stroke his fingers over her cheek, cup the back of her neck, rub away the tension in her shoulders. “I promise, we’ll do our best.”

  “We always do. Most of the time it’s enough.”

  With a sigh, she pushed off the desk and stood, but didn’t move away. She stared at him, her eyes roaming his face. He liked the feel of her gaze on him.

  Then she snapped her fingers. “That’s why you look familiar. We met at some party Zack dragged me to.”

  “At Sergeant Powell’s house.” She finally remembered him.

  “You were trying to flirt with me until Zack showed up.”

  “I was not flirting.” Hell yes he was. He’d been intrigued with her maybe-blond, maybe-brown hair and her maybe-green, maybe-blue eyes. Were any of her features only one color?

  Plus, the women at those parties were always someone’s wife or girlfriend, or cops he knew. He’d thought he seriously lucked out until he realized she was Zack’s fiancée. “I was making small talk. It’s what people do at lame parties.”

&nbs
p; “I can't believe I didn’t remember meeting you. It’s been...I haven’t gotten much sleep in the past few….well, years.”

  “Occupational hazard.” He smiled. “Besides, it’s good for my ego to be reminded I’m not as memorable as I think.”

  She laughed, the first time she’d done so in his presence. It was a rich, feminine sound that gave him goosebumps. Her eyes crinkled, and for a moment, she looked completely relaxed.

  A part of his mind started whirring, trying to think up ways he could recapture for her that moment of peace. He opened his mouth, planning to improvise.

  Before any words came out, O'Donnell breezed by with a scowl. "I don't have time for your chit chat. Let's go." Without waiting for Amanda, he headed to for the exit.

  She looked after O'Donnell, then back to Greg. "I better…" She took a step toward the door.

  Greg waved her away. "I'll see ya later." He watched her walk away. Yes, he was looking at her very nice ass.

  He'd find a way to put the relaxed look back on her face. If he was lucky, he might even enjoy the process.

  “Talk to me.” O’Donnell strode into the small living room with a cockiness that said he owned the place. Some people thought it was confidence and authority. Amanda knew it was plain old ego.

  The Crime Scene Unit was already there. Chris Boyle, a deputy coroner, knelt next to the dead woman lying on the living room floor with a gaping slice across her throat. Joe Roundy looked up from his camera and nodded at Amanda, then went back to snapping photos.

  O’Donnell moved to the uniformed cop standing by the couch. Jerry Mahoney was a thirty year veteran of the IMPD and didn’t take shit from anyone. He and Amanda worked together when she first joined the force. He’d been the one to push her into becoming a detective. She had a lot more respect for him than she did her temporary partner.

  O’Donnell pushed back the flaps of his jacket and put his hands on his hips. Showing his dominance with his wide stance and his thrust out crotch.

  Amanda almost rolled her eyes. She usually managed to avoid O’Donnell’s overblown ego. No such luck today. This case was going to be a bowl of jelly beans.

  Mahoney moved away from O’Donnell. “Neighbor tells us this is Martina Ryder. Lives here alone, although her son sometimes stays here too.”

  “The neighbor found her?” Amanda asked. She tried not to smile in satisfaction that Mahoney talked directly to her.

  Mahoney nodded. “Came over through the backyard to see if Ryder wanted some cookies she baked. Ryder didn’t answer, neighbor saw the back door was open, so she came in. Found the victim like this.”

  Mahoney gestured to the victim. The baby blue carpet around her head was dark with blood.

  “The neighbor got a name?” O’Donnell snapped. His jaw set, he narrowed his eyes.

  She didn't envy Greg Cole having to work with this guy permanently. Al had his cranky moments, especially when he’d been going through his divorce, but he was Mr. Rogers by comparison. Hopefully this would be an open and shut case and she could be rid of O’Donnell.

  Yeah, like she’d be that lucky.

  After sending a scowl at O’Donnell, Mahoney checked his notebook. “Pamela Dunmore. I sent her home. Told her you’d be over to talk to her. She’s pretty shook up.”

  “You sent our only witness home?” O’Donnell asked. “What are you thinking?”

  “That she found her friend’s dead body and she lives fifty feet away. She was nearly hysterical. I didn’t need her hanging around here, contaminating the scene.” Mahoney stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders at O’Donnell.

  Great. A pissing contest.

  “Arden's with her. He’s trying to calm her down and get a statement.”

  As enjoyable as it would be to watch Mahoney and O’Donnell go at it, since O’Donnell didn’t stand a chance, they didn’t have time. “Thanks, Jerry. Go join Arden and Ms. Dunmore, see what you can get from her.”

  “Sure thing.” Mahoney smiled at her. “Good to see you, kid.” He patted her shoulder as he left the room.

  She ignored O’Donnell’s glare as she crouched down next to Boyle. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess cause of death is that huge slash in her neck?”

  Boyle looked up from his clipboard with a smile. “I’d say it’s a pretty good guess.”

  She looked up at O’Donnell. “Robbery gone bad? She came home and surprised him?”

  O’Donnell couldn’t have looked more condescending if he’d been discussing the case with a toddler. “Why don’t we wait and see if there’s any evidence to back that up.”

  Again, she resisted rolling her eyes. She knew O’Donnell was as sexist as they came. Thought women didn’t belong on the force, let alone as detectives. He hated having a female boss. He could just suck it up.

  Not in the mood to deal with his crap, she stood. “Why don’t you see what you can find out here. I’m gonna go next door and talk to the neighbor.”

  O’Donnell stepped closer to her, closing into her personal space. “Let’s get something straight, Schreiber. I didn’t ask to baby-sit you. It’s not my problem if you can’t handle working on your stepmommy’s case.”

  Anger prickled her chest. How dare he imply she’d been taken off because she couldn’t handle it. He knew perfectly well why Brown took her off the case.

  “But we’re gonna do things my way.” He stood close enough she could smell his stale coffee breath. “You don’t go directing the uniforms, you don’t go deciding on cause of death before the coroner does, and you don’t decide who interviews witnesses or when. I’m calling the shots. Not you. Got it?”

  She refused to be intimidated by such an ass hole. “No wonder Meier took early retirement. I would too if you were my partner.” She started toward the front entryway. “I’ll be next door. Interviewing Pamela Dunmore.”

  Yep. Definitely a bowl of jelly beans.

  Greg hated autopsies. It was the worst part of his transition between departments. The Gang Task Force rarely dealt with murders, even the gang-related ones. Those were turned over to Homicide. He’d observed a few autopsies over the years. But it hadn’t been a regular part of his job.

  Until today.

  The room smelled medicinal. He’d expected more of a rotting meat smell, like bodies at a crime scene. Just like he’d never gotten used to the sight of a dead body, he doubted he’d get used to their stink. Didn’t want to. If he ever became that immune to the horrors of his job, it was time to retire.

  Still, the lack of stink helped him relax a little.

  Dr. Carla Russell smiled as she greeted him and Voegler. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Nice to see you on this bright and cheerful day.” She was an attractive woman, tall, maybe forty. Long dark hair and matching eyes. And much more cheerful than Greg would be if he spent his days cutting open bodies and digging around their innards.

  Voegler grunted.

  Dr. Russell laughed. “In a good mood as always, I see. Amanda got reassigned?”

  Voegler jerked his thumb at Greg. “Detective Cole is helping me on this one. He recently joined us after eliminating the gang problem in Indianapolis.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dr. Russell.” Greg nodded toward her. He would have offered his hand, but she was wearing exam gloves.

  “Likewise.” She led them toward the sheet-covered table.

  “Since you boys were running late, I already collected what trace evidence I could.” Dr. Russell gestured to three evidence containers on the counter. “There were rope fibers in her wrists and ankles. That’s it. And then the usual collection of hair and fingernails.”

  “Anything under her nails?” Voegler asked.

  Dr. Russell shook her head. “Her manicure was in perfect shape. Nary a chip in the polish. I doubt she fought him, but I still took samples.”

  “DNA would be helpful.” Voegler cracked his knuckles as he looked down at the covered body.

  “I’ll be sure to ask my fairy godmother to bring some for yo
u.”

  At Voegler’s glare, Russell simply grinned wider. She turned her gaze to Greg. “He’s such a sourpuss."

  “Can we get moving?” Voegler gestured to the body.

  “That’s what I love about you, Detective Voegler. So dedicated to the job.”

  Voegler glowered until Russell pulled back the sheet.

  Even though he’d been expecting it, Greg couldn’t help cringing at the sight of Karen Schreiber’s mutilated face. With her missing lips and tongue, she looked like a horror movie monster.

  Her body had the unnatural stillness of the dead, her open eyes staring unseeing at the florescent light above. She still wore her cut-off t-shirt and shorts.

  “As you can see here,” Russell pointed to the mangled wrists, “there’s bruising and ligature marks. If you put both her wrists together above her head, you can see they were crossed while she was tied up.” Russell moved the arms above the woman’s head and crossed the left over the right, lining up the harsh red marks on her skin.

  “She was hanging from something,” Greg said. Which made her three days of torture even more agonizing. And her killer an even sicker bastard.

  Voegler leaned close to the wrists. “Makes sense. The marks are curved toward her hands.”

  Russell put the woman’s arms back at her sides. “The bruising on her ankles looks like they were tied together, but not crossed.”

  Greg bent for a better look at to the ankles. Sure enough, there were no marks on the insides. “If he crossed her ankles, she wouldn’t have had much balance. It would have put too much weight on her hands, maybe dislocated her shoulders. He didn’t want her hanging, just uncomfortable.”

  Voegler shot Greg a surprised look, his thick eyebrows nearly up to his hairline.

  Greg tapped down the irritation sparking in his chest. “Gang members are whack-jobs too. I know plenty about getting into their heads.” Too damn much.

  Voegler shrugged his eyebrows before turning back to Russell. “Anything else, besides the obvious lack of facial features and the multiple stab wounds to her trunk?”

  “He re-dressed her after she was dead,” Russell said.